#what happened when be left?

[smoozie]

Grian and Martyn's dynamic to me is the main character vs the guy who should be the main character

[heph]

The tech guy in movies

[hinamie]

to moving forward

[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.

[juniemunie]

[Abandoned by the Lightners, his heart became cracked with hatred.]

Hitting a lil' too close to home?

[gunstellations]

its sonics turn! 👅

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 109

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck-” Tim chanted to himself, looking down at his cup of tea in betrayal. Was he hallucinating, had he been drugged with something? He had slept last night! 

Yet there in their own Lazarus Pit, the one in the cave not the giant one somewhere under the rest of Gotham, was a literal baby, looking just as surprised as he was. Of course that didn’t last, and its face scrunched up as it started to cry, which was his first hint that no, this was not in fact a hallucination. 

 There was a pit baby in the Lazarus pool. 

. . .

 There was a pit baby in the Lazarus pool. 

OH FUCK, there was a pit baby in the freaking Lazarus pool- 

[bet-on-me-13]

Harley and Ivy meet Jazz while she's Interning at Arkham, and think she's their daughter from the Future. Somehow.

They're not wrong.

Turns out the Fentons decides to test a Prototype Ghost Portal one day 18 years ago and accidentally made a Time Portal instead. Deeming the experiment a Failure, they were just about to close it and start again when a Baby was launched out of it and into Jack's arms.

The moment he looked into her Eyes he knew he wanted to keep her. Maddie was much the same.

They did Try to return her at first, but turns out the Portal was Unstable and constantly shifting between dozens of different TimeZones, so they could never find where/when she came from. She could either be from Earth 18 years later, or Mars 5 Million Years Ago. No way to tell.

So without any other option they decided that she was their Daughter now.

It helped that she looked so much like them, and that both had been in the Lab for 9 Months straight building the Portal so nobody would question the sudden Baby. They just told the Hospital they had an At Home Delivery and officially made her their Daughter.

They raised her believing that she was their's Biologically, because after a while they honestly forgot she wasn't.

Now Jazz is working as an Intern at Arkham Asylum, and has met the 2 Patients she will be helping take care of.

Doctor Pamela Isley, and Doctor Harleen Quinzel. Aka, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn.

This should be an interesting internship.

[gingerswagfreckles]

Btw if you blatantly lie about Israel or the war in Gaza and someone calls you out for lying they are not in fact "defending Israel" they are calling you out for spreading mis or disinformation. In case that wasn't clear.

[remcadll]

Wow crazy how it’s been two months since mha ended. what the hell was that btw

[jamietwat]

3/?

[classical-bluess]

Baby mine, don't you cry

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

God is anything funnier than people who try to send anonymous hate. It's like getting savaged by a small child that promptly shits itself and cries. Like oh, did you not like some of my words? Did you feel Bad after you read them? Did you want to throw a little tantrum but didn't quite feel brave enough to do it with your URL attached in case you experienced some Consequences?

Did you think I would do anything other than block and forget about you entirely?

Do you think maybe you should have saved your effort and told your therapist about it instead?

I cannot fathom what these people think they're achieving. Bestie, look at me. Listen carefully. All you will achieve is a moment's contempt, and then a block. Nothing more. Consider taking up knitting.

[karvviie]

(opening my 10k word document of mainewash AU content) welcome to my twisted mind…

[demaparbat-hp]

How does that first encounter go down between them in your Spitfire AU? I imagine some real conflicting emotions on all sides!

I would love to hear you ramble!! ❤️

*cracks knuckles* Alright, let's do this.

As far as the world is concerned, Lu Ten II doesn't exist and the Royal Bloodline ends with Princess Azula. The little kid that follows Prince Zuko everywhere? That's Ten Ten, an orphaned stowaway his Crew found and adopted for some weird reason no-one ever questions—the kid is just that lovable.

(It helps, honestly, that Lu Ten II is a carbon-copy of poor, forgotten Ursa. No one would ever think to connect him with Fire Lord Ozai, long may he reign.)

Little Ten Ten loves to run off when the Crew is on shore leave. He gets into trouble sometimes, but only because of his chronic inability to look away from people who need help (it makes Zuzu both so proud and so shouty-because-he's-worried. It's fun until it isn't).

By now the Crew knows not to panic when the kid goes missing for a couple of hours in a harbor town—which is why no one noticed Ten Ten's disappearance until it was too late.

"Could someone please explain to me," what starts as a mutter becomes a shout as anxiety takes over Sokka, "why on earth did we go into town to buy necessary, highly specific supplies, and returned—not only with a stolen waterbending scroll—stolen! From pirates, Katara!—but with a Fire Nation-looking KID?!"

While Ten Ten is having the time of his life goofing with Aang, out-sassing why-is-this-happening-to-me Sokka, and melting Katara's heart���Zuko is losing his mind, sanity, and temper because how on Agni's name do you lose a Prince of your nation?

But, sir, he's like three-feet-tall—

HOW, JEE?!

Needless to say, the pirates kidnap the pretty waterbending thief and her kid with the sharp tongue and fancy-looking clothes. Which turns out to be a Bad Idea™ because, well, a skinny guy from the watertribes and his way-too-young-to-be-bald companion? They can absolutely deal with them.

A Crew's worth of murderous Fire Nation soldiers lead by the unforgiving, terrifying, bloodthirsty Prince?

They are not ready for that.

[mobius-m-mobius]

I can rewrite the story.

Loki 1x01 // 2x05