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.

yeah, the problem is definitely the fact that this ask was sent multiple times, rather than the content of the ask.

and I dunno man, what made me think I could author and illustrate a children’s book published by Quarto Press?

what made me think I could create an exhibit for the Chicago Field Museum?

what made me think I could publish my poetry in literary magazines? (NO YOU’RE NOT GETTING EXAMPLES OF THIS BECAUSE I WAS A TEENAGER AND IT’S SO EMBARRASSING)

what made me think I could speak at a palaeontology conference and win an award for my presentation, beating out a phd student whose talk was about how he discovered a whole ass dinosaur? 

what made me think I could do anything at all?

I think the problem isn’t that I believe in my ability to create, it’s that you lack belief in yourself. are you afraid that your own work will be judged, rejected, mocked? mine certainly has been, but I keep going. are you worried that your work will be immature, unpolished, outshone by better examples? mine certainly has been, and yet I continue to believe in my illustrations and writing. 

what level of perfection do you need to reach before you value yourself? aren’t you allowed to be messy and human and passionate, and try things just because they’re fun?

anyways, I’m definitely not hiring you to play the mad sorcerer when this book gets turned into an HBO series after topping the New York Times Bestseller list 43 months in a row, so better luck next time.

So it occurs to me that I posted most of their lore on my OC blog (though a few posts on here have the story info) and honestly I think it's very important to note that the entire reason a guy from Florida is recruited to help defeat the demon lord isn't him as the hero. His younger brother (by about ten years younger) is the Chosen Hero and... not very good at it. So the goddess (Solei) who had selected the hero has to begrudgingly go back to earth and convince his older brother to help save her world.

(Also Reynold admits to Solei that "Sascha could never be a bad influence. He's the best impulse control I've ever had" and she really doesn't like to hear it. That's terrifying.)

More Custom Magazines

Custom Magazines

Puzzling Puzzles - Strengthening your logical reasoning skills to secure that big promotion? Just trying to protect your tiny mind from the ravages of time? No matter what, Puzzling Puzzles is always the solution.

Dance Diva! - The ancient art of dance is evolving every day. Don't get left behind! Catch up on the latest in the world of dance and learn tricks for boogying down. With Dance Diva!, it's always time to bust a move!

Pot Luck - Hustle, hustle, hustle! Catch up on the latest pool news and learn new trick shots. With Pot Luck, it's always time to get down and  hit the baize!

Splat and Blot - Whether you're that undiscovered author or budding artist, Splat And Blot will be your muse and prove its use to you - if only as 'doodle' paper!

My Zen - Body, mind and spirit. Slow down, relax and unwind. Enhance your well-being and find your inner self with your own personal paper trainer - My Zen

Kudos to @spacemansims​ for the wonderful covers

I didnt realize today was the anniversary so I don't have anything substantial but have this page of sketches I drew at 3am

fartballs termina or whatever you guys are playing

Shockwave with anyone.

1.) had sparkling before empurata and shadowplay

2.) was with sparkling before and throughout. Results up to you on how that effects whatever relationship and the possibility of the sparkling growing up alone with only post-empurata&shadowplay Shockwave as creator and company.

That is of course, if shockwave bothers dumping the resources into care however he sees fit

I feel like both situations would have very different consequences, but I feel like the first one has some seriously horrible moments to it that would be so fucking fun for us to see especially if say the kid is/was old enough to remember what things were like when Shockwave first came home (if he did at all) because I feel like that's horror movie material, considering everything I know of IDW Shockwave

But the second idea makes me wonder how Shockwave would be different if he had a bitlet so soon after a pretty traumatic event, and how it would change his plans. Because I don't think he'd write off an entire new person as illogical to keep. Sure I don't think he'll remain the primary caregiver at that point as to him it would be "logical" to foist parental duties onto someone else, but his plans span for so fucking long and he'd factor offspring into that

(I really like the first option though as there's a very cool scene to be had there, and you can factor in his ex found family students into this I think)

Putting this out there for the TSP and IEYTD people (please let there be some):

Swap AU where Stanley/Narrator and Phoenix/Handler swap places. A mashup AU where Stanley is Agent Bucket or something. A different swap AU where the British Voices trade places for a bit.

What if Phoenix and Handler were in the Parable? Hell, why stop there, put Fabricator as the Curator and Zor as the Timekeeper and Prism as Mariella. Would Phoenix keep their TK implant? Would Stanley gain one? Who knows, let the shenanigans go wild.

What if Stanley and Narrator were spy and support agent together? Put the Bucket in as Zor. Do it. I dare you. it’d be funny

writing a dgr canon divergence fic is annoying bc you think that your trial is going to be too simple and then go back and realize that that's not necessarily a bad thing bc the canon trials are overly complicated as hell and then you get to explaining it and realize oh shit actually they need all those complex details because most of these people have no idea what's going on

there's a post on my dash discussing who the most "competent" character in a fandom is, and some of the qualifiers for what makes someone "competent" made me raise my eyebrows..... so i'll ask:

what qualities do you think make a fictional character "competent"?

@maximummuses from [x]

He picked the nearest roof top for now. Just to get his bearings. A quick tap to the black domino and his lenses did a quick overlay of his Gotham over the one he was currently in. Okay... not too different... Crime Alley here apparently lumped in a couple of the neighbouring streets rather than just Park Row. And the Monarch Theatre here was larger; probably looked incredible inside if this one wasn't as dilapidated as the one back home. Tim hummed to himself before abruptly freezing in place.

Ice ran down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He was being watched. Tim was very well acquainted with the feeling, it kept him alive when he was on patrol and stealthing through a mission. The problem was the instinctual fear coursing through him because that was associated with exactly one person. One gloved hand lingered by his bo currently strapped to his thigh, right next to an old scar, currently aching with phantom pain as memories started to swirl in his mind's eye. Slowly, he turned around.

That... wasn't what he was expecting to see. Shape was just off enough that Tim was pretty sure that it wasn't Bruce under that cowl. The guns were also a big giveaway. It wasn't a surefire thing, for all he knew, this was a world where Bruce didn't have a problem with guns. But the menace of the stalking walk, like a predator narrowing in-

-why is he here and how?! Blocking the quicker blows and having to let the more punishing one's through. Bo staff to the side of the face. Let the punch to his stomach go through because blocking that knife is way more important-

Tim gulped. "Hi Jason." He did his best to sound as level and calm as possible despite the way he could feel his fingers trembling. "Are you open to talking first? I'd really rather not fight you when you're like this."

.

Jesse: Hey Papa. Magna: Yes, little ember? Jesse: Why don't men get pregnant with babies? I've heard people say that babies are put in their moms' bellies by their dads. So why don't men like you and Daddy get pregnant instead? Magna: Uuhhhhhh... Luck, overhearing and holding back laughter: Go on, explain it to her.

4004! is when he slithered up! the most important date to him! possibly also the year he met aziraphale (again)! the earth and aziraphale are so important to him!

me: man it's a little upsetting how my WIPs generally perform way better than my finished pieces :\\\ also me: continues to post mainly WIPs

anyway, Trigang +Bad Luck mid-gunfight that I may or may not finish

since we're all gonna die i have something to share with you all. i did not care for the mandela catalogue