On todays episode of Stuff Librarians Find In Books:
Someone decided this one needed chapter titles
Doin good so far, I guess
Trust your instincts kid, you know more about eggs than you think you do
THINGS ARE GETTING EXCITING
That’s a pretty scary yeisy
Well I mean, they’re not wrong
what IS IT!?
I hope they got the answers they were seeking.
Oh, and finally..
The sky, the clouds, the fairy queen, Pixie Hollow…and exactly three popcorn.
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168 Spoilers
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So...
I know Tareo will be okay now, but seeing the absolute desperation in the way Garou is running from his consequences...god. He essentially killed the kid he wanted to protect, the underdog, the bullied. These scenes in particular.
The tears, the tears man. I'm proud he ended up doing the right thing, though it cost his life. One last time, he saved him. He saved him, just like Tareo said he would. So, with that, I think it's better to leave off with a quote.
"You are the coolest, greatest hero of all time!"
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I don't know what you call this aesthetic but I LIKE it
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Little kid (4-5 years old) at the dog park wandered over and was chatting my ear off as I was throwing the ball for Chili. At some point, he realized what her name was and he went ‘wait. Chili like food?’ and I said ‘yep, like a chili pepper’.
“Or the soup.” He added. “The soup I don’t really like.”
I told him yep, and kept throwing the ball while he told me about his dog eating his eggs while he was dancing to music. He helped me call Chili back a few times and wanted to pet her, but she snubbed him for the ball like she does everyone else. Eventually, his dad called him to go home and told him to tell Chili bye, so the kid turns around and says:
“Bye Soup! Bye delicious Soup!” before scampering off after his family.
It was very cute and made my Sunday. Have a sleepy soup.
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lil bro proposed to his gf screaming crying throwing up @ the video as we speak
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@leoplzmarryme
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Nobody's got a, "I just got my shit rocked and I'm somewhere else mentally" expression quite like Daniel Garcia.
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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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i love to see people who are like "you can talk about csa but not around minors that's gross!" like idk how to tell you this but. who do you think is getting csa'd. i'll give you a hint: the first letter in csa does not stand for "adult"
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Young Justice is always a little...concerned. With Phantom's living situation.
Now they're outright afraid for him, and Bart has decided it's time to Ask An Adult.
It was the little quips. The tiny little things. Stuff that didn't seem to matter to Phantom at all, or appeared to be normal for him, that he didn't realize weren't normal at all.
"Oh, better not hope my mom catches me."
"Doing what, staying out past bedtime?"
"Nah, using my powers; she'd vivisect me!"
"Another stab wound. Great."
"Don't worry Phantom, I've got the med kit-"
"Oh, I'm not a baby or anything, I can handle it just fine. Just gimme a sec to take it out."
"My dad has better aim than that."
"...Like, when he's hunting, right?"
"...At what other times would he be shooting at me?"
"Huh. Not as bad as my parents place. Look; they have a decontamination shower!"
"Phantom, this lab has been vandalized to the point of needing a hazmat suit."
"Did I stutter?"
Finding out each others identities did nothing to soothe the worry. Tim quietly told the others that every time he tried to run facial recognition, he kept hitting a government firewall he couldn't breach. Phantom never told them his last name, just his first, and 'Danny' is super common.
The thing that really did it though, the thing that made Bart snap and run off to ask Max, was when Danny had a nightmare.
He was talking in his sleep.
"No. Don't-stop. Stoooop. I need...my skin. Mom, no. You can't...peel off...my skin..."
Bart didn't even wait for them to wake Danny up before he was standing in front of Max, talking a mile a minute as he tried to figure out what to do, with Wally staring in horror over a plate of waffles as he computed everything that Bart was saying.
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Danny had a dream about his mom and Skulker arguing about how to skin him. He wouldn't really call it a nightmare, because it was just Skulker, but the scariest thing was Skulker insisting to his mom that it was possible to skin him with a potato peeler. Dream mom was arguing that it was not, and that from a scientific standpoint that was a really piss poor way to preserve a specimen.
He hadn't been begging them to stop hurting him, he'd been whining at them to knock it off.
But when he wakes up, it's to a room full of worried friends and an old man who calls himself Max.
"Kid, I think we need to talk."
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Grover was really out here finding and collecting Big Three kids like they were Pokémon. He really said, "gotta catch em all," and he did.
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That's what Satan has planned? A mighty wind from the wilderness to smite the mansion and bring it down upon them? ... Ooooooo, aren’t you brilliant.
(They invented flirting)
Bonus:
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