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.
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Bruce Wayne is canonically a very handsome man (he is called a "pretty boy" and he is in his 40s, for fuck's sake), and he is pretty famous as a rich philanthropist who doesn't want to leave his awful cursed crime infested city. So, there must be a ton of people thirsting over him on the internet. Fancams, edits, fanfics and imagines ("kidnapped with Bruce Wayne 😍 by a Gotham rogue"), the whole charade!
And anytime one of the batkids stumbles on a thirst post, they have the most dramatic disgusted reaction, loudly gagging, before sending the link to the batkids chat, because if they must suffer, then they should all suffer. Clicking on a link in this groupchat is like playing russian roulette, and getting rickrolled is a good ending.
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Time to do that notes game ig bc I really need to have motivation to finish all my outstanding things:
10 notes and I’ll animate 1 yttd vine (for every 50 notes I will animate another yttd vine until there are 50 vines)
25 notes and I’ll get rid of the dead plant in my room (and grow a sunflower in there instead)
75 notes and I’ll clean my desk
100 notes and I’ll finish making Dumb and Stupid Bird (my polymer figurine)
150 notes and I’ll finally paint the stop sign in my room that’s been hiding under my bed for six months
200 notes and I’ll reconstruct and mount the bird skulls that have been sitting on my desk also for months
250 notes and I’ll try to smash out the tattdok plot without procrastinating forever
500 notes and I’ll finish playing at least one of the three pokemon games I’ve been halfway through for ages
750 notes and I’ll start going on a walk every day
1k notes and I’ll dust my room (please no. I hate dusting so much)
1.25k and I’ll make sure I do one daily Teki request every day (starting from the oldest) until the inbox is empty
1.5k notes and I’ll finish all the danganronpa games I’ve been meaning to finish for years just for completionists’ sake really
2k notes and I’ll actually start learning rpgmaker
2.5k notes and I’ll make sure I finish every other incomplete game I have
3k notes and I’ll start actually researching on animation courses for next year
100k notes and I’ll animate a dungeon meshi version of out of touch thursday (thank god this will never happen)
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okay but WHYYY is no one talking about louis and daniel WHYYYYYYYYYY is no one talking about the greatest grandpa4grandpa relationship known to man and i don’t even mean romantically i mean in the most basic human platonic level their relationship is FASCINATING.
like louis SAUGHT HIM OUT after FIFTY YEARS he FOUND HIS BOY, this horrible infant who DID NOT UNDERSTAND A THING HE TOLD HIM, who saw his raw, decades-old pain and wanted in on it, AND HE GOES BACK FOR HIM BECAUSE HE KNOWS HE’S CHANGED. he can understand now. he can help him find the truth.
and like, they’re both absolutely terrified by each other because they’re both uniquely skilled at getting under each other’s skin and finding that truth (and also because… louis could just up and eat daniel anytime but shhhh…) and it’s because they UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER. louis’s interviewing daniel as much as daniel’s interviewing him, just. pulling teeth from each other’s head, trying to pull out all the rot with such violence and cruelty (from both of them!! daniel is a cockwallop!!) but they want to help each other they CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER.
LIKE THIS????
THIS FUCKING SHIT?????
GAGGED ME. RUINED ME. I HAD TO STOP AND TAKE A WALK AROUND THE ROOM.
(the gifs are from @loumands account btw. great work my guy)
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Would you ever write anything with a plus size reader? Maybe she’s (or they, can be gn idc!) really insecure but they hide it behind jokes and Konig sees right through it because he does the same
Cut to him always giving them compliments and making sure they stay fed and throwing them over his shoulder like they weigh nothing (usually in front of people cause he likes to embarrass and humiliate reader cause he is still kinda a jerk /affectionate/)
Can be nsfw or whatever you want, I’m not good at plot lol so Idk I just need him to treat me like I’m a teeny lil thing (cause let’s be real he really is a mountain lol)
König x PlusSized!Reader
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He’s getting tired of this nasty habit, liebling.
Everyday before your shower, you’ll stand in the mirror, honing in on that gorgeous, perfect body, digging for any little thing to critique.
“You better be thinking nice thoughts in there, little one.”
You just let out a groan, too far sunk into the spiral of self-hatred to claw yourself back out.
König rises from his spot on the bed a greets you with disapproving, half-lidded eyes in the mirror.
“What is it this time?”
“Tummy. Thighs. Chest.”
“Ach, you mean the best parts?”
You answer with an annoyed hum.
Konig will place his big, sturdy hands on your bare hips from behind, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on your shoulder.
The gentle peck distracts you from the strong arms scooping you up, a squeak leaving you as he sweeps you off your feet in one swift motion, ripping away your view of yourself in the mirror.
“König!”
“What?” He draws, carrying you from the bathroom to the bedroom.
“Put me down!” You say through a giggle, kicking your feet in his restraint.
“Hold on, I just have to get my curls in.”
He holds you horizontally across those strong arms, muscles tensing as he lifts and lowers you while you giggle all the way.
“I’m too heavy for this!”
“Barely a warm-up, liebling.”
He effortlessly tosses you onto the bed with a bounce, crawling over top you before you can even finish your squeal.
He showers kisses all over your bare tummy, his stubble sanding against plush, soft skin. Trailing his slobbering kisses up to your chest, giving your perfect breasts plenty of love. Your thighs would be last, showering you with pecks and even licking slow stripes across the flesh.
“König!”
“What?”
He’ll feign innocence, but that cocky smirk on his face betrays him.
“It’s too bad you can’t see what I see.”
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