#where there was fire

[theoffingmag]

Magic realism uses tropes — for example, ghosts — not in a way that horror uses ghosts. It uses ghosts as a way of uncovering what has been buried. The ghosts are pointing to something that has been erased, and they are revealing themselves in the corporeal world in order for the living characters to finally discover and acknowledge it. Magical realism is a way of mythologizing something that has been forgotten, and in that mythology the reader is now unable to forget it, because it is now myth. And so magical realism is a savior of memory.

— Q&A with John Manuel Arias, author of Where There Was Fire

[lygma-nygma]

I miss the pre-New 52 Tim and Jason dynamic so much. It was basically Jason beating the fuck out of Tim well being all "nothing personal kid I just hate everything about you, your existence and the fact you're breathing right now" and Tim spitting up blood going "what if your mother was a whore, kill yourself" and Jason just deciding right then and there that this kid is his favourite person. Then it just turned into a Tom and Jerry hunt across the city where Jason keeps hitting Tim with the "join me, be my robin" and Tim kicks him in the balls.

[leisi-lilacdreams]

[tododeku-or-bust]

"outrage is not activism" and just like that, I know you're a white person

[batcavescolony]

Red Hood: Kill the joker!

Batman: I can't kill the joker

Jim Gordon:(who only heard Batman say kill the joker) *busting in* NO! WE'VE BEEN OVER THIS. Batman doesn't kill, I fired bullets at you last time to get you to stop. You did this for me Im doing this for you! Back away from the clown and-

Red Hood: ???

Batman: it's not for lack of trying

Red Hood:...

[emyn-arnens]

Gosh I just love book Legolas. He's immortal. He's a teenager. Elrond picks him instead of Glorfindel because he's average and won't draw attention to the Fellowship. He's the comic relief guy and resident Little Shit, but he can also shoot a Nazgul out of the sky in the pitch black like a one-man elf anti-aircraft defense system. He wants everyone to know that he's, like, really old. He forgets the task at hand because he wants to look at trees. His greatest qualities are that he can become friends with anyone and his loyalty is unending. He shows up to Valinor a century late with Starbucks in hand and his dwarf bestie at his side. Iconic.

[junotter]

Part 2 of my modern avatar au, The Gaang (part 1)

[doesephs]

nobody trying to steal your jordan’s neil, your father (the jordan snatcher of baltimore) is DEAD

[meyaoyu]

“what side are you on” the side of the women

[ajuunisu]

Edit: decided to color it lol

Happy Valentine's to y'all lonely fuckers (i'm lonely fuckers)💪

Bonus+

[stil-lindigo]

scorched earth.

a comic about a princess who died in a fire.

(this is a sequel to bite of winter, a comic about Snow and what became of her after her death.)

--

creative notes:

--

all my other comics

store

[muffinlance]

The feral cat gator of a 13 year old freshly scarred Zuko being forcibly adopted by the foggy swamp tribe! Bonus points if they willfully ignore the fact he's a firebender and treat him as a very strange waterbender bending-wise

It was Earth Kingdom ships that drove the metal one onto the reefs, so when the little thing came crawling up through the marsh spitting and hissing and dressed in red, they knew it weren’t no earthbender. No matter how much mud it had tripped in, trying to find where the ground stopped sucking at its feet.

“Wow-ee,” said Old Earl, “that sure is one way of keepin’ off the ‘squito-chiggers.”

And they all watched from Big Earl’s porch, sitting or rocking, as them bugs came for the all-you-can-eat and ended up on the bar-b-que.

“Sure is some weird bending,” said Little Earl, who was taller than Big Earl, but when they'd been twelve and they’d wrestled for the title it hadn't been Little Earl who’d won.

The little thing looked maybe twelve, too. And he was little little. But he had that same look like he was going to shove someone’s face in the mud until they said otherwise, as he stood there all panting and dripping and just realizing they’d been watching him this whole time.

“It’s firebending,” the one-kid mud-wrestler said, as bugs kept pop-snapping into flames around him.

Old Earl cupped a hand over his ear, like he couldn’t hear. And he kept doing it, while the kid got louder and louder about that bending of his, but quieter and quieter about looking at them like they were his next bugs.

“Oh, firebending,” Old Earl said, nodding like he’d only just got it, when the kid had stomped straight up to his chair. “Right, right, Old Jane’s got fire-water-bending, too. Why don’t you take him to her, boys.”

“It’s not-- ugh,” shouted the kid, but maybe he only had the one volume. Certainly only had the one volume for stomping, even though stomping was what got a fellow’s shoes shoved down so deep in the mud they’d be seeing them again as mole-shrimp hats. Not that the kid had shoes. Neither did Earl, Earl, or Earl. ‘Cept for Fancy Earl, but he’d gone off to Ba-Singing-Se, to be fancy.

Anyway, Old Jane was the best at turning anything and everything into fire water, which was the kind of thing a fellow called his or her liquor when they wanted fancy folk to keep right on walking. Was really good for making shouty little firebrands take their naps, too, which let Old Jane get her glowing mitts all over that fresh burn of his. And the love-bites from the shark-wrasses that had probably been half the reason the kid had come a-shore all a-shouting in the first place.

“Nope,” diagnosed Old Jane, when the kid woke back up. “That’s just how he talks. Mother was a screamer-bird, I’d say.”

“You take that back about my mother,” screamed their screamer-bird, who had pretty good hearing for someone who’s ear had lost the same fight as his eye. Anyway, Old Jane had done the best she could about both, and nothing was on fire that shouldn’t be, and she had that extra quilt she’d been working on that needed a body under it

And the waves and the shark-wrasses had all the rest of the kid’s crew

So sure enough they set their little screamer-bird up with a nest and let him cry loud as he wanted.

Anyway, if there was one thing Earl Earl Earl and Jane knew, it was how to make a joke so good the other person didn’t even know it were a joke.

“Firebending,” their little fledgling shouted, and waved his arms around, like all that fire pointed at no one was going to get them startled off.

“A-yep,” nodded Old Earl. “That there is some fire-water-bending. Just like Old Jane.”

Old Jane wasn’t the kind of gal who showed off, but she wasn’t the kind who missed no cue, either. She swirled a lick o’ liquor out of her latest barrel and twirled it ‘round and straight into her mouth, and when she spit it out, it looked so much like the little bird’s breath-o’-fire that he didn’t even notice the spark rocks she kept on her fingers as jewelry. No one did, ‘til they’d seen the trick a few times.

The kid’s mouth hung open so low and so long, a moth-tick flew in. That was some kind of life lesson, that was. The swamp was good at sending those.

The Earth Kingdom sent troops a-stompin’ through, losing boots and scaring catigators out of their sunning spots left and right, askin’ all rumbly about those fires they’d spotted, and if anyone from that shipwreck had made it on shore, and talkin’ about how there’d be money in it for them if they made that last answer a “yes,” sounding like Fancy Earl and all his talk about commerce and living standards.

“Got a few parts of them ship people in the lagoon,” Big Earl said. “Probably still floatin’ if you want ‘em. But we better bring the shrimp-minnow nets, ‘cuase they’ll just slosh on through the turtle-sturgeon ones.”

“...No thank you,” the head stomper said, like sayin’ polite words made a fellow a polite man. He’d tracked those boots of his right up onto their porch without so much as a scuff on their mud rug. Even the kid had used the mud rug. “And the fire?”

“Oh,” said Little Earl, with a grin, “that was Old Jane.”

And she did her trick again, only less tricky, so they could see the spark rocks real good. “You boys want some fire water?” she offered. “It ain’t blinded no one who wasn’t already headed that way.”

They didn’t want any, which was grand, ‘cause she hadn’t really been offering.

When the last of them had gone stomping off back to the kind of land that let people stomp it, it took them two whole hours to lure out the catigators from under the porch. And their little screamer bird, too.

“...Why didn’t you turn me in?”

“What?” asked Old Earl, cupping his ear.

“Why—”

“What?”

“—didn’t—”

“WHAT?”

“—you—”

“Speak up, boy,” Old Earl said. “I never heard such a quiet child.”

And boy, did that set their bird back to singing.

[t0bey]

new game ➕!