#stop this ride I want to get off

[lyledebeast]

Aren't there enough calamities in the 2020s without me opening up entertainment news and finding new Mel Gibson roles?

Somehow, Palpatine has returned.

[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.

[alistair-blackwood]

for my money, labru is head and shoulders above other ships involving them simply due to the unmatched yap potential, i imagine them feeding off each other's energy like they're slipstreaming in mario kart until they start going fast enough to break the sound barrier

[cherry-bomb1985]

I feel like The Father and Hell both understand and experience love in all the worst ways.

The Father sought to create a life form that would follow and love him unconditionally. It wasn't enough that he had a great cosmic kingdom of angels who are unquestioningly loyal, no, he needed something that knew suffering and mortality and the threat of oblivion, and would still find love at the end; love for him above all else. But after numerous implied failures at that, in his desperation, he instead created the threat of eternal damnation to force them to love him in order avert that fate. Lucifer's words must have been like a splash of cold water, but by the time he realized sheer magnitude of suffering he had unintentionally set into motion, it was too late. He could not destroy Hell; he could not stop the cycle of violence.

That guilt drove him to seek a death that, from the looks of it, eluded him in spite of the hollowness consuming him. And now he is... somewhere, helpless to stop his experiments from consuming one another and themselves in a glorious show of blood and violence.

And then there's Hell itself, who seems to recognize love as an act of violence and cruelty. It is something that derives joy only from the suffering of other living creatures. God gave it so many toys to hurt and break and reform, and Mankind gave it new ones. Why would it understand love as anything but? It gave Minos a facsimile of the son he is most ashamed of, and delighted when he cast it, once more, into a labyrinth. Gabriel flattened all the souls within it's confines beneath his heel and gave those that did bend false hopes.

Now there's V1, tearing its way through the remaining layers and creating a spectacle of violence like nothing Hell has ever witnessed before. How could it not love them all for all the entertainment they've provided?

But deep within its recesses, hidden away from the eyes of Heaven, there was a Gutterman. A machine built for war, who eventually came to love that which it gave it life at the cost of their own. Enough to give the human welded within their coffin the mercy that both Heaven and Hell had denied them; enough to write a single love letter to them, even knowing that it would never be read by its intended recipient.

So, as things turn out, you /can/ teach a machine to love. And they will understand and experience it more sincerely than God or Hell ever could.

[crosseyednpainless]

i always thought i could be the one though i feel the endless pain of being and i am scorched by the sun

[magiefish]

Okay. So. I remembered this one kind of weird part in “Enlightenment” where Turlough tries to sell out the crew and The Doctor just kind of Stares at him the whole time. Like quite intensely. And, as a joke, I said to myself “I wonder how long he actually stares at him without looking at anyone else for” and decided to count it For Fun.

About 34 seconds. 34 seconds straight.

Sir. Sir please direct your big brown eyes somewhere else. Please blink sir. Please. Sir.

[allastoredeer]

Not me making an outline for a fic, knowing it's going to be a fairly long one, and expecting 2,000-3,000 words tops (maybe 4,000 if I'm being detailed. 5,000 if I'm being SUPER detailed)

ONLY TO BE AT 7,000 WORDS AND STILL GOING

This is only supposed to be the outline. Not even the rough draft. I'm just putting down the most basic series of events the stories is going to follow, and I'm still hashing this thing out at 7,000 words. I haven't even reached the middle yet.

Fuck me and my natural inclination towards long and complex plots.

But goddamn am I having fun with this.

One day I'm going to figure out how to write sweet and simple one-shots. I'm going to figure out how to make a short story.

But until then, enjoy my gigantic, monstrosity of fanworks. If you have commitment issues, unfollow me now, cuz all of my shit is long-term.

[orcelito]

So the thing about me getting more used to driving is that I have discovered that I am, in fact, a speeder. Primarily on the highway. Less so when I'm making a bunch of turns, bc turns still scare me. But me hangin out in the fast lane thru the whole highway drive and getting annoyed at 2 trucks blocking my way for 10 mins so I had to go five Under... idk going faster means less time spent in the car and I'm going straight Anyways. So like whatever lol

[7-oh-ta1]

As a lazy person, nothing make me more frustrated than when I start cleaning to avoid thinking. Like why am I giving myself extra chores

[jrueships]

WHOEVER THE FUCK IS RECOMMENDING MED PPL TO GO INTO RADIOLOGY JUST CUS IF THE MONEY, IM GONNA FUCKING gET YOU

[coulsonlives]

excuse me but what the fuck

[crowtrobotx]

could things PLEASE stop happening to me

[phagodyke]

wanted to go to the gym social tn but as I was getting my stuff together to go out, a friend said smth that rly pissed me off and now I'm too fucking angry to go out. fucks sake man

[islenskihesturinn]

I’ve started riding Fjara to help my dad with her tripping (read: he likes to ride with a long loose rein and Fjara ends up tipping forward).

The first two times we were still getting used to one another, she’s still trying to gauge why the heck I’m asking her for turns and to do a few steps backwards and walk sideways a little.

Today I decided to take a different path around the farm and Fjara was particularly high in her energy, so when we turned to go back her back curled a little and her tempo went up…

And I’m sitting on her all impressed at the energy but also please don’t do a happy buck, I’m still getting used to how different you are from my regular horse 😅

[itspileofgoodthings]

like. Nina listens to Taylor, moderately keeps up with the front-facing aspects of her life, enjoys her quality, has her minor critiques, recognizes her place in the current culture, can set her down and do other things when she wants to, and most importantly knows who Taylor is through her art.

[astriiformes]

Was supposed to maybe finally be able to actually schedule my top surgery because I had my second consult with the surgeon who does preventative masectomies, but when I called my surgeon's office they informed me they do not have a document from my old therapist that I specifically asked her to fax them right after my first consult, except now I can't see her anymore so I can't get her to send it to them, which means I can't schedule the surgery, which means it's going to get pushed out even later because I'll have to find someone else to do what I asked her to do over a month ago.

And I'm trying not to be discouraged but I have friends who started this process after me who now have surgery dates coming up in like a month or two and I still don't know when I'll get to have mine and I am maybe just a little bit bitter that I have to deal with stupid cancer risks and genetic testing and multiple surgeons and consults and people not doing what I ask when other people can just..... book a consult. Tell the surgeon what they want. Schedule a surgery.

And my chest dysphoria has been so bad lately, and I'm so scared of the surgery itself, and I'm sad Scribe and I used to talk about how she was going to take care of me after surgery and it was going to be nice and made me feel a lot less scared and now she can't, and I'm also sad my results definitely aren't going to look great because unlike most people I have to think about health risks and not just aesthetics, and I just want all this to be over with because the longer it goes on the longer I have to be stressed about it.