#and i am great at jazz

[jbarneswilson]

what are your three favorite things to cook? (don't stress.. if 3 favorites is too hard just give me three things you like to make :)

hi grace! what a fun question!

chicken thighs - it is very important that they be bone-in and skin-on so you get the delicious crispy skin! my kid loves my cilantro-lime ones. i whack the oven up to 400F/425F, put them on a baking sheet, lots of lime juice, garlic salt, black pepper, and cilantro (dry or fresh, does not matter). you can marinate them overnight if you wanna. sometimes i stab the chicken a lil so the like juice really gets in there. my kid’s a big fan of roasted broccoli/cauliflower/carrots seasoned with mccormick montreal steak seasoning to go with it or roasted green beans or roasted (or steamed!) brussels sprouts

broccoli cauliflower soup! the cauliflower makes it so deliciously creamy 😋 sometimes i’ll add some rice and/or crispy kielbasa (skinless tastes better!) to it. nobody is gonna stop you from using pre-cut broccoli and cauliflower btw. also, a good chicken or beef broth instead of water really amps up the flavor. or you can use your own homemade broth if, unlike me, you actually take those veggies out of the freezer and turn ���em into stock. (one time i was out of cauliflower and used a package of frozen cauliflower rice and my kid thought it was the tastiest thing ever so, ya know, do what ya want 🤷🏾‍♀️)

lamb breast! i fuckin’ LOVE cooking this! i make my own marinade (dijon mustard is the base and that is ALL i will say!), i marinate it for AT LEAST 24 hours, then i put it in the oven. i start at 300F for about 30 minutes (i don’t time anything unless i’m baking) then turn it down to 250. low and slow is best. i usually baste it a few times an hour. for this deliciousness i usually make mashed potatoes with unsweetened coconut milk, garlic salt, black pepper, dried parsley, and vegan cheddar cheese. i also do roasted broccolini drizzled with olive oil, kosher salt, black pepper and i finish it with lemon juice when it comes out of the oven

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[kr-210-r2700-prime]

despite minor setbacks (being out for 10 or so hours) we are back to your regularly scheduled programming

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Better Kate than never (dp x dc)

She drives in the rain, the wind whipping her face, her hair whirling in every direction. The red strands form a halo around her face as the engine rumbles.

Her sister is dead and her father is a liar.

She drives as far out as she can. She's not really looking for anywhere to go, but as she makes turns and twists, it seems something in her has already decided where to go.

The Kane graveyard is not lavish, but it is enduring.

She gets down and leaves the motorcycle on the side of the path. There will be no-one to steal it. So few people visit as is, and tonight she is to be the only visitor. Her father has likely drunk himself into a stupor for the night. It seems they are alike in more ways she had previously thought.

Her eyes graze her mother's grave and she brushes her hand against it by habit. Then she looks to the side at the smaller, delicately carved gravestone.

Her sister will have to be buried for the second time.

The thought is suddenly too much and she steps back, and away and again until she's running away and away.

She stops beneath a tree with reaching, sheltering foliage, and the rain stops pelting her. Her face is numb with the cold.

Her breath comes fast but controlled and her trained-in instincts make her look up and observe her surroundings. They are at the edge of the forest surrounding the cemetery and it is dark. Between the trees, however, it seems she can make out a glow.

She pushes past the branches and bushes, into the deep and the dark, her eyes on the dim light. She nudges one branch away from her face and finds herself looking at the source of the glow sitting atop an overgrown grave.

"Hello, Kate," says the woman sitting on the grave, her eyes a piercing, unnatural green. "It's nice to finally meet you. My name is Jasmine."

[notbecauseofvictories]

sometimes I worry about the fact that I'm soft to the point of bruising, but then I remember that this is increasingly a choice---as I get older, I care less about seeming "cool" or "detached" etc. I just want to talk to people and understand them, I want to help, I want to move through the world lightly, offering what I can.

[evilham06]

for my art class I got to paint a ceiling tile bc I am a senior (and bc I’m gay and awesome)

there was originally three garf’s but I think someone ate it :[

[hopeinthebox]

tagged by the fabulous @cordiallyfuturedwight and @jimin-gaon <33 here's the december list

apologies for being late again new year same me: @aprylynn @jiminsproof @pauls-mccharmly @thvinyl @visionsofgideontheninth @btsbs @kimchokejin @jihopesjoint @eoieopda @monismochi 💜 and anyone else who feels so inclined MWAH p.s. please do tag me anyway if you've already done it

[energeticpoltergeist]

i have yet again drawn something Fire Emblem related

still kinda sucky at drawing FE characters, but im slowly figuring it out and seeing as i have plans(which i'll hopefully be able to act upon sooner then later, no promises though) im going to be getting a lot of practice in my future anyways yeah, Chrom time

[well-its-kind-of-a-long-story]

I’m a demon, I lie.

[aniseandspearmint]

noooo my brownies!

the container just got knocked off the bed and they all went in the floooooor.

FIVE OF THEM WERE LEFT. FIVE OUT OF THE NINE.

I hate wasted food.

[blackjackkent]

My plan to take over the world continues on schedule. >:)

[angeltism]

They all sucked so bad No They Didn't I'm saying that because most of them are associated with probably the worst one(1) traumatic event I've ever gone through. but oh god were they SILLY !! silly guys and gals and critters

[lunapwrites]

Me: I'm gonna write. Me: [opens Youtube.] Me: ... wait. Me: [sees Mario Duplantier drum solo] Me: wait no-- Me: [follows suggestions to Tomas Haake] Me: I had PLANS, dammit! Me: [falls down infinite drumkit video hole]

[karlyboyyy]

Just a nibble 😇

[cleavetheclover]

Valorant Agents Music Taste & Playing Instruments

Brim canonically plays bass, as alleged in Breach’s voice mail

Brims main music taste is in classic rock but can also play upright bass for some jazz standards, used to play casually at like weddings and stuff

Brim is secretly a jazz nerd and absolutely will infodump about pre-1950s big band if asked

Breach plays drums since he lacks the fine dexterity for most string instruments, but is learning to play trumpet

Chamber plays solo classical piano and only solo classical piano. Likes Beethoven and Debussy, thinks Strauss is overrated

Kayo downloaded the entire Garage Band instrument library into his memory, plays drum sounds and calls it beatboxing

Kayo knows enough physical drums to play “badum-tsss” every time he makes a joke

Viper listens to heavy metal, dislikes pop-punk. She can play electric guitar but chooses not to

Phoenix played trumpet in 5th grade band, then became a theater kid so now he knows the soundtracks to like every musical ever. Hamilton is his favorite because it contains rap, dislikes sad musicals and will cry when watching them

Phoenix can improv rap like no one else’s business

Reyna’s acoustic guitar is better than sex. Self taught/a natural. Has never played it in front of other Agents

Cypher used to do karaoke with his wife Nora, but hasn’t sang since she passed away. A shame, since his voice is excellent

Jett listens to Kpop, has been indoctrinating Phoenix. She doesn’t play an instrument but has been recasting the choreography to work with her knives, wind powers, and various other weapons in the Amory

Killjoy listens to German House

Astra listens to contemporary classical and tribal/folk music from all cultures, is fascinated by work songs

Harbor listens to movie soundtracks. Thinks Hans zimmer is excellent but doesn’t listen to his tracks as standalone objects because he finds them to be so focused on ambience that they become monotonous.

Harbor sings sea shanties on the helicopter and the duelists (sans Reyna) join, much to Chamber’s chagrin

Fade listens to alt rock. Likes Tricky, Massive Attack, Rage Against the Machine, and Radiohead

Fade’s guilty pleasure is listening stalking everyone’s Spotify profiles and secretly listening to the things they do. Now she has a healthy dose of grunge (from Viper) and some dubstep (from Killjoy)

Raze listens to Brazilian music, mostly Carnival and axé, and enjoys anything else loud

Omen wants to play an instrument, but doesn’t know which one. Cypher recommended the cello

Sage listens to cpop and meditative music, two opposite sides of the spectrum. She has been teaching herself the harp

Sova listens to EDM, otherwise generally prefers silence. He hasn’t found a genre he likes yet

[qunaributts]

Adventure Poll!

Previous Poll

You stand, bundled cloak in one hand, unused poultice in the other. With a will, you take the single step required to cross the threshold, turning to look back one last time as you do. You see time warp behind you. With the sound of ancient branches creaking against a furious windstorm, your bark-skinned companion stands. With a will they plant themself in front of the threshold, perfectly centered between the two trees. Behind them you see two figures wielding weapons burst out of the brush, each of them astride a hart, indecipherable rage pouring from their mouths.

Your instinct to help twists your stride, tries to drive you back! But to no avail, the pull of the real has you inescapably in its grasp. Your companion--your friend?--turns to look over their shoulder, and locks eyes with you one last time. You met them minutes ago. You shared a laugh, or they borrowed it? For a second you shared a heartbeat, however the fuck that had happened. You'll probably never see them again. You think they might be smiling. You hope they're smiling.

You fall through the threshold at an awkward angle, suddenly released from the warp of time. The twist of your gait doesn't make for a graceful landing and you fall painfully on top of gnarled roots. The bundled cloak is knocked from your grasp.

With a yelp of dismay, and then a groan of pain, you scramble back to your feet and over to where the cloak landed. You tuck the poultice back in your bag and crouch down to carefully retrieve the last memento of your strange jaunt into... whatever fae world you'd trespassed upon. As you do, you notice the folds of frayed fabric have fallen away from what they were wrapped around.