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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This is a PSA for all the writers who exclusively write only fluff and angst:
we love you. we still read your fics. no we don't care if it doesn't have smut in it. it is still valid and it is beautiful. thank you for existing. have a good day.
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thinking of pre canon arthur who was lonely and unloved and abused; of a teenage boy spending his nights in the cold believing that he killed his mother and is nothing but a disappointment to his father.
merlin walking into camelot was the warmest spring of his life skfgskjaf
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the biggest problem with tos’ episodic format is that the episode usually ends pretty quickly after the conflict resolves and then they never really talk about it again - no matter how intense or harrowing it was
which means that we don’t get to actually *see* the interpersonal fallout of bones being diagnosed with and cured from a previously-incurable terminal illness (that he didn’t even want to tell jim and spock he had), and then just four episodes later drugging them so that he can go be tortured (and likely die) instead of spock, and so jim doesn’t have to make the choice between them.
did they talk about it? beyond just a standard debrief and a “never fucking do that again bones i swear to god i mean it this time”? did they make it the captains’ quarters for the debrief, only for mccoy to be pulled into a crushing, trembling hug as soon as the door shut while jim tried to assure himself that bones was still here, was still breathing? spock hovering nearby - a hand gently coming to rest on his shoulder?
why didn’t mccoy want to tell them about the xenopolycythemia, anyways? to try and hold onto a few more normal-ish months before every time they looked at him their eyes would be filled with grief - mourning a man they hadn’t yet lost? the same reason he ran away; to spare them what he went through with his father?
only for him to immediately turn around and throw himself back to the wolves to (almost) die right in front of them anyways
i don’t really know how they handled it. whether they talked about it and attempted to soothe the hurt, or just resolutely tried to bottle it up.
but i do know this: spock eventually came back from gol because jim simply (though accidentally) called out for him in a moment of need. bones only came back because jim personally drafted him back into starfleet
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Let Danny’s Parents Be Criminals
I hate the reveal gone wrong trope in the dpxdc fandom because we know Jack and Maddie end up supporting Danny and Dani in the end. His parents have some major flaws but wanting to torture their actual child isn’t one. What they are guilty of is going way too hard on any plan they cook up without thinking of the consequences.
If I were writing a dpxdc fic and I wanted Danny in adoptable status I’d just have Jack and Maddie in jail on charges of domestic terrorism after they killed off GIW agents and destroyed the GIW’s bases. They realized their ghost kids were in potential danger and went at the government the same way they went at ghosts, guns blazing and with reckless driving.
They end up in federal prison and they Vlad wins custody cause he’s rich and there is your runaway Danny plot starter.
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I saw a video today that said, “It’s very uncomfortable as an adult when your friend starts to date somebody who sucks, and you’re all looking at each other going ‘Guys, if this is the person who makes them happy…I think collectively as a unit we can agree that we would rather see them sad. So what's the plan?’”
And immediately went: modern Steddie AU were Steve dates his high school friend Tommy and everyone is tearing their hair out over how awful he’s being treated.
Ft. the Party, led by Dustin, hounding Eddie “I could get a man in a SECOND, I just CHOOSE not to date” Munson for help
However:
Eddie is mostly thinking the entire thing is a joke (King Steve and Tommy Hagan? Gay? Together?? Nice try Henderson.) until he runs into Robin. She laments that yeah, they’re bi, but more importantly, Tommy is fucking awful and Steve refuses to see it.
2. Eddie, maybe, kind of, still has a crush on Steve ("Stop laughing Gareth, everyone has--had! Had a crush on him!") and the guy was never THAT bad in high school---but Tommy Hagan definitely was and a little revenge would be fun.
and finally;
3. Instead of going with the kids' well intentioned but very misguided “Let’s get Eddie to Steal Steve” plan, Eddie meets up with the Robin/Nancy/Jonathan/Argyle/Chrissy dream team to figure out how to prove to Steve that Tommy is horrible.
Bonus: Robin and Nancy come up with a full proof multi step plan that involves Eddie pissing off Tommy in ways that look completely innocent. The hope is that Steve will see how controlling and unreasonable Tommy is, and break it off.
This hurts no one and just highlights to Steve Tommy's behavior.
Of course, Eddie goes off the rails immediately upon meeting Steve.
Instead of following The Plan, he, with the kids permission and help, gets Tommy to get blow up about THEM.
This is far more successful.
Bonus x2: A large amount of shenanigan's with the kids vs Tommy are involved. As is a scene were Steve breaks down and admits he knows Tommy is terrible, but Tommy puts up with him and Steve "knows how he is."
Eddie goes home, prints out a picture of Tommy and throws cheap ren fair daggers at it for at least three solid hours while he tries to think up ways to prove to Steve Harrington that his parents are wrong, hes very lovable actually.
In fact Eddie would very much like a shot at trying it out, thanks!
(It is also, inevitably, successful.)
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Everything about Sokka was terrifying. It was terrifying how close they were, it was terrifying how much Zuko trusted him, it was terrifying that Sokka was touching his scar, and it was terrifying that Zuko was letting him. That he...wanted him to.
"It's a part of you," Sokka said, his soft voice bringing Zuko back to the present. "It doesn't define you, but it's a part of you. So how could I hate it?" [id in alt]
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i need ghoap frantically making out against a door finally taking the leap on their feelings. need ghost grinding against soap, expecting to find him just as hard as him, only to feel nothing
and in all his wisdom and experience, he concludes soap was tortured and never told him
he’s trying to think of a delicate way to say he understands, that he’s been through it and it doesn’t change anything about how he feels (and who the fuck touched him so he can hunt them down and rend them limb from limb)
meanwhile trans!soap’s just trying to find the best angle to grind his cunt on ghost’s thigh
just it never even entering ghost’s head bc he’s never known a trans person but he has met plenty of people who’ve been tortured - himself included - so of course that’s his logical leap
soap takes off his shirt and he sees his top surgery scars and ghost asks if he wants him to kill the one who did it and soap just hums like, “actually, man did pretty good, they healed real well,” and ghost’s just teary-eyes with awe at how well he’s coping, “looking on the bright side, that’s my johnny.”
imagine he thinks johnny was fully castrated but sees he’s determined to still have a sex life with him so he buys packers and straps to help him bc hell yeah healing and soap’s just like, “holy shit i’ve never had such a thoughtful partner before, such a sweet man, lt.”
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so chapter 113 huh
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some harrows of varying mental states and hairstyles
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every story i've ever made is about fear
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I won't let myself get devoured
Or a Normally Oak-swallows-garcia angst post about grief and anger.
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DPxDC Prompt:
The next blow sent the human tumbling into the wall. It wheezed and spat up a gob of blood, pulling itself up on trembling arms and legs.
Pathetic.
“So this is the mortal who captured our young king’s attention. The so-called warrior who he trusted with the sacred duty of guarding his core.”
A shadowed hand pinned it to the wall and it uselessly pawed at the blade-like claws pressed against its fragile throat.
“How a weakling like you seduced High King Phantom, I’ll never know.”
The human squeezed its eyes shut. I’m sorry Danny, it mouthed with cracked and bleeding lips.
The impudence.
Slammed into the ruined bricks once more, the human let out a breathless cry.
“You dare address him like that. You dare to call upon his living name!” Dagger sharp teeth dripped shadowy ectoplasm inches from the mortal’s flesh.
“I’m doing him a favor, disposing of you.”
There was silence.
Then.
The human looked up with glowing green eyes.
A wave of unearthly force erupted from its body.
A dual layered voice echoed out from its miserable throat.
“Oh you just made a BIG mistake.”
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