#but i wrote it anyway

[20dimensionsoftangerine]

Wrote an insanely short scene about the new npc

Very big spoilers for episode six

"Maybe we could study- okay..." Oisin lamely called after Adaine as she full on sprinted away from him.

"That went well." Ivy said when the Bad Kids fighter also fled, leaning on Oisin's shoulder, " She's just *adorable*, isn't she?"

Oisin grunted in response and stepped away, picking up the beer pong ball again and trying to line up his next shot.

The shot went wide, bouncing off the rim of a solo cup and flying across the room.

"*Oh*," Ivy said, making him wince, "Oisin, if I didn't know any better I would say you're flustered."

Oisin knew better than to respond but unfortunately he was sure his blush was showing and that alone prompted Ivy to laugh.

"Really? You found something charming in that display? Was it her blatant lying about her obvious financial situation or maybe her connection to the AV club? My my what prestige. I can see why it's getting your pants tight. Did you really have to off her *diamonds*?"

Oisin growled under his breath as another shot completely missed its mark. "Do you have to be an ass, Ivy?"

"Sorry?" Ivy put her hand on the table, leaning over so she was right in Oisin's line of sight. "Did I miss a memo? I didn't think we were here to make *friends*. My mistake."

Oisin stood up straight with a sigh and pushed his glasses up to rub at his eyes. "I haven't forgotten what we're doing. I just don't think we have to be mean about it."

Ivy snorted and rolled her eyes. "Softy. So you got what you needed from her, yeah?"

Oisin nodded and ran a claw over his tattoos. "Her mephits are rudimentary, they'll be easy to replicate."

Ivy smirked and rocked on her heels. "Ah, miss Oracle ain't all powerful then? Color me surprised."

"It's conjuration magic," Oisin explained, "wizards are much less skilled in areas they aren't focusing. I'm sure she'd be able to divine circles around me."

"And yet can't even see though our schemes." Ivy shot him a sharp smile that Oisin always hated. It usually predicated a horrible idea or stinging remark. "Might be a good thing you're so star struck, lover boy, throwing those fortune telling powers off."

Oisin chewed on his lip, weighing his options for a moment before electing to speak. "I know Kipperlilly is sure of this plan but do we need-"

"Yeah, hold that thought," Ivy inturupted, patting him on the chest. Her gaze was far away but when Oisin looked he couldn't figure out what she had been looking at. "Just get the job done and you can make goo-goo eyes at whoever you want. No judgement here. Now if you'll excuse me..."

She slipped off and Oisin was left alone by the beer pong table. Feeling like a complete idiot.

And a jerk.

He threw another ball. It didn't go in.

[ashes-in-a-jar]

Forget about torturing your blorbos, putting them through the wringer. I'm putting my blorbo in perfectly ordinary, pleasant situations. Their tortured personality will cause them anguish anyway, making an absolutely mundane scene into the most dramatic, agony filled affair as though the world is ending and it's all their fault

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"

just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible

[riddlerosehearts]

"Be Our Guest" original draft storyboards vs final film (💖)

The song was originally written by Ashman and Menken to be sung by the enchanted objects to Maurice instead of Belle. However, story artist Bruce Woodside felt that the song would make more sense if it was sung to Belle, the main character, as opposed to secondary character Maurice, and directors Kirk Wise and Gary Trousdale agreed.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC My Brother in the Mirror

Damian doesn't like mirrors.

He never mentioned the fact to other members of the family, but they are detectives and vigilantes, it's their job to be observant. Which, after so many years, becomes a habit.

Damian doesn't actively avoid the mirrors - he has a mirror in his bathroom, he didn't express any discomfort over going into a mirror labyrinth at some carnival they've attended (he expressed disgust over taking part in something so stupid, in his words, but that's a whole another story), and he actually spent a few minutes in front of the funhouse mirrors when no one was looking, watching his own reflection distort in various ways. He also has no problems with his self-image - he doesn't mind pictures of him taken at any time (unless it's Tim, but that's, again, a whole another story), he's drawn a few self-portraits that were rather accurate and he liked them.

He just doesn't like mirrors. For some reason.

His family, both close and extended, never questioned it. They did some gentle research to see if the dislike was caused by some kind of problem Damian was experiencing without telling anyone, but when they found no proof of that, they've just decided it was some quirk of his. Everyone has quirks. Dick doesn't like eating cereal like a normal person, Tim despises sleep, Steph is at war with any color other than purple.

That is, until one day, Tim witnesses Damian sitting in front of a mirror.

He is not even aware of it - the whole family is having a game night, and through some arguments and rearrangements on the couch, Damian ends up sitting on the left side of it, where his back is turned to one of the three mirrors in the room. Tim, who's lost the last round, is slumping in an armchair nearby, pointedly looking away from the screen where Damian and Jason are enthusiastically competing over the first place in Mario Cart. Of course, Tim can't just not watch it since he needs to know their strategies. But turning back around would also be admitting defeat.

The solution? Easy, watch the screen through the mirror.

Which is when he notices it.

Damian in the mirror doesn't act the same as Damian in the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim can see the real Damian moving around, shoving Jason with his elbow, fully concentrated on the game, and yelling something. Damian-in-the-mirror is sitting unnaturally still, the back of his head over the couch unmoving.

Tim forgets all about the game when Damian's reflection starts to turn around. Slowly and carefully, eerie in the way the horror movies are, the boy in the mirror turns his head around like an owl, his neck twisting inhumanely.

His eyes are green. Green like the toxic waste, like Jason's madness, like acid in cartoons, like the Waters of Lazarus.

Damian in the mirror smiles, his unblinking, gliwing eyes fixed on Tim, and his teeth are sharp and pointy, and there are too many of them, humans can't smile this wide.

"-im? Tim!" A hand nudges him in the shoulder, and Tim looks away from the mirror, finding Dick standing over him. The noise of the game room returns all at once, and, wait, when did it become quiet for Tim?.. He must have a strange expression on his face because Dick's easy smile falls slightly, and he frowns, "Is everything okay?"

Tim looks back to the mirror, but the green-eyed boy in the mirror is gone, and the mirror only reflects Damian as he is: sitting on the couch.

"Yeah," Tim shakes his head and forces a smile on his lips, "I just zoned out."

"Okay," Dick pats him on the shoulder and gives him the controller, "It's your turn now."

Tim takes the controller and turns around, facing the screen. Tim throws a quick glance at Damian, who had slid down on the couch so his head would not be in the reflection anymore. Tim sees the cold, warning hint to his eye, a clear do not speak of it message.

Tim doesn't like that the mirror is now behind him.

[thoughtsearches]

cis girls don't think about themselves the way i think about myself

i wish i could . be 100% okay with . being perceived as being looking like existing as .

you know.

but all i see in the mirror is a beautiful stranger until i have a bare face hoodie on and a cap on backwards

i wish i were in a spot where i could be free to be me. oh pain.

listening to peace frog by the doors.

wish i had people that would support me still care for me believe me

my family

wouldn't and that Hurts me.

my brother would. he would.

maybe one of my sisters but she and i

no

longer

talk

much

that leaves (🍃 nice emoji, wanted to include it) four (4!!!!) family members for me. i i i can't ever ever ever

i cant ever really tell any of them. i cant say a thing can i. i. i. they like me better as a g*rl. they wouldn't won't-- they don't.

i dont think they would believe me. i know certainly one wouldn't. she has an opinion on this, my existence and the existence of every trans person, that i simply cannot fathom.

i wish i didnt feel so lonely all the time! all i want is a friend that i can really talk to. and . i dont know how to. i i wish i had someone to hold.me pick me back up put me together tell me i did my best because i really want to say that i did because i should not have been dealing with everything that i was during those times and i have never had anyone truly there for me in many many ways so please, excuse me for trying to do everything on my own and thinking that if i cannot do it on my own it is impossible to achieve because That. is what i learned adopted from my youth. i want someone to hold me.

i wish i didnt feel so lonely.

[itsclydebitches]

Love it when the kinda half-formed observations you make about an episode finally come to the forefront.

Watching the start of "Dot and Bubble": Hmm, everyone in this episode is very... white.

Halfway through: The Doctor certainly continues to stand out, especially in that bright red sweater amongst all the pastels

Lindy freaking out about the Doctor and Ruby being in the same room together: I suppose that could be due to some cultural taboo about interacting in-person when everyone is supposed to communicate via bubble, but that doesn't track with what we've seen of her work day...

The "twist" that the chronically online, all white, super rich, entitled to the point of satire, willing to sacrifice others without hesitation, oh so eager to colonize people living in a literal bubble (TWO bubbles) are *gasp!* actually, devastatingly racist...

Yeah, that's not a twist. That's all deliberately interconnected. The episode didn't suddenly move from an argument about social media use to an argument about racism; the two historically go hand-in-hand.

[andstuffsketches]

vanity

[mrghostrat]

you've had too much of the digital love you want everything live, you want things you can touch you want something bizarre, old conceptual cars you want girls dressed in drag, you want boys with guitars you go ask your questions like, "what makes a man?" oh, it's 2020 so it's time to change that so you go make an album and call it dreamland

(au: spending his 50th birthday alone in lockdown forces semi-retired rockstar crowley to face all the thoughts he normally buries with distractions. when he realises all his life regrets are just confusion around his sexuality, songwriting his feelings is the only thing that seems to help, but he doesn't have the understanding to figure it out on his own. even though they haven't spoken since graduation 30 years ago, crowley knows his old school friend aziraphale is the one person who'll be able to figure him out)

[swedenis-h]

I take your “I don’t remember my mother” and give you “Luke thought Leia and Padmé visions were the same person”

[torsamors]

On Seatbelts and Sunsets - Hanif Abdurraqib

[introspectivememories]

was it casual when i sat in your lap in public? was it casual when i said "recently my heart is crying because you're leaving"? was it casual when we decided how your last name would fit with mine? ("yuki tsunoda-gasly" / "no tsunoda, only gasly" / "yuki gasly?") was it casual when we sang adele's "someone like you" together at your going away party? was it casual when i knew it was you just by touching your ass? was it casual when i knew it was you by smell alone? was it casual when "will you miss me?" / "for 2-3 minutes maybe" / "i'll take that. even if it's just 2-3 minutes, i'll take that"? was it casual when that bus was completely empty and we still sat right next to each other, all the way in the back? was it casual when i picked you up multiple times so you could dunk a basketball? was it casual when i begged to come over to your house multiple time and then you finally let me and we cooked fried rice together? was it casual when we played christmas twister together and i said "your big eggplant is touching my ass"? was it casual when we were pressed up against each other on a scooter going two miles per hour? was it casual when-

[inkskinned]

okay is she being actually immature or is it just a woman over 30 expressing a human experience you find to be immature.

like yeah. at certain ages... let shit go. im not defending the real immature shit. im not defending the karen you're picturing. i worked in retail i hate those people too. (once somebody got mad at me because she didn't like how our winter window decor was a snowman smoking a pipe. i wish i was joking).

but men at 57 will write books about how 17 year old girls are soooo sexy. they will invent worlds where women have to be naked for "armor reasons." they will write songs that treat women as objects. people rush to defend them. meanwhile a woman at 35 will be like "heartbreak is hard, actually" or "i feel betrayed by a friend" or "i am struggling with something emotionally." immediately people will say stuff like this woman is 35 by the way. by the way this woman is SO OLD to be experiencing this. BY THE WAY.

im 31, almost 32. the other day a poet was blasted online because at her "big age", she had written a poem about feeling unloved. top comment was "this woman is 29 by the way." this woman is too old to still be useful, by the way. she has to behave better . maybe if she was a good wife and mother she could stop existing loudly, and the story could continue on without her. this woman has served her purpose, by the way. she's so cringe, by the way. at 29 - so old! - she still hasn't figured out that her existence should be one of shame.

[princema-k]

semi-formal intro to my(?) new au: the Reinhold Mystery Journey AU!!

based directly from @dearesthershel's (not so glowing) video essay on LMJ, i wanted to really take the idea and try and run with it!! details under cut~

RMJ officially takes place 16 years after the events of Unwound/Lost Future, Flora Layton Reinhold is a relatively well-known detective making rounds as following in her guardian's footsteps as a brilliant mystery solver. A now 32 year old Flora (formally known as Detective Layton by her peers, Flory by her 14 year-old sister Katrielle), having opened her office a year after UF/LF, is being given her assignments by the Chief Constable and soon-to-be Commissioner of the Yard, Barton.

Joining her is her assistant and now world-renowned journalist, Emmy Altava! Now 43, she's mellowed out quite a bit since the Azran Legacy (though she still hits and hits HARD). Summoned to Flora's side by an unknown individual, she vows to help the good detective however she can, either intellectually... or percussively.

Together, they're thrown into a myriad of cases dredging up places and faces both old and new, as each mystery resolved leads them ever closer to the cold case of the mysterious disappearances of the Professor and his blue-clad assistant years ago...

.......at least that's the idea i have in mind anyway. i'm not the most skilled writer lmao

[warningsine]

Sometimes... little boys die.