By the way, for like 0.5 people who are interested, I found this little creepy song from ep.19 of Spirealm, in the door about the Drum and the Sisters
It's by United Idol, called A Tỷ Cổ (阿姐鼓), "Sister's Drum" I think
There are Vietnamese subs and pinyin though no English, but you can translate it yourself because I'm lazy and it's kind of spoiler I think
Edit: OK, I changed my mind, so here's a transcript and translation (I used google translate so apologies for any mistakes)
月升起 雨 落下 Yuè shēng qǐ yǔ luòxià)
阿姐不說話 ā jiě bù shuōhuà)
銀髮釵 yínfà chāi
白臉頰 bái liǎnjiá
身上开紅花 shēnshang kāi hónghuā
咚咚咚咚咚咚 dōng dōng dōng dōng dōng dōng
阿姐在説話 ā jiě zài shuōhuà
不要怕,不要怕 bùyào pà, bùyào pà
不要忘了她 bùyào wàngle tā
The moon rises up
And the rain falls down
The sister is silent
Silver hairpin
White cheeks
Red flowers blooming on her body
Dong dong dong dong dong dong
Sister is talking now
Don't be afraid, don't be afraid
don't forget about her
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ARTISTS FOR PALESTINE 🇵🇸 - On the 6th and 9th of March, I'll be doing art requests on stream with other notable artists to raise money for Operation Olive Branch and the PCRF.
I'm incredibly lucky to be counting quite a few big names in the roster, including known Jesus and Odysseus enthusiast @wolfythewitch, the extraordinary fanartist @denimcatfish, and the incredibly talented @troubledminnesotan, as well as Lilypichu from OfflineTV.
You'll be able to watch the streams on the day of the event either on my twitch channel here, or via the links provided by the artists below.
Lilypichu
Cuptoast
Akairosu_
Sevvanto
Wolfythewitch
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Slightly Crack Batfam AU
Duke, shortly after being adopted, finds an old demon summoning circle burned into the floor under a rug in one of the rooms.
That, combined with some of the literature he finds laying around, leads him to conclude that someone in his new family is secretly a demon and he starts trying to figure out who.
Could it be Bruce, the literal demon of the night?
Dick, who bends and flips effortlessly in ways no normal human could?
Jason seems the most likely, as he climbed out of his own grave, but to be fair, he'd never actually seen Tim sleep.
And then there was Damian.
He never would have guessed that the demon is actually Alfred, summoned by a desperate, distraught Bruce the night of his parents' deaths.
Originally, their deal was just for Alfred to help Bruce get his revenge.
The reason he stuck around, though?
He realized he needed to make sure that Bruce and his collection of equally crazy orphans stayed OUT of the afterlife (and therefore AWAY from the throne of hell, which he has no doubt someone would eventually take) and decided to stay on as their oddly perfect butler.
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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.
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