one thing that I will criticize about Mikasa's character is that she doesn't understand Eren's (and Armin's) dream at all. The only insight we're offered into Mikasa's perspective of their dream is that she doesn't understand it and doesn't know what they're going on about. Like?? She doesn't get Eren's basic motivations?? Unless I completely missed something, Mikasa doesn't know that Eren wanted to explore an unoccupied world with Armin or that he desires 'freedom'. Which again, are Eren's base-level motivations. And she just. Isn't allowed to know??
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one time I used the ben affleck smoking reaction image in the family group chat and my mom replied with the funniest possible response which was: "mommy doesn't know who the guy is???" and that phrase has not left my brain since. I'll see blorbos on my dash that I don't recognize and I'll be like well it seems mommy doesn't know who the guy is.
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I never fully realised how heartbreaking this "I choose the prophecy" thing is. Imagine you are Annabeth. Imagine you are fourteen and the boy you have a crush on since over a year just broke literally any rule, travelled across the whole country and held the dam sky to save you, and you hear him say: "I'm gonna die in two years, because otherwise this poor little boy would have to carry the burden of the prophecy and I can't let this happen."
Edit: I feel like y'all still aren't sobbing enough, so I'd also like to remind you that six months later, Annabeth goes into the labyrinth and gets the prophecy "and your love will face a fate worse than death".
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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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so I read son of the demon straight through today (tbh maybe not my best idea I'm still sad 😓), and came to the realization that Bruce and Talia's marriage never actually ends. like, Talia just tells Bruce to leave and Ra's last line is literally calling Bruce his son. sure, it's implied, but, also. consider:
Random lawyer or finance guy or something: Have you ever been divorced or widowed?
Bruce: Y-
Bruce:
Bruce:
Bruce: actually I think I'm still married.
Dick: I'm sorry, WHAT?
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Uncle Damian Mode ACTIVATE
Twins Danny and Damian but! They both know where the other is (Damian going to Bruce and Danny being sent to the Fentons on a mission at a young age), has kept in touch and all that.
They just...never got around to telling anyone about the other.
That is until Danny comes interrupting Damian on patrol one night in a panic, pushes a bundle into his arms and hurriedly says "Read our texts! It'll explain! I gotta go, got a fruitloop on my tail! Be back when I can!"
And rushes off. When Damian looks down at the bundle in his arm, ignoring the yelling on comms and Nightwing rushing over, he is stunned to see a almost identical face to that of his brother staring back at him, only he can tell its female from the more delicate features.
When he later reads the texts his brother sent during his patrol... well he's tempted to go fruitloop hunting but he has a niece to take of... and inform his father of his granddaughter he's currently holding.
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