If you skip a meal Senshi will materialize next to you w/ food at the ready
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pov: you interrupted his slumber party with spider-man
based on this
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Still figuring out how to paint feathers
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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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The Joker was apprehended, sitting on the ground as Batman guarded him, but the kid--"Bruce Wayne's newest ward, how tragic! Hehehe!"--was nowhere to be found. Nightwing and Red Hood desperate searched the warehouse until a shuffling noise grabbed their attention.
A kid, black haired just like the kid in the Joker's broadcast, crawling out of a pile of boxes. "Is it over?" the boy asked quietly.
Nightwing guided him to the only exit, unfortunately walking past the boy's own kidnapper. "Yeah, kid. It's over. Come on-"
Like a shot, the boy rushed the Joker and kicked him right in the balls.
The Joker wheezed like a dying squeaky toy. Red Hood froze. Nightwing immediately snatched the boy up by the armpits, but all that did was give the boy the height to attack again, punting Joker in the jaw. The clown went down and cracked his head on the floor. He did not get back up.
There was a moment of silence before Red Hood roared with laughter, his helmet distorting the sound.
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adventure time transgender character real????
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So. Norris! Buddy. Is there any particular reason you decided to read that particular file for everyone?
You know, the file about a man consumed by fear and guilt because he murdered the person he loved?
The file about a man who finds himself trapped in a walled garden, cut off from the outside world, with his murdered lover's voice forever whispering in whatever remains of his ears?
The file about a man who finds himself gradually losing his humanity as his new prison transforms him, slowly and painfully, into a part of itself?
The file about a man who finds that even as this transformation ultimately brings him serenity on the surface, even as he can no longer remember what he once was, "deep inside [him] beneath the roots there is something that still shakes with terror"?
Look, I'm just asking, here, but is there anything you'd like to say to the class, Norris?
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My redesigns for aged up gaang
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fuck it. sketch poast
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love language barrier
a fan comic of sanji and zoro from one piece, during the wano raid scene where sanji bandages zoro.
panel 1: sanji looks disgruntled, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he ties strips of bandages together. he asks, “hey. still alive in there? say something, wouldja?” zoro answers from off-screen. his speech bubbles are shaky, and his words are occasionally interrupted by groans or hitches of breath. he says, “do… you think… luffy feels… attraction?”
panel 2: a closeup of sanji’s gobsmacked face, shocked by the seemingly random topic. he shouts, “what?!”
panel 3: zoro is wrapped in a cross-pose in bandages with only his face visible. he says, “on the roof… i could almost swear he was putting the moves on traffy…” sanji practically yelps, “traffy?!” with a large, jagged speech bubble.
panel 4: a closeup of sanji’s hands as he continues to wrap zoro. he says, “there’s no way. you’re hallucinating.” zoro snaps back, “he was hanging all over him! and they were fighting and arguing and stuff!” sanji replies, “and what did you think that meant?! we do that, crap-swordsman!”
panel 5: a closeup of zoro’s face. his expression looks fairly neutral, though his eyebrows are slightly raised as he processes sanji’s words.
panel 6: the same closeup of zoro, but now his brows are furrowed and his mouth is flattened in embarrassment. his cheeks are flushed as he comes to terms with the realization that arguing is not always considered a form of flirtation.
panel 7: a full-body silhouette of sanji tending to zoro by candlelight. after a moment of silence, sanji asks, “mosshead. how hard did kaido hit you.” zoro answers, “pretty fucking hard.” sanji repeats, “pretty fucking hard, yeah.”
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"heres how mike schmidt could actually be an afton-"
"heres how mike schmidt could actually be an emily-"
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shenanigans
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