So I'm leaving work and something darts in front of me, maybe 10ft away, too fast for me to see what it is. Peek around the tree blocking my path and I see this
Just like... a whole ass hawk. Dude's gotta be about 1.5ft tall. Massive fucking bird. And it's just staring me straight in my soul like this, even as I try to move ahead. It didn't budge. And there's only this path back to my car unless I want to walk on a busy highway. So I have the option of Death By Raptor or Death By Truck.
So I walk in the poison ivy filled patch off the sidewalk. Guy still isn't moving. Still staring me directly in the eyes. And I do this thing when animals are behaving strangely where I'll talk to them, so I'm just like, "Hey, man. I don't know you. You don't know me. This feels really threatening. I'm just trying to get to my car, dude. Can I get some space please? You're a big fucking bird. I see those claws. You could kill me right now, but I'd appreciate if you didn't, ok?"
It didn't move until I was about 2ft away. Again: I'm as far from it as I can be without walking into the street. It clearly wasn't going to budge. I walk past, thing flies up (silent, btw. Scary) and lands on a brick wall a little further ahead
Anyway. Weird guy. Nearly shit my pants when I noticed a bird big enough to carry off a fully grown cat was just... there, staring me in the face, unwilling to move away from me, a human, something it should see as a threat. I watched behind me the whole rest of the way to my car, just in case this bird decided to help me shed this mortal coil. 10/10 experience. Super cool guy.
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
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Young Justice is always a little...concerned. With Phantom's living situation.
Now they're outright afraid for him, and Bart has decided it's time to Ask An Adult.
It was the little quips. The tiny little things. Stuff that didn't seem to matter to Phantom at all, or appeared to be normal for him, that he didn't realize weren't normal at all.
"Oh, better not hope my mom catches me."
"Doing what, staying out past bedtime?"
"Nah, using my powers; she'd vivisect me!"
"Another stab wound. Great."
"Don't worry Phantom, I've got the med kit-"
"Oh, I'm not a baby or anything, I can handle it just fine. Just gimme a sec to take it out."
"My dad has better aim than that."
"...Like, when he's hunting, right?"
"...At what other times would he be shooting at me?"
"Huh. Not as bad as my parents place. Look; they have a decontamination shower!"
"Phantom, this lab has been vandalized to the point of needing a hazmat suit."
"Did I stutter?"
Finding out each others identities did nothing to soothe the worry. Tim quietly told the others that every time he tried to run facial recognition, he kept hitting a government firewall he couldn't breach. Phantom never told them his last name, just his first, and 'Danny' is super common.
The thing that really did it though, the thing that made Bart snap and run off to ask Max, was when Danny had a nightmare.
He was talking in his sleep.
"No. Don't-stop. Stoooop. I need...my skin. Mom, no. You can't...peel off...my skin..."
Bart didn't even wait for them to wake Danny up before he was standing in front of Max, talking a mile a minute as he tried to figure out what to do, with Wally staring in horror over a plate of waffles as he computed everything that Bart was saying.
~~~~~~
Danny had a dream about his mom and Skulker arguing about how to skin him. He wouldn't really call it a nightmare, because it was just Skulker, but the scariest thing was Skulker insisting to his mom that it was possible to skin him with a potato peeler. Dream mom was arguing that it was not, and that from a scientific standpoint that was a really piss poor way to preserve a specimen.
He hadn't been begging them to stop hurting him, he'd been whining at them to knock it off.
But when he wakes up, it's to a room full of worried friends and an old man who calls himself Max.
"Kid, I think we need to talk."
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one of my FAVOURITE interactions is when aziraphale is possessing madam tracy, because when aziraphale sees crowley he says his name in the most loving, thankful and tender voice i have ever heard, communicating ten thousand words at once, the most important ones being i am so glad you're here.
and then crowley replies in a would-be casual voice "hey aziraphale! see you found a ride." but its so familiar, and immediately knowledgeable?? like crowley has just arrived but he already knows everything about the situation, and i love it so much because everyone else is still so behind, trying desperately to figure out what's going on. crowley and aziraphale though? they're there side by side knowing exactly what the other knows, no explanation or catching up required.
and then of course:
"nice dress, suits you"
"ahh! 🥰 this young man won't let us in"
"leave it to me"
the way they lean into each other??? the softness in aziraphale's voice as he says one little sentence knowing that he can count on crowley to fix it for him. and then crowley leaning and softly promising that he'll do this bit, don't even worry about it angel.
everything is just so reminiscent of an older couple who know each other inside and out, can always rely on each other, and can communicate their feelings and the situation with a half glance alone
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WALK HIM LIKE A DOG
@hellion-child you did this. Inspired by this legendary post.
‘It’s not illegal to go to the dog park, just to hear hot dads say Good Girl.’
Rating: M CW: overusage of the term daddy and Eddie just being a horny bastard.
——
“You know, this is fucking insane, right?” Chrissy laughs while Eddie lounges on the park bench.
Yes. He’s aware.
He and Chrissy don’t even have a dog and yet—
“Chris. Look at all of these great pet parents, taking care of these little doggies. Look at em. Wonderful. Stunning, very normal.”
Chrissy levels him with a glare. Being on the wrong side of a Chrissy glare is a scary thing, but alas his dog park visits are worth it.
“No. Look, listen. You’ve got all of these doggy daddies taking their lovely pups out for runs and walks and what not and then daddy wraps up his run and takes the precious ones to this here dog park. Woof.”
It really was worth it to Eddie, alright? There is nothing wrong with going to a public dog park to maybe hear a hot sweaty man coo at his dog.
‘Good Boy’
‘Precious Girl’
Bark bark bark or whatever.
Would Eddie ever talk to any of them? Absolutely the fuck not, but a man could dream.
He was bummed though because none of the hot guys were out, today.
Damn.
He is busy scanning the area to see if he missed anyone, Chrissy yapping on and on about how they could just get a dog when someone slows their run to chat.
“Hi!” She says. This woman is tall, short hair messed up from running, she’s got a bright ass orange jacket on, and she is most certainly Chrissy’s type. Thats not fucking fair at all, now is it?
Chrissy’s complaining tapers off. “Hey.”
They smile at each other, and this is truly unfair, Eddie thinks. This whole dog park thing was for him and yet.
“I hope you don’t mind, but me and my best friend just moved to the area and honestly, I think you’re pretty so—I just thought I would say hi.” She hardly makes eye contact with Eddie. So it’s clear who she’s talking to.
Like recognizes like, he supposes.
He can respect the straight forwardness of it all. Chrissy is just kinda staring at her so he speaks up. “Well, I’m Eddie and this is Chrissy, and I can confidently say that she also thinks you’re pretty.”
Both woman turn to stare and him, Chrissy with big eyes and the other woman with a smirk. She speaks, “Well, it must be my lucky day.” She turns back to Chrissy, “I’m Robin.”
The two get talking and Eddie is happy for his best friend, he really is, but where are all the hot men?
He’s about ready to call it quits when he sees a fucking god, running with a ridiculously stunning dog.
Hot people own hot dogs, he supposes.
This guy is—fuck. He’s sweaty from running, and his hair is fucking gorgeous, even after activities. Thats a green flag. Eddie is just shocked.
This is the dog daddy of all dog daddies. He’s wearing tiny fucking red shorts that expose thighs for days and—
“Jesus fuckin’—see?” Eddie doesn’t even care that he is interrupting the girls conversation cause this guys is—god damn. “He could slap a collar on me and walk me like a dog.”
Chrissy balks. “Eddie. We are in the company of a new friend. Robin doesn’t deserves this.”
Eddie simply shrugs and Robin laughs, “No. I think it’s hilarious which guy caught your eye?”
Oh, he likes Robin. “I like her. Get her number—“ He smiles big at Chrissy, before gesturing towards the fucking Adonis in tiny little running shorts. “Anywhozle. That one, look at him. On my knees in a second.”
He ignores Chrissy’s eye roll, and watches as Robin takes in the guy, before busting out in a laugh. “Oh my god—Steve?”
Oh shit.
“I—do you—“ Abort mission. Abort abort.
“Oh yeah, remember that best friend I was telling you guys about?”
She is still laughing, and Chrissy joins her before handing Robin her phone.
Eddie feels like he just got bamboozled.
“Chrissy, babe, I’ll text you. Eddie? I’ll see what I can do.” She smiles at them both before running over to ‘Steve’ and his—their?— gorgeous dog.
“No wait I—“ Eddie tries but she’s already over with Steve who is listening intently to what Robin has to say.
Oh god, oh no. Oh god.
Chrissy is just laughing softly into her hand, which turns into full laughter quick because Steve turns to look at them, smiles and winks.
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