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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Diabolik Lovers Dark Fate Vol. 3 Chapter of the Last Quarter — Short Story Translation
A short, sweet, and comedic tale about the Mukami brothers being supportive siblings… and nearly committing accidental fratricide in the process. Meanwhile, Yui watches with increasing concern as the disaster unfolds.
Please refrain from using or reposting the translation anywhere without my permission.
[Note: The story is written in Yui's POV.]
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"Uh...something's wrong..."
Kou-kun groaned as he stared down at the pot.
"Should I help after all?"
"Eve, you mustn't get involved...okay? Just quietly watch over us."
Even though he said that, an increasingly terrible smell was spreading throughout the kitchen. Despite being told not to interfere, I was starting to get a bit worried.
"Maybe it needs some sugar-chan!?"
"Ah!!"
Before I could stop him, Yuma-kun dumped several sugar cubes into the pot, filling the room with a foul stench. I felt a sense of despair.
The whole mess had started when Ruki-kun injured his hand.
"Ruki-kun always cooks for us, so let's all pitch in today!"
And so, Kou-kun's plan of making dinner ended up as disastrously as I had feared.
"...This is...?"
"Well... It's supposed to be curry..."
Kou-kun glanced at me as if pleading for help. When I looked at Yuma-kun and Azusa-kun, they averted their eyes. In short, something horrible had been created. Its color was... to put it nicely, pitch black. After tasting it, Yuma-kun commented nonsensically that it was "bittersweetsalty". Dubbed "Mukami Brothers' Style Curry" it had transformed into a mysterious substance resembling anything but curry. Just by looking at it, anyone would instantly recognize it as inedible.
Yet, Ruki-kun was peering at the plates lined up on the table with a happy look on his face.
"Maybe it's better if we don't eat this..."
In spite of Kou-kun's uneasiness, Ruki-kun scooped up the substance with a spoon and brought it to his mouth.
". . ."
"It's disgusting."
We all shared the same fear. That even though he's immortal, Ruki-kun might die from this.
Despite his words, Ruki-kun's expression suddenly relaxed. We stared at him in amazement.
"R-Ruki-kun...!!"
"Ruki..."
"Ruki...! Damn it! Yer such a...!"
The three brothers, seemingly drained, collapsed to their knees on the spot. Ruki-kun simply watched them in silence as he continued to eat.
And then, afterwards—Ruki-kun was bedridden for three days and nights. Even though Vampires aren't supposed to get sick...
Seeing this, his brothers made a firm vow to themselves. They would never try to cook again.
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Okay, so. Um. Chapter 423.
Seeing people's reactions I have to say some things. And let me preface this by saying that I don't believe this is truly it. But.
The issue isn't even that Izuku (seemingly) failed to save the person he wanted to save from AFO (well, it is an issue, actually, but not the main point. Also, the fact that his and vestiges' plan to reach Tenko is also what ensured Tomura's death is just so... ), and it's not that he's weirdly distant and cold in this chapter.
It's the fact that not a single one of them actually acknowledged anything that they saw and heard in Shigaraki's mind. Neither of them talked about what AFO told Tomura - the fact that Tomura didn't say anything about what he learned about his quirk, his purpose and the fact that he never truly wanted to kill his family is especially mind-boggling. And Deku didn't say anything about the revelation that Tomura never really had a chance or a choice from the very start either. There was no self-relfection on either side, no real conversation, and there also was no real understanding between the two being reached. It's the fact that Deku instantly stopped caring or wondering about Tenko/Tomura the moment AFO came back, being completely willing to pulverise his body when just a few chapters ago he refused to do that when Nana told him to. It's the fact that he didn't react to Kurogiri pleading for Tomura and Bakugou just killed (???? maybe not, it's hard to understand) the man. It's the fact that the vestiges still being alive and Nana saving Tomura (oh hey, guess her whole family actually all died to AFO, unable to truly smile) was off-screened.
This is not people blaming Izuku. This is just people complaining about straight up bad writing.
Even if Tenko is still alive (And Kurogiri wasn't killed by Bakugou too, but I feel like Kurogiri is just too doomed to survive anyway), that doesn't erase the weirdness that this chapter was. It would still be salvageable, I guess, depending on what happens next, but good lord, the damage was certainly done.
And if Tenko is really dead, but we'll just see more of Midoriya's reaction to that in the following chapters, this would still be fucking horrible.
I love Deku. I love his emotions, how genuine he is, how empathetic he is. He is just a kid forced into an awful situation. This is not a jab at him as much as it is a jab at the author and the writing here. Because how in the world does the protagonist fail at doing what he wanted to do harder than the supporting cast with their villains? Why was Toga and Uraraka's final chapter more genuine and emotional that THIS - the protagonist and the main antagonist's last conversation????? Why was Ochako more upset about realising that Toga is about to kill herself than Deku was in those chapters?
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