#doesn't end

[lazylittledragon]

can't believe we're all adults being forced into the club penguin level of censorship in 2024

[canisalbus]

✦ Fashionably late ✦

[is-not-a-bell]

Sleepy King

The Justice League Dark caught wind of a cult trying to summon the Ghost King. A being with power so terrible and great, that all of the chaotic Infinite Realms feared him. A true tyrant. Long ago it took the effort of ghosts equal to gods to seal him away into a permeant slumber.

And now this cult wishes to wake him and bring him to the living realm. It was a race against the clock to find the ritual site and all members were called on board, magic or not. Even Constantine looked stressed.

They did find the site.

But it was too late, the ritual was completed. The entire inner circle of runes glowed before being swallowed in a column of green light. The air filled with static and a ringing that made Supergirl crumble to the ground.

The light dissipated, but there was no great figure or being of pure evil. Instead there was a boy, a teenager. He laid on the ground curled up in his sleep. He was a ghost no doubt, dressed in regal clothing.

Despite this when he stirred, everyone froze. It seemed the cold hard ground woke him up. He got up slowly and yawned, revealing his sharp fangs. Once sat up he opened his bleary eyes to look around. He looked confused and tired, really tired.

"Where am I?" He mumbled. "I was trying to get some sleep." Constantine internally screaming, latches onto that last sentence. He glances over to Batman. He caught that last part too. Batman approaches calmly and crouches down in front of the boy king. Hardening his resolve, Batman takes on a gentle tone.

"Hey kiddo, sorry we woke you. Lets get you back to bed yeah?" The boy nodded in agreement. He pulled himself to his feet before looking around in a circle. "Where did my blanket go?" He asked rather sadly. Batman is quick to shed his own cape and drape it over him. "You can borrow my cape until we get you a new one." He nodded again, pulling the black fabric around himself.

John quickly summoned a portal door, while Batman led the King through it. John threw looks around at everyone. Everyone could tell he was mouthing the words. 'Find me a fucking blanket now'

Running on the logic of getting the king away from Earth, away from graves and the undead, that could give him power. The portal led to the Watch Tower.

Batman took advantage of the King's bleary state to send a base wide alert for all noncritical members to evacuate immediately. With a priority that death adjacent members leave first. "The stars are pretty." Bruce looked at the boy staring out the window in wonder. He almost looked like a normal kid, almost.

"Yeah they are, it's pretty late so we should get you back to bed." He nodded, going along with Batman's gentle coaxing.

He takes the boy to an unused bedroom. Making sure the room isn't dusty and that lights are dimmed. He glances back to see about a dozen different leaguers all holding blankets, one thought to bring extra pillows. The bed was pretty barren with only a single pillow and a thin bedsheet. So Bruce took a thick duvet, one of the fluffier blankets and a second pillow from his team before shooing them away.

The boy ended up keeping his cape, mumbling how it was warm. He tucked the boy in, before quietly exiting the room and turning off the light. He was pretty sure the King fell back to sleep before he even reached the light switch.

After the door shut, he made direct eye contact with John. "Constantine." They needed to figure out what the hell was going on.

[livixbobbiex]

You know what's fun?

They seem to have made Percy more on the inattentive end of ADHD than hyperactive. Aside from the capture the flag scene, we mostly just see him zoning out, 'daydreaming', the line "I don't think it's the marshmallow's fault I never pay attention".

ADHD barely gets good representation as it is, but I don't think I've ever seen the inattentive type in media like this before. This is going to be huge for a lot of people who don't fall under the hyperactive stereotype umbrella.

I'm just really excited that more people will get the chance to see themselves.

[coddda]

I wish we could have met in some other way.

Lawlight Week Day 2: Soulmates

If you saw me repost and re-edit this several times uh No you didn't </3

Still frames/Individual gifs:

If you know what every frame is from you get a free cookie. by the way

[sad-littletalker]

If Bruce is covering as Nightwing right now, who's acting as Batman in Gotham?

Tim: ok so any takers for the cowl?

*everyone looks at Jason as he is the second oldest*

Jason: oh no way. Absolutely not. Tim?

Tim: after evil gun Batman? ha. Nope. Plus DC doesn't pay much attention to me to make a good story about that.

Damian: may I-

Everyone: no.

Stephanie: OH I COULD BE PURPLE BATMAN!

Cassandra: I want to be Batman if Steph is my Robin

*everyone considers it*

Tim: that... isn't a bad idea actually. I like it.

[journey-to-the-attic]

"karasu search how 2 cheer human up"

"karasu search difference between sad human and zoning out human"

"karasu search how long is it safe for humans to zone out for?"

(+ a longer look at each scene:)

[taonpest]

Sometimes being an artist is feeling like a baker seeing a chemist making the deadliest liquid in the world and wishing you could make the deadliest liquid as well but you're a baker, not a chemist, and then you feel like your bread is worthless

[seldompathic]

If he was anything but pure I would rather face the rapture

[deadpoets]

DEAD POETS SOCIETY (1989) dir. Peter Weir

[inkskinned]

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.

[worseaccount]

This is what I think would happen if Dave raised Dirk

[bixels]

this is coming from the position of a student, so don't take my word as gospel, but i want to strongly encourage people to prepare for the coming years and look outward to find communities in real life. this can be big like getting involved in fundraisers or organizations or small like going to poc/queer/art social spaces and talking to people. making friends and connections will help you and others build support networks, something you will need as we enter the new term. i know talking to strangers in real life can be scary, unfamiliar, or difficult (depending on where you live especially) and it may take a lot of compromising and work –– and i don't want to condescend –– but we have to try starting now. this is about your safety and welfare, as well as the most vulnerable people's.

if leftists/progressives/minorities want to survive and beat back what's coming, we need to do our work offline too and take up space. an example of getting involved would be (if you're an artist) reaching out to fundraising organizers and making prints of your artwork to donate for raising funds.

[sev-ille]

I may be pointing out something completely obvious, but Round 7 takes place immediately after Round 6?

Like immediately after.

Hyuna is still there, bleeding. Like it's so unlikely that Mizi and Hyuna have just been roaming for days. Like after round 6, it's been maybe a few hours at most?

My thoughts are a mess rn but damn that sucks for Till if that's true (not that it doesn't suck if it's not).

Ivan dies in front of him, then he has a change of outfit and immediately has to move onto the next Round. No wonder he looks so fatigued, like he's about to pass out at any moment.

Did he even get to eat or drink anything? I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't, but still.

[dreadark]

the difference between till at the start of round 6 and round 7

he doesn't seem like he's trying at all during round 6, having already fully given up living after losing mizi

but in round 7, even though he's lost even more, he's clearly putting all he has left into it

and the reason for that... has to be ivan, right?

he must have recognized ivan sacrificed himself for him, so for the sake of ivan's feelings till tries his absolute best to respond to them and perform that till sings at all here is for ivan

...but at the same time ivan is what haunts him

obviously, right? there's no way watching someone you were so close to you die like that right in front of you can give you actual "strength" (and this isn't even getting into the kiss...) contrary to ivan's (clearly wrong) conviction that till doesn't care enough for him to become a trauma to him, that's exactly what happens

this inextricable mix of love and hate, hurting and healing... this is the tragedy of their relationship to the end no matter how much ivan and till care for each other, they can't ever cure each other

[technically-human]

St. Hilarion's ghost story