#fuck them up kid

[bookbinderbitch]

I just finished The Horse and his Boy, and I have to say that the thing that bothered me most was the fact that when Aslan went:  

 "Have a care, Rabadash," said Aslan quietly. "The doom is nearer now: it is at the door: it has lifted the latch." 

Susan didn’t burst trough the door to smack this man in the face. 

[payasita]

being a manager sucks balls half the time but the cashier kids im in charge of trust me enough to dick around in front of me so ive been keeping a running list of the shit they say that makes me laugh randomly: -"guys, is it cheating if you play fortnite with your ex" [4 seperate others, immediately]: "YES" -"there must be like… infinite sentences" -"bro what bro what the fuck bro what's that mean bro why'd you say that bro what" <distraught response to a girl randomly greeting him with 'hey there big boy' in an old timey transatlantic news reporter accent

[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.

[scifiisforgirlsgaystheys]

z”l Carrie Fisher you would’ve loved sticking it to the man during the actors’ strike

[bigfatbreak]

I'm sitting very politely and asking if it would be possible to see Adrien akumatised by Viceroy. Even if you don't want to, letting you know I'm insane about all your AUs (and your art in general, alien behaviour Shadow was so cool), you do such amazing work and I am completely normal about it

(Caspases' concept art beloooow)

[keferon]

…..I should be working rn but one of the songs in my playlist hit harder than usual so

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt in Memes 5

Once more, have a prompt entirely in memes because I'm too lazy to properly write one right now lol.

[channnel]

What if they were friends 🥹

[mourning-at-night]

jace i don’t feel good was so funny but also made me so sad. like that’s a teenager with a strawberry squishmallow keychain and a tamagotchi and she doesn’t feel good and she's tugging on a teacher’s sleeve about it. a teacher who should have been responsible for protecting her in the first place and didn’t. who is manipulating and using her and her friends to help fulfill the desires of a wrathful power-hungry egomaniac. porter and jace it’s on sight >:(

[fairandfatalasfair]

I've seen a few fics where Charles is dyslexic, and while I'm not wedded to it, I do kind of like that headcanon.

In which case, I do think that Edwin has noticed on some subconscious level that if he describes his books to Charles by shape, colour, and location, rather than just title, that Charles is more likely to hand him the right book.

But I do not think that Edwin is likely to be consciously aware that Charles is dyslexic, or indeed of what dyslexia is, nor do I think Charles knows. I think if you asked Edwin he would say that Charles is brilliant and therefor is refusing to learn to read Aramaic out of pure stubbornness, and if you asked Charles he would say he's just not great with reading and that's what he has Edwin for.

[lucabyte]

Perceptive kid, I wonder just how much they pretend not to overhear.

[piosplayhouse]

"Oh dear," the unicorn thought. "I must've really mucked up the story beyond compare! The Red Bull Luo Binghe is protecting the last unicorn scum?! Unconscionable! He should have driven me off the cliff by now!!"

[lotus-pear]

bsd rewatch w my friend means obligatory art of my fav found family ever

[shower-phantom-ideas]

Bruh emotional support ghost kid? Well thats what they are calling him

Suicide cases in gothem are about to fucking plummet boiz cause this one weird blue eyes, black haired boy is now heading to your location.

How does he know where to be? Having a bad day and are all alone? No the fuck your not cause don’t turn around now but theres some shiny blue eyes coming at you from that dark ally. Oh shit hes here to drop some information about you and your lost loved ones that he should know. Oh god the closure. How could you have been afraid on this sweet, creepy, boy who just helped you find your way.

Meanwhile Danny is chillin in Gothem cause the GIW hate it there (none of they equipment actually functions in Gothem so it’s either super haunted or actually not haunted at all). Then all of a sudden he gets approached by a random ghost begging for his help because their sweet baby girl is about to do something horrible. Oops now all the ghosts are following their most loved ones around just to make sure they are there to rush to Danny for help when all else fails. Now hes getting to fulfil his protection obsession double time because one hes helping protect people from themselves and two hes protecting everyone in Gothem by stopping people from becoming villains for revenge. Plus he gets to see first hand how hes making a difference because all those people he saved are sending him some good vibes from all across Gothem.

Thank god he followed Jazz around so much to slightly absorb some of her phycology knowledge over the years. Plus it was actually pretty interesting so she gave him her old text books. Shes also helping him deal with the rare events where he can’t save someone. Just a moment too late or he stops them but they later succeeded in the hospital. Neither are his fault. Now only if he could convince his core of that.

Anyway why Gothem you ask? Amity Park would have been just as good tbh but imagine Batmans face when he finally gets to be face to face with the emotional support ghost boy. Why is he here? Bruce is fine. Batman is fine. Hes not gonna do anything crazy. It’s just a hard time of year. Around their death always gives him grief. But hes an adult and can manage it.

“You know they are so proud of you.” The boy states. As if it’s clear as day, even though it’s Gothem and never a clear day. Batman blinks at him, stunned for a moment. “What?” This boy can’t possibly know that. No one will ever know that, Bruce can only hope. “They see their home, full of such life. That big house that felt so empty, so cold, to them as well for years. Then you filled it with Family and Love like they had always wanted for you. They are so proud of what you have turned it into. Somewhere full of life and warmth.” A small smile graces his face as finally “you have made your parents so proud” and its all he can do to contain himself. Emotions are running high and sue him because he really did need to hear that ok. The boy suddenly looks to Bruces right with a confused face “aren’t all basements like that though?” Before Bruce can even get a word in hes gone. Just vanished before his eyes.

[hyperblue]

forever thinking about tim drake stumbling into one of the wayne manor unused nurseries through the window at 5 a.m., knowing damn well that he doesn't have much time before alfred or dick realize that there's been an intruder — so he does his best to move as quickly as possible, while simultaneously trying not to disturb the precious bundle against his chest, with the baby snoring away like tim's arms are the safest place on the planet to sleep in. something tugs painfully inside tim as he lowers his baby son mistake into the old wooden cradle, the emptiness of it — no blankets, no toys, just one of kon's t-shirts wrapped around baby's body as poor excuse of comfort — is a sudden sharp knife to his mind, which is still coming to terms with what happened in that sickly green underground lab; nothing felt quite real since then, not even the warm weight of another living breathing creature pressed against his own body. the moment tim's hands leave the baby, there's immediate sniffing and shuffling as if it knows that tim's leaving, and tim knows that he has to go, he has to find bruce because bruce would know how to fix everything, but something about this lonely dark room filled with shadows and the cold morning air outside open window reminds tim of something he's been trying to bury all of his life — and the baby crying so softly (tim used to cry softly; soundlessly, even, until it wasn't enough anymore and he had to start screaming against his own palm pressed to his mouth) somehow glues tim to the place where he's standing.

"shh, shh, i know, i'm so sorry", he's not even sure what he's saying sorry for at this point. it just feels like the only word that he knows, "they will take care of you, i promise, okay? no need to cry, please don't cry"

his hearts throbs to live at the pain, some new kind of pain that he doesn't know how to numb yet as he takes off his glove to touch baby's tears-wet cheek, and something blooms at the contact, first skin to skin contact since the moment tim pulled his experiment out of the test tube.

why can't he just leave?

the effort it takes to pull away once again almost leaves him gasping for air, and it takes a few seconds for baby to start crying in earnest this time, but tim can't afford himself slowing down; though he keeps talking desperately as he moves back to the window, tugging his glove back on.

"i'm so sorry, i'm sorry. i promise i will come back as soon as can"

we'll be back around christmas, tim, there's no need to cry. you're a big boy already, it's time to start acting like one

tim leaves with the first break of dawn, knowing damn well that this heartbroken wailing is going to haunt him to the other side of the world the same way kon's phantom touches still haunt him to this very day

[team7-headquarter]

HE WAS SO MAD