To most people in the world, Gotham is a myth. A hidden, cursed city populated by the worst criminals fleeing justice, the most desperate of victims, and the most esoteric of creatures a seeking a place where they can live openly. It is rumoured that Gothamites have their own moral boundaries, disturbing to the rest of the world. Some scholars speculate that the myth of Gotham originated from early Celtic colonists; a particularly dark rendition of the fair folk that eventually gained a more modern touch.
The residents of Bludhaven, New Jersey strongly suspect that these myths have some truth to them. No matter what they might claim or deny to tourists who arrive searching for their mythical neighbours, everyone who lives there long enough has an anecdote of when reality was just not right. A field seeming a much longer walk than it should, something or someone that was there and then not, a spot that they swear just gives them chills. And then there were the strange visitors, somehow uncanny, who would say the most out of pocket things. Metropolans can sometimes corroborate about the odd, bewildered tourists. There are even rumours that Wayne Enterprises, a large tech company headquartered in Bludhaven, imports outside goods into Gotham, but these have never been proven.
Clark finds the Gotham folklore fascinating, even if a bit morbid. While Bludhaveners are the ones of take things to a superstitious level, most Metropolans, he's learned, are also quite familiar with the myths and rumours. Lois has mentioned playing games in elementary school with themes like escaping Gotham, or the 'it' person instead being named as the 'Gothamite'.
He's quite surprised when Zatanna responds to his musings with amusement, "Oh Gotham is very real. I studied warding there for a bit in my twenties, as one of a small cohort of Outside students. Disturbing place with some very weird and occasionally fucked up customs, but to the people there that's just normal, and Outsiders are the ones who are weird." She shakes a queasy look off of her face as Clark gapes, "The architecture and flora was amazing though, very unique. They go to great lengths to ensure that we don't bother them and they're very happy to be considered a myth. Though when you actually end up there they can be surprisingly friendly, despite their paranoia."
It doesn't seem like she's lying, Clark observes. God, if it turns out Lois' childhood boogeymen are actually real, he can't wait to see the look on her face when he tells her.
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I like to think that Vulcans who come to understand that Humans just can’t try to process emotions the same way as them, it’s just healthiest to let it out in harmless ways, decide that venting and stuff should be taken just as seriously as Vulcan’s meditation time, and will encourage the Humans around them to complain about what’s upsetting them
People who are used to aloof Vulcans who avoid Humans at all cost running into one comforting a Human
“-and then they said my cheesecake was subpar, and they didn’t even bring a dish!!!”
“The purpose of this event was that every participant brings a food item of sorts, correct?”
“Yeah!!”
“And they did not follow this rule while insulting dishes that were brought?”
“Mostly just my dish but yeah >:(“
“How illogical”
“That’s what I’m saying!!!”
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i think possibly my favorite anakinism and one i think about a rather unhealthy amount is his body language and how he almost always looks viscerally uncomfortable and vaguely like a child who is scared of getting slapped. even when he’s being confrontational he looks sooo defensive like wow girl you have never fully processed anything that’s happened to you and you will carry the weight of it forever
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doylist explanation for why Gidel is only in Fellow's non-idle lesson animations: probably something about space constraints and making sure two sprites in one seat aren't covering anyone else when they're not in focus
watsonian explanation for why Gidel is only in Fellow's non-idle lesson animations: he snuck in and is hiding from the teachers, don't give him away 🤫
(I've reached my limit of unsuccessful attempts at pulling them before I need to save keys for Halloween, so I've been living vicariously through youtube videos...but the fact that Gidel just pops up from under the desk to wave his arms around happily is really testing my resolve. D: I'm gonna die when they finally get to do alchemy...)
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this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.
good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.
sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.
so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.
one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.
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