The secret good ending for FNAF ruin,,

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.

attempt to return to normalcy

I'M MAKING A MOVIE

My next big creative project just got greenlit!

Last year we made The Prince, and it was a gamechanger - next year I'm making a sexy horror comedy vampire movie!

Can't wait to get started on this one lol. Also thank you?! This happened because people went so gaga for The Prince. It's phenomenal.

Not enough joy and light today. Time for silly dadster and papyrus 🙏

Bonus:

Prompt 217

Babies can die if they don’t have enough physical contact. This is something that is known, but Talia does not have time to spend with her twins, and it’s not like she carried them thanks to the false Lazarus womb, so she didn’t even have that excuse to use. 

What she did have, was a near braindead teen who could be taught things through muscle memory. 

Which is how Jason ended up caring for a pair of toddlers between any training, even after his dip in the Pit. Well, he cared for them until he left for Gotham, to enact his plans, even if he continued to call them every week. 

But that wasn’t enough for little Damian and Danyal.

Where had their caretaker gone? Away from them? Where is Baba? Across the sea? Unacceptable. They will not stand for this! 

Which in turn, is how Jason discovers his the twins outside his safehouse window, having somehow made it to Gotham on their own- what the fuck, kids!?

Catching up on more recent FT stuff and um

EDO LUCY HAS A KID?

EDO LUCY AND EDO NATSU ARE MARRIED??? AND HAVE A DAUGHTER?? NALU CANON???

Also oh my FUCKING god look at him. He’s such a proud dad I’m going to throw up I love him so much

And the fact that Natsu gets attached to her IMMEDIATELY and goes into overprotective Dad Mode when she’s not even his daughter, technically (and Gray too over his own Edo kid 🤧)

Natsu: I’ve decided I’m taking her home with me. No objections

HOMIE DEADASS IS SIGNING THE ADOPTION PAPERS ALREADY. It was love at first sight. Natsu loves her so much he wants to kidnap her. Shut UP,

new dad Bakugou who’s going back to work full time almost a full year after his daughter his born and he now has to grapple with the fact that….goddamn, he’s spoiled the shit outta her.

well, he doesn’t think it was spoiling her. in actuality, he just created a routine with her, gave her every bit of his attention, held her when she cried, scolded her (yes just at eight months) whenever she’d babble for more puffs even though she’s had enough already. it wasn’t spoiling, it wasn’t. he vowed to never be that dad, to raise a snot nosed brat, one similar to himself.

but here he is, on a Tuesday morning three weeks after her first birthday. he’s standing halfway between the front door and the living room in full uniform, with his still sleepy baby and her even sleepier mama. she’s gripping his neck like he promised to abandon her, wailing and crying so loud and dramatically, that you can’t help but chuckle at her antics and how he wavers ever so slightly.

“You promised you’d go back to work,” you scold him gently, rubbing at your daughters quivering back when she whines again the moment he acts like he’s gonna pull her off. Bakugou frowns at you, and you shrug, smoothing her unruly blond curls away from her sticky forehead.

“But you guys need me.” He pouts, eyebrows downturned as he pulls her away enough to wipe at her wet face. she blubbers again, whimpering out a small dadaaaa noooo, that absolutely breaks his heart.

“And so does the world.” You smile at him, gently pulling your daughter away from the matching glassy red eyes who watch her go. “We’ll be fine, my love. Promise.”

Bakugou looks unconvinced, especially since your daughter reaches for him with another cry of his name. you don’t say anything when he sniffles discreetly, quickly reaching down to the coffee table to snatch up his utility belt that he dropped when she waddled out of her room in tears. he snaps it on wordlessly, and you go to turn to the kitchen when he wraps you both up in his arms.

“Love you,” he whispers against your forehead before pecking it, leaning down to kiss your lips next, and then your daughter’s fat little cheeks. He whispers another love you to her, and wipes away at her rosy cheeks when she pouts at him.

“Rub you.” your daughter pouts, the both of you freezing in shock.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, grinning. “She said I love you back!” Bakugou matches your grin, laughing under his breath as he presses another torrent of kisses all of her face. for the first time since she’s opened her eyes today, she laughs, loud and joyous and familiar. he thinks that maybe going back in today won’t be so bad after all. not if this is what he’ll be coming home to.

the way garak looks at bashir as he puts all the clues together at the end of cardassians. the sheer 'look at that little twink go (affectionate, sexual overtones)' energy he manages to convey in the background there as bashir passionately does the presentation of their group project that garak did 80% of the actual work on. immaculate

Day ???: Still got Uncle Fox and babies on the brain.

hannibal and will are like those young parents who think having a baby together is free therapy and will solve all their problems except they’re middle aged and the baby is the teen girl they willingly orphaned, one because he lost control and got caught up in his own wrath and love for righteous violence and the other because he thought it would be a little bit funny

How would Orel react to Werewolf Clay?

Either he found out during or after nature because you know he finally sees his father's "true nature" yada yada.

There is. Many things going thru his mind. his father is possessed or All of his dad's hatred and "evil-ness" manifested into this beast and he just failed to hide it from him that night or maybe this is some kind of divine retribution from god to his father!!! He doesn't know and he is worried about what. Might happen next. And what might. become of clay.

I have been reading dungeon meshi recently, and I have to talk about how important Senshi’s and Izutsumi’s relationship is. Senshi going out of his way to make sure that Izutsumi eats and eats enough, Matters so much to me as a person with a lot of sensory issues connected to food. Taking the time to change the dumplings so she eats, putting the medicine(it was ointment) that Marcille made so she would eat it. Knowing that she won’t eat food she doesn’t like and working around that, not treating it like it’s some big hassle, but just being worried about it.

It means a lot to me.

im gonna be honest sir for the longest time i thought you WERE a beautiful butch lesbian on account of the multitudes of lesbian art and your attire in photos and your lack of pronouns that would suggest otherwise

Sorry to disappoint.

So... Spreen and Missa were brothers. That's a thing.

And Fit married Spreen, and Spreen died before the divorce paperwork was signed or they reached long enough for it not to need Spreen's signature, so Fit is Spreen's widower. (Much sexier than divorcee, let's face it, even if he prefers divorcee - which he legally isn't - because it sounds like he had a choice in the matter or something there's something to unpack there I'm sure)

And so Fit is Missa's brother-in-law. And Missa is Fit's brother-in-law.

And Philza is Missa's (platonic, government assigned [*stares at them and shakes my head*]) husband.

And so Philza was Spreen's brother-in-law. And Spreen was Philza's brother-in-law.

Which!

Means Philza and Fit are /also/ brothers-in-law.

But that's besides the point, because Fit (and Spreen) are Ramon's parents, and Missa and Philza are Chayanne and Tallulah (and Wilbur?)'s parents.

Which means Fit (and Spreen) are Chayanne and Tallulah (and Wilbur?)'s uncle(s), and Philza and Missa are Ramon's uncles.

This all means...

Ramon is Chayanne and Tallulah (and Wilbur?)'s cousin.

And I don't know where I'm going with this, but it's definitely something.

last last year I put up a big fake spider in the tree in our front yard (we don’t typically do holiday decorations) and everyone completely forgot to take it down, so it stayed there for over two years or so.

eventually it became a fact of life. I’d introduce him to my friends— “oh, that’s Jeff, he’s been up there since last year.” he was a light grey-beige, too, so he blended in very well with the tree’s bark. sometimes it was like he wasn’t even there. and as long as Jeff was in that tree, we never had to take down or put up any Halloween decor, so it worked out well.

come Christmastime (well, after it, really) my dad told me to hang some big ornaments on the tree. i joked, “why don’t we just leave them up there like we did Jeff? then our tree will be festive all year.” but my dad did me one better: he suggested that, after the season passed, we took off all of the ornaments but one, and continually added more and more decorations to the tree for each holiday.

now to me this sounded absolutely hilarious, so of course, i agreed. i expected the ornaments to be whatever we could find in the garage or whip up in a couple hours, but to my surprise, as the holidays passed i kept coming home to more and more of them on the tree. dad had gone through the trouble of ordering them and hanging them up himself. he was a lot more into the joke than i thought he’d be.

now we’ve got a whole fleet of Easter eggs, a comically tiny shamrock, a heart, a large blue bauble, and one giant spider on our tree, and i could not be more excited for the next holiday. next year I’ll be able to look outside with pride at our All Hallow’s Tree, laden with decorations, and thank Jeff for all his service.