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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Hee hoo more of the fam! ( ≧ᗜ≦)
Ft ideas:
-Error having Geno's glitches when hes unstable (and maybe even his eye melting,,, tho you rarely get to see it)
- PJ's comfort food is just some weird concoction Ink and Error made thats just error's strings and purple paint and called it "homemade ramen"
It sounds so dumb but its probably a really good healing item for him if he lost his strings=structure somehow.
-Gradient and Error communicate through puppets. Both of them are too socially awkward when face to face so this is for the best lmfao
-Ink building lil mini metatton robots!! Did you know his dad taught him how to build machines and studying astrophysics? Its so he learns to be less dependent on his paints and powers. I wish ppl draw him doing stuff like this more ; w ;
Error by @/loverofpiggies
PJ is by @/7goodangel
Gradient is by @/askcomboclub
Ink by @/comyet
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I know Jack and Maddie's relationship in canon is probably MEANT to be seen--depending on the episode--as a pretty bog-standard, 2000s-era "idiot big dad and exasperated, smart wife who puts up with him" trope.
BUT
my personal favorite interpretation is that BOTH are equally genius engineers who are also equally on the autistic spectrum, with a specific hyperfixation on ghosts and mad science.
The main difference is that Maddie has siblings and female social expectations, so she had to learn how to mask in ways that are seen as sociable and polite and attractive and "smart." When she does bumble major social cues (such as not recognizing Vlad's flirting until Danny points it out decades later, or humiliating her kids by showing up in a hazmat suit at school), it feels more "socially acceptable" from her.
She genuinely loves Jack because he could not care less about her being Feminine or Socially Acceptable. He just wants to shout with her about ghosts! So the nanosecond she's around him she can yank the mask off and go chasing spirits with a toaster turned into a machine gun.
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Magicians way
A Zatara meets a Drake before the Young Justice-fication of Danny!
1/4 previous interactions
.・゜-: ✧ :-
The portal closes, and waddling in comes a teen in his PJ's, a space themed blanket thrown around his shoulders and hair dishevelled.
In all honesty, he looks like he'd just worked up and dragged himself here.
Probably what happened.
"Oh, so you get to call me at 4 am on a Friday night and when I do it it's suddenly a crime?" The teen scowls, glaring daggers at Constantine, who'd had told the big Bat he was going to call in reinforcement.
He didn't expect a child.
"Get over her shrimp," the man waves the teen over, throwing an arm around the blanked clad shoulders.
"Batsy, meet Danny. He's my kid."
Ah.
"Nice to meet ya," the kid yawns, literally dozing off on John's side. "'m gonna sleep."
At least the man seems somewhat regretting for pulling the kids from his impromptu nap?
"Sorry, kiddo, need some help here. Did Zee go hard on you during the day?"
Danny whines, but answers despite the disturbance. "Mom had to leave for a show, I didn't go along, ended up on an adventure that took a bit too much out of me."
John snorts, ruffling unruly black hair.
"One of the bat's birds will join us shortly. I needed a second opinion, minx helping?"
Interested, Danny peered up at his dad, raising a brow in question.
"There is a powerful entity currently free, I'm having difficulties identifying it." He explains. "Did anyone mess with Pandoras box? This feels like something not supposed to be on our side of existence."
Brows knitting together, he thinks. "No, I was the last and most recent one to have accidentally messed with her box." He admits. "But every monster has been contained. There shouldn't be one free, we would have noticed."
John hums, picking through his well used brown leather bag, grabbing a sack of ash.
"It doesn't feel like a demon, lest a fallen angel. It's unique in its own kind that I had to get you for help, it shares the same feeling as the curses inside of pandoras box."
Catching on, Danny stares. "You think one of her curses got away and formed a humanoid form, not much different from city spirits."
Nodding, golden glow follows the words the laughing magician speaks, answering his question with the usage of ash.
Danny looks away, knowing the spell already and meets the whites of a domino mask.
That's not batman.
Squinting, he recognises the vigilante.
That's Red Robin!
"Red Robin, right?" He asks, just to make sure.
Red Robin nods.
"Nice to meet you, heard some stuff, pretty cool in my opinion."
"What exactly did you hear."
"Stuff here and there." Is the vague answer, the bird only continued to watch him, slightly unnervingly.
"Well—"
"Kid! Got an answer!"
"Let's talk again, okay?"
He couldn't answer before danny left to go to constantine.
That was... weird.
"B, what just happened?"
Batman only shakes his head. Huh.
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