#did u know. I love them

[nihoniums-oc-emporium]

The gang!!!

[katsinspats]

Thematically appropriate comic for Make a Terrible Comic Day!!

I saw the original post this morning and it made me get out of bed to make something, so thank u Pseudonym Jones mission accomplished

[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.

[hinamie]

itakugi sillies fr the soul

[cheezface]

its historically canon that cowboys and romans are gay

(i realized that letter is greek not roman but whatever)

[nordidia]

my man resorted to the most un-ethical method he could think of: guilt-tripping the guilt-ridden

[artilite]

fuck you *lethal companies your in stars and time*

(long) exposition under cut (spoilers for ISAT + lethal company logs)

This au takes place around the time of sigurd's logs/before them (i haven't decided if Sigurd's crew exists here or not yet)!

Siffrin was someone who used to live on the Golden Planet before it got eaten. They may not remember anything beyond being found in an escape pod, but they're still paralyzed by fear when getting close to the selling window. He's always first in the facilities, making jumps, braving traps, and heading as deep as he can for scrap.

Mirabelle and Isabeau are the medic and fighter respectively, who both came from the same moon colony. They were both pressured into taking jobs by a work-based society, and applied for the company under the impression that it was a short, high-paying internship with nebulous risks.

Odile is their resident ship manager. She keeps a watchful eye over everyone and relays information about monsters, scrap, etc. In absolutely dire situations, she may come help with scrap. Despite claiming to be a first-timer, her badge says Leader??

Nille and Bonnie ended up with the crew after taking a chance to run away from their parents. Seeing a high-paying job that provided everything and would take them far away sounded too good to pass up. Nille lied about Bonnie's age to take them with her. After seeing the reality of this job, though, she regrets not finding another way out. Bonnie is permanently on ship-duty; they mainly type in whatever numbers Odile tells them. Nille is also a fighter, though she prefers the weighty stop sign as opposed to Isabeau's shovel.

Loop, after hundreds upon thousands of quotas, dying every possible death, learning everything they could- even the real identity of The Company- realizes there was one thing they've never done before. They've never died to The Company. Desperate for a way out, and haunted by the whispers and screams beyond the wall, they give themselves up. Maybe that would finally satisfy the monster- to have devoured every last piece of the Golden Planet. Maybe their crew could finally rest easy that way. Well, they didn't loop back. But through the dark and damp, there's static on the walkie talkie. Loop picks up, and hears their own voice just beyond the wall.

(Loop's design is the most different by far, since instead of consuming a star, they themselves are slowly getting digested. They're inspired by the visual of red crying faces from the logs :D)

[ruporas]

i’ll find you again in every universe. let us be a little more honest, let us have a little more time.

[vypridae]

his ass is trapped

[sen-ya]

First off, I love ur art so much. Ur style is so amazing and the stories u come up with are so fun (or sad) and I think they're incredible.

Second, Law and Luffy at the pool headcanon bc it's over 100 degrees where I am rn. Luffy cannonballs in before they even set up their chairs and Law just stares at him. He refuses to get in, so Luffy has to surprise him and push him in. He's mad, but then Luffy laughs and all is forgiven because he is the sucker for Luffy's laugh/smile.

Ahhh hello!! Tysm for the kind words! 😭❤️ funny story it is ALSO 100 degrees where I am and I have spent today recovering from dehydration and heat exhaustion 🫠🫠

[turtleblogatlast]

Leo getting hit with a truth curse but instead of forcing him to admit to super sad or worrying things it’s things like “it was me who broke the remote” “I saw Mikey prank Donnie and helped hide it because it’s way funnier if he didn’t know who it was” “I rip my clothes to look more like Raph’s because he’s really cool” “my stripes aren’t even red they’re pink!”

[jackshiccup]

the greatest thing you'll ever learn is to love and be loved in return

have been perpetually rotating @bignostalgias white winter hymnal hijack inside my mind palace like rotisserie chicken i adore this life-changing au to the core my bones and teeth ache badly from thinking about them <3

[cozylittleartblog]

had a(nother) nightmare

[lilyshear]

silence nerd

[hershey-the-confused]

what does pinterest think of you?

search up -

aura

album

view

animal

@butterfliesareamyth @treasure-goblin @potato-salad-uk @kale-of-the-forbidden-cities @feeling-kinda-sad-ngl @nicknelsonblog @writingandwritten @loulooser @amenacingsloth @fingerfuck-the-function @periwinkle-the-11th @rorythinks @kip-davis @imactuallyagiraffe @panic-like-the-disaster-you-are @willows-woes @joeylivesinspace @lyssified @shortgaything @the-literally-anything-blog @literallyspiderman @toast-jpg @crow-flower @and anyone who wants in!!!!

[oozedninjas]

The orange peel theory

You saw this trend on TikTok, and now you must try it with your boyfriend. Would they pass the test?

General verses / sfw / ninja guys are late 20's

"Honey, I was wondering if you could help me peel this orange," you say before sitting next to him on the couch. His favorite show was about to start.

Leo looked at the orange, then at you, before taking it with a sweet smile. "Gladly."

This man never misses an opportunity to impress you.

Leo peeled a fragment with the sharp end of his katana, then removed it entirely with precise movements. He stole a few glances at you, wearing a flirty smile.

"Thank you, Leo."

He grins. "It's always an honor to help you."

"Babe, are you busy?"

Raphael turned, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

"I was just about to go on patrol. Why?"

"Would you mind helping me peel this orange?"

He tilted his head. You weren't one to ask for help with trivial stuff. Yet, Raphael shrugged, minding the way your eyes seemed to sparkle. It brought a smile to his face.

"Sure! Pass it over."

Raph peeled the orange, mindful not to bruise it as you admired the strength in his hands and his clumsy attempt at gentleness.

"Here you go."

It looked ridiculously tiny in his hand. You giggled. "Thanks, babe."

"Thanks?" Raph leaned over the wall, trapping you between his plastron and the bricks. "A kiss is the price to pay," he teased.

"Hey, love, I was wondering if you'd help me peel my orange?"

Donatello tuned to you, adjusting his glasses over his nose. "Of course, I'd be happy to assist," he gave you a sweet smile before cleaning up his hands.

"Would you like the orange peeled only, or do you want it sliced into wedges? I can put it on a plate— I think we have some little toothpicks around here; they'll help you eat it more comfortably," He said, moving through the place.

You weren't sure if he was talking to you or thinking out loud, but it mattered not. He definitely passed the vibe check. You were with the right man and couldn't be happier.

"Mikey baby, would you help me peel this?" you said, handing him the orange.

He was thrilled anytime you made him feel needed.

"Sure thing, angel. Watch and learn from the master of orange-peeling!" he said in an attempt to show off.

He's probably waving unexisting brows.

You sighed in that endearing way that only surfaced when he was around. Mikey eagerly peeled the orange and then bowed to present it to you.

"Thank you, mister."

"Anything for my baby!"

He'll be happy if you ask to eat it together.