#someone needs to tell me

[livelaughlovefootball]

Oh crap, France and England both play at the same time but I only have one screen so

Which one should I watch? 😰😰😰

[mx-giraffe]

Look at these beautiful eldritch horrors, aren’t they adorable?

[raamitsu]

is it me or does kusakabe voiced by urahara kisuke’s voice actor???

[hansoeii]

It's about who.

[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.

[wispscribbles]

“How copy?”

[egophiliac]

some (extremely) quick doodles to celebrate the glorious return of glorious masquerade! I haven't had a chance to do much personal drawing lately, but I didn't want to let it go by without doing something!

[heart-wit-strength]

Being on the ace spec with aesthetic attraction is so rad like 'nooo pls stop taking your clothes off you look so hot having them on' :(

[sergle]

You!! Hey you!! Are you looking for a pair of kittens? Do you live In Or Near Oklahoma? Do you wish you could listen to purring all the time? Do you want a cat that looks like an aye-aye?

long story short, we found these two kittens at the bottom of a garbage can!! I don't like to think about how they ended up in there- but we heard them crying while on a walk, and it's very lucky they were so loud! They were scared at first, but now they NEED to be snuggled at all times. Crazy how adaptable kittens are. I'd prefer to rehome them as a pair, but I'd consider adopting them out individually if that's my only option! Please IM me if you're interested in both/either of these babies, or if you have any questions at all!!

[lazycranberrydoodles]

getting back into the untamed and i had a thought. / follow for more yllz babygirlism

[heartscrypt]

OH MY GOD WAIT I NEED TO TELL THE PEOPLE. ok so. you know how magicam is the twst version of instagram. i dreamt about the twst version of tinder.

it's called cinder (like cinderella) and its tagline is "find your prince before the clock strikes twelve". its gimmick is that when you make a match with a person you have 24 hours to talk with them. if you like them, get their contact information before time runs out. because otherwise you're never fucking seeing them on the app again IT BLOCKS THE OTHER'S PROFILE. this is where capitalism comes in though. through a paid subscription, once per day, you can "leave a glass slipper" on a match's profile. it functions as a bookmark and keeps your conversation open for another 24 hrs. after the time is up you can keep the glass slipper there to extend more time or remove it to leave it on someone else's

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Don't Wormy About Me.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[idyllcy]

iced ankle - zayne x reader (nsfw warning)

You whimper at the coolness on your skin.

To be fair, it's supposed to be cold, and for a quicker recovery, your leg is lifted into the air, Zayne's palm wrapped around the sprain, evol cool against your ankle as his other hand presses down where you can feel him inside of you. It makes you squirm slightly, breathing labored as he tilts his head down at you.

"Are you alright? Should I stop?"

"Don't you dare." You manage, shifting slightly to adjust to his size, ice on his palm sliding up you as he pinches your nipple. You whimper.

"The patient looks uncomfortable."

"God, you're so work-brained." You groan, humming as Zayne moves your other ankle to his shoulder, pulling you close as he folds you onto his table, papers scattering as he does.

"If I were so work-brained, you would not be here getting railed in my office." He chuckles, humming as his hands grow colder to make a point, sliding down your waist just to see you squirm.

You let out a shaky breath as you hum. "You can move now."

"Good girl." He hums, finally moving as you cling onto his desk, head thrown back in pleasure as your head swirls. You wonder if he should start giving you treatment of this type more often.

[theminecraftbee]

listen a friend suggested to me. a concept for a fic/au. that i do not know enough about qsmp to create so i am handing it here into the world in case someone DOES know enough and is inspired by this.

anyway so for those who aren't aware, iskall and tubbo have a vhsmp bit where iskall insists that he is tubbo's dad, a thing tubbo originally agreed to in order to get resources, lol. he is also son of captain sparklez by these means, but it's iskall who doesn't let the bit go; basically every interaction they've had on twitter since iskall refers to tubbo as "son", and even sometimes just like, randomly when iskall is otherwise talking about tubbo. it is my favorite silly family dynamic out there, i love it dearly.

the thing my friend suggested was: what if iskall finds out this means he has a granddaughter?

so my qsmp mutuals and followers PLEASE tell me what that would be like, as angsty or as silly as you'd like (i've heard Something is going down with tubbo on qsmp??? i think???), i just think this would be fantastic. i don't even know which egg tubbo has i lost track. or what that egg is like. i just. need this to exist in the world i can learn.

just. picture. iskall, bursting into tears: MUMBO I AM A GRANDFATHER. MUMBO I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO BE A GRANDFATHER. mumbo, a little panicked: i didn't know you were a father-father.

that's all,

[inkskinned]

crows use tools and like to slide down snowy hills. today we saw a goose with a hurt foot who was kept safe by his flock - before taking off, they waited for him to catch up. there are colors only butterflies see. reindeer are matriarchical. cows have best friends and 4 stomachs and like jazz music. i watched a video recently of an octopus making himself a door out of a coconut shell.

i am a little soft, okay. but sometimes i can't talk either. the world is like fractal light to me, and passes through my skin in tendrils. i feel certain small things like a catapult; i skirt around the big things and somehow arrive in crisis without ever realizing i'm in pain.

in 5th grade we read The Curious Incident of the Dog In The Night-time, which is about a young autistic boy. it is how they introduced us to empathy about neurotypes, which was well-timed: around 10 years old was when i started having my life fully ruined by symptoms. people started noticing.

i wonder if birds can tell if another bird is odd. like the phrase odd duck. i have to believe that all odd ducks are still very much loved by the other normal ducks. i have to believe that, or i will cry.

i remember my 5th grade teacher holding the curious incident up, dazzled by the language written by someone who is neurotypical. my teacher said: "sometimes i want to cut open their mind to know exactly how autistics are thinking. it's just so different! they must see the world so strangely!" later, at 22, in my education classes, we were taught to say a person with autism or a person on the spectrum or neurodivergent. i actually personally kind of like person-first language - it implies the other person is trying to protect me from myself. i know they had to teach themselves that pattern of speech, is all, and it shows they're at least trying. and i was a person first, even if i wasn't good at it.

plants learn information. they must encode data somehow, but where would they store it? when you cut open a sapling, you cannot find the how they think - if they "think" at all. they learn, but do not think. i want to paint that process - i think it would be mostly purple and blue.

the book was not about me, it was about a young boy. his life was patterned into a different set of categories. he did not cry about the tag on his shirt. i remember reading it and saying to myself: i am wrong, and broken, but it isn't in this way. something else is wrong with me instead. later, in that same person-first education class, my teacher would bring up the curious incident and mention that it is now widely panned as being inaccurate and stereotypical. she frowned and said we might not know how a person with autism thinks, but it is unlikely to be expressed in that way. this book was written with the best intentions by a special-ed teacher, but there's some debate as to if somebody who was on the spectrum would be even able to write something like this.

we might not understand it, but crows and ravens have developed their own language. this is also true of whales, dolphins, and many other species. i do not know how a crow thinks, but we do know they can problem solve. (is "thinking" equal to "problem solving"? or is "thinking" data processing? data management?) i do not know how my dog thinks, either, but we "talk" all the same - i know what he is asking for, even if he only asks once.

i am not a dolphin or reindeer or a dog in the nighttime, but i am an odd duck. in the ugly duckling, she grows up and comes home and is beautiful and finds her soulmate. all that ugliness she experienced lives in downy feathers inside of her, staining everything a muted grey. she is beautiful eventually, though, so she is loved. they do not want to cut her open to see how she thinks.

a while ago i got into an argument with a classmate about that weird sia music video about autism. my classmate said she thought it was good to raise awareness. i told her they should have just hired someone else to do it. she said it's not fair to an autistic person to expect them to be able to handle that kind of a thing.

today i saw a goose, and he was limping. i want to be loved like a flock loves a wounded creature: the phrase taken under a wing. which is to say i have always known i am not normal. desperate, mewling - i want to be loved beyond words.

loved beyond thinking.

[tapakah0]

Eh, almost forgot ;~;; Commission for sweet @celestialrose3 ;;~;;; Thank you so much *bows*