black phillip briefly appears in human form in the VVitch, during the “wouldst thou live deliciously?” scene, but is obscured in darkness. you never get a good look at his appearance or costume folks, I am delighted
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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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"Is black the absence of light - or the presence of color?"
the darkness in his eyes is from the absence of any light that would usually find the color underneath...
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im bored of animal crossing will be drawing gj again will be mental illness-ing once more.
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listen. usually i’m all about saying ‘fuck canon’ and doing whatever i want, yk?
but like. kataang is just SO GOOD !! THEYRE SO CUTE AND THEY BUILD UP THE RELATIONSHIP THROUGHOUT THE SEASONS AND THEYRE JUST PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER!!!
they are like percabeth-level soulmates. my favs fr
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male authors, writing m/m friendships: their bond will develop through hundreds of chapters, we will get to see each stage of their budding relationship, they'll constantly be in each other thoughts, their first instinct will always be to reach for the other, their first worry will always be the other's safety, they'll spend every minute of the day together, they'll be complete opposites and yet perfectly compliment each other, they will put everything they ever loved in risk just to keep the other safe, they will give their life without hesitation to save the other's, they will fight and argue and tease and joke around but they will always be at each other's side at the end of the day, they will plan to spend the rest of their lives together, sharing the happy moments and the hard times, the idea of being without the other being unthinkable, the thought of being always together coming naturally, as easy as breathing.
the same male authors, writing m/f romance: she'll like,, smile once at him and he'll start thinking of marrying her and having children with her idk
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Ended up pirating all of Hazbin for the sake of my younger days (used to be a fan when I was around 14/15, before all the stuff with Viv came out) and I am so surprised by how I felt... nothing for the most part. Like a lot of the show's storylines feel like they was crammed in there with no real pacing. A lot of this should have been season 2 territory, which is a sentiment I've seen echoed around, but also... it feels as if the show is trying to be episodic while also having a long narrative thread, which just doesn't work with just 8 episodes. Especially not when paced like this. So I kinda ended up feeling nothing for the most part. All the events got a "Oh, great, so what?" reaction out of me because there was little to no buildup to most of them.
Sir Pentious was always a fave of mine so I was glad to see they kept him around and, though I think we should have had more episodes with him as a villain, I think how he ended up was fitting for what little of an arc he had. I am livid about what they did to Cherri and Mimzy.
I fucking loved Mimzy, I have no idea why they sent her away -- having someone like her at the Hotel would have been a blast considering how the others are already on the road to redemption. She would have balanced it out by being a regular sinner, someone who doesn't care about redemption and won't probably ever care unless it's in her best interests to. Plus her friendship with Alastor was quite cute, they bounce off of each other very well imo. Plus I could see her have a bit of a conflict with both Charlie and Vaggie because of her ways of acting. I'm so sorry they took that from you girlboss.
And Cherri... dear lord where WAS she? She should have been a lot more present. I used to like her relationship with Angel and I even think Cherrisnake is cute conceptually, but both these relationship had... little to no room to breathe imo.
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grimm – batman: legends of the dark knight #149
[ID: a panel sequence of young Dick Grayson just two months after his parents' murders. He's sulking at the dining table in the grandiose Wayne Manor. The dinner is taking place in front of a lit fireplace that causes the entire room to have a soft, bronze glow to it. The table itself is long and decorated and Bruce Wayne is sitting on the opposite end of it. Alfred Pennyworth prompts, “More mashed potatoes, Master Dick—?” But Dick is too busy thinking about a young criminal he ran into when he snuck out earlier. He quietly mutters the taunt she told him, “‘Spoiled brat in a circus suit’—?” Alfred asks, “Was that a yes or a no?” The pouting child brusquely tells him, ”no,” which causes the butler to clear his throat. Dick begrudgingly corrects himself, “No thank you, Alfred.” Alfred responds, “As you wish, Master Dick.”
But Dick is already uttering another taunt under his breath, “‘Lap of luxury’!” Bruce leans forward slightly and asks if everything is okay but Dick dismisses his concern. He excuses, “I'm... I'm not very hungry, Bruce. Is it okay if I go to my room?” Despite his obvious qualms, Bruce awkwardly smiles and replies, “Uh... Of course. Certainly.” Dick gets up as Alfred tells him the food will be in the refrigerator if he gets hungry later but Dick just ‘uh-huh’s him as he walks away. With the child upstairs, Bruce immediately stands up and paces. He stops in front of the fireplace and stares into the blaze as he monologues his worries, “Maybe this was a mistake. What in the world made me think I could raise a boy? I don't know the first thing about it! I've always been a loner! I don't have the knowledge... or the disposition... to make this work.” Alfred wryly asks, “Are you addressing the fireplace, Sir—or me?” But Bruce stresses his demur without looking at him, “His parents are dead, Alfred! What gives me the temerity to believe I can replace them in his life?”
Alfred solemnly reassures, “I asked myself the same questions once. What in the world did a butler know about raising a young man who'd just lost the two people he loved most in the world? But strangely enough, Sir—I adapted. I learned. I learned because I wanted to... Because I cared. And... despite some difficulties along the way—I think the young man in question turned out splendidly. And I think Master Dick will too.” Bruce doesn't say anything but he his eyes closed in thought as Alfred talks before looking at him with a soft smile. He straightens his posture when Alfred finishes and puts his hand on his shoulder, silently grateful for the man's fatherly reassurance and support once again. END ID]
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I was curious and
I’m sorry are we looking at the same man here?
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playing musical chairs with the high council seats again, while refining this timeline, and it, uh, it's kinda funny to look at because you have 42 - 39BBY going like this:
42BBY: Dooku leaves Jedi Order, opening up a seat on the High Council
41BBY: Jocasta Nu on the High Council (seen in Jedi: Fallen Order: Dark Temple 1)
40BBY: Qui-Gon offered seat on council.
Qui-Gon & Obi-Wan ordered to Pijal.
Rael & Qui-Gon gossip about Dooku's order-leaving.
Dooku finally calls Rael back, re 'new power' he's discovered aka the dark side.
39BBY: Sifo-Dyas joins the High Council.
i think it's hilarious if the chain goes:
Dooku joins High Council.
Dooku leaves High Council, in what may be the shortest tenure anyone has achieved, at least until 19BBY and Anakin Skywalker lasts a whole thirty-three or so hours.
Jocasta takes his seat as a temporary measure, given implications that she 'traded the High Council seat for the Archives' back when she was ~ 42.
High Council agrees (except Yoda) to offer Qui-Gon the chair. Jocasta wants to go back to her Archives, she cannot have her attention split. Yesterday, she caught a title that had a semi-colon instead of a colon on its database entry. This cannot be tolerated!
Qui-Gon declines.
High Council offers Sifo-Dyas the chair. He probably does a 'who, me?' little bit of mime before letting out a little cackle in the library break room when telling Jocasta.
Sifo-Dyas accepts, joins High Council, rubs his little hands together in glee.
i call it the bogan's advocate chair. it's the troublemakers' chair. the heretic chair.
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Hello. Can I request movies/series adaptations of Lancelot? (old/new/forgotten ones)
hello!
lancelot is a big focus in the majority of adaptations. honestly? not too shabby in most of them! here's what i liked best.
Movies:
Knights of The Round Table (1953)
Sword of Lancelot (1963)
Camelot (1967)
Lancelot du Lac (1974)
Monty Python and The Holy Grail (1975)
Excalibur (1981)
Merlin and The Sword (1985)
King Arthur (2004)
Night at The Museum: Secret of The Tomb (2014)
TV Shows:
The Adventures of Sir Lancelot (1956–1957)
BBC The Legend of King Arthur (1979)
BBC Merlin (2008–2012)
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I know people often speculate about Crocodile and if that is his "real name", either implying he has a deadname or his name is another one of those Hidden Ds (much like Roger and Law)
And like. This is just me but personally I would prefer it if he didn't have a deadname at all. It already grinds my gears when people use Sanji's "real name" when he himself hates it and doesn't want to be called by it, and so god knows if Crocodile is trans then the fandom misgendering is going to be obnoxious enough, you don't need to add a """real name""" into that mix
So. Personally, I would prefer it if Crocodile really was his birthname. It would just help us avoid some toxicity, ya feel me? Like people can't deadname him if he has no deadname to begin with?
That said.
I do find it interesting how Crocodile never actually introduces himself during the story to like. Anyone. Like we never see him go "yes hello you may call me Sir Crocodile" or anything
In fact, like, very specifically, when we finally get Crocodile's face reveal in Chapter 155, he explicitly says
"Call me what you will"
Of course, the citizens of Nanohana had just been calling him a 'hero', 'desert king' and 'the Guardian Deity of Alabasta' in the previous page, so his comment is mostly just in reference to the various titles people were shouting out rather than his actual name
And to be fair, the dude is Extremely Famous, he doesn't have to introduce himself because everybody already knows who he is
But it's still an interesting detail, isn't it?
(Also tangentially related, but Crocodile never seems to object to people calling him by cutesy nicknames either? Like to be fair, he probably couldn't object to Ivankov calling him "Crocoboy" to begin with, but he never seemed to mind Bon-chan calling him "Zero-chan" repeatedly either, nor did he object to Buggy's "Cro-chan" 🤔)
If nothing else though, considdering even his former bounty was associated with the name we know him by, it's possible that even if he had a deadname, "Crocodile" could be his "pirate nickname" that he chose to roll with. Kind of like "Strawhat" or "Blackbeard" or "Hawkeyes" etc, a title people use so often you kind of forget the person's actual name
Or he might have that Hidden D. Which, if he did, I'd be more inclined to believe would be more like with Law (where he might've been told as a child to keep it a secret). Instead of the whole "names being merged into one to hide the D" like with Roger, since that one was a specific, intentional move from the World Government
The only thing about the Hidden D is that. I just. I think it'd be a little silly. Like. Crocodile doesn't have to be a part of the D clan in my mind. Like I don't need that twist.
But to be fair, there is an argument to be made for Crocodile being a D. Like if his goal is to destroy the WG and the World Nobles (that being the reason he wanted military force and Pluton to begin with) then ARGUABLY it would be fitting for him to be a D, since the D clan are the "Natural Enemies of the Gods".
Also, there's the whole trend of D clan members always dying with a smile on their face. Like sure Crocodile hasn't died (yet) but he definitely went to Impel Down (hell) with a big ol' smirk on his mugshot (chapter 413 cover), which is close enough. So there is an argument to be made for Crocodile having a fullname with a D that's been kept a secret
I dunno, these details are interesting to me
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finally able to kiss my demon boys ♡ well, some of them at least...
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