I'm gonna get called ill for this by my friends on here, but I just need to point out how well When Somebody Needs You by Will Wood fits Desert Duo. ESPESCIALLY the second verse, cause in my eyes it really perfectly follows their different dynamics in each life series to a concerning degree.
Let me explain
First part of verse 2:
I feel like this is the one that needs the least explanation. "We'll meet in the middle like pistols at dawn," THE CACTUS RING? Like it just- I feel like it needs the least explanation but that might be cause I can't explain it BUT I FEEL LIKE ITS OBVIOUS-
Second part of verse 2:
It's last life. The smoke had cleared from the ending of the first season, leaving them with a new one where everything from the previous season was null and void. "Are we friends or strangers again, just a familliar face?" Going into more Fandom interpretation here, they still remember the past season, but nothing from it carries over. They're essentially strangers again, in a sense. This could even work with the idea of Scar wanting to team with Grian again after the previous season, almost like he's the one asking the question. [Again, last part being Fandom interpretation / headcannon]
Third part of verse 2:
"Well aren't we "us" sharing pronouns now?" ...THE SOULBOUND. They were quite literally linked on a physical level. It was just them [or us from their perspective]. Also not being able to separately heal both in a literal sense [in the facr that they share a healthbar] and in a less literal sense with Grian being scared of having a repeat of Third Life being with Scar again. They can't heal separately since they're physically linked, whether literally or with headcannons and such.
"God I don't get it, I really don't get it. Could someone tell me how to feel?" This line is mostly to do with my own headcannons / interpretation, but the I in this instance is Grian. He doesn't know how to feel about being with Scar. He wants to team with him - of course he does, Scars his best friend - but at the same time he doesn't because he's scared of being the one to kill Scar again. He goes off with BigB to try and ignore that, and even just to have someone else close to talk to about it, but that only just makes him feel more conflicted. Not only does he have to try and figure out how he feels about Scar now [whether he wants to be teamed with him or not, to work with him or not], he also has to deal with the guilt of cheating on him. He doesn't know how to feel.
[Sorry I went a little insane with that one]
Fourth chunk of verse 2:
I don't have a lot to say about this one, since Limited Life's only just started, but everyone and their mom is making jokes about how they're on their divorce arc so I mean like- it works. Just- trust me it works.
-
Just to cover my bases, none of this was written with the intent of it being shippy or romantic in any way [I'm not a big fan of hermitshipping / trafficshipping] but I can't exactly stop you from interpreting it that way if you so chose. I wrote it to be platonic and I just want to make that clear.
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Not posing Diarmuid in a sexualized way challenge
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me: [completely exhausted, about to pass out on my feet if I stay awake a second longer]
vs
my laptop: [just doing ONE last update before it shuts down…just ONE more update…just gotta load this ONE update before it shuts down]
FIGHT
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Does anyone here remember that time Disney made a bad live action reboot of Beauty and the Beast and then decided that they should just... 3D scan Emma Watson's face to go on the Belle dolls they made.
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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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if my selfies & nudes don't make you go AWOOOOGA then wtf are we even doing????
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Does anyone else also have a default fandom or interest that you're just automatically returned to whenever you lose all your hyperfixations
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