#The Reveal (trope)

[cozylittleartblog]

not that we didn't already Know belos was full of shit, but it's even funnier knowing the titan was still alive the whole time and probably judging him

[mamawasatesttube]

the whole "jason rules crime alley and none of the other bats are allowed there!!1!" thing is so funny like. tim LITERALLY lives in the theater where bruce's parents died,

[royaltea000]

Hmmmm…monkey

[metamatronic]

I really like the "Champions get Resurrected" idea! I hope to see more of it in the future!

how to piss of the Bird™ (any % speedrun)

(this was my practice pass on how to draw Rito, so forgive the inconsistencies, loll)

[whumpdoyoumean]

From Rahul Kohli's Instagram story

[lexalovesbooks]

I love chosen one characters and I love characters that are overpowered as all shit. I love characters with one-of-a-kind powers and I love characters who seem like they’re Just Some Guy until they do something that should be impossible and you’re struck with the realization that. oh. I don’t think this character is human. I love characters so strong they’re basically untouchable and I love characters who are slowly crumpling under the weight of being the only person who can keep the world safe but can never show it and I love characters who spend years hiding who they truly are until circumstances force them to reveal themselves and now they can never go back to who they were before. I love characters who don’t even know exactly how much they’re capable of and aren’t sure they want to find out. How powerful can you become before you stop being a person?

[thursdaythen]

[abaroo]

I realised I had to refine Ceroba for my au…

In the cowboy swap au, Ceroba is actually the Sheriff and leader of the Feisty Five. Clover is still the Deputy and goes by “Lucky Star”. He loves hanging around town with his Mama ☺️. I haven’t come up with a cool cowboy name for Ceroba yet, although she probably wouldn’t use one :/

Cowboy Swap Masterpost

[whumpdaydreamerx]

After Whumpee goes unconscious from initially getting injured. When they come to, with a grimace they try to writhe or get away in response to the immediate pain.

Caretaker having to put a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder or leg, quieting them. Making sure they stay still and remain calm so they don’t make it worse for themselves.

[meraki24601]

Indulge Me for a Moment

Caretaker knew who Hero was the first time they stepped into their apartment. The flimsy mask they wore as part of their costume barely covered any of their features, and the limp they’d sported that day matched what they had seen on TV. Though, considering they hadn’t wanted to scare a potential roommate away, they hadn’t mentioned it. Hero seemed happy and perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, so Caretaker let them keep the apartment as a sort of safe zone.

Later, Caretaker would swear it wasn’t them who changed things. Hero was the one who brought work home in such a way Caretaker would either be cruel or just a fool to ignore it.

Back from work later than usual, Caretaker had seen the fight between Hero and Villain. It happened outside their office; how could they not have seen it? They saw the hits Hero had taken to protect innocent civilians. Particular interest was taken in how Hero convinced the emergency responders they didn’t need medical aid. 

The smell of bleach, weakly covered by scented spray, met Caretaker at the front door instead of their cat, Pounce. Hero’s quiet voice in the kitchen only added to the disturbing greeting, “‘M making ramen. W'nt some?”

“I think I’m alright.” Caretaker sighed. They made their way to the kitchen, nearly tripping over Pounce, stationed just inside. 

Hero had never come home that beat up before. They always had some carefully crafted “regular citizen” excuse for any minor injuries and would claim a work trip or family visits for the worse ones that needed time to heal. This was bad enough that even the cat knew better than to take their eyes off Hero. 

Caretaker shook their head at the clumsy wrapping on Hero’s arm, the two large regular band-aids slapped on their forehead that had already bled through, and the steady growing stain on Hero’s side. They had no idea why Hero hadn’t gotten someone to care for them like normal. It seemed it would be up to them, “Hey. You okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine, citizen. You don’t need to worry about me.” Hero whispered. They leaned forward to rest against the counter and stared down into the too-large pot of water on the stove. The burner hadn’t even been turned on.

Yes, this time, it was really up to Caretaker to save their Hero.

The first-aid kit was in the bathroom. Caretaker trusted Pounce to watch Hero while they went to get it. As they had suspected, the small room was the source of the bleach smell. Presumably, Hero had made a decent effort to clean up their mess despite their condition, but there were still a few splatters of blood around. They had taken the trash out but left it outside the front door, so Caretaker had seen it anyway and hadn’t replaced the bag. Even the first-aid kit had been left a mess. 

It didn’t matter. Caretaker would set everything right once Hero had been put to bed. Though mixed up and a few items were scattered, the kit had everything they needed for the time being. 

Pounce’s meow echoed in the small space as Caretaker reentered the kitchen. Hero was now completely bent over the oven, arms bracing them on either side of the pot. They seemed fixed on how the small but steady drops of blood from their nose disappeared into the water.

“Hey,” Caretaker called. “Come sit.”

Hero didn’t seem to hear them. They looked moments from collapsing. Though Hero’s hair hid their eyes, Caretaker saw tears had begun to join the drops of blood in the pot.

At that moment, Pounce decided she’d had enough. The cat bounded over to Hero’s side and raised up on her hind legs to lovingly claw at the back of Hero’s leg. Her strangled meow was overwhelmed by the sound of Hero’s pot smashing against the opposite wall and crashing to the floor. It was too much for both cat and human, but Pounce was the only one composed enough to run out of the room. 

“You’re safe!” Caretaker cried as Hero collapsed on the floor in front of the oven. “Can you hear me? Breathe. You’re alright.”

Whining into the hand covering their mouth, Hero curled in on themselves. The low squelch the action caused made Caretaker sick. They had to move this along. Consequences be damned.

Caretaker whispered each move they made out loud. Scaring Hero again would be bad. Likely very violent, too. Unfortunately, the only way they could think of getting Hero’s attention might potentially turn out even worse. Even the sound of them setting the first-aid kit on the floor nearby made Hero flinch. 

Raising their voice only slightly, Caretaker decided to test their luck. “Hero.”

It seemed that Hero had never once suspected Caretaker knew who Hero was. The shock of hearing Caretaker use their hero name was enough to pull Hero out of the depths of whatever memory they had been drowning in. They didn’t react more than looking up dazedly with a soft frown. 

“Hero, It’s okay. You’re safe.” Caretaker didn’t dare move so much as an inch.

“No.” Hero’s voice was rough. Barely half of what it had been when they called out to Caretaker only moments ago. “I’m not…”

“May I touch you, Hero? You’re hurt.”

“I’m not—”

“Enough. It’s alright.”

A slow tear rolled down Hero’s cheek. Caretaker had expected to hate the look Hero would fix on them once the secret was revealed—anger, disgust, betrayal, etc. They didn’t plan on fear they saw there. 

“You don’t know. You’re lying. This is a dream, a nightmare.” Hero fell forward on their hands and knees. Blood sprayed the floor below them as Hero’s groans turned to deep chest-rattling coughs. 

Caretaker didn’t bother to respond. Instead, they picked up the damp rag they had brought, lifted Hero’s head, and gently wiped away the blood and tears. Hero didn’t fight the touch, so they kept working. Removing the sloppily placed bandaids and cleaning the cuts was simple and quick. 

When Caretaker tried to move on and unwrap Hero’s arm, Hero pulled back with a barely audible “Wait.” So Caretaker did. They sat back on their heels, supporting grip still on Hero’s arm but not moving until Hero nodded. Caretaker could do this at Hero’s pace. They didn’t let the way Hero kept flinching away from even the softest touch drive them away.

Once Hero’s arm was bandaged correctly, Caretaker pulled Hero into their arms. “It’s alright, Hero. You don’t have to deal with this alone.” 

“But why?”

Keeping their grip on Hero steady, Caretaker lowered Hero to lie on the floor. They were glad they’d mopped it earlier. “Don’t worry about that right now. We can worry about answering questions once you’re feeling better.”

Hero’s fist tightened in Caretaker’s shirt. They barely had the strength to keep their back from pressing against the floor. “Why?”

Caretaker shook their head, “Trust me, Hero. Indulge me for just a moment longer.” They lifted Hero’s shirt, barely catching them as pulling the fabric away from the untreated wound sapped away the last of Hero’s strength. “We both have questions that need answers before tomorrow comes. For now, let me save my hero.”

Version 2

[smuby]

Making them somewhat ez to draw so I don't pop a vessel every time I open procreate

[evadewilson]

guys, pals, friends, lieblings, if you see this post PLEASE drop your favourite spideypool tropes/fic things in the tags or comments PRETTY PLEASE

[willosword]

all these scenes are morbidly hilarious to me now gfhKJGHJK

[pharawee]

—CITY OF STARS · Episode 3

[gaysparkler]

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here

Title from Andrew Marvell's "The Garden" Read on AO3 Spoilers for the choice directly following "A Warden's Best Friend" under the cut!

Rook was pacing. Emmrich could hear them go from room to room withing the Lighthouse – and no doubt in the courtyard, though there was no way he could be certain. There had been an air of disquiet around them, and that, Emmrich could say with certainty, was due to the number of difficult decisions they had been forced to make. As a Watcher, Emmrich knew how sheltering the Grand Necropolis could be. The “choice” boiled down to which classes to take, which role to ascend to, which tasks to do for the day, what to eat for each meal.

Not which city should be saved, and which should burn. Not thrusted with the fate of the world in their hands.

Emmrich wondered if he could even handle it half as well as Rook had, though part of him wondered how much was hidden away from them all. From him, despite his and Rook’s not-so surprising closeness.

Perhaps, then, it was not surprising to see Rook push past the doors to the laboratory, their dark circles remarkably worse than usual. The door closing behind them was heavy and loud in the previous quiet of his reading. They stood in the middle of the laboratory and fidgeted with their glove in silence, mouth twisted in a frown. The sound of Emmrich’s book closing seemed to make Rook remember why they were here.

“Could I help you with anything, Emmrich?” They spoke again before Emmrich could answer. “Please, I just—I need…something normal. Something real.”

In the dim light of the room, Emmrich could see tears pearling in Rook’s eyes. He carefully set his book aside before standing and gently approaching them, as if the wrong move would send them running.

“It’s not much,” he said as he extended a tentative hand towards Rook, “but there are some bones that could use some sorting.”

Rook let go of their glove to grasp Emmrich’s hand, and nodded. A tear slipped. Emmrich watched it slide down their cheek, leaving a trail of kohl in its wake. Before he could think, he raised his other hand to Rook’s face and caught the tear with his thumb.

“I—” he stammered, “please forgive me—”

But Rook only closed their eyes and leaned into his touch, wisps of jet-black hair falling across their features, weightlessly. Emmrich heard them take a slow breath in, and out.

“I can handle some sorting,” they finally said, keeping their eyes closed. “I wouldn’t be worth much as a Watcher if I couldn’t.”

“Now, now. None of that.” He tapped Rook’s cheekbone with his thumb before slowly sliding his hand away from their face so he could fetch the adorned box containing the unidentified bones he had brought with him from the Necropolis. He carefully placed it on his examination table, and gently tipped it over so the bones would spill, without rolling too far, on the marble. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rook worrying at their bottom lip. The weight of the world, on such delicate shoulders…

“Right,” he said, cheerfully. “We’re all set!”

Manfred, on the second floor, gave an excited hiss. And that was what Rook needed to crack the smallest of smiles. They made their way to the table, on Emmrich’s opposite side, and the moment they started their work, the tension in their face and body disappeared. Something normal, usual. Something that did not generate an impossible amount of doubt, guilt, and hypothetical similes.

“Thank you,” Rook whispered without looking at him, their voice rough with tears.

“You are most welcome, my dear,” he replied as he watched their fingers deftly and carefully handling each individual bone, and already beginning to separate them in neat categories. In that moment, Emmrich wished he could have seen Rook fully in their environment, in the Necropolis. To see them fully immersed in their work, how their necromantic talents manifested outside of combat, know them as they are—pressures of apocalypse removed. But would that truly be the person in front of him now?

Emmrich finally reached forward, his fingers brushing against Rook’s, and joined them in their meticulous sorting.

-

Their work finished and laid out in precise reconstructions (partial, in some cases) on Emmrich’s slab before them, Rook finally looked up at him, and to his heartbreak, fear remained in their eyes. Emmrich laid his hand on one of few cleared areas of the table, his palm up and inviting.

“Rook?” he softly called. Their hand found his.

“Pénthos,” they said almost in a whisper. “My name.”

An old Nevarran word, before the trade tongue was favoured.

Mourning.

Their dark eyes, sunken in purple deep as bruises, said everything he needed to know.

Do not let this be forgotten. I beg you.

“Pénthos,” Emmrich repeated, inclining his head towards them. “You look tired. You should sleep.”

They scoffed. “Everyone’s been telling me that.”

“Then that should provide you with enough evidence to lend it credibility.”

“I know that,” Rook—Pénthos sighed, “I know…that I should sleep. I just—I can’t.”

And just like that, the tension that Emmrich worked (not so) hard to dispel returned to their body. Pénthos began fidgeting with their gloves again and picking at their lip—and it broke his heart. He wished so dearly there was something, anything he could do to help once more and then—

Manfred appeared behind them, holding a tray of freshly brewed tea.

“Well,” Emmrich said, “may I invite you to stay for tea?”

Pénthos smiled again, the brightest thing he had seen all day (save maybe for Manfred’s jewelled eyes, but he would tell neither—not yet, anyway) and replied, “I would love to.”

“I have heard that resting with good company can almost be as beneficial as a night’s sleep.”

Pénthos chuckled. “Did you, now?”

“I have, of course, my sources!” Emmrich pointed to a specific section of the many bookshelves lining the walls, somewhere on the second floor. Pénthos’ smile turned into a full laugh, and the lines of tension slipped away, even if just for a moment.

[cripplecharacters]

How could I do a "classic disabled reveal" (Example: The guy reveals that he has a mechanical limb and the spectators feel pity/scared) in a better way, without using the tiring tropes and drama?

The thing is, you can't.

The tired trope and the drama, is, in fact, the 'pity' and the 'fear' spectators feel at seeing a disabled person and a sign of their disability.

That is what's tired, not the dramatic moment of the reveal. The reveal itself is whatever.

The tired trope is that disabilities and signs of them are something you should be scared of, that you should pity, that you shouldn't be seeing or have them being shown to you.

And this trope is not harmless, and it hurts real disabled people in the real world. It extends to people's feelings about real disabled people, the way they treat real disabled people. It contributes to thinking that disability is something inherently scary, bad, and required to hide. Disability is neutral, not the end of the world.

Someone having a disability is not automatically scary nor something to pity. Someone having a visible disability is not automatically scary nor something to pity. Disabled people are just people living life. Disability is a part of their life, our life.

Here is a post on the "Jaws Effect." Please read it and take it into consideration.

Hope this helps you understand.

– mod sparrow