#I hate being left

[ogeneraloito]

interesting how fords been surrounded by triangles his entire life. looks like ford and bill were always doomed to meet each other

ford did seem to think that he is destined to be in gravity falls, destined to be part of greater things, and bill also thought he was "destined for so much more"

to quote on alex, "that's ford's great flaw, is arrogance. is he believes that there's special people, and everyone else. that human attachments are actually weaknesses. and the song and dance that he’s giving dipper right now, is the song and dance that he gave mcgucket, back when they were younger… ‘you and me are different, we’re better than everyone else. we have a path that no one else can understand, and only us can do this.’"

i think at some point bill really thought ford was the one that UNDERSTOOD him (well, ford did think "why did rudolph not simply kill the other reindeer? he shouldve burned his workshop to the ground"). some of his henchmaniacs didnt seem to actually like bill at all

quick edit for something ive found:

this is from "dreamscaperers", and apparently ford had been dreaming about the cipher wheel for weeks before he even found the cave. enough times that he was even able to perfectly draw the wheel on the journal. bill didnt even know about ford yet.

[auroras-shitty-writing]

Cursed

I think I'm cursed, I truly think i'm cursed. A reoccurring curse that happens every time that seventeen year old oak door opens. The white paint on it has chipped with time and wear. Every new person entering, leaving a faint dent against the wall beside it, chipping away the white paint. I should know I'm cursed. I should've know when the first person stepped out, slamming the door just as quickly as they had opened it. I wait for them by the bottom stairs, wide eyed and clinging to a yellowed rabbit. Chipped like the door. I know i'm cursed to only know the back of the door with it's slams and chipping and dents and oak. Molded oak peering back at me, salt water cause it. I caused it. I am cursed to only know the back of the door and to wait hopefully by the bottom of the cold stairs.

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Look what we've become.

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[lazylittledragon]

Hello I love your bg3 content and your Dorian is so lovely! Can we get like an alternative reality with Dorian and Ascended Astarion? What would your headcannon be for them? 🙇

something like this, probably

[cry-ptidd]

” Am I not right to weep? O my children, cursed children of a hateful mother - ”

[wild0moon]

little man's lucky he's gay because he's never having kids after this

[skunkes]

reunion

[roughentumble]

DC supervillain of the week who traps the justice league(in their league disguises) in a reality tv show like love island. it airs on tv and everything like they use supervillain powers to forcefully broadcast "love island: justice league edition" while the supers have to try and figure out how to escape. during a personal squabble wondy steps up and says "everyone calm down, we're all a team, we each have our strengths and weaknesses, we need to work together to solve this" and then it cuts to her talking head segment and she says "im not a fan of green lantern."

[technovillain]

i was on google and ran into this ai generated kinsey scale graphic and thought they had just completely invented new types of gay

where do you fall on the scale of 0 (hetoseual) to 6 (REDACTED), because i personally land somewhere between conjoined twins, one gay and lesbian wearing a one-sleeved tube top, hope this helps!

[naamahdarling]

Graffiti raises property values actually. In my eyes anyway.

[pineconnie]

“the jump for the beef is so easy how could you fail this!!” have you perchance heard of worldbuilding or fictional stories

[mrmeepsmadmind]

i love when ppl draw bumblebee like the happy little creachure he is but also i love when people draw bumblebee like he's had 500 beers in the last 1 hour and still the pain won't even ebb

[assiraphales]

bro I’m sick bc ace dying in his arms was luffy’s biggest nightmare but dying in the arms of the person that he loved most / loved him most was probably the kindest Fate (under the circumstances) that he could have been given. luffy, the person he sacrificed himself for and would again and again and again and a million times over if he’d been given the chance bc there was no world he wanted to live in without his little brother alive and breathing, there with him at the end.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i’m obsessed with the idea of cult leader!geto pining for a reader who just fucking hates him ….... maybe it’s someone from his past that he left behind when he defected, maybe they’re bitter and spiteful and all they do is hiss and bite but he’s so smitten. you can do no wrong in his eyes. he deserves the curses and anger, he knows, and he receives them with a smile and eyes full of hearts. he gets giddy when you scowl at him. he just thinks you’re love personified. he’s so gentle and patient that it’s infuriating because nothing you do or say will get him to bite back — it’s like you’re a kitten gnawing at his fist but he does nothing but coo at you even when you draw blood

[mummer]

spock: goes through the evil time machine that makes you want to fuck women

spock: thinks even a little bit about fucking that woman

bones, the angriest he’s ever been: Well spock’s broken. we gotta get out of here right now. Gonna shove him against the wall and get really close to his face about it. To remind him that hes gay