#good job lovely!!!!

[anna-scribbles]

so this summer i am nannying a 5 year old who loves miraculous ladybug (my dream) & every day she asks if we can play ladybug and chat noir at the park. these are some comics based on our various games<3

[iiping]

it’s the archon’s birthday but they’re still in their own little world 🫣

[amalgamezz]

ALT

[moncuries]

matters of state

[rubikor]

they were her people

[lotus-pear]

horrendously late entry for @luneariann’s dtiys!! congrats on one million ely i’m so proud of you <3

[flowercrowncrip]

Disabled people who want to and can work deserve to be able to access fair, good quality employment without discrimination.

Disabled people who are unable to work deserve to be able to afford to live a good quality life without facing discrimination

[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.

[sabh0]

Atp im just drawing some ''Chuuya and the people that care about him" series or smth

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

going through my old journals as part of therapy homework and i'm reading a section written in the emotional wreckage of a full-on breakdown when i get hit with this line:

There is never a satisfying answer to ‘Why didn’t they love me?’

like wow babe. good fucking point

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

Casual reminder that Hunter is LITERALLY the person who brings a knife to a gun blaster fight.

What makes this even funnier? In this scene, Anakin says "Hunter, hold them off," and Hunter's response is to drop the blaster he's holding in exchange for his knife.

[musubiki]

balor 🥰

[idliketobeatree]

btw when you're being mean to aziraphale this is who you're being mean to. hope this helps

[noornight]

Long distance besties. This definitely happened after the third movie (source: trust me bro)

Based on this

[dingledraw]

I’ve been reading about the hygiene of Louis XIV and the court of Versailles and… uhh...🤢 (I’ve later learned that most of it is a myth tho 👀)

[alexis-royce]

It drives me a little spinny when I see people posting “Why Aziraphale doesn’t just keep his books at home if he doesn’t want to sell them” because it seems to me to so clearly be a riff on real life antiquarian bookshops?

I worked in a used and rare book shop for five years, and have frequented them since I was young, and Aziraphale is like, a type of guy who just exists. An older fellow who refuses to keep his books in any sort of order, neglects to write prices in, opens at wildly varying hours, and by all accounts does not seem to want to be in business at all. The answer I found, by the end, was because many of them were doing it as a sort of retirement hobby. They made enough money to keep the lights on and to buy new rare books to look at.

I swear to you: nobody in the book business would bat an eye at Aziraphale. Especially if his shop had been there for generations. They would assume that the occasional loose encyclopedia plate sale would be enough to make rent, or that Mr. Fell had business and land holdings elsewhere.

And I assume that though he doesn’t want to sell them, he would LOVE a curious browser. Antiquarian vendors often adore it when you ask how to find a rare book, because the thrill of the hunt is often better than actually owning the volume. Anyone can have a private library, but owning a quaint little bookshop is a saucy way to brag and chat with other book lovers, and you can’t put that on your shelf at home.