#What about it??!??! Huh??

[supernatural-24]

People need to talk about how bloody funny Supernatural Season 1 is. Sam and Dean rock up to a small hillbilly town in the middle of nowhere where people are being viciously slaughtered by some unfathomable creature, in a sick as heck vintage car with stolen license plates.

Then they rock up to the crime scene in their boots and zip up hoodies and brown leather jackets with their very obvious fake IDs and babyfaces all like “oh yeah we’re federal officers!” and the local cops are like “for sure, here’s everything you need to know on the case”. Then they’re chilling in some motel that looks like its been abandoned for like ten years and has been festering in a swamp since then, and Sam’s like “Dean what if it’s a *insert generic monster name here*” and Dean’s all “no way, it's definitely not *insert generic monster name here*. I actually don’t even know what we’re doing here, this definitely isn’t our type of problem, we’re supposed to be looking for Dad”.

Then this random hot girl’s brother or husband or boyfriend or cousin or best friend or something idfk gets slaughtered by the monster and Dean’s like “frickgjhjajsifoa maybe it is a *insert generic monster name here*” and Sam’s like “well we all know the one way to kill a *insert generic monster name here*: silver bullet right in that mofo’s heart” .Then the hot girl goes “I’m sick of the cops in this town doing nothing about it! I’m going after it myself!” and Sam and Dean go “okay that’s chill whatever, but we'll come to cause we can protect you” and she’s like “I can look after myself thanks very much, I don’t need your protection”. Sure enough, she ends up needing their help, and they burst in the room or hotel or mansion or bridge or woods or something idfk guns blazing shooting everything. Then the *insert generic monster name here* freaking stabs Sammy and Dean’s like hyperventilating “no one beats the shit outta my brother but me!” BAM silver bullet right in that freaking abominations heart. Then Dean viciously makes out with the hot girl while Sam freaking bleeds out on the floor.

Then the next day they’re driving in the car together and Dean’s all “we should do this more often, you know saving people, hunting things, fucking bitches” and Sam’s all “I’m only in this to find Dad cause I gotta find that yellow eyed dickhead”. Then a closing shot of the Impala driving into the sunset with bloody Kansas playing the background. How did anyone take this show seriously back in 2005. How did it get renewed for another fourteen seasons. How did it become one of the most iconic series of all time. I am furiously making out with the cast and also stabbing the writers.

[verysadlesbian]

I'M GONNA KILL MYSELF

[stellarspecter]

[bklily]

I hope in season 6 Marinette commits even more crimes. I hope she steals a cellphone in every episode. I hope she breaks into every house in Paris. I love when Marinette is an illegal perpetrator. God forbid women have hobbies. Is it a sin to let girls have fun?? I didn't think so. Your honor my client can do whatever she wants because I said so. Her boyfriend loves her for it he can bail her out of silly crime jail it's fine.

[evercelle]

but the show must go on

[mangozic]

michael shelley I would die for you

[quirinah]

she dun on my geon till i meshi

[glassrooibos]

Everything stays right where you left it huh guys

[sclappin]

Man whose definition of "monster" is extremely flexible.

[the-phantom-peach]

modern link and zelda because they’re cute and i can do what i want <3

[bixels]

I watched Starship Troopers tonight.

[ot3]

'girlboss is out girlfailure is in' please please please can we discuss female characters in media outside of soundbites im begging you can we form complex opinions about the role of women in narratives

[llamahearted]

two people will go through similar things & learn to cope in different ways

print ♥︎ song

[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.

[agflashgamesenjoyer]

"babbity kate made a samantha video" "savywritesbooks made an american girl video" cool! unfortunately i have been unable to watch any of them due to debilitating This