I keep trying to think of a good prompt for a Bloody Dew™ fic, but my brain literally goes feral and blank the second I think about it.
No ideas. No thoughts. Just Bloody Dew™ on a loop over and over.
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“ I wondered what it could be. What my true happiness could look like “
“ happiness isn’t in the having “
“ it’s in just being. It’s in just saying it “
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Not me over here having an existential crisis about how to draw Grimm and Auri smooching.
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Pete really is the best. Went out of his way to tell Kinn how to speak to Porsche, despite being utterly intimidated by him.
I have mixed feelings about Pete but that scene was a very good one.
Honestly, the entire idea of the structure of the bodyguards and how they work together and relate to each other is something I keep thinking about.
I'm especially thinking about it because of the other scene with Pete where he was with Porsche and he cracked the joke about being punished and he saw Porsche smile without realizing that Porsche didn't even begin to relax.
Pete is a good guy but he defaults to humor in the face of anything stressful or worrisome and then stops worrying because the other person reacts and that means they're okay, right?
And that's feeding a lot into the trauma that Porsche is experiencing. Because everyone is constantly making assumptions about him and about his pain and about why he's traumatized.
I was actually thinking a lot about Ken and Big might have responded differently if they'd known that the reason Porsche is upset isn't shame about being getting drugged or drunk but rather shame and pain from getting raped by their boss. No doubt they'd still punish him but I do wonder if it would have been different.
Would Pete have joked about Tankhun's punishment if he'd known that one of the reasons Porsche was breaking down was because he was raped and not shame for failure? Would Pete have advised Kinn to go talk to him if he knew that Porsche had been directly assaulted by the man he was telling to talk to him gently?
(no book spoilers!)
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i’ve been recently editing a show i’ve written and i realize that the most recurring stage direction is [Ophelia laughs] and i enjoy that you can garner that perhaps, before all this, Ophelia was a very happy woman
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Me texting my partner cuckoo bananas shit in the middle of their night
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IF YOU ASK “ARE WE THERE YET” ONE MORE TIME I SWEAR
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can I just say that the kiss scene made me want to lay down and cry because its so precious and they are babies and I can't even imagine what you are feeling if I'm feeling a fraction of it and I'm already overwhelmed like
it was a thing I was not meant to be feeling this morning and yet I'm so glad that I read it because oh my god Anmol
just oh my god 😭
🥺🥲 It is entirely overwhelming but I just 😮💨 here it is
It’s the fact that Ibhan loves flowers and he calls her ‘my garden’
It’s the fact that Kyda is so in love and so ready for this but she still gives him space
It’s the fact that he acknowledged that every time they were apart after they first met, the world seemed to implode around them
It’s the fact that they give in to this fatal attraction after fighting and bleeding and searching for each other across continents because something in their heart told them to find each other
It is the fact that he said ‘kiss me’ and she did it
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I hope in the next Life series Tango dies the most meaningless death again. (reverse psychology on the Universe)
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The anti-prom reminds me of a very specific highschool memory
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*you opening the love letter* what does your damijon look like, pls pls pls pls pls pls pls, i know it would be so cute, i just know it 🙏🙏🙏
here you go! thank you for the ask, this was a lot of fun to do! they're working on a case together ^^
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Thank you keemstar for providing the world with one of the funniest tweets of all time
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i will never end up like him / behind my back i already am / keep a calendar, this way you will always know
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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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