#side note: it's one am

[buskingalbatross]

what's the one sink you can't ship? (things to do when you have come home for the day, showered, eaten, and fallen into disrepair: analyze danandphilcrafts - slime (2024) and the context of its coming to be)

or, basically, because let's be real: this is where I extol the de facto vintage princes of the internet, who have cultivated and continue to cultivate a form of video-making and community-building that is utterly novel, radiant, and defiant.

*:･ﾟ✧

one of the best things the internet has ever done is given the coolest insanest introverts the chance to be loud and be loved. to have the chance to catalogue their lives in intimate (yet distant) association with other like-minded people, and to express themselves and their perspective on the world. for Dan and Phil, what it's led to, its culmination, has been the creation of an empowered queer subculture that is deeply invested in the concept of queer devotion—the complex forms it can take, its numinous inexpressible sacredness—and that is actively, through knowing and experience of that devotion's existence, in rebellion against the extractive, unkind, unfeeling, oft-oppressive society that reigns as normative.

the experience in the world of Dan and Phil, in contrast to many experiences had in the "real" world, has always been one that's felt intensely emotional, rebellious, existential, free, full of kindness, and full of laughter and love. at the heart of dnp's community, the string tying us together, is the massive mythology and plethora of lore of dan and phil's history beginning at the point where it converged because they met. as well as the idea of two people who are as close as two humans can get to each other. the beauty inherent in that.

the relationship Dan and Phil share has for many years been the axis around which their channels, their tours, and other projects have rotated. their being able to chronicle that relationship through the internet, through youtube, and for that relationship to be, in hindsight, purely, amazingly, and even unapologetically queer from the very start, is something profoundly meaningful and artistic in and of itself.

I find it intensely amusing and, frankly, compelling, that while the phandom has become self-aware of the ridiculousness inherent in yelling about two human beings having even momentary physical contact, we cannot stop ourselves from doing it. because it feels powerful and magical and terribly unshackling. touching has become symbolic. symbolic of an amalgam of the best things about what it means to follow Dan and Phil: to be free and connected and queer, openly, and to trust in each other to be there for one other in a world that is often in opposition to people like us.

Dan and Phil holding hands for their audience to see in DanAndPhilCRAFTS - Slime in front of baphomet has to do with all the things so many wonderful people have said it has to do with: acceptance and actualization of queerness, an image of queer power, allying oneself with the other to showcase alignment against cisheteronormative society, a representation of dysfunctional, obsessive, hedonistic, codependent queer love.

And it also has to do with freedom, defiance, happiness, and confidence. It has to do with making something only legible to a niche audience of people that Dan and Phil care a great deal about, because it is fun and exciting and insanely cool. It is about embracing and celebrating the magic that flows, the creativity that flows, between two incredible queer human beings.

Sometimes I think that at least a small part of the reason We're All Doomed exists is because of the way dark things stand out on a light background. The horrors seem stark, more overwhelmingly apparent, when bumped up against great love. Injustice and catastrophe are sometimes more startling and distressing when you are privileged enough to live outside of those things, when what you return home to at the end of the day is comfort, safety, and love. In a similar way, the themes of devotion and love are often heightened in horror narratives. In this sense, Slime is also one ideal medium for sharing a story that is especially impactful to the phandom, one about Dan and Phil's relationship to each other and their community and the ongoing story of their creative lives on YouTube. The themes of love and trust stand out because of the horror, and are heightened further by the intentionality of the storyline and the control Dan and Phil exert over the plot.

what's the one sink you cannot ship? a line from Phil just after Dan says, during their slime crafting, that creativity is nothing without friendship. An inverted paradox of a line. A mystery to be solved, a thread not to be untethered, a parody of itself, a hint to a history. All belonging to all of us, all part of us.

tldr: no one is doing it like them

[tagidearte]

My internship has started and I'm overloaded with doing historical illustration + writing a whole ass roman history of the region book for children, so... No time for finished stuff any time soon (except one I've already started and will probs post within the next few days). Take this quick messy shippy little concept.

If they ever got separate bodies, I know they would be touchy. Trying to get as close as they once were.

[k1tty5]

sl!tango + extra ranchers doodle

full page vvv

[ryllen]

lost & found x x

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[rebloggerandy]

the killing moon, will come too soon.

the killing time, unwillingly mine.

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[olessan]

The Coral Island devs have a mission and they're sticking to it

[bertoyana]

X-MEN: DAYS OF THE FUTURE PAST (2014)

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: death mention / strangulation mention / stabbing mention / blood mention / self-sacrifice / codependency mention in tags / ]

I think a lot about how common it is for Raph to be the one to have direct focus put on him when Leo gets into all his near death experiences.

Like, when Leo is thrown off a building, it’s Raph who’s right there jumping after him, not even thinking about the consequences to himself when he does. When Leo almost gets skewered by the Krang, Raph’s right there to take the blow and send Leo to safety without a second thought. When Leo’s being strangled to near death, it’s a Krangified Raph doing the job, doing exactly what Raph would never, ever want to do. When Leo is telling Casey Jr to close the portal, it’s Raph who tries desperately to convince Leo otherwise.

Likewise, Leo is consistently very single minded when Raph gets forcibly separated from them. Both when in the sewers and by the Krang, Leo is dead set on finding Raph first and foremost.

I also think it’s interesting that during each of Leo’s near death experiences, the lightheartedness of his words during them goes directly hand in hand with both how close Raph is to him physically and how much danger Raph is also in in that moment. From a literal “I told you so” as Leo’s falling away from Raph to a soft joke about how “hero moves” are Raph’s style - both of these are on the more morbidly carefree side and both of these notably take Leo farther away from Raph and, in turn, have Raph not in immediate danger.

On the other side of things is the apology from Leo, heedless of the danger he himself is in as he seriously and genuinely speaks to a Krangified Raph face to face. Then there’s Leo’s freezing and desperation as Raph takes a hit meant for him and sends just Leo to safety, leaving Raph himself behind. Both of these involve much closer proximity and Raph being directly harmed - these together make Leo much more vulnerable in his words and actions, something not even the threat of death can make him.

These two care about each other so much, and they’re way too much alike for their own good.

[grayisblogging]

‘gotham gazette’ newspaper promo for ‘the penguin’ hints at harvey dent addition to the universe— “is our legal system dented beyond repair?” + riddler crumbs :>

[clouvu]

Genshin catgirl yuri on the brain

[ender1821]

Australian Gem strikes again (clip taken from Pearl’s stream on 7/11/2023, around the 2:30:00 mark)

transcript below!

Pearl: —separate from my online content— ow, OW—! Okay! Ok ok ok, I get it, I get it, I get it!

Gem: ‘Ello!

Pearl: ‘Ello, mate, how’s it going?

Gem: G’day, mate!

Pearl: G’day, mate!

Gem: Was that a good Australian— I’m Australian now.

Pearl: Honestly, you did that pretty decently compared to a lot of other people.

Gem: Thank you, thank you, thank you. I try, I spend a lot of time with an Australian.

Pearl: Oh yeah, you do? You do? I don’t say “g’day” that much though.

Gem: No. Not at all. Very disappointing, actually. My Australian friend doesn’t even say the Australian catchphrase.

Pearl: It’s stereotypical! You’re only gonna get that if you’re like, countryside bogan.

Gem: *sighs*

Pearl: That’s like the redneck of America.

Pearl: I might say “crikey” every now and again— Again, that’s very rare.

Gem: If you said “crikey”, that would make my day!

Pearl: I’ve said it before, just out of the blue, it’s definitely— It’s a rare thing.

Gem: Yeah, it makes me very happy.

Pearl, muffled: Crikey, mate.

Gem: Ah, I love Australians.

Pearl: Oh, I’m feeling so flattered right now…

[dasnercaret]

more @ghostlightfic ask redraws at ungodly hours of the night! featuring this, this, and this ask specifically

[aardwoof]

i wish more people in the hazbin fandom were homestucks man

it’s so glaringly obvious to me that vox has the BIGGEST pitch crush on alastor

[dnpbeats]

all of the old screenshots that phil would post of his skype convos with dan make me want to scream and rip my hair out and die like the fact that he wanted to document it but also the fact that i'm sure he only shared a fraction of the screenshots that he took. and this was before they were even together. but he wanted to document his time with dan even when they were just friends bc he meant that much to him like damn 😭😭