#that i promise i'm working on

[egophiliac]

still ruminating over Lost In the Book With Spooky Skeletons Part 1, so here's a selection of some of my favorite little bits! (...some more loosely paraphrased than others) (I just feel like Idia has no room to criticize in general, okay)

anyway, I'm sure we're just going to have a fun time celebrating Halloween and nothing bad is going to happen whatsoever! :)

[artisfaction]

[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.

[peachylynnie]

sylus: check it out! i got us matching bracelets!

mc: are those handcuffs?!

sylus: never leave me.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Five foot something and he's royalty.

[tlotrgifs]

Happy New Year (2025).

[dilfmobius]

[lcs-scar]

May I perhaps see some.. Bill x pete art..?

Two boys with homoerotic tendencies, I hope they don't have a habit of burning down establishments

[v6quewrlds]

"president trump" suck my dick and balls.

[wannabemasterofwindintraining]

You could be nicer about it :((

[north-noire]

the father-daughter of all time based on this tweet and I had to just draw it with these two

[grimae]

We come carry the face of a dead sun.

[vaguely-shaped-triangles]

We always talk about poly 141 all ganging up on reader but what about all of you giving Price a chance to be taken care of?

Like, think about it. You all love John so much as both your captain and a partner, but the poor man always feels like he has the world on his shoulders. Being in charge and giving orders is what keeps him and his men alive in the field, its hard to put that away when he comes home :( Sometimes you just gotta make that old man sit down and accept some lovin

Imagining all of you laying in bed (a california king that price got so you could all sprawl out, but everyone ends up in a cuddle pile in the middle by morning) Simon's laid out in the center, holding Price's back flush to his chest, cock buried to the hilt in his captain as he gives little thrusts up, not wanting to jostle him around too much. Not when Kyle and Johnny are both between John's spread thighs and lavishing kisses and licks up and down his weeping dick, nipping at the thick, hairy flesh of John's thighs when he squrims too much.

and then theres you: perched up on a pillow next to Simon and John's heads. One hand running through the shorn locks on Simons head, encouraging him to take good care of their captain. The other wandering anywhere on John it can reach- featherlight touches over his abdomen and watching the muscles twitch beneath that cushy layer of fat- leaning down to bite at it until John keens. Playing with his nipples and kissing him senseless. Nibbling at the lobe of his ear and telling him that he "just needed to be taken care of for once, hm? always taking care of us. let us return the favor."

Idk, i think he just needs some love from his people

[seo-changbinnies]

my favorite binnie looks (283/∞)

[jeleynai]

Painting hands is my favourite <3

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

A procession of confessions.

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