The bad kids are an incredibly healthy and supportive friend group BUT OH MY GOD THEY SUCK AT COMMUNICATING!
Half of their problems would be solved if they talked to each other.
Fabian would GLADLY pay for Adaine's components and for Riz's tuition if they asked. He would even get his papa to change his trust fund conditions to include them. Or he would declare Riz and Adaine his nemesis.
They would figure out the reason for Fig's misfortune in a week max. They would march into hell, probably accompanied by both Gorthalax and Sandra Lynn, and demand to break whatever deal she made with whichever demon involved.
If Fabian even suggested he was lonely, the bad kids would organise sleepovers every night. He would circle between the Thistlesprings, the Gukgaks and the Mordred Manor. Lydia would pack him his own lunch.
Fig would immediately start promoting Cassandra's religion on all social media, and get her to thousand followers in a week. The rest of the bad kids would join without hesitation.
If Riz would finally admit the HUGE stress he is under, everyone, even Fig, would stop piling all the work on him and happily write their 10 page essays. They would convince him to see Jawbone, and enjoy his last years in high school. They would band together to find the rogue teacher within a day. They would make sure that Riz's resume is the most impressive CV that the universities have ever received.
They would all gather together to come up with music for Fig and Gorgug's new album. Fabian would choreograph their music videos, Adaine would come up with rhymes, Riz would bring a list of all their adventures, including motifs and connections made, to give her inspiration, Kristen would suggest to make parodies of classic camp songs from her old church.
Adaine would contact Aelwyn immediately to get dirt on Porter, to blackmail him. Gorgug would get permission for his MCAT exams by the end of the week.
And if she would stay on the phone a little longer and admitted how much she is struggling, Aelwyn would immediately return home along with her cats. Then she would drag her sister to Jawbone's door, and force her to give him the components list.
The problem is that even after all those years, after all those adventures, even after the forest of the nightmare king, they still each think of themselves as the weak link. As the person in the group that isn't allowed, doesnt deserve to take space, ask for help. Because they should be able to handle it on their own. Isn't that what adulthood is like?
They would abandon anything and everything to help someone else, as long as that person isn't themselves. As long as they dont have to show their amazing, incredible, powerful, and oh so compassionate friends how weak and imperfect they are in comparison.
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for anyone too young to know this: watching The Truman Show is a vastly different experience now, compared to how it was before youtube and social media influencers became normal
before it was like, "what a horrifying thing to do to a human being! to take away their autonomy and privacy, all for the sake of profits! to create fake scenarios for them to react to, just to retain viewership! to ruin their happiness just so some corporate entity could harvest money from their very humanity! how could anyone do something so evil?"
and now it's like, "ah, yeah. this is still deeply fucked up, but it's pretty much what every influencer has been doing to their kids for a decade now. probably bad that we've normalized this experience"
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I am curious, bc I just ran across one of those, 'everyone remembers where they were when 9/11 happened!' things so-
This isn't meant to be a commentary on the event, just whether or not you remember where you were/what you were doing when the news hit.
As an example, I was home sick, doing dishes, when mom yelled for me to get in the living room RIGHT NOW.
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Protocol is actually just us Magnus Archives fans rapidly descending into s2-Jon-levels of paranoia. Granted, just like s2 Jon, we have reason to be paranoid, but it's still hilarious to see us all collectively scaling the walls of our enclosure while frothing at the mouth over our theories.
Jonny and Alex are playing us like a cheap harmonica and I'm so here for it
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reducing jack to just bad queer rep is so wild to me like were u guys alive in the 2000s. here is a time travelling faggot he is hypermasculine and shamelessly effeminite and has one of the most bitterly brave death scenes u have ever witnessed in ur young life oh wait he can never die. they invented a poof who could never die
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"The boycott didn't work" It was never a boycott. It's not a mass action. It's just me, saying "I can't be a party to this if I ever want to look my reflection in the eyes again" and "I can't waste my time cultivating friendships with people of such low character."
Have you never made a choice purely for your own benefit and stubborn pride before?
[Edit]
This is about your little game. This post is about how y'all are people with no character, yellow bellies, and spines made of warm, wet spaghetti. Don't bother telling me all about it; I'm just going to block you and then forget you exist because it's less than stepping on a roach to me.
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israel should just give up at this point hamas is literally receiving letters of gratitude from the israeli hostages they’ve released
(via RNN telegram)
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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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