Tony getting a cup of coffee, a giant lizard like demon head pops out greeting him.
Tony to tired to deal with the supernatural/magical bullshit: Past the poptarts please
Tony progressively start seeing weird stuff and entities and he is absolutely going to need that therapy now.
Tony: So, that guy has a looming specter of death on his shoulders
Tony: WE HAVE GNOMES!
Tony: *pointing to the giant dragon in the sky* DOES NO ONE SEE THIS!
Tony: *sees the loch ness monster throwing his hands up* nope...
Tony: *looking at Bucky* Why the fuck do you have the (insert some kind creature from any lore) by you?
Bucky: what?
(This was inspired entirely by the casual uploads of comic pages of Tony and magical stuff)
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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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How to write angst ?
@urfriendlywriter | req by @everynowandthenihaveacrisis @aidyaiden :)
know your character. from their deepest fears to what they cherish the most. know your deepest fear, ask yourself how you will react and feel at that moment. "oh shit, if this happened to me I'll lose my mind" what's that type of scenario for you? write it. :)
decide on the type of angst you are going for!
major, minor, physical, emotional, paranormal, spiritual, verbal, abusive, quarrel, misunderstanding, etc.
and then, decide on--what reaction you can take out of your character by doing what to them.
are they gonna be, held at a gunpoint to give something up? or have their soul wrecked by whom they thought were close to them? or is it going be horror, or etctec, decide on it.
moving on to actually writing it-
Tip 1 - Use sensory details.
her eyes brimmed with tears
his chest heaved
pain clawed at his heart, as his face twisted with hurt
his scream pierced my heart
her lips quivered
she dug her nails into her palms (to distract herself, to stop it from shaking, etc)
show what is happening to ur MC, instead of telling it.
Tip 2 - how to actually write it.
If they're panicking, make them notice too many things at once, show every detail that they're seeing, feeling, from touch, to that burning sensation on their eyes, the blood on the ground, that dryness of their throat, the buzzing in their head and their parted lips unable to trust their own sight, and--and, boom! have them register that they're really really in trouble. and that they've to act fast.
use short, very minimal type of writing for this. make it long, but not long enough that it feels like it's being dragged.
the readers should hold themselves back from skimming the page out of curiousity, they should be in their toes to find out what happens next.
what does your MC do in times of panic? do they chant calm down to themselves, do they get angry, or start crying.. or?? what makes your character genuinely feel an emotion so hard that they'll burst?
there's always something, someone that'll always give them love and easily can be that something or someone to take it away. yk.
Tip 3 - crying.
what is close to your character that u can deprive them of? will it make them cry? beg for it?
what will make ur character cry so hard, that their scream fills everyone's ear, stays in their minds like ghosts and always haunts them?
make a character who never cries, burst out with tears.
while writing crying, focus on the 5 senses, one after the other.
focus it on their breath, make them run out of breath, gasp for air, feel like they're being choked, cry so scrutinizingly. it shud punch the reader's gut.
have them replay what had just happened over and over again in their head
best books and writing styles (for angst) to analyse and learn from (in my opinion);
3rd book in the AGGTM series (yk it hit hard like a truck. it got me depressed in bed the entire time lmao)
Five Survive by Holly Jackson. The moments of red outside of the truck, and moments leading to it.
there's this book called " Warm by @untalentedwriter127 " in wattpad. the author served angst for breakfast, lunch anddd dinner.
and if there's more angsty ones, drop em in the comments! :)
Hope this helps, tag me when yall write a masterpiece! ;)
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G̴̩͍͆͆̈́e̵̹̣͆t̷̬̋ ̸̻̮̎̒ĭ̸̏̃n̵͙̋͐ ̸̛̳̃t̶̪̣̅ḣ̸̳̇͜è̵̠̲͖̔̑ ̶̢̹̖͗͐̀Wa̵̬̞͝ṫ̴̩̣̣e̶͉̲̯͂̏̎r̴̉
It was a simple mission. Damian was working with Father to confirm the existence of a Lazarus Pit below Gotham, as Ra's Al Ghul speculated. And they had found it, deep in the caves below Gotham. A Pit the size of an Olympic sized swimming pool, bubbling and steaming. He'd only looked away for a moment.
"Kin-slayer."
Standing waist deep in the water stood Damian's reflection. The hair might be white, and the eyes glowing with the waters, but it was his face. But not his face alone.
Danyal's ghost glared at him. "Get in the water."
Father threw a batarang at him, but the metal flew straight through his head like it was air. Danyal didn't even glance at him, his eyes fixed on Damian. "Get in the water," he ordered again. He stepped closer to the shore and the green water sloshed up the bank higher than it was before. "Or I'll raise the tide so high, all of Gotham will die. So get in the water."
Damian's heart jumped into throat. "Wait-"
"Get in the water."
Father shoved Damian behind him, as if it would protect him, as if he could stop Danyal. "Stop this, please-" If he could just explain-
Another step and the waters surged forward, nearly touching Father's boots. "I'll make whirlpools so profound, your entire family will drown," he promised.
"NO!" Not his brother, his kind brother-
"THEN GET IN THE WATER!" Danyal snarled, revealing monstrously sharp teeth and a black tongue from Damian's poison. "G̴̩͍͆͆̈́e̵̹̣͆t̷̬̋ ̸̻̮̎̒ĭ̸̟̰͙̏̃n̵͙̝̟̋͐ ̸̛̳̃t̶̪̣̅ḣ̸̳̇͜è̵̠̲͖̔̑ ̶̢̹̖͗͐̀w̵̜͍̤̌a̵̬̞͝ṫ̴̩̣̣e̶͉̲̯͂̏̎r̴̉͜!̷̡͔́̀̽" He lunged and Father pushed them back down the passage they'd come. "Don't mistake this for a bluff, brother. You've lived more than enough. Just get in the water." Damian swallowed, throat dry. Was this Danyal's revenge? Did he finally have to face what he had done?
"Robin, who is this?" Father snapped, trying to keep retreating down the cave. But Damian wouldn't let him; the waters, and Danyal with them, would only follow.
Danyal looked between them, scowling. "G̴̩͍͆͆̈́e̵̹̣͆t̷̬̋ ̸̻̮̎̒ĭ̸̟̰͙̏̃n̵͙̝̟̋͐ ̸̛̳̃t̶̪̣̅ḣ̸̳̇͜è̵̠̲͖̔̑ ̶̢̹̖͗͐̀w̵̜͍̤̌a̵̬̞͝ṫ̴̩̣̣e̶͉̲̯͂̏̎r̴̉͜!̷̡͔́̀̽" he snapped again. "I'll take your father and gouge out his eyes, unless you want to stop being a coward and choose to die. Now... get in the water."
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