Since a lot of animals have been suggested as Desmond reincarnation, I thought about a more angst path idea, Desmond as a feral child.
It would go somewhere that Desmond had run away from home around a very little age, growing up around (idk it depends of the character(s) you want to take care of him like an eagle for altair or a wolf pack for the whole Kenway's-Auditore's- Ibn-La'Ahad's as family's, even all the assasins as a big pack idk) but neither the Creed nor the Templars can find him, all they know is that he is nowhere to be found, since Desmond didn't go to the city as or try to get the motorcycle as the original. The whole Farm would have look around near forests, city's, towns, everywhere, everything, but they just found and old stuff animal (also yours to choose) ripped apart, and some drops of blood, no signs of fight, just the infance of the little boy left behind. From his things where missing some clothing and a little knife so at leat he could defend himself. Even Minerva and Juno start to freaking out, because time is running away to save the world, and their key is missing.
I mean…
Black Hills is pretty isolated and it’s a mountain range so they will definitely have problems finding him. Just trying to search the entire range is dangerous even for Assassins.
In this one, maybe instead of running away, it’s a training gone wrong?
Desmond did say in his memories in AC Revelations that they have exercise before breakfast and used the creek to get clean (I assume this meant that they would clean up after exercise before returning to the Farm) so maybe, in one of these exercise sessions, things got chaotic.
Maybe Desmond was separated from the others.
Maybe a wild animal forced them to run in different directions.
Maybe the weather turned severe all of a sudden…
Whatever the reason may be, it ends with Desmond being separated from them. He’s too young and lost so he keeps walking until he meets a wolf cub who hears his crying. The wolf cub leads him to their den and he sleeps there.
From there, he ends up being raised by a pack of wolves that acts… both wolf-like and not wolf-like at all.
What they find later on would be the ratty remains of Desmond’s clothes, dirty with specks of blood. Enough blood for them to fear the worst.
If they had the proper equipment they would have known it wasn’t human blood but animal blood.
They were the sounds of howling sometimes but they never see the wolves.
(Instead of weaponry though, there are articles that talk about how feral children have similar characteristics as the animals who raised them so, in this scenario, Desmond would rely on sharpened claws and teeth)
After the world burns, humanity tries to build from the ashes but chaos and distrust rule among them.
They do hear the whispers of a wolf pack with a strange humanoid being with them. The wolf pack is well known because they travel into cities. Many believe that they are traveling to cities maybe because the Solar Flare had destroyed their original habitat.
The strange thing is…
The wolf pack seemed more intelligent than normal canines.
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cant tell you how bad it feels to constantly tell other artists to come to tumblr, because its the last good website that isn't fucked up by spoonfeeding algorithms and AI bullshit and isn't based around meaningless likes
just to watch that all fall apart in the last year or so and especially the last two weeks
there's nowhere good to go anymore for artists.
edit - a lot of people are saying the tags are important so actually, you'll look at my tags.
#please dont delete your accounts because of the AI crap. your art deserves more than being lost like that #if you have a good PC please glaze or nightshade it. if you dont or it doesnt work with your style (like mine) please start watermarking #use a plain-ish font. make it your username. if people can't google what your watermark says and find ur account its not a good watermark #it needs to be central in the image - NOT on the canvas edges - and put it in multiple places if you are compelled #please dont stop posting your art because of this shit. we just have to hope regulations will come slamming down on these shitheads#in the next year or two and you want to have accounts to come back to. the world Needs real art #if we all leave that just makes more room for these scam artists to fill in with their soulless recycled garbage #improvise adapt overcome. it sucks but it is what it is for the moment. safeguard yourself as best you can without making #years of art from thousands of artists lost media. the digital world and art is too temporary to hastily click a Delete button out of spite
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the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"
just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible
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I enjoyed every second of this quest
[This art has platonic intention. Thank you for not tag ship!]
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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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fionna and cake drawings before and after watching the episodes so far. it’s nostalgic and somehow cathartic and poignant and relatable and—it just started
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there's something so poetic about coyote vs acme being the thing that causes wb's 'the producers' ass scheme of shitcanning movies for tax breaks to blow up in their face and cause them to turn to the camera, blink twice, and dissolve into a little pile of ash that their eyes fall down into with a little bounce
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people are acting like we’re saying creators shouldn’t be paid for their work; they absolutely should. and watcher already is. they have a patreon, they get sponsors, their videos regularly get millions of views which gives them ad revenue, they sell merch; they are getting paid. feeling indignant and disappointed that they’re asking us to pay for content we were already getting for free isn’t entitlement, it’s expected. they wanted to make bigger produced shows and now their budget can’t sustain it, that’s not on the viewer to make up for
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Dazai, in Fifteen, described the act of living as "we breathe, eat, fall in love and die". Through that statement and a few subsequent incidents, like telling Oda planning someone's death was romantic, flirting with nearly every girl he sees, and his fixation with finding someone to commit a lover's suicide with, we can conclude Dazai is a deeply romantic man. Therefore, the REAL tragedy of soukoku as a pairing is that Dazai is a very romantic individual and will not, cannot let those feelings out with Chuuya of all people, due to the mostly antagonistic nature of their relationship. In this essay, I will-
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A Persuasive Argument - dpxdc
"Great!" Danny says, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention. The dinner table falls silent as everyone looks towards him. It's a full house today and, honestly, Danny's a little nervous. "I'm sure you're all wondering why I gathered you here today."
"It's dinnertime. In our house." Duke mutters, while doing a very bad job of concealing his yawn. He holds his fork poised over the braised beef, but, just like everyone else, still looks towards Danny before tucking in. It's intriguing enough to wait.
"Yeah, no one misses Alfie's dinner." Dick says, with a brilliant smile that Danny can't help but return.
"Precisely! What better time to talk to you all than when you're all actually here!"
"Wait, I thought you came round to work on our English essays?" Tim asks, blinking owlishly.
"I'm afraid I've lured you here under false pretences, Tim."
"This is where I live."
"I would still really appreciate help on that essay though, I mean, what the hell is Hamlet even about? I just don't get that old time-y language, like 'Hark! A ghost hath killed me!' - absolute rubbish, what does that even mean?"
"The ghost never kills anyone in Hamlet, he's there to tell Hamlet that he was murdered. Have you actually read it?"
"No, but it sounds like you have. Tim, I want this guy to help me with my essay instead. I know for a fact that you haven't read Hamlet, either."
"So? We don't need Jason, I've read the Sparknotes."
"Hi Jason, I'm Danny, pleasure to meet you, summarise Hamlet in three sentences or less."
"Am I auditioning to help you write your essays? I can't believe you’ve gone through your whole school life without reading it, it’s good!"
"Hamlet, along with a number of other classics, was banned in our house because it portrayed ghosts as intelligent and sympathetic beings rather than evil, animalistic beasts. I didn’t even get to see The Muppet's Christmas Carol until last year with Tim! It was surprisingly good, and I hate Christmas because everyone always argued and it sucked. But we're getting off topic. I—"
"No, no, please go back to that, because what the fu—"
"Boys, please." Bruce interrupts, looking to the world as if he wants to hang his head in his hands. "Danny, you were about to say something?"
"Oh, yeah, Mr. Wayne! Thanks!"
"Please, call me Bruce."
"Well, that very succinctly brings me to my point, because I'd actually really like to call you dad."
Nobody says a word. Nobody even blinks, all as shocked as the other, watching open-mouthed as Danny pulls his laptop out from beside his chair. Bruce can definitely feel a headache coming on.
"Before you say anything, I've prepared a 69 slide PowerPoint presentation on why you, Bruce Wayne, should adopt me, Danny Last-Name-Pending. Please save your questions, comments, and verdict until the end, thank you."
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not "i ship these characters" or "i want them to bond platonically" but a secret 3rd thing (I want them to be forced to interact by the Narrative bc they would HATE that)
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I enjoyed every second of this quest
This art has platonic intention, please don't tag ship
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hi heres art so you pay attention to me now go read the tags
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