👫 aheem heem
Send a 👫and I’ll write four headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship
they are two sides of the same coin, and I do think they would make a great team collaborating their skills and talents together. Alastor knows Vox is insecure and otherwise hates his job which makes it easy for him to poke fun and rile him up. but i think alastor would help vox in finding and being passionate about it again
i do like to believe they physically fought for their big breakup. whether it was intention on Alastor's part to start a fight, I am still thinking about. but i do think it was meant to happen, and it gave Alastor a good excuse to fuck off for those 7 years he was gone. I also like to think Vox did land a good hit on him, and its one of the only scars Alastor has.
when they are throwing shots at one another, they are wildly witty and have cute, playful banter with one another. they can be quite corny and Alastor has no issue showcasing it when it comes to those he cares for. He loves to fluster Vox and make him blush, so he'll so whatever it takes to get those reactions out of him.
He'll never say it out but he did miss Vox, and was upset about how things ended even when he doesn't act like it. he doesn't really show those kinds of feelings, and in time they do talk and alastor expresses this to Vox.
2 notes
·
View notes
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.
18K notes
·
View notes
I found out akaashi calls Kuroo ‘Pain-in-the-ass Kuroo-San’, so here you all go
——-
“No, truly.”
“Like, he’s so cocky, for what?”
“Literally!”
“And don’t even get me started on his hair today; like good lord, did he look in a mirror?”
From around the corner, Kuroo and Bokuto listen intently, one with a small smirk, the other with worry in his eyes. You and Akaashi had been talking in between practices for the past three days, for hours on end, and it was about time the two captains called you out on it.
What they didn’t take into account, was the one and only, calm, collected Akaashi Keiji to be such a gossip.
Even Kuroo’s got to admit, it’s kinda hot to hear his insignificant other and Bokuto’s wrangler talk shit.
“Do you think they’re talking about me?” Bokuto asks, and Kuroo shakes his head in mischief.
“No, they’re talking about me, Bokuto.”
“How can you tell?”
“They’d never talk bad about you- one, they adore you, and two, Akaashi knows better than to risk putting you in a mood-“
Interrupting Kuroo’s countdown, there’s a groan from the other side of the wall, followed by an akaashi chuckle, “hey- he’s your man.”
Kuroo smirks, “number three.”
Bokuto’s worried expression turns to one of amusement, “ohhhh, you have ugly hair!” He cackles, pointing at Kuroo. Behind the corner, the two of you go quiet, and Bokuto covers his mouth. “Well good luck, Kuroo!”
“Thanks, Bokuto,” he chuckles, stretching before making his way around the corner to face you both. “Heyyy,” Kuroo sings as he walks towards you. He lowers his eyes as you shift in shock, and Akaashi merely looks up at him in challenge. “I was wondering where you two disappeared to.”
“Same place we always do,” Akaashi says flatly, taking a sip of his water. “I’m glad you’re able to use your cognitive thinking skills to find us.”
He gives Akaashi a fake, dramatic smile, before letting his body language drop back to casual. He casts you a look, “hey babe.”
“Hey love,” you mewl, resting your head against his thigh cutely, and he knows you know he heard you and Akaashi not thirty seconds ago. He smiles and gently uses a large hand to cup the back of your head, thumb gently stroking your temple.
“Whatcha talking about?” Tetsuro chirps, smiling fakely. “Got all nice and quiet when I came around the corner.”
Akaashi rolls his eyes, “talking about them potentially becoming a manager for your team. Why’re you acting weird?”
Tetsuro lets out a loud “ahh,” in understanding. “Was that before you asked if I looked into a mirror today?”
Akaashi smirks, “before, of course.”
“Right, obviously.”
You blink at him in mercy, “we were just kidding…”
“Oh, I’m sure,” tetsuro says, pinching his brows as he nods in understanding. Then, he hunches over to be closer to you, face to face.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not going to make you pay.”
You scream as he scoops you in his bulky arms and tosses you over his shoulder, ignoring your flailing limbs and laughter. “You, I’ll deal with later,” he says, locking eyes with Akaashi.
Who only gives him a smirk to rile him further, “in your dreams, Kuroo-San.”
2K notes
·
View notes