#and made them angsty

[thecrumblingisle]

i can't stop staring at the ceiling fan / and spinning out about things that haven't happened / breathing in and out

[kidokear]

Imagen how entertaining it would be if these 2 interact. And I'm a fan of possessive/jealous/protective Stolas (Which I don't see enough of <(＿　＿)>)

[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.

[professorjirt]

I’ve discovered my favorite genre of Bagginshield art is where Thorin is a lovesick idiot who is Losing It and Bilbo is unbothered or oblivious to Thorin’s suffering LMAO

[sualne]

every story i've ever made is about fear

[dclovesdanny]

Super Brain Dead

3/3

Danny always hoped his soulmates wouldn’t hate him. as the experiments continued, all he could do was pray and hope that his soulmates would not hate him and curse himself for getting caught by the GIW.

They were in the middle of another experiment on him when the alarms sounded. Danny was aware of agents rushing around and yelling, but he could barely focus through the pain.

The door was busted down, and he could barely make out the members of the justice league. He mostly focused on red hood, the EO signature, toxic, but real. He winced as red hood undid some of his bindings, not noticing how red hood’s eyes went wide at the side of the injuries.

Red Hood picked him up bridal style before tapping his helmet.*Guys, I think I found Red Robin and Superboy’s soulmate* was the last thing Danny heard before he slipped off into unconsciousness.

[pandebunuelo]

fuck it *powders your cocoa*

[codenameregnar]

the act of devotion versus the wounded animal that inspired such an act

[unganseylike]

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“Love Like Ghosts" // The Raven Cycle

When your true love is destined to die, is already dead, or will always be leaving. And other moments of ghostliness. 

[pali-and-proud]

Would Buddy hurt anyone? Why was Buddy shocked when he hurt Chase with the spear? AND WHY THE COMPLETE DIFFERENCE WITH THE SPEAR AND DEACON WITH THE WOLVES?!?

I GET TO TALK ABOUT BUDDY AND DEACON. AHAHA.

Thank you for the Q <3 I love and respect you, but I am going to bypass the first two questions because I am filled with thoughts on Buddy and Deacon's dynamic. Because I don't know if more people noticed (I'm 100% sure others have noticed) but Buddy and Deacon absolutely parallel each other.

What's Buddy's big motivator, as established by the Dreams By Night episode? To escape Ex Libris. To be free, essentially.

What's Deacon's big motivator, as established by The Book of Deacon? To lead his own story, without his parents controlling everything. To be free, essentially.

Buddy, from the beginning, harps on Chase's lack of preparation. Deacon, from the beginning, gripes about Chase's lack of preparation. Deacon over-prepares, to the point where Chase asks him what different scenes mean and what happens in the story. Something he used to do with Buddy, because both Deacon and Buddy indulge Chase in their explanations.

Deacon gets caught off-guard by Chase's perceptiveness, and Buddy gets caught off-guard by Chase's personality. And Chase might gripe about both, sure, but often about superficial, irrelevant details. Complaining about Deacon always being busy, or complaining about Buddy being pretentious. (Not about things of substance, like Deacon having enough money to attend college AND disliking the experience, or about not even knowing Buddy's name.)

We all laugh about Buddy being paranoid, but Deacon matches him pretty well. Deacon isn't spilling any names. Deacon, like Buddy, understands the necessity for secrets. Who makes the plans to hide Prunella? Who keeps telling Chase not to talk to Buddy about her?

(A thought for another time, but--something about kids of strict parents being sneakier, and something about Deacon always convincing Chase into keeping secrets.)

Deacon's being reasonable, and we know that, because we're listening to his reasoning, and his reasoning is nothing like Buddy's. (Buddy's all "EVERYONE is out for themself," while Deacon is a lot more subtly judging the shirtless Hot Topic wanna-be.) But their ACTIONS match each other.

Are they the same character? lmao absolutely not. They have different experiences, different mentalities, different perspectives. Deacon has a support system, whether financial (parents) or emotional (Bronze) or even social (Chase). Buddy has a bright eyed, stubborn kid who sees a vampire and somehow therapizes him, and sees someone covered in thorns and reciprocates their hug because he knows it was needed.

But how similar they are really shines in the Requiem arc. Deacon and Buddy match the other's barbs seemlessly, and they call out the other with ease. Deacon insults Buddy's fashion sense + teeth, Buddy tricks Deacon into nearly getting mauled by wolves, which is probably an escalation, and Deacon immediately starts plotting a revenge. "When I get my hands on him," he outright says, implying some retaliation, and yet he sees Buddy and Chase wrestling a vampire to the ground and immediately asks "What're we doing?"

He immediately joins them. He has no idea what they're doing or why they're doing it, but they're doing it, so he alas has to ascribe to it. And then you remember that Chase is the one who jumped Vamp, and Buddy ALSO has no idea what they're doing or why they're doing it, but Chase's doing it, so he alas has to ascribe.

They get each other, is what I'm saying. They're foils in methods (Deacon annoys Buddy verbally, Buddy annoys Deacon physically////Deacon chooses to maintain peace via secrecy, Buddy prefers honest communication despite the impacts/////etc etc etc) but they're mirroring the other. They're two beams of light, coming from the same source, going in completely opposite directions.

Buddy hurting Chase risked everything Buddy had gained, all the trust and the companionship and the grossly genuine friendship he gained. The physical pain risked ripping the emotional connection between them. Buddy hurting Deacon DOESN'T rip open anything, because however far Buddy takes things, Deacon's prepared to follow out of annoyance and spite alone. They have the same priorities: keep themselves (+ Chase/others) safe, and humble the other when necessary.

And Buddy has an embarrassing crush or something. everyone point at the idiot and laugh

[mintypsii]

i love putting them in Situations

[welcometogrouchland]

Also I am. Constantly forgetting how fucking funny Hunter is. We never give him enough credit for how funny he is because his life is so fucked up but I swear 90% of his lines are just bit after bit after bit. He's not even trying either. Anytime he actively tries to make a joke it falls flat but if you just put him in a Scenario he'll find a way to be so over invested and yet out of touch/at odds with whatever's going on. He's so autistic

[spadeworks]

it's criminal how long it's been since i've drawn him

[davidtennan-t]

I Won’t Let You See

*spoilers for Empire of Death*

The Doctor spots something in the distance. He knows what it will bring… but he doesn’t want Donna to see.

My take on the moments before Fourteen and Donna were consumed by the dust. Filled a lot of angst into 643 words - also available on AO3

-

He saw it approaching - in the distance.

It was so high, so cloudy and so very, very threatening.

It was consuming everything. Not just everything, but everyone in its path.

His sensitive ears had picked up on the screams long before anything seemed amiss, but now, he felt it. The consuming… the death surrounding them. Because that’s what it was.

Death.

Rose wasn’t here… nor were Shaun, Wilf or Sylvia.

He wouldn’t have time. There was no time to be had now. It would be a minute at most before it reached them both, stood in the garden, tampering with the flowers… oh, this lovely garden, this place he called home.

Maybe his family were already gone… and his hearts were breaking in his chest.

Kate and Mel… would they have kept Rose safe while it happened?

“What’s all that screaming, then? Is Westlife playing at the O2 again… bet it is. My one day off and it has to be filled with bloody screaming.”

Donna’s voice ripped through the distant chaos. The Doctor finally diverted his eyes away from the approaching dust cloud.

For a moment, his dark brown eyes fixed on the TARDIS.

His ship knew, somehow - her glow was fading. Whatever it was heading their way, the TARDIS would be no use.

She would be gone, too.

“Hey… Donna?”

“Yeah, Spaceman?” Donna replied, turning to look up from the flower she was repotting.

”…come here.”

The words were said with such a gentle undertone that Donna immediately stood from the grass, pulling off her soil coated gloves as she stepped over to the Doctor.

“Doctor… what’s wrong?”

No - he couldn’t let her be scared or fearful.

“Nothing, nothing… just, come here,” he replied with a smile that showed off those creases in the corner of his eyes, his hands guiding her to him.

Caught off guard but never willing to let her best friend go without what he wanted or needed, Donna stepped into this sudden embrace.

“What’s this for then if you’re feeling okay?” Donna chuckled, “not that I mind.”

“Nothing… wanted a hug, is all,” the Doctor replied. His arms wrapped firmly around Donna… his beautiful Donna.

30 seconds, 35 at a push.

”You’re such an old softie,” Donna commented, her head resting gently on the Doctor’s chest. Normally, she would position her head on his shoulder… but this felt much more needed, somehow.

The Doctor couldn’t stop himself from gently holding the back of Donna’s head. Both for closeness… and to keep it in that position.

He wouldn’t let her see it.

“That’s me,” the Doctor replied, squeezing her tighter.

The screams were louder now, and growing closer. The destruction loomed.

Sand, dust��� whatever it was, began to blow through the fence panels. The sun was slowly disappearing - the soft warmth faded from his skin.

20 seconds, they had.

The Doctor closed his eyes. He buried his face against Donna’s hair.

“Is it just me or are those screams getting louder?” Donna asked… but she was calm and content in her best friend’s arms. The sounds were still distant enough in that quiet neighbourhood of theirs.

“Are they? Didn’t notice,” the Doctor lied.

The smell.

It was wretched.

It was death. No doubt.

All around them was cloudy now. And it was cold.

“Bit nippy,” Donna shivered.

The Doctor’s eyes squeezed shut now. His long fingers clutched to Donna as they held each other…

Please, don’t turn around.

“Yeah… it is a bit nippy, isn’t it?”

Whatever this was… whatever this death cloud claimed to be, taking away his family, the life he’d built - he knew someone familiar was out there.

He would fix this. He had to fix this.

As darkness fell around him, his arms soon holding nothing but a cloud of dust, the Doctor felt his own body crumbling.

And then… there was nothing.

[starays13]

I made more Jailboi stuff.

He technically wasn’t in his normal clothing for the scene this is from but I tried what he was wearing and it looked weird, so I decided to disregard AU canon for the sake of art

[sad-leon]

this collab was very fun <3