License to Kitty.
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If my mom sees a significant amount of blood she gets lightheaded, and has fainted on some occasions. Once it happened when we were kids, I wasn't there to witness it but I heard the story from my dad. Basically my brothers, around 7 or 8 at the time, were playing outside while my mom was making their lunch, and she accidentally cut her finger. It wasn't anything serious, but it drew a fair bit of blood and she passed out. My dad saw this and rushed over, but he didn't really know what to do so he just sort of started slapping her to wake her up (not recommended, but he had no idea and panicked)
At that exact moment my brothers both came in from playing, and all they saw was our mom unconscious on the floor and our dad slapping her. So, like, without even saying a word to each other they both just INSTANTLY start whaling on him, like, full blown attack mode to defend our mom. Which obviously didn't help the situation, but she did wake up and everything was fine.
Now our dad says that he's actually really glad they attacked him over what they thought was going on, because it means he raised good boys. And I still think that's true, they're very good boys.
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catalysts, protectors
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a little victorian boy and his elderly maiden aunts
[i love @pangur-and-grim's weird cats and wanted to draw them beatrix potter style]
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Abby could befriend any animatronic from FNAF..
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listen there really was just something about how in the book, snow’s 3-page descent from hesitant lover boy to deluded mfer happens entirely in his mind. lucy gray gives him no indication whatsoever that she suspects him, that she’s going to leave or betray him. he’s just sitting quietly in the cabin waiting for her to return when that seed of calculated suspicion, which he has needed to survive the capitol, takes a hold of him and chokes the life out of any goodness left inside him. it really drives home your terror as a reader that “oh my god did he kill her? did she escape? what happened to her? why would he even think that?” in a way that when the movie had to adjust for visualization it lost some of that holy shit this guy has lost it emphasis.
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lesbian bed death - goth girls are easy
Support me on Patreon <3
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Species Swap AU!
Retired couple gets a fairy godchild to help repair their relationship
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The squad of all time has arrived on scene.
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someone pointed out that milsiril sniffs the top of kabru's head like parents of newborns do with their babies, and i haven't been able to stop thinking abt it
like. ma'am. that is a wholeass preteen.
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Several weeks ago one of my coworkers called me over into her cubicle and gave me a very unexpected gift. Her mother passed away recently, and she'd been packing stuff up at her condo to give to relatives and sell, so the home could be sold. The mother was an avid knitter and crocheter, and when my coworker came upon her stash of equipment, she told me, she "immediately thought of me as someone who might get some use out of it."
So, I have inherited a varied collection of knitting needles and crochet hooks, cable needles, sewing needles, and, best of all, now-out-of-print pattern books, mostly for blankets, because that was what this lady loved to make most. Plus, I also have a bunch of gauge swatches she made, pinned to little bits of card covered in perfect schoolteacher handwriting setting out the patterns they were made to test.
And also...
My coworker brought another bag, full of yarn and...knitted blanket squares.
Her mother's last started project, before she got too sick to continue.
And she asked if there was anything I could do with it.
It turned out, there are twelve completed squares, and I quickly located the pattern book they are from amid those given to me. It's a book of 60 patterns, meant to be put together however the maker wishes into blankets of 20 squares. I figured out which of the numbered patterns were already made, and selected eight more that I thought might go well with them.
So now!
I am working on completing!
My coworker's mother's last knitting project!
And I really am feeling very good about doing it.
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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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Vampire Misunderstanding
So! Danny got adopted by Bruce Wayne, but he doesn't know that Bruce is the Batman. He is just supernaturally oblivious to all things Batman related going on in the House.
But he does notice that Bruce leaves home a lot at night, that he doesn't like to go out in the day and often has his parties at night, and once or twice he's caught Bruce with a bit if blood still splattered on his cheek.
So he comes to the only plausible conclusion. Bruce is a Vampire.
He starts trying to hint at the fact that he knows, but doesn't want to just go out and say it. What if Bruce reacts negatively to him knowing? He's dealt with enough Supernatural Beings to know that they don't like other people (and especially other supernatural beings) intruding on their lives.
So Danny decided to subtly hint at it.
He started asking questions like "So hypothetically, how would you deal with having a Garlic Allergy in Gotham?" Or "So if you had very sensitive skin that could sunburn extremely easily, how much cloud cover would you need to go outside?" And "So what's your opinion on a High-Iron Diet?"
Basically just tossing out questions and trying to Guage Bruce's reaction.
He thinks he's doing a good job!
...
Bruce is certain that he has adopted a Vampire.
Danny is a good kid, but he has a few oddities that are hard to ignore.
For one, his skin is constantly Ice Cold, but he never seens to be bothered by it. As if he was an Undead that didn't require Body Heat anymore.
He also seems to like Hanging out in the Graveyard outside, and when asked about it he says that he is comforted by the place. Just like the Vampires he has met in the past, who feel comfortable when surrounded by Death.
And of course the biggest reason for suspicion is the fact that Danny seems to be hinting at it to him.
He keeps asking stuff like "How would you deal with a Garlic Allergy in Gotham?", probably trying to hint that he is a Vampire who can't eat Garlic, or asking about easy to sunburn skin, saying that he is probably not a Daywalker.
Bruce hopes Danny will just come clean about it soon, he doesn't want to intrude upon the kid when he is so obviously nervous about how he will react.
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