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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Oops.
While learning to control his powers under the guidance of Clockwork, Danny accidentally curses his own bloodline with the Curse of Sentient Food several centuries in the past. Originally, a witch was supposed to curse his family. Oops. Well, the Fentons were always adapting, and technically, either way, he'd end up battling dino nuggets at three am in his underwear, no matter who the curse came from. So he shrugged and continued on.
Unfortunately, this also means that out of nowhere, the timeline shifted, and some of his very distant relatives are now battling their food into submission at every meal because Danny is ultimately way more powerful than some mortal witch from the 1600s. His version of the curse reached literally everyone he could ever be related to for the last few centuries. Even if they were adopted into the family!
So, returning to the present time after training, Danny is a little startled to see some news clips of people's dinners coming to life and beginning revolutions. Wow, John Fentonightingale really got around, didn't he? He felt a little uncomfortable that now all these random people had to deal with their share of Fenton luck, but from some of the interviews, everyone seemed to be handling it pretty well!
Especially his so-distant-they're-on-another-tree cousins, the Kents, who contacted his family directly, asking how best to prepare a zombie turkey. Their son was coming for Thanksgiving with his new wife and some coworkers, and they just refused to make the guests fight for their lives on a holiday!
They invited the Fentons to join them, of course.
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Inspired both by the recent solar eclipse and this post by @otiksimr, an art piece I’ve never been prouder of, my WoF oc Sunkiller!
Born under a total solar eclipse (ask me about my temperature-based nightwing hatching headcanons. and also my headcanons about how sunlight affects nightwings.) and blessed with the ability of perfect knowledge of the past, or at least the past where dragons exist. This of course makes her an invaluable resource to historians everywhere, which she is absolutely sick of, and so has gotten very adept at the hermit lifestyle. For pity’s sake, you solve ONE cold case murder as a hatchling, and suddenly EVERYBODY wants your attention…
(if tui has declared anything canon about nightwings and solar eclipses, like she has for blood moons, which are lunar eclipses, i haven’t seen it)
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y'know what we don't talk about enough? Hazel died. We talk about how she grew up in the 30's and 40's and we talk about how out of place she feels in the modern world, but! She died! She was dead! She has spent more time dead than alive, and not by a close margin!
How does that effect a person??? We got some of it in the flashbacks, but once those caught up with her present timeline and she shared them, they just kind of... disappeared. And she was a regular girl with some weird past experiences. That's one way of doing it, sure!
I think it would have been a lot cooler if she was just a touch creepier. If she felt a little bit Wrong. Yeah, in general she's more approachable than her brother, she's more sociable and less closed off, but. If you actually spend any time with her, it can be difficult to tell which child of the underworld is actually more unsettling.
Hazel is bright of personality and has a dazzling smile, but sometimes she'll just... shut down. She'll go completely blank for like half an hour and nobody knows what to do with it. Sometimes she forgets she's alive. Sometimes she'll spout the grimmest shit you've ever heard like it's nothing, she won't even notice it's weird until the room goes quiet. She spent decades in Asphodel, which is designed to make people forget about themselves and wander around for eternity, only she didn't have the luxury of forgetting! Wild! After she comes back to life, sometimes she forgets that she's allowed to Do Stuff now. She can spend so long sitting and staring at nothing. Sometimes she'll start crying on cloudless days because it hits her again that she can actually feel the warmth of the sun on her skin and she can hear birdsong. Every little mundane experience is a blessing and she will make you remember that in the most foreboding way possible.
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feral giyuu beloved
hes gonna fucking kill Shinazugawa
so Sanemi pulls his stab-the-baby bullshit which terrifies Tanjiro, thinking he'd try to open the box next to burn her in the sun. as soon as Giyuu registers his distress all the tension he'd be holding in snaps violently- he lurches forward out of the lineup and lunges at Sanemi with the ferocity of an actual demon. Sabito and everyone else are stunned in place as Giyuu punches him hard enough to send him to the gravel, snatches Nezuko's box from him and leaps back pulling Tanjiro behind him.
He stands there posed protectively in front of them, every muscle tensed ready to move as he stares Sanemi down snarling as loud as thunder. Obanai Mitsuri and Tengen are cringing back- Obanai because hes closest aside from Sanemi and can smell the intense sea-salt & pine through his mask, Mitsuri because shes an Omega Prime and the warning growl/threat scent affects her more, and Tengen because the sharp ring of loathing in the growl hurts his head. Sabito's still in the lineup baring his fangs, struggling to keep calm and not make the situation any worse for his partner despite the anxiety of the situation.
"Don't fucking touch them."
"I didn't even touch your stupid brat!"
"YOU STABBED HER!"
Everyone startles at the implication of that- Sanemi growls and starts berating him for imprinting on a demon, stomping closer, calling him a traitor for attacking him. Giyuu leans forward ready to rip out his throat at a moments notice, not lunging solely because Tanjiro's holding onto the back of his haori pleading for them not to fight. Sabito finally snarls and stands up- Kyojuro Mitsuri & Tengen follow, fully expecting to have to intervene when the three of them start tearing each other to shreds, "SIT!. ALL OF YOU!." He snaps, harshly grabbing Sanemi by the shoulder and shoving him down. Sanemi starts to protest but Sabito leans over him threateningly and grabs his throat, "You stay fucking put. You're already 5 feet down and i suggest you stop digging any further." Sanemi stares back at him, gripping the arm holding his neck, but doesn't do or say anything else, the others hesitantly settle back down.
He lets go and straightens up, looking back at the other hashira, "We're going to sit here and wait for Oyakata-sama like civilized people," a pointed look at Sanemi, "Are we agreed upon?." When everyone murmurs in agreement he nods to Giyuu and kneels next to Sanemi, barricading him and the other hashira from Giyuu Tanjiro and Nezuko.
Giyuu finally stops growling and posturing, hesitating for a moment before turning and fretting over the two of them for a bit- they finally sit down when he calms. When Kagaya arrives hes immediately hit with the tension and thick fear-anger-stress scent filling the courtyard and asks what happened. Sanemi opens his mouth- Sabito slaps a hand under his chin and closes it again. Shinobu and Kyojuro pipe up, explaining that they were questioning the boy when Shinazugawa went ahead and stabbed the demon in the box, how Urokodaki stepped up and ...convinced everyone to sit back down. He finally brings out Sakonji's letter and asks everyone else to allow it like he did. Sanemi of course objects and asks to prove the demon's real nature. Giyuu immediately snaps at him to shut the fuck up- he's already done enough stabbing his fucking cub.
Kagaya recognizes the gravity of the situation and offers Giyuu to come inside so he can check on her (and maybe possibly also show everyone else shes not so bad-). Giyuu quickly takes up the offer and pulls Tanjiro over with him in the far corner- Sabito follows them to the edge of the engawa and stands guard there between them and the other hashira.
Giyuu sits down in front of her box and gently opens it, little Nezuko crawling out and looking around for a moment. She sees the blood on Tanjiro's face and tries to wipe it off with her sleeve, Giyuu makes pointed eye contact with Sanemi and carefully cleans Tanjiro's face off. Nezuko patiently sits in his lap until he pats her head and inspects the damage to her clothes. The other hashira are talking, arguing maybe- he doesn't care enough to tell.
"Shinazugawa, you owe me 5 yen."
"The fuck do i owe you for jackass!?"
"Thread, for the fucking HOLE you put through her-"
"Ah!- Giyuu-san its fine!-"
Eventually its decided they'll let her live for now, "I also offer to take them in to the Butterfly Mansion, if that's okay with Tomioka-san." Giyuu notices the peace-offering look she gives him when she says that.
"...I'll allow it.." Tanjiro herds Nezuko back into her box and Giyuu growls at the kakushi who try to pick up Nezuko's box. He puts the box on himself, Tanjiro tries to assure them he can walk on his own and immediately buckles when he puts pressure on his injured leg. Giyuu picks him up and carries the both of them out and to the butterfly mansion while Sabito stays for the rest of the meeting
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