picasso is quaking tbh

ive drawn something like this for 2019's inktober, but date rape happens to everyone of all ages, genders, sexes, shapes, and sizes. people don't care what you look like, it's about power and control. there are many ways to protect yourself from people who do this like carrying a drink cover, and making sure you dont take drinks from strangers. but ultimately it falls on the people trying to use and assault unknowing victims in vulnerable states. they are the predators of society, and we need to make sure they're ALL held accountable.

RELEASE THE EPSTEIN FILES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

this is an infected bee sting. i was really interested in drawing an injury which i had never done before. it was cool to try to get the different oozing and goozing of the wound and trying to make it, with my art style, look at gore-y as possible. i know it didn't achieve the best, but i do thing i achieved something. i also added in bruising and redness which is very hard to see haha. that's alright however, and i'm very happy with how this piece turned out.

this is MEANT to be a street sweeper dragging a trail of blood away from a dead body. i don't know how well you can see everything or how i depicted this, but this was my attempt at a more horror-ified version of this prompt. it was also the first thing i thought of, and that's what i have a habit of doing with these prompts. most of the time i find real world things more horrific, and i think this is my style of terror. realism and the aspect that this could happen to anyone, or me.

sometimes, the weight of the world is on your shoulders. you have to sit there and hold it up, and wait for someone to come along and teach you how to put it down. even when you do put it down, you're left with the chronic pain in your body from holding that much weight above your head for that long. you try different things to soothe the pain, but it always seems to find a way back. confronting reality head on is just as hard. you aren't carrying the world anymore, why do you still feel pain? that is C-PTSD for me. i lived wondering when i'll have to pick the world up again, and continue this pain.

i love being reckless. not having a care in the world and just having fun. i've been reckless more times than i can remember. picking one moment in time was difficult. i picked the time i went drifting on the roads, and racing cars with my buddies when i was 16. that year was such a crazy time in my life, and i'll never forget a moment of it. the winters ball, stargazing with my friends, partaking in musical. it was magical. i loved memorizing it for life in this image.

my dad was in the air force, so he traveled a lot. he's been to so many places, and so many more i'll never know about because he's not a big talker. that man is a mystery to me. what i know is, during one of his dives, or maybe at a gift shop from his dives, he picked up this star fish. and that starfish was my favorite thing to tactile stim with. eventually all his little legs got broken off because i was a 7 year old child, and i don't remember my dad being very upset about it. it was another "it is what it is" situation. i hope one day to replace that for him. for now i've immortalized it in a drawing.

of course, when i think of the word pierce, i think of piercings. something very freeing and punk and against societal standards. for some reason, people HATE septum piercings, so i focused heavily on that in this image. i myself have my nose and belly button done, but i want my septum done. even my family hates it, and as a disabled person with family as my caretakers, it's insane to think that i may never get to customize my temple the way i see fit. i hope for everyone to have the ability to do whatever they please with their bodies.

as an white inhulalata not living on the tribe, my choctaw grandmother worked hard to teach me our beliefs. mind your elders, and your manners. learn as much as you possibly can. never break tribal code, even when you arent on tribal land. make your ancestors proud, because they died so that you could live. those are just the main rules i can remember off the top of my head. they were never written down, because the last time my ancestors did they, they were raped and pillaged and had their information stolen, burned, and destroyed. the best way to keep tradition alive is through word of mouth. my first gathering of the nations was when i was fairly young. i was the little white girl who stood out from all the rest. my blonde hair whispering words of oppression, and i didn't know how to tell them i wasn't here to harm their culture. over the years i have silenced myself greatly, as i should, because i am not native enough to understand. i wont be oppressed, and instead, and more likely to be the oppressor. i wont be killed and assaulted for my skin color and features. people don't sexualize me for being unique and different. people dont appropriate my culture. i am not affected, and i have a duty to use my voice when they cannot. remember Angela Rodriguez-Maynahonah, remember Kasey Russell, remember Tessa Curley, remember Mona Lisa Two Eagle, remember Clay Hagel, remember Lloyd Bald Eagle. remember every murdered indigenous member of the community. find Franklin Joseph Little Bear, find Shacaiah Harding, find Mary Eleanor Thacker, find Tyana Whitehawk, find Levi Brian Yellow Mule, and find every missing indigenous person ALIVE. stop disappearing our communities

i miss the nasty ass backwoods water of the tree filled acreage of land. that is where my mind goes when you say 'murky'. fishing for stuff that doesn't exist with our baby barbie themed fishing poles that could barely catch a craw dad. it's nostalgic. it's happiness tucked into a little corner of space that little ecosystems live inside of. we get to see the moss and bugs live about in their natural habitat, and occasionally, pass on through with a 4-wheeler to play in the river and see who can get across the bank. i love murky water.