#the person he was talking to

[pangur-and-grim]

one thing that took me embarrassingly long to learn is "sometimes when people say things, they will not be true."

I used to tell people about this revelation and they'd be like yeah.....duh.....but like, why wouldn't my base assumption be that you're communicating to me in a straightforward manner. anyway, I get scammed a lot.

[marypsue]

Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.

All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.

[noelledeltarune]

EVERY SINGLE DAY there are MILLIONS of characters in their late 20s who get falsely accused of being father figures to teenagers when in reality the description of "weird older cousin" or "step-sibling that moved out before you were born" is 1000000x more apt

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hey now, Let her cook!

[mioakem]

dream almost calling tubbo tommy oh he’s never beating the obsessed allegations

[heytherecentaurs]

Brennan’s talked before about how as a poor young adult he lived in New York and struggled with food security. He tells a story of going to frozen yogurt places for free samples and a cheap dumpling spot because it was a lot of food.

His opinions on food and his described behaviours around food make a lot of sense in that context. He may be successful now and can be assured he can eat again when he’s hungry, but it appears he has legitimate trauma around his experiences with poverty because what he’s humorously describing is a trauma response. His mind hasn’t gotten rid of the anxiety of “I’m eating now so I better make it count because I don’t know when I will again.”

Because he’s a comedian he manages to frame it as a joke, but there’s certainly an underlying sadness. It also informs Evan Kelmp’s characterization. Capitalism is the root issue here and poverty is state-sanctioned economic abuse.

Anyway, I hope he’s doing well and taking care of himself.

[percabetn]

i can’t stop thinking about how annabeth e-mailed percy the photo of her at dc but this doofus decided to print it and put it in his notebook to stare at her whenever he could. talk about dedication

[aquilaofarkham]

this line hits a lot harder especially when you view laios as having autism...

[lilysaus]

reblog if you consider the people youve befriended on this website (and other websites) to be real friends, even if youve never met them irl before

trying to prove something to my dad

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[paintedcrows]

Introducing RoyalAuthor! ...I cannot stop thinking about these old man scientists...

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

"What were you doing at Wayne Enterprises?" A gruff voiced asked from behind him.

Danny cringed. Of course, Batman would catch him off guard. He turned away from the guy he had just saved from the poisoning, feeling confident that the antidote was doing it's job, "I was just exploring. I wanted to know what a corporate place looked like when I saw that guy put something in Mr. Drakes-"

"Tim." Tim interrupted.

"Mr. Drakes," he said more firmly, ignoring the teen co-CEOs pout, "drink. He was lucky I knew what it was and how to cure it."

"How did you know?" The dak knight pressed.

"Because," Danny gritted his teeth, "That wasn't created to be a poison, it was created to be a fuel source by my parents and they created an antidote the moment they realized it was toxic and a safety hazard." Danny took a step towards the Gotham vigilante, not an ounce of fear in his eyes, "That man is Slade. He murdered my parents and stole some of my thier work. I'm going to kill him and I won't let you stop me." And with that, Phantom vanished.

Bruce tensed, anticipating an attack, but after a few minutes where nothing happened, he turned to leave. He pressed a finger to his ear, "Spoiler, Red Robin, since you two know the most about Phantom I'll be expecting a full report."

Tim did his best to hold back a groan, cause now he had to tell his Dad all about how he's been flirting with a supernatural entity when in the mask. Awkward.

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF puppet and Michael Afton got beef,,

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (page 82-85)

THAT LAZYBONES!!

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[coffee-scrub]

kdj definitely matchmade yjh and lsh together because he shipped them *really* hard while reading twsa