#⌈... but why am I here?⌋ ⋆❈⋆ ⌈the adventurer⌋

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your legs feel empty, like there’s no blood flowing beneath your waist. You walk beside Rogers, feeling as if you might fall on your face at any time. That’s probably not a good idea seeing as you’ve already knocked out twice within the last hour or two. 

He stops and steps ahead of you. He points to a door before he pushes it open, “in here.” 

You enter as he waits. For a moment, you worry it could be a sinister trick. That he’ll slam the door and lock you in. But why would he do that? Well, why would he beat a man in the middle of the street? 

Thinking of it again, you feel nauseous. 

You look around the room. There’s a desk with folders stacked on it. The chair looks like it was manufactured during your great grandfather’s war and the rug can’t be much newer. The curtains are damask and the walls are real hardwood. 

“It’s... nice,” you say, “vintage. Looks like the floor’s been refinished.” 

“You’re not here to discuss the decor,” he retorts. 

“Of course,” you agree as you twiddle your fingers. “What exactly am I here for, er, sir?” 

“You’re an accountant.” He states. 

“I am.” 

He sighs and crosses to the desk. You cautiously follow. You could tip over all over again. 

“Sir, do you mind if I sit?” You ask. 

He just waves a hand toward the chair. You thank him and gratefully claim the seat. Who knew fainting was so exhausting? 

“Man named Warren. I need you to tally it all up. Tell me what you find.” He explains.  

“Alright, so I’m balancing his ledger,” you nod. 

“Sure,” Rogers sniffs and tucks his hands into his pockets. He backs up and paces across the end of the rug. “You need some water? You gonna check out again?” 

“Oh, I have some,” you put your briefcase on the desk and pull out your water bottle. “Thank you. That’s super kind. I can, uh, start on all this.” 

He turns back to you, “fine.” 

You smile as best you can as his hand runs up his lapel and draws your attention. Again, his knuckles fill you with queasiness. The bruises are the cherry on top of this whole messed up situation. 

He pulls his hand back and looks at it. You realise he caught you staring. You clear your throat. 

“Looks pretty bad,” he remarks. 

“Um, yeah. Pretty bad,” you agree softly. “Look like they’re swelling. Could probably use some ice.” 

He examines his hand further and clicks his tongue, “probably.” He drops his arm. “Well, get to work. Don’t got time to waste.” 

“Got it,” you assure him and reach for a folder. 

He goes and you glance up right as he disappears through the door. He might be gone but your anxiety lingers. These are dangerous men, this is a dangerous place. 

While you wouldn’t want an old lady like Geraldine caught up in all of this, why did it have to be you? It’s just like Mr. Brenner to be tangled up with criminals. And now you’re looking through promissory letters and gum wrappers with scribbles on them. This isn’t going to be easy, especially without a computer. 

Rogers returns. He sits in the leather armchair near the window. He holds a bundle wrapped in a cloth against his hand. It must be ice. 

You pull out a receipt. Half of it is illegible beneath the crimson stain. Little droplets trail over the numbers you can kind of make out. Oh. 

“Is that blood?” You ask out loud, then feel yourself plunging forward. 

Your head hits the desk. You’re a bit foggy but still awake. You gurgle and push yourself up. You fall stiffly back against the chair and it lurches with your weight. 

Rogers appears across the desk from you. You stare at him as you grip the armrest and blow out between your lips. He squints as he comes around to your side. 

“Hey, sweetheart, stay with me,” he grabs your chin and you whimper. “Eh, don’t--” 

He taps your cheek with his fingers. It’s a gentle gesture. His hand is cold from the ice. 

“I’m good,” your murmur. “I just... I’m not a violent person.” You carefully touch his wrist and he lets you go. “Not that I’m saying anything about you. Or what happened earlier. I’m just... look at me, right? Just an accountant.” 

He nods.  

“You think I overreacted,” he intones. 

“I didn’t say... it’s none of my business, right?” You move aside the bloody receipt and wheel closer to the desk. “Numbers are my business.” 

He hums, “sure.” 

You concentrate, or pretend to, on the folder before you. There’s a lot to sort out, and you mean, more than the clutter. Your mind is racing and you can’t quite decipher anything you’re reading with the fear coursing through you. 

“I’ll be back,” he says abruptly as he backs away. “Don't leave this room.” 

You don’t need him to give the command. You wouldn’t dare wander around this place on your own. You nod, “I won’t, sir.” 

He spins on his heel and struts across the office. You only look up as he gets to the door. He leaves and you lean back in the chair. You can’t let your panic take over. The quicker you get through this, the quicker you can get out of here, and hopefully, never ever come back. 

You set yourself straight, fixing your posture, and set to your mission. You might not have the most experience, but you’re determined and you do know what you’re doing. All those places that never replied or sent you those template rejections, they have no idea. 

You hunker down, filling the margins in the ledger, row by row. You are enthralled the more you do. It’s like a story unfolding before you. Dates, amounts, locations. Huh, well, this might be some bad news. You really don’t want to be the one to deliver it. 

Don’t be too eager. That’s only the first folder. You scratch down another number and flinch as something lands on the desk. 

You sit up and stare at the paper bag. Rogers watches you across the desk. Your brows twitch in confusion. He huffs and opens the top of the bag. 

“Figured you might not pass out if you eat something,” he takes out a wrapped bagel and holds it out. “Cream cheese, sesame seed.” 

“Oh, yum, I mean, thanks,” you accept it. “That’s really... considerate.” 

“I can be,” his eyes narrow. 

“Of course, I wasn’t saying... anything. Just thank you,” you slowly unwrap the bagel. 

He takes out his own and sits in the armchair. You peel back the paper and take a quarter of the bagel. You bite into it, careful not to get any crumbs on the desk. 

It might not be the best day, very close to the worst, but you can’t complain for a free meal. 

[vintagerpg]

So, the very first product to bear the Forgotten Realms logo was Douglas Niles’ novel Darkwalker on Moonshae (1987), but that book was not conceived as about the Forgotten Realms at all. Instead it reflected with Niles’ own world or one under development at TSR’s UK division (or some combination of the two); the half-finished novel was stranded when TSR UK was shuttered.

Meanwhile, Greenwood’s Moonshae Isles was this remote, rather sleepy archipelago (it sounds sort of like a combination of Harn and Earthsea, which I must say is rather appealing). It was deemed too large and too empty for the public-facing campaign setting, so it was removed and replaced with Nile’s Celtic-themed realm. I don’t know if it is amusing or aggravating or what, but Greenwood always avoided bringing in obvious real-world cultures into his home Realms, so it is fairly ironic that the first major TSR addition was the plopping of a British-shaped island onto the map.

The book is almost entirely lore. History, geography, sociology, important people, groups, factions and so on. Very little in terms of mechanics. I honestly can’t quite say why I feel like this one is more usable as a game sourcebook than FR1, but I feel like it is, even with less attribute block and zero explicit adventure hooks.

Couple other interesting things. First, this is the second generic world that Niles created that wound up bolted onto the Realms. The first was the Bloodstone Lands. And, he also bolted someone else onto the Moonshaes — Aaron Allston’s Korinn Archipelago is here, making N4: Treasure Hunt a retroactive Forgotten Realms adventure.

Tim Hildebrandt cover art, which I find somewhat surprising. I think this is one of maybe three contributions to the visual history of D&D. It’s quite tranquil. Interiors by the great George Barr. I am really unused to this idea of having really good illustrations in a FR sourcebook. That is definitely something that dropped off in the ’90s.

[ramblingautisticman]

Why Is This Song In My Poolverine Playlist, A Series.

(I am extremely insane and make playlists for every ship/character/show I like, and yes, there is a reason each one is in there. I think of lil scenarios, situations, or straight up story ideas because of a song- so enjoy this series where I write them all down!)

(Part 1, Part 2)

Monster from Adventure Time

So, I honestly hadn't thought about this song in relation to Wade and Logan until @ohitsthemindstuffagain said about it, and now it's all I can picture when I hear it.

This is such a Wade and Logan coded song and it's insane.

"I know we'll never grow old together, cause you'll never grow old to me."

Wade knows Logan is slowly ageing, something he doesn't do, and one day, he will be alone again. One day, he will watch Logan get grey hair, his face gaining wrinkles, his muscles getting softer. He's okay with that. He's made his peace, but it still hurts. Still makes his heart ache to know that one day Logan will die of old age and he will still be here. Wade will still have the same young body he does now. His body will always be 40 years old- and Logan's will always be ageing.

"You're the pink in my cheeks, and I'm scared cause that means I'm a little bit soft."

Logan has softened since knowing Wade. He's become less gruff and angry over time. Wade jokes that he managed to domesticated The Wolverine, and what's funny about that is the fact it's true. Where Logan used to be rough and jaded, he was soft and caring. It scared him. Alot. He was so used to the anger and violence coursing through his body that now- with this love and affection slowly replacing it- he wasn't sure what to do. Wasn't sure how to function.

"We were messed up kids who taught ourselves how to live, and I'm still scared that I'm not good enough."

Wade had always survived- never just lived. Ever since he was a kid. His dad had been an abusive asshole- his mother a cold-hearted bitch- and so he had grown up teaching himself how to survive. How to hide bruises from school, how to make food without getting noticed, how to avoid getting screamed at if he didn't do well on a test. It was ingrained into him as a kid- that he wasn't good. He would never be good. He was a broken fuck up that would never amount to anything. It was something he had taken with him through the rest of his life- and it was something he couldn't help but reflect back on when him and Logan had begun dating. Logan was a hero- he had saved the world more times that Wade could count- and here he was, dating Wade. Dating the one guy he shouldn't. Logan deserved better. Alot better. Deserved literally anyone that wasn't Wade. Logan was so genuine with him though- sounded like he meant every word he said- that slowly, he was helping to break that childhood trauma. He was showing Wade that he was worth something, no matter what some asshole father had said. It was ironic, because Logan had gone through a similar experience as a child, but here he was- helping Wade like it was nothing. He supposed that after 200 years, you resolve some of your issues.

"I've always felt like a monster, long before I was big, but only seen as a monster, let's just say I'm used to it."

Logan had always been told he was a freak, an animal, a killer. Ever since he was young. It hurt- until he had heard it enough times that it was second nature. He started to believe what they said about him. Think about the fact he really was a killer and an animal, the way he slashed through people like it was nothing or the way he growled when he was angry, it was true- wasn't it? And then he met Wade, and Wade showed him praise for all of those things. He never once seemed scared of Logan- infact he seemed to like all of the things he hated about himself. Wade would gush over the claws, joke about him being a cat, shout him on as he took out the bad guys on a mission. It felt strange, being show affection for the things people showed him hatred for for so long, but here it was. The praise he had always wanted.

"Yeah, I'm used to that, but I could get used to this."

His time with Vanessa had been amazing. Wade really had loved her with all of his heart- and he really did think they would be together until the end of time- but life got in the way as it often did. He had accepted she moved on, and while it hurt, he was happy she was happy. That she was finally with someone who could treat her right and keep her safe. It had felt strange to feel that similar fluttery feeling towards someone else- but Logan had managed to slip into that gap in his life with such ease that Wade never even noticed until he found himself not thinking of Vanessa anymore- instead he thought of Logan. It took him awhile to get used to that- to realise he could feel these things for someone else- and he liked it. Love it infact. The way Logan made him feel was so much more different than Vanessa, and he liked that. Logan complelty understood him. Never judged him for his looks or about the way he acted- loved every part of him like it was the easiest thing ever- and Wade couldn't help but find that so much better than what he had with Vanessa.

And the rest of the song? I could make up SEVERAL scenarios or ideas about each lyric for both of them. It fits so well it hurts.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

tom riddle x reader where he is going to need a lot of work

It was a rare night off, the corridors of Hogwarts quiet as students retired to their common rooms, yet you and Tom Riddle found yourselves slipping out to the Astronomy Tower. He’d been in the library since lunch, flipping through ancient volumes, and you figured he could use a break. He begrudgingly agreed after you challenged his sense of adventure, muttering something about foolish whims but unable to turn down the gleam in your eyes.

The two of you stood close on the stone balcony, gazing at the stars scattered like fine dust across the velvet sky. A cool breeze stirred the air, the soft hush of it contrasting with the silence between you.

"When you look at the stars, what do you see?" you asked, watching his face from the corner of your eye. A flicker of something amused softened his expression, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Blazing balls of gas,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Why?”

You rolled your eyes, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Tom, it’s supposed to be romantic. Inspiring. Don’t you see anything else up there?”

He tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “What am I meant to see, then?”

“I don’t know,” you teased. “Maybe… galaxies stretching endlessly, a reminder of how small we are in the grand scheme of things. Or… constellations formed by gods who loved each other, stories woven into the sky.”

He raised an eyebrow, a glint of something unreadable in his dark eyes. “And what does that mean to you?”

“Means there’s something up there bigger than us. A sort of beauty you can’t see just by reading books,” you said softly, looking up again at the sparkling canopy. You wondered if he could see it the same way, or if he was too absorbed in ambition to look beyond what was directly in front of him.

He let out a small, contemplative sigh, and you could almost feel him softening beside you, though he tried to maintain his usual composed demeanor. “That’s a rather poetic view, but hardly practical.”

“Not everything needs to be practical,” you murmured. “Not even for you.”

A brief silence stretched between you, and the only sound was the gentle rustling of the night breeze.

“Look here,” you pointed up, aiming to shift his focus. “That’s Orion, the hunter. And over there, the Pleiades.” You traced the patterns with your finger as he followed with his gaze, his face unusually relaxed as he watched you.

"You know, you’re going to need more work than I thought," you said with a chuckle, leaning closer as if to pass on some secret knowledge.

"Am I?" His eyes flickered to you, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

“Mmhm.” You leaned against the stone railing, facing him now. “You know so much about everything, yet when it comes to seeing things differently…” you trailed off, shaking your head with a playful smile.

"Different isn’t always better," he countered, but the smirk softened, his eyes holding yours with a rare spark of intrigue. “But perhaps… it’s worth entertaining your way of thinking. At least for tonight.”

"Just for tonight, hmm?” you replied, pretending to consider it. “I’ll take it.”

He chuckled—a low, rare sound that surprised you, but you couldn’t help but smile back. “If only to satisfy your foolish whims.”

The two of you returned your gaze to the stars, his shoulder brushing yours. And while Tom Riddle might not yet see beauty in constellations or romance in a night sky, there was something warm and unexpectedly soft in his expression tonight—a glimpse of the boy behind the brilliance.

Perhaps, you thought, looking up at the stars, there was more beauty here than he realized.

[originalartblog]

Apparently much-needed reminder that reposting artists' art (by saving the images or screenshotting them and reuploading them yourself) on other platforms without the artists' expressed permission and without credit is theft and an insult to their passion and craft. You are profiting (in views, in attention, in feedback) from someone else's work and ideas, who do not get that feedback for sharing their creation.

If you are an art reposter, you are a thief and I have no respect for you.

[fatedroses]

Two former military elites taking merc jobs perform absolutely hellish battle tactics together.

[r0semultiverse]

Hey, what the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK??

"12 years ago"

"Open your mind!"

Ice Queen counterpart's ice cream machine is a portal???

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

I kid you not when I say that evil or criminal gays are so so important in representation and some of yall just refuse to get that. The idea that a queer person needs to be perfect flawless and infallible or else they don't deserve to be represented is a legitimately disgusting mindset that perpetuates the idea that queers need to obey and blend in to exist in "normal" society.

Straight people have SO FUCKING MANY movies of evil heartless criminals, or heist romances, or romantic supervillains, etc etc. Like the amount of times I've heard "this villain was right actually" about the fucking Joker or some shit should win me an award with how I've put up with it for so long. If your first thought when you see people celebrating queer rep of villain characters is to say "but she's bad" or get super sarcastic and insulting about it, you need to reexamine some stuff.

[entguarde]

Sometimes I remember that I’m an artist which means I can do anything. So

[Image description: A colored digital drawing of Merle Highchurch from the Adventure Zone. Merle is a fat, middle aged male dwarf with dark brown skin, gray hair and a beard, and a short otter-like tail. His hair is in a partial bun, and he also has whiskers and a protruding fang. His right forearm is wooden with an intricate that resembles driftwood and an eyepatch over his left eye.

He is standing nonchalantly, wearing sunglasses and holding a pink drink in a martini glass with a mini umbrella. He is wearing a black t-shirt, red shorts, white socks and pink sandals. The main focus is on his shirt, on which is written “SOUP POWERED FUCK MACHINE” in a white font. The background is pink. End description]

[rorapostsbl]

i recently came across the hound of the baskervilles. on my last chapter, do NOT spoil it 😭 but the relationship between sherlock holmes and dr. watson is — dare i say so — adorable 😭🥺⁉️

holmes refers to him as, “my dear watson” which led my bl-filled mind to search them up on AO3. to my absolute surprise, guess what i found?? THOUSANDS OF FANFICTIONS OF THEM TOGETHER 😭😭

then, i searched on tumblr. guess wHAT AGAIN?? THERE ARE SO MANY CUTE ARTWORKS ON/ABOUT THEM 😭⁉️

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Death Wish 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

You sense movement, you hear scuffing, and feel the air shift. Yet all you can focus on is each breath. Your chest throbs with the effort it takes to just keep going. To just keep living. 

The smell of gunpowder clogs your nose and the taste of bile stains your tongue. The adrenaline seeps from you, leaving you weak and wilting. Your arms tremble as you barely keep yourself from crumpling into a heap. 

Your legs are bent to one side and your head hangs under an invisible veil. He’s dead. Your father is dead. You killed him. But why aren’t you sad? 

You’re afraid. Anxious. Addled. But you’re not sad. You have no remorse for the life lost. That is what hurts. Your own callousness stabs you in the heart. 

You shudder and heave again. Barnes’ shadow looms over you and slowly, he bends his knees to come to level with you. He has his gun in his hand. He holds it without intent. 

“You got what you asked for. My end is done,” he says. 

You raise your head slowly and look at him. You blink. His end... what about yours? 

“It’s late. You’re tired,” he reaches to slide the gun into his holster. “You’re gonna go home and you’re going to sleep. And in the morning, when my man comes to hand you that black envelope, you’re going to cry and act shocked.” 

You push your lip out and shake your head. You search his expression. He is stoic and unbothered. 

“That’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it, doll?” He prompts. 

You swallow, “what do you want--” 

“I just told you what I want you to do,” he interjects. “Don’t you worry, I always collect my debts.” 

He stands and tugs on his cuffs. He faces the chair and you slowly follow his gaze to the corpse. Your father’s face is slack and lifeless. You’re horrified at the sight of death, that it’s his, doesn’t affect you as much. 

You sit and stare and try to feel. That’s your father. That’s the man who is responsible for your very being. You share blood. He has been there every moment of your life. His is a constant.  

Not anymore and that just doesn’t matter to you. It should. Shouldn’t it? 

Well, what is there to miss about him? 

“Stand up and walk out of here. There’s a light pole by the gate. Wait there.” Barnes instructs without looking back. 

He pushes his arms back and slides off his jacket. He folds it and places it on the bare metal table by the wall. He turns back and unbuttons his sleeves. He rolls them as he nears your father’s body. 

“I’m being patient because I know you’re in shock, so I’ll tell you one my time to go,” he says, focus on the dead man. “You and your sisters are under my protection. Go and be with them.” 

You take a breath and steady yourself as best you can. You stand and hug yourself. You look at your father one last time and turn away. You walk out stiffly. Now that you’re on your feet, you don’t ever want to stop.  

You pass through the door and trod across the tarmac. You come into the yellow cone of light cast beneath the tall pole and stop. You wait. Not long before Rogers appears in his black cadillac. 

That woman is gone. You don’t wonder who she is. If she’s with him, she must be one of them. You are too. You were born into that life, but now, you really do belong. 

Neither of you say a word as he drives you home. You don’t look back as you get out of the car and go inside. Your sisters aren’t home yet. You don’t expect them to be. You can never go to The Reel without stopping at the milkshake place after and they stay open late for the movie goers. 

Those little details are so meaningless now. Nothing really makes a difference. Life is a fraying thread and it will snap. You just don’t know which tug will be the one that breaks it. 

You go upstairs and undress. You pull on a pajama set and take your clothes downstairs to the bin. You lay down on the couch and wait for your sisters. 

When they get home, you quietly listen to them jabber. They talk about the movie. Kitty loves how good it looked. It must have been remastered and Adrienne got the last bag of caramel corn. You force a smile but it doesn’t feel believable. It must be. They give you your box of chocolate-covered raisins and wish you a good night. 

You follow them upstairs. As you get to your door, Adrienne says your name. Both you and Kitty stop and look at her. 

“I wish every day could be like this,” she says. 

Kitty nods, “yeah, I hope he never comes home.” 

Your heart feels like it’s stopped. You don’t know how you’re doing it. You don’t know how you’re not shrieking and pulling your hair out. Any sane person would be a puddle. He's not coming back. Your father is dead and you killed him. 

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” You say at last. “Good night.” 

“Night,” Adrienne chimes back and Kitty echoes her. 

You all go into your rooms and shut the doors. You put the raisins on the dresser and ignore your bed. You go to the closet where you used to hide and listen to your father yell. You sit on the floor and lean into the wall. You hug your legs and stare into the static darkness. 

The night is long and sleepless. Your head dips now and again but you start as the echo of a gunshot brings you back before you can succumb to the depths. The morning light peers in from the other side of the slatted door. 

You climb out of the closet and listen to the house. You stay in your room. You hear Kitty’s door first, then Adrienne’s a few minutes later. You stand by your door and argue with yourself. Just go. Go out and act like everything is normal. Go and enjoy your new life free of that tyrant. 

It’s only the doorbell that makes you go out. You hear footsteps below and you open your door. You come to the top of the stairs as Kitty stands at the door. Adrienne appears just behind her. 

“Courtesy of the boss,” Rogers deep voice is crisp in the early hours. 

Kitty thanks him in a whisper. She shuts the door as he goes. She doesn’t move until you hear his car engine. 

“What is it?” Adrienne asks. 

Kitty turns. You sit on the top stair as she holds the black envelope. Her eyes are stuck to it. Adrienne stumbles and catches herself on the wall. You languish in the silence. All three of you. 

Kitty looks up at you and you look between her and Adrienne. Your eyes search each other, taking turns, frozen, frightened. Now that your father is gone, what happens to you? 

[pollyanna-nana]

I'm thinking hard.

[killerpancakeburger]

Silly "interactive" teaser for Pull Me Closer:

(Final part of my depressed!civilian!reader x Soap series, which includes Breaking Point and Knight in Shining Khaki)

*A wild Soap appears*

You use Avoidance.

"It's not very effective..."

Soap noticed movement.

You have activated Soap's thrill of the chase skill.

Soap is now chasing you.

[someones-anachronism]

have i gone insane? yes

@cassthecringe ive been BRAINROTTED!!! this man is everything to me 💥💥💥

ermm tw blood and implied drug :|

closeups under the cut

i think i spent like 3 hours doing this????????? also dear lord i just KNOW youre gonna explode when you see this bahahahahah

ive convinced two of my friends to read your fic too >:)

[ell-arts]

Home

Quickly put this together today, I hope you like it! I'm really happy with the textures and emotional storytelling in this :3

[adaptations-polls]

Which version of this do you prefer?

This polls is part two, and focuses on non-film adaptations. Part 1, which only featured films, was posted earlier (though the 60s Batman series was also included on that poll because of Batman 66). A third poll combining the favorite options from both may be posted at some point in the future

*obviously with comics there's lots and lots of different runs that can have wildly different qualities and everything which kind of complicates things, but as the source material it does need to be included on the poll- you can just think of this option as indicating a general preference for the comics stories instead of being attached to a specific Batman run in the comics

See tags of original post for further notes