#to find my writing ->

[technovillain]

crown jewel/stained glass jello cakes are like beautiful angels to me. it's fruity and delicious. it's retro kitsch. it's an edible example of midcentury minimalist art in every cross section.

i understand the 50s housewife appeal here. if i rolled up to the potluck with a fugly cobbler and my neighbor brought one of these i may have to end my stupid sloppy fruit life.

[catmask]

when u go to write a mentally ill person in ur story you are presented two options. the first option is to write your mental illness realistically as you actually experience it with all the ups and downs and people who are like you will resonate with it and feel seen. except every person who reads instagram infographics on mental health that uses the phrase narcicisst for anyone who does anything that crosses them and unironically call themself a dark empath will call you scary and tell you that youre demonizing mentally ill people

the second option is to lie and write inspiration porn for those people to get hard to

[filiseverus]

The Barbie movie reminded me about how when I was little my parents were upset that I kept making my Barbie dolls kiss, so they bought me a Ken doll. The next day they found me having a funeral for poor Ken in the garden, he had died of tuberculosis. All the Barbies were in attendance and I buried him under our rose bush. The Barbies were too poor to afford a headstone (it was 1875) so I didn’t mark where the grave was and I never could find him again. He’s probably still there.

[ashtray-shayy]

☆ name : shayy ☆ age : seventeen ☆ enjoy some yapper : ☆

☆my friends say i speak the most american british english🙊 (🏃no im not american) ☆ south asian parents ☆ i live in britain🗣️☆ ☆enfp ☆ eldest (and only) daughter syndrome ☆ my pinterest <3 ☆

★ i write words sometimes✒️ ( use this tag to find my writings x #shayy) ★

★ hobbies : i love reading books (gonna read loads this summer, idm u sending book recs) and watching anything that interests me such as netflix shows, anime and 'old' movies (i rlly gotta watch more.. my to watch list is never ending) ★ art student! ★ english literature is honey for my soul ★ stem is so hard i was not built for that buut live laugh love all my stem girlies, ur hot🙈 ★ in many fandoms, ask to find out if we share some?★

✿ feel free to ask abt anything you wanna know<3 ✿

✿ moots list! ✿

✿@nellysview

✿@spir4nts-lun4r

✿@pessimisticgh0st

✿@is-this--all-there-is

✿@prettygirlmkegrqves

✿@holdmyteaplease

✿@toulousv

✿@leaskisses444

✿@etherealstardustt

✿@sleepinginmygrave

✿@daydream-of-a-wallflower

✿@hansenesque

✿@skeelly

✿@kimu-dem

✿@allisonswritings

✿@silence-between-seconds

✿@the0nlyallison

✿@art-student-rants

✿@gergthecat

✿@starryrain

✿@witheringhouls

✿@moonlightt444

✿@geothemysterious

💗✿💗✿ I LOVE ALL MY MOOTS 💗✿💗✿

[inkskinned]

okay is she being actually immature or is it just a woman over 30 expressing a human experience you find to be immature.

like yeah. at certain ages... let shit go. im not defending the real immature shit. im not defending the karen you're picturing. i worked in retail i hate those people too. (once somebody got mad at me because she didn't like how our winter window decor was a snowman smoking a pipe. i wish i was joking).

but men at 57 will write books about how 17 year old girls are soooo sexy. they will invent worlds where women have to be naked for "armor reasons." they will write songs that treat women as objects. people rush to defend them. meanwhile a woman at 35 will be like "heartbreak is hard, actually" or "i feel betrayed by a friend" or "i am struggling with something emotionally." immediately people will say stuff like this woman is 35 by the way. by the way this woman is SO OLD to be experiencing this. BY THE WAY.

im 31, almost 32. the other day a poet was blasted online because at her "big age", she had written a poem about feeling unloved. top comment was "this woman is 29 by the way." this woman is too old to still be useful, by the way. she has to behave better . maybe if she was a good wife and mother she could stop existing loudly, and the story could continue on without her. this woman has served her purpose, by the way. she's so cringe, by the way. at 29 - so old! - she still hasn't figured out that her existence should be one of shame.

[wonkyjaw]

Quilt update. This is split somewhere in the blues and I have to sew that together and then I have to add one more yellow row to the top. Then the quilt top is finally, finally done.

[legolambi]

say it with me melvik pre series toxic situationship

[artsymeeshee]

Another aroace Ford idea that came up. I just really like the idea of Ford going to Mabel for these types of things :’)

[lgbtlunaverse]

There's a version of the "don't go grocery shopping while hungry" rule specifically for writers where you should never under any circumstances be allowed to touch your draft within 3 hours of reading a really good story. Because sometimes when you read something great your head goes "fuck this is so much better than my stuff I should make that more like THIS instead!" Look at me. That's the devil talking and you should close the document NOW.

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[stealingyourbones]

There’s a new drug in Gotham making the rounds, one synthesized by Two-Face’s people; if you take it you will have a 50/50 chance that you’ll experience the greatest high of your life or that you’ll die.

Batman is desperately trying to find the main lab and cut off the production from the source and hasn’t been able to find a lead in weeks.

That’s when Gordon gives him a file that was given to him by a “white haired ghost kid”. It’s a detailed report written similarly to a scientific journal with detailed sources that are mainly first hand accounts from deceased victims of the Two-Face drug.

At the very end of the paper there’s an address to a Gotham University dorm room with a sticky note next to it that says “if you need help with death or the undead. Yours truly; Danny Fenton.”

[vaimetanyx]

There is no stopping a star from burning itself out of the night sky

Words taken from - you can love him, but you can’t keep him (Sylvie j.p.)

[fanfictionroxs]

Daniel working on his laptop ignoring Louis/Armand fighting in the background like the perfect child of divorce lmfao. Reminds me of Claudia writing in her diary ignoring Louis/Lestat arguing lmaaooooo

Who's the band aid for a shitty marriage now huh Danny baby?

[orphicmusings]

viktor taking lab assistant!reader as his plus one to a fancy academy gathering so he can have some comfort and solace amidst the clinking glasses and overlapping conversations. his face immediately flushes when you meet him there, wearing your nicest dress and hair done up in a way he wasn’t sure was possible. you aren’t faring so well either, with the top two buttons of his white shirt open, leaving a taunting glimpse of his collarbone (another place one of his moles reside, you learn.) just the picture of him, leisurely leaning on his cane with one hand adorned with a silver ring in the shape of a gear, a wine glass in the other. amber eyes catch yours in the act. fuck, you’re staring. with your cheeks flushed, you quickly look away as the orchestra reaches the climax of the song. between the volume, the wine, and the tension between you, your head is starting to hurt. you turn away from him and rub your temple with one hand, the other blindly reaching behind for your pins. “let me.” you hear his honey-coated accent above the music and god, you want to melt in it. his skilled hands try to make quick work of undoing your hair in the dim lighting of the corner of the room but to no avail. “come with me.” he holds his hand out, leading you to a more crowded part of the room, but one where the chandelier reaches the glint in his eye. “and sit.” he all but commands as he moves behind you again, gently taking the intricate braids and patterns out of your hair, and all you can think of is his fingers tangled in it. if you had this room to yourself, would he use it as leverage to lift your lips to his? your breath hitches very obviously in your throat, and you cover it with a cough. would he grip it greedily to touch and take as much of you as he can? you squirmed in your seat, readjusting your position. or would he tsk and tug on it gently, and tell you how bad of a girl you are for even thinking about this in front of him, in public, no less? you inhale shakily, fidgeting with your hands. he finishes his work, eyeing your flushed face and heaving chest. and then the bastard chuckles. “what?” you bite out of pent-up frustration. he shakes his head with an easy smile. “nothing. you are just adorable when you are trying to restrain yourself.”

[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.

[dudedidujust]

Au where Damian comes to Gotham with the goal of infiltrating and eventually overthrowing Batman instead of inheriting the mantle. Not much changes from canon except for the fact that he views everything that batman owns as his. That's his future cave and his future batmobile. This also includes his robins. After all everyone knows Batman wouldn't really be Batman without them.

Cue a very bewildered Tim being lectured on his eating habits by a righteous Damian who won't let one of his people take shortcuts with their health.