Bdubs Sky Tug boat

sleeping arrangements (not sure tara would ever actually deign to sleep in the same 20ft radius as shovel but who can resist those big shiny insectoid black eyes 🥺)

plus:

✦ Freshly ordained ✦

hold that heart close... happy birthday, wanderer!!

trigunned the hades or hadesed the trigun (id in alt)

[images ID: three images of a comic titled "one must imagine sisyphus happy" by druid-for-hire. it is a visual narrative beginning with someone with wrist pain (depicted by bright orange nerves) working at a drafting table. the reader is shown the same wrist as the person uses it for many everyday tasks such as carrying a grocery basket, pushing elevator buttons, typing, and doing dishes, until the pain dissolves all the panels into chaos. the person then performs several physical therapy exercises until the pain subsides. they sit back down at a desk with their laptop, sigh, and begin typing. a small spark of pain reappears. end id]

a fun little piece i made during the semester and submitted into our school comic anthology! (which you can buy at the Static Fish table at MoCCAFest in NYC ;] ). it's about artists and injury

Happy almost 4/13, have some funnies

extra doodles under the cut

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.

if you use multiple, pick the one you use the most, not your preferred one.

sorry idk but the way the world is so fast and the people in it still want it to be faster is sooo annoying to me. people groaning while standing in line for 3 minutes people being mad the train ride is gonna take 2 hours people complaining that the bus is a few minutes late people being angry that construction work is taking months even though it used to take decades. don't you see the world is already so so so fast in every single aspect can't you understand that being mad will do nothing and just make your mood worse. enjoy the moments of stillness you're given. just stand in line and look at the people around you. sit on the train and watch the scenery. you'll get there.

skyward sword… yeah <3

Crimson Loftwing

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

Alright, I will start with this one then - everything starts with the glorious revolution and everything starts with the night watch 🌸

If only Machete wasn't so distinctly white and waifish. Otherwise one could possibly use a lookalike to fake his death and just run away with vasco. But finding someone that resembles machete would be almost as hard as making the choice to end a life to save your own.

.

something about Dazai being comfortable enough around Chuuya to be vulnerable and let him see his genuine reactions (especially his genuine shock) as he processes out loud is SO SO IMPORTANT TO ME

plus Chuuya not being shocked to see the genius at work tells us this isn’t the first time he’s seen Dazai actively figuring things out in real time…

the way Chuuya knows Dazai's nervous habits— noticing that Dazai is worried, and subtly checking on him. the way Dazai drops his facade in favor of putting all of his focus into the mental game at hand is such an obvious sign of trust & closeness for someone like Dazai, whose facade is his main form of defense

how they interact with each other in the downtimes when there’s nobody watching…

all i can think is, look how far they’ve come since they were 16 when Dazai couldn’t trust anyone with his plans. how even now, Dazai is always putting up his “all according to plan” front, even with the agency. how Chuuya is the one person we’ve seen him truly drop the mask around, and Chuuya doesn’t bat an eye. even their banter is ongoing, but subdued.

soukoku and their subtle displays of intimacy will be the death of me 💔

the mobile phone museum is a online museum featuring over 2000 types of old and funky phones that’s amazing for seeing old phones and getting info about them for stuff like writing/art or just because they’re so cool and i love them look at them

behold! some of my favourite silly creatures :3

Viva finding those stupid finger puppets in the golf course's prize display case and wreaking utter havoc on Clay's daily life