#I promise. And I love you

[stuckinapril]

Well it may seem like the end of the world but tomorrow’s a new day & the sun will shine just a little brighter with each moment that spring inches closer & you will find the people who cocoon you like a warm wool blanket & you won’t have to cling so hard to those who strip you bare anymore

[noodles-and-tea]

I don’t know if it’s just because of Alex’s personal voice quirks or whatever but Bill and Stan talk in quite a similar manner and my personal head canon is that Bill does it on purpose to mess with Ford :(

[lizluzz]

reblog to give more people the chance for one last boop!

[evgar]

guess who's back in her wenclair era

[chloesimaginationthings]

I always forget Michael is British in the FNAF games,,

[emptyjunior]

Can't stop thinking about reverse Scott Pilgrim au where Ramona has to fight all of Scott's exes, Punk drummer Kim, Megastar Envy Adams with an army of groupies, Femme fatale Lisa Miller, Jaded obsessive Knives Chau, maybe an alternate timeline version of herself.

And when she's all done it's just kinda Wallace standing there and she's like Wallace what are you doing, I'm meeting Scott's ex here and he just gives this sad shrug smile and she's like Oh and then he pulls out the baseball bat-

[hinamie]

sry i have chronic only draws megumi disorder the doctor said it's terminal :/

[shesnake]

the problem with mainstream fictional media today is it is predominantly made for people who don't like fictional media all that much

[milktrician]

(what the. who threw a wife plot device in the middle of a peak lord meeting)

i thought about this bit at the end of the airplane extras the other day. bro why are you looking at your coworkers like that rn

[inkskinned]

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.

[triona-tribblescore]

I WANNA DRAAWW!! RAHHHGG!! Absolutely swamped with college work, im so tired TT (hence whatever tf this is lmao)

[churchofthemimic]

memories of a place that doesn't exist anymore. a world that is so different now.

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

do you ever think that the ending of six hundred strike, actually added to the poseidon & athena beef? like i can just imagine them both in beds in apollo's olympus infirmary, just arguing with/at each other! meanwhile poor apollo is just tying to heal them both.

athena: *ranting* i've been odysseus' mentor/friend since he was a teenager! and he still didn't listen to me!

athena: i told him to put his emotions aside but noooooo, he had to let the cyclops live!

apollo: athen-

poseidon: are you forgetting he literally stabbed me? repeateDLY? WITH MY OWN TRIDENT?

apollo: poseid-

athena: *ignoring poseidon and continuing her rant* ruTHlesNEsS iS meRCy UpOn OUrseLVEs. isn't that what you said?!

poseidon: well yeah, BUT HOW WAS I TO EXPECT THAT SAD WET CAT OF A MAN WOULD BE FILLED WITH SOME FORM OF DIVINE RAGE?

apollo: please you two are gonna open your stitche-

athena: oh you deserved it. you literally showed the man his island before trapping him AND THEN you started THREATENING his wife and son? oh that was your final mistake.

poseidon: whatever! so much for you calling him a warrior of the mind. he's a monster!

athena: *wipes tear away* i know, im so proud.

apollo: *tired of their bickering & now glowing in anger* please for "dad's"sake will you two just shut up and let me heal you both?!

poseidon & athena: *shuts up immediately* o-ok

[theribbajack]

"Now, the vow will be honoured, and my Lord brother's soul will return."

Radahn stans keep winning, but I personally am in Miyazaki's walls rn

[egophiliac]

don't think I'm not still deep in the episode 7 brainrot. because OH BOY AM I

(also one more extremely, obnoxiously self-referential thing, I'm -- I'm so sorry)

[weirdglassthing]

Don’t give a mouse a cookie but it’s don’t give an artist a canon detail about a character anyways torbeks favorite movie!!

Sorry for inactivity but I’ve got some FIRE things coming up 🫡