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bet-on-me-13 · 1 year ago

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Dan is Trigon

So! The Teen Titans had been chasing down a Cult lately, and they had finally managed to track down their main bases location.

Unfortunately, they got there just a bit too late and the Summoning Ritual they had been preforming was finished. The Being they had been calling crawled up and out of the Circle drawn in Blood on the floor.

And Raven felt her heart Stop. Because that Being crawling it's way out of the Summoning Circle looked almost exactly like her Father's True Form. But also different.

Where her Father's hair was a White Flame, this one's hair looked like Freshly Fallen Snow. Instead of her Father's Blood Red Skin, this being had Icy Blue Skin. And most strikingly, In place of her Father's Piercing Red Eyes, this being had Lazarus Green Eyes.

But even with all those changes, she could still the similarities in the Bone Structure, the shape of the Jaw, and most importantly the Untold Power radiating off of them.

Before they could react, the Being turned its attention to the Cultists.

"Who Dares Summon, the Ghost King?"

"We do, Out Lord Pariah Dark! We Beseech Thee, take this unclean world and tear it down! Cleanse the World of its Filth!"

"Oh Goddammit, not again." Said the Being, "Look, Pariah hasn't been in Power for Centuries. I, am Phantom. And I don't do the whole 'Destroy all Worlds' thing, you want your own constellation? I'm your guy. Otherwise? Bite it."

"Bu-But my Lord! We summoned you to-"

"Yeah how about no." Said the unimpressed God, "Here, let me send you guys Home. I'll give you guys some riches or something as compensation, but that's it."

And with that, the God snapped its fingers and the cultists disappeared.

"Now, who are you kids?" He turned to them.

Robin stepped forward, "We are the Teen Titans, and originally we came to stop them from Summoning you. Now, I honestly don't know what to do..."

"Oh, you guys are Heroes! That's interesting, I don't come across worlds with Heroes very often." Said the Ghost King, "The last one was the one with those Revengers or whatever they called themselves. The Spider Totem was fun to talk to, and Thor is always..."

As Phantom mumbled to himself, Raven stepped up. "King Phantom, I have a Question. Why do you resemble the true form or Trigon so closely? As his Daughter, I can recognize your similarities easily, and I was curious."

The King stopped dead.

"...daughter?"

"Oh, yes. Trigon is my father, though obviously I haven't talked to him recently." She explained.

"...that asshole." He said, "How could he not tell me I had a NIECE!?"

Wait what?

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valarhalla · 9 months ago

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Ok tumblr friends. I’m trying to spend less time on the internet these days, and I LOVE reading non-fiction books, but trying to find recommendations for new books is a nightmare. Any time I try to look up good new non-fiction books the results are all like “would you like to read an autobiography of Paul Newman or New Reasons We’re All Doomed” and that just. Doesn’t Work for Me. So I’m asking for recs here. I’m open to books about literally any field or topic. Only caveats are that hard sciences have to be on a level I can understand as a humanities person, and medical stuff can’t be too gory (ie I loved Siddhartha Mukherjee’s The Gene and The Song of the Cell, but can’t stomach The Mother of all Maladies). And nothing TOO miserable, but I have a fairly high tolerance for historical stuff. I’m particularly fond of micro-history and books that delve into multiple overlapping topics.

As a sampling, here are some books I’ve read and particularly enjoyed in the last two years:

Prairie Fires: The American Dreams of Laura Ingalls Wilder by Caroline Fraser

The Cooking Gene by Michael Twitty

The Gene: An Intimate History by Siddhartha Mukherjee

Song of the Cell by Siddhartha Mukherjee

On Savage Shores: How Indigenous Americans Discovered Europe by Caroline Pennock

Fifth Sun: A New History of the Aztecs by Camilla Townsend

The Five: The Untold Lives of the Victims of Jack the Ripper by Hallie Rubenhold

The Last Days of the Incas by Kim McQuarrie

The Dream and the Nightmare: The Story of the Syrians who Boarded the Titanic by Leila Salloum Elias

Life on a Young Planet: The First Three Billion Yeats by Andrew Knoll

Salt: A World History by Mark Kurlansky

The Food of a Younger Land by Mark Kurlansky

Mastering the Art of Soviet Cooking by Anya von Bremzen

Jesus and John Wayne by Kristine Kobes du Mez

Kingdom of Characters: The Language Revolution that made China Modern by JIng Tsu

The Last Island: Discovery, Defiance, and the Most Elusive Tribe on Earth by Adam Goodheart

Entangled Life by Merlin Sheldrake

National Dish: Around the World in Search of Food, History, and the Meaning of Home by Anya von Bremzen

The Horse, the Wheel, and Language: How Bronze-Age Riders from the Eurasian Steppes Shaped the Modern World by David W. Anthony

The Wager: A Tale of Shipwreck, Mutiny, and Murder by David Grann

Fire away!

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dickgraysonsptsd · 2 months ago

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"dick became robin because he wanted to kill tony zucco!"

i saw a lot of posts to the effect of "robin dick wanted to kill! 😈 he was murderous! 🔪 he loved violence! 🩸 bruce made him robin so that he wouldn't run out and murder tony zucco!" when i first got into comics.

and because i'm autistic i read every dick grayson origin comic a few months ago to find which one shows dick wanting to kill his parents' killer. because people wouldn't keep saying this if there was no canon basis for it, right? people wouldn't do that. people wouldn't go on the internet and take a single panel from year three out of context. right?

results:

detective comics (1937) #38: dick wants to go to the police.

batman (1940) #32: dick wants to go to the police.

batman (1940) #213: dick wants to go to the police.

detective comics (1937) #484: dick says "i'll get them! i'll hunt them down!" batman and robin bring zucco to justice, as in previous comics.

batman (1940) #339: dick expresses no desire for violence.

the untold legend of the batman (1980) #2: dick wants to go to the police.

secret origins (1986) #13: dick wants to go to the police.

secret origins (1986) #50: dick expresses no desire for violence.

batman (1940) #436-437: moments after his parents die, dick says "i want him… he killed my parents! kill him for me. you've got to kill him. if batman doesn't find zucco--i will…" there's a two-month timelapse, after which dick no longer wants zucco dead. a major theme of this arc is that dick was not a violent child and wanted justice rather than vengeance; when it later appears that bruce has intentionally allowed someone to murder zucco, dick is shocked and horrified.

robin (1992) annual #4: dick actively tries to save the killer's life and is unhappy when he dies.

dark victory #11: zucco dies of a heart attack after bruce and dick chase him (neither of them are aware of his heart condition beforehand, and dick backs off when he realizes zucco isn't faking the heart attack). dick does not express a desire to kill zucco.

legends of the dark knight #100: dick expresses no desire for violence. bruce beats zucco's henchmen to unconsciousness and dick stops him from going any further. zucco later dies of illness and dick says "bad news. i didn't want him to die."

teen titans go! (2003) #47: dick expresses no desire for violence.

nightwing (2011) #0: dick wants justice and goes out "patrolling" in gotham (fighting random criminals), but never expresses a desire to kill zucco.

young justice (2011) #6: "together we found zucco and brought him to justice."

it's universal across dick's origins that he wants to go to the police (the line "i'm going to the police!" is specifically used in most of these) or pursue justice as robin by getting his parents' killer(s) arrested.

there are more robin origin stories where dick actively tries to save the killer's life or says outright that he doesn't want the killer to die than there are origin stories where he expresses any desire for violence against the killer.

there is no robin origin comic where dick became robin to kill someone or otherwise do violence, or where dick seriously wanted to kill anyone as a child.

#dick grayson #dgptsd comics autism

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contemplatingoutlander · 3 months ago

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The Rage and Glee That Followed a C.E.O.’s Killing Should Ring All Alarms

"The concentration of extreme wealth in the United States has recently surpassed that of the Gilded Age. And the will among politicians to push for broad public solutions appears to have all but vanished. I fear that instead of an era of reform, the response to this act of violence and to the widespread rage it has ushered into view will be limited to another round of retreat by the wealthiest. Corporate executives are already reportedly beefing up their security. I expect more of them to move to gated communities.... Almost certainly, armed security entourages and private jets will become an even more common element of executive compensation packages, further removing routine contact between the extremely wealthy and the rest of us, except when employed to serve them."

--Zeynep, Tufekci, professor of Sociology and Public Affairs, Princeton University

This is a gift 🎁 link, so you can read the whole insightful article by Zynep Tufekci, a Princeton sociologist. She discusses the "avalanche" of rage against the insurance industry that this shooting of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson evoked on social media:

I’ve been studying social media for a long time, and I can’t think of any other incident when a murder in this country has been so openly celebrated. The conditions that gave rise to this outpouring of anger are in some ways specific to this moment. Today’s business culture enshrines the maximization of executive wealth and shareholder fortunes, and has succeeded in leveraging personal riches into untold political influence. New communication platforms allow millions of strangers around the world to converse in real time. [emphasis added]

[See more under the cut.]

Tufekci describes how income inequality today has exceeded that of the Gilded Age, during which the wealth of the Vanderbilts, Rockefellers, etc. (i.e., the "Robber Barons") was amassed. Referring to the Gilded Age, Tufekci commented:

Less well remembered is the brutality that underlay that wealth — the tens of thousands of workers, by some calculations, who lost their lives to industrial accidents, or the bloody repercussions they met when they tried to organize for better working conditions. Also less well remembered is the intensity of political violence that erupted. The vast inequities of the era fueled political movements that targeted corporate titans, politicians, judges and others for violence. [emphasis added]

Slowly but surely, over time, reform occurred. Tufekci says:

The turbulence and violence of the Gilded Age eventually gave way to comprehensive social reform. The nation built a social safety net, expanded public education and erected regulations and infrastructure that greatly improved the health and well-being of all Americans. [emphasis added]

Tufekci is worried that the U.S., a nation that is "awash in powerful guns," may be entering a new violent era. She fears that the national response to today's income inequality and corporate exploitation will unfortunately not be the kinds of reforms that happened previously--reforms that limited how much corporations (and their wealthy owners/ CEOs) could exploit labor, consumers & the environment.

What Tufekci implies, but doesn't state, is the reason those kinds of reforms won't happen is because nearly half of the country, riled up by right-wing media, elected Trump--a greedy corporate billionaire--to take away their economic pain.

So of course Trump has enlisted two other billionaires, Musk and Ramaswamy to demolish labor protections, business regulations and the social safety net--the very reforms that helped average citizens avoid the worst labor exploitation and economic problems of the Gilded Age.

In doing so, Trump and the billionaire oligarchs working with him are setting the nation up for disaster.

These billionaires who believe that anything that helps corporations (and the wealthy who own or run them) flourish, seem to have completely forgotten that AI is now finally taking off. and in its wake many people (including those in technical fields and management) will be laid off.

But by that time, there will be little or no social safety net for them to fall back on.

Unfortunately, there will be lots of AR-15s laying around.

Wait until the working and middle classes FINALLY realize they've been had by Trump and the billionaire oligarchs.

The violence of the Gilded Age will be nothing in comparison.

#united healthcare #brian thompson #shooting #income inequality #trump administration #billionaire oligarchs #gun violence #zynep tufekci #the new york times #gift link

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growthhyp · 1 month ago

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My grandpa left me this old necklace he's had in his family for years. It has "take what is rightfully yours" engraved in it. This big bodybuilder snatched it from me. What should I do?

Take What is Rightfully Yours

It had been a dreary few weeks since Grandpa had passed away, leaving behind a void in my heart that seemed impossible to fill. The old man had always been a beacon of wisdom, his weathered eyes reflecting a life lived to the fullest. Among the many treasures he had bequeathed to me, the most peculiar was an antique necklace, its metal cool to the touch, with an inscription that read, "Take what is rightfully yours." The words were etched with a firm, decisive hand, as if they held the power to unlock some great destiny. I had worn it every day since, the comfort of his final gift a constant reminder of the legacy he had entrusted to me.

Grandpa had always been an enigma in the realm of physicality. Despite his age, his muscles remained as robust as ever, a testament to a life of discipline and strength. He regaled me with tales of his youth, a time when he was not just a man, but a colossus among mortals. His biceps, the size of watermelons, could crack walnuts with ease. His chest, a wall of granite, had taken blows that would fell lesser men. His legs, sturdy as oak trees, had carried him through battles untold. If it weren't for the cruel embrace of cancer, he would have surely lived to see his hundredth birthday, a centurion of vitality and might.

Yet, as I grew up under his shadow, my own body took a different path. I was slender, almost frail in comparison, and my interests lay not in the pursuit of physical perfection but in the tender embrace of my own kind. I was gay, and while Grandpa's tales of his romantic conquests were entertaining, they were as foreign to me as the lands he had never seen. Nevertheless, I loved him, and in his final moments, he had a strange request for his grandson—a plea for me to embrace health and vitality, to live life with the same zest he had. And so, with a heavy heart and a newfound resolve.

Donning the necklace, I embarked on a journey that would take me to the one place I never thought I would find myself—the local gym. The smell of sweat and metal filled my nostrils as I cautiously stepped into the realm of the bodybuilders and fitness enthusiasts. The clank of weights and the grunts of exertion echoed through the hallowed halls, a stark contrast to the quiet whispers of poetry that usually filled my days. But Grandpa's wish was clear, and I was determined to honor it.

As I completed the enrollment forms, I couldn't help but steal glances at the Herculean figure in the corner, his muscles flexing with the grace of a ballet dancer performing an intricate routine of squats. Each descent was met with a thunderous thud, reverberating through the floor, a declaration of his dominance in this sanctum of strength. My eyes lingered on his posterior, the muscles so defined they looked like they had been sculpted by a master artist. The sight of it made me bite my lip, a warmth spreading through my cheeks and down to my groin. My cock stirred in my gym shorts, betraying my attraction despite my fear.

My heart skipped a beat as I realized the behemoth's eyes were on me, his gaze as intense as the gleaming dumbbells he wielded. I felt exposed, like a gazelle caught in the crosshairs of a lion. In a panic, I tore my gaze from the mirror and bolted for the locker room, the thud of his weights following me like a taunting drumbeat. Once inside, the safety of the cold tiles and the metallic scent of lockers grounded me. I changed into my workout gear, the necklace nestled against my chest a silent companion in my trepidation.

Emerging from the locker room, I cautiously surveyed the scene. The gym was a battleground of iron and sweat, a place where titans forged their bodies into weapons of beauty and power. The muscular man was still there, his eyes piercing me like the needle on a barbell, boring into my soul. I took a deep breath and forced myself to move, setting up at a chest press machine as far from him as possible. My research had told me to start with the basics, to build a foundation before attempting the grandeur of his domain. I set the weight to a modest fifty pounds, my fingers trembling as I gripped the handles.

My form was abysmal, a dance of awkwardness and inexperience. The bar descended with a clank, my chest barely moving, and I pushed with all my might, only to lift it a few inches before letting it drop with a pathetic thud.

As I lay there, panting and sweating, the room grew eerily silent. I dared a glance around, and my heart plummeted—everyone else had left. The gym that had been a cacophony of grunts and clanking weights was now a desolate expanse of chrome and rubber. The towering bodybuilder still loomed, his eyes never leaving me, his massive frame seeming to have moved closer without a sound.

"You like what you see?" he sneered, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "You little faggot."

I felt the color drain from my cheeks as the muscular giant approached, his hand outstretched. His grip was like steel, and before I could react, he had yanked the necklace from around my neck, the chain digging into my skin. The air grew thick with tension, my heart racing as I stared into the abyss of his furious gaze. I had always been shy, often a target for bullies in school, but something about the way he spoke to me, the way he grabbed my grandpa's necklace, ignited a fire within me. A fire that burned brighter than any fear I had ever felt.

"What the fuck is this?" he snarled, his breath hot against my face. I could smell the testosterone and aggression that rolled off him in waves, but I also noticed something else—fear. He was scared of what he didn't understand, of the power that lay dormant in the simple piece of jewelry.

"Give it back," I repeated, my voice stronger this time. I reached up and grabbed the necklace, the metal warm from his touch. Our fingers tangled, the necklace stretching taut between us. His grip was unyielding, but so was my resolve. I felt the whispers of my grandpa's spirit, urging me to stand my ground.

As our eyes locked, a sudden, brilliant light enveloped us, blinding in its intensity. I stumbled back, the necklace burning in my grip. The world around us faded, and all I could hear was the thunderous echo of my own heartbeat. The muscular man's expression morphed from anger to confusion, then to fear as his body began to tremble. The light grew brighter, and we both realized that something was happening—something beyond our control.

"What the fuck is going on?" he yelled, his voice cracking with terror.

I couldn't move, but the whisper grew louder, clearer, "Take what is rightfully yours." It was as if the necklace itself was speaking to me, guiding me, urging me.

My mind raced, connecting the dots that had been scattered before. Grandpa's unnatural vitality, his insistence on my wearing the necklace, and now this… It had to be magic. A power that had been passed down from generation to generation, waiting for someone worthy to wield it.

With a deep breath, I focused all my energy on the necklace. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, and the bodybuilder's grip on the necklace tightened. I pictured his bubble butt in my mind's eye, the roundness, the firmness, the way it jiggled with each step he took. The very essence of his muscularity started to pulse through the chain, and as the thought grew more vivid, so did the sensation. I could feel the flesh of my own backside swelling, the fabric of my shorts stretching taut as my glutes grew tauter, fuller.

The pleasure grew more intense, and with it, so did the anger in the bodybuilder's voice. "What the fuck did you do to me, you faggot?" he roared, his once mighty body now a shadow of its former self. His rage was palpable, but it only served to fuel my own burgeoning power. The necklace grew hot in our grasp, the metal glowing faintly with the energy that surged through us both.

With a smug smile, I met his gaze, reveling in the newfound confidence that seemed to radiate from the very pores of my new body. "It seems Grandpa's gift has given me a way to even the playing field," I said, my voice now a deep, rumbling bass that seemed to resonate within the very walls of the gym. The bodybuilder's eyes widened in horror as he realized the full extent of my control over his form.

I took a moment to savor the power that surged through me, the necklace pulsing like a second heartbeat at my throat. The whispers grew more insistent, feeding my imagination with images of the bodybuilder's former glory, the very essence of his masculinity. I focused on the bulge in his shorts, the symbol of his dominance in this realm of flesh and steel. As the thought grew more intense, I felt a strange, almost electrical sensation shooting through my own groin. His bulge grew smaller, his shorts now hanging loosely around his hips, exposing the sad truth of his current state.

The pleasure was indescribable, a symphony of sensations that seemed to resonate with every fiber of my being. Our moans grew louder, filling the deserted gym with the music of transformation. My own bulge grew more pronounced, pushing against the fabric of my shorts until it was as prominent as the one I had just stolen from him. I reveled in the feeling, my cock swelling with power, a silent declaration of victory in our silent, strange dance of theft and humiliation.

The bodybuilder's face was a mask of rage, his once proud gaze now a glare of pure hatred. "You'll pay for this," he spat, his voice now higher, reedier, a stark contrast to the bass rumble that now filled my own chest. "When I get out of this, you'll wish you had never laid eyes on me."

A wicked grin spread across my face as I thought of the ultimate retribution—to take not just his muscles, but his very essence. I closed my eyes and envisioned the process in my mind's eye, the necklace a conduit for the transfer of power. His body would shrink, his muscles dissolving like sugar in hot water, leaving behind the frail, skinny shell of the man he must have been before his transformation. Meanwhile, I would grow, my skin stretching tight over newfound bulk, filling out my once-slender frame with the might of a thousand lifts.

The whispers grew to a crescendo, and with it, the power surging through me. My chest expanded, the fabric of my shirt straining until it split down the middle, revealing the beginnings of a six-pack that looked as if it were chiseled from stone. Each abdominal muscle grew more pronounced, the crevice between them deepening like the grooves in the neck of a violin. The bodybuilder's eyes widened in horror as he watched my transformation unfold before him, his grip on the necklace weakening as his own body betrayed him.

My shoulders swelled like boulders rising from the earth, my biceps bulging with newfound might. The veins in my arms stood out like cords of steel, each flex revealing the horseshoe shape of my triceps, my forearms thickening with power. My back grew wider, the lats spreading like the wings of a bat, giving me a v-taper that would make any tailor weep with envy. My legs, once slender and unassuming, grew into mighty tree trunks, the muscles in my calves popping like over-inflated balloons, my feet bulging in their newfound girth.

The necklace grew hotter, the whispers more demanding. The bodybuilder's moans grew weaker, his once-proud physique shrinking before my eyes. His shorts fell to the floor, leaving him in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs that clung to his shriveling frame. The rage in his eyes was replaced by a mix of pleasure and despair, a silent testament to the power of the magic that flowed between us. The fabric of my own clothes strained, threatening to tear as my body continued to grow, my new form pushing against the confines of the fabric.

With the necklace tight in our grasp, I focused on the one thing that had truly made the bodybuilder who he was—his unshakeable confidence and swagger. I pictured the way he had strutted through the gym, his chest puffed out like a peacock's tail, his hips rolling with the grace of a panther. The cockiness that had once irritated me now seemed like the very essence of power. I reached out with my mind, plucking at the threads of his ego, drawing them into myself like a spider spinning a web. His grip on the necklace loosened, his body trembling as the last vestiges of his dominance were ripped away.

As the transfer occurred, the air grew thick with the scent of sweat and desperation. His once-booming voice grew high and reedy, his swagger diminished to a feeble shuffle. The muscles that had defined his frame melted away, leaving him a mere shadow of his former self. His cock, once a proud declaration of his masculinity, grew limp and small within the confines of his briefs. Meanwhile, my own confidence surged, filling me with a newfound sense of purpose. The smirk that had once been foreign to my face grew more natural, a permanent fixture of my new identity.

I could feel the power of his dominance flowing into me, filling my veins with the same unshakeable confidence that had made him the gym's alpha. His anger and frustration only served to fuel my own transformation, the pleasure of the experience making me dizzy. We both moaned and grunted, our bodies responding to the shifting tides of power. My own cock grew harder than it had ever been, a testament to the raw masculine energy that now surged through me.

The bodybuilder's eyes grew wide as he watched his former strength and confidence being siphoned away. His once-booming voice grew softer, his posture slumping as the weight of his defeat settled upon his shoulders. He was no longer the towering giant that had struck fear into the hearts of all who looked upon him. In his place stood a man reduced to a mere echo of what he had been, his eyes pleading for mercy that I had no intention of granting.

The whispers grew softer, the magic waning as the last vestiges of his power were absorbed into my own being. My chest swelled with pride, my cock straining against the fabric of my briefs, demanding to be released. The bodybuilder's own cock, once a symbol of his dominance, had shrunken to a pitiful nub, the fabric of his boxer briefs tenting outward pathetically.

His voice cracked with defeat as he begged for mercy. "Please," he whimpered, his eyes brimming with tears. "Give me back my body, please."

I couldn't help but chuckle at his pleading. The irony of his situation was delicious, and I savored every moment of it. The power thrumming through me was like nothing I had ever felt before. I was the predator now, the one holding all the cards, and he was the prey, reduced to a trembling mess. But there was still one piece of the puzzle that had eluded me—his confidence and swagger. That was the essence of what made him a man to be feared and desired in this place. And if I wanted to truly be his equal, I needed it for myself.

"Your body, your confidence, your swagger… all of it is mine now," I said, my voice a deep, resonant bass that seemed to shake the very air. "And as for your pathetic little cock…" I couldn't help but chuckle. "It's the least of what you've lost."

The bodybuilder's eyes flickered with a spark of anger, but it was quickly extinguished by the reality of his situation. He knew he was at my mercy. With a casual flick of my wrist, I sent him stumbling backward, his legs no longer able to support the weight of his deflated muscles. He landed on the gym floor with a pitiful thud, his once-intimidating form now reduced to a trembling wreck.

I turned to the mirror, my gaze raking over my new, muscular body. The red briefs that had once clung to my skinny frame now struggled to contain the vast expanses of my newfound muscles. I flexed my arms, watching in amazement as the veins in my forearms bulged and danced. The reflection staring back at me was that of a god, a true embodiment of power and beauty. The whispers grew faint, but the warmth of the necklace against my skin reminded me of the promise it held.

"Thanks, Grandpa," I murmured, feeling a tear trickle down my cheek. The necklace grew cooler, the magic seeming to acknowledge my gratitude. I knew that with this power came a responsibility to carry on the legacy that had been passed down to me.

#muscle growth stories #jockification #personality change #jock tf #male transformation #ai generated #nerd to jock

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