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✨️announcement time✨️

I know I've already been kinda lurking in the void lately but I think I need to take a break from tumblin' for awhile. My mental health and general irl state has been a raging dumpster fire lately and I have some work to do on myself. I love my muts and I wanna interact with you guys (and other lovely peeps on this hellsite) and enjoy myself without overexerting my rather dusty social battery

I'm not sure when I'll be back, but hopefully one day I'll be able to return and actually do the gimmicks and things I've wanted to do with this blog and my side blog consistently (or at least semi-consistently) and enjoy chatting with people

This isn't a goodbye forever, just for now, at least until I've sorted myself out

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On the outskirts of Gotham a farm is made.

No one can pinpoint when it was started but it was clearly bountiful.

New orchards of plums apples and several other fruit whisper promises of fruits in the years to come.

Bee houses buzzed with life and ducks quacked and scurried to and from their pond, coop and the garden.

Vegetables by the rows with seasonal berries brushes spring up at the corners of the property.

Greenery that almost seemed to glow with how lush it was.

It was like a small oasis in the desert of Gotham’s dirty land.

And it was ran by only three people.

The woman’s name was Sam. She was known as an activist who seemed to do the primary care of the plants. The property was in her name and she went out of her way to invite people to take what they need.

Danny was the most well known of the trio. He brought the produce into the heart of the city. Anywhere that would take the food, kitchens, pantries, school cafeterias even people’s doorsteps.

Tucker was the technical mastermind, hidden but equally important. The sprinklers, planning of the pollination rotation, harvesting planning and statistics were his main focus on the farm. Not a single square inch of the the land was not under his watchful gaze.

All the food was fresh or properly stored and most interesting of all free.

Of course people were going to talk.

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Source

"Isn't it exhausting being someone you're not?"

"No! Isn't it exhausting being the same?"

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I love dp x DC stories in which Ghost King Danny is summoned in his full Eldritch form and scaring the shit out of everyone. I also like it when it combines with aus of him talking in ghost speak and the translation gets wrangled, so he sounds a lot more threatening than he means to.

But in those stories ... his name doesn't really fit. What Eldritch God would be called Danny? Even Phantom isn't that scary.

Then I realized that if ghost speak gets translates wrongly and Danny said his name in ghost speak ... wouldn't it be translated wrong too?

And Daniel means God is my Judge in Hebrew while Phantom of course is a kind of ghost.

So,

The Justice League has summoned Danny and he doesn't realize that he's in his Eldritch form. His skin is black and filled with galaxies constantly being born and dying. His eyes are two endless black holes. His hair is the flash of the big bang. He's terrifying and awe-inspiring.

As he speaks, it sounds like millions of beings screaming in agony before breathing their last breath.

And then Danny says "Hi! My name is Danny Phantom, the Ghost King, how can I help you?"

But what the JL hears through the translation is: "I am the Judge of Gods and the restless Dead, Ruler of the Infinite, for what purpose hath thee summoned me?"

Now that's a fitting name!

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imagine a goat with a hat

STOP-

what hat did you give the goat what is the instinctual hat you gave to this goat

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pride worms im gonna sell at metrocon this month!!

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If you want to know how petty but creative I am, know this. I watched the ending of HTTYD and then the realms show—got so angry that I pinned an entirely new show with different characters and new dragons. I used the Golden Age of Piracy during the late 1600s as the background of the events. I called it "Dragons:Floating Isles" I created a reverse of Hiccups story—a protagonist who is introduced to a village of dragon riders who isn't good at dragon taming. I was so mad at the series I planned episode order and season finales.

I'm an angry writer.

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citationless behavior

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You have just been magically transported into a random ao3 fic!

Spin the wheel of ao3 tags three times to find out what your fic is about. Put in the tags what your fic tags are!

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can someone please be proud of me like fuck I’m trying

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Giving a last clean up to Blind Trust and finishing up Migration Patterns has really made me push to emphasize how Edgar Gallows refuses to believe they have an accent.

Born and raised in Louisiana, but they don't sound Southern. They took speech therapy as a kid and now they're one of those people completing lacking in an accent!

This character trait conflicts with Scott Skylark Kaufner, who is deeply confused at the idea of someone thinking they didn't have any sort of accent. It also conflicts with really any other person who hears Edgar talk because they are very clearly from the South.

Edgar Gallows spent most of their life so repressed that they've dedicated a third of their mental processes to avoiding sounding Southern through arbitrary means for reasons they probably don't fully understand.

Meanwhile their future husband has really only been able to differentiate people through voices and is immediately like "No you don't sound Cajun, because you aren't Cajun. You have clearly spent a majority of your life specifically in Northern Louisiana, and probably around a lot of people from Texas or Arkansas. I refuse to lie to you about this. This is a weird thing to expect me to lie about".

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Alfred: Timothy Jackson Drake. Tim: Full name....omg, am I going to die? Dick: It was nice knowing you Timmy. Damian: Don't lie to a dead man walking, Richard. Timothy, your existence in our lives was ambivalent at best. Tim: Thank you for your honesty, Dami. It's a comfort in my final moments. Alfred: Stop being so dramatic; you won't die today. I'm not mad; I'm disappointed in you. Tim wince: That's far worse. What did I do? Alfred: It's more like what you didn't do. Why is it that every morning, you do not find the five minutes it takes to make your bed? Tim: *confused* What do you mean? Alfred: Your bedroom is usually spotless, but you never fix your blankets or your pillows, and it makes everything look awful. I have tried to ignore it, in the hope that you will learn some responsibility, but I can no longer stand it. Tim: But I've never done my bed. It's always been done for me. Alfred: Whatever servants you had at Drake Manor are not here- Tim: I never had servants. It was just my parents, and most of the time, they weren't even in the country. I mean, the housekeeper came by every three days or so, but she never went into my room. Alfred: Wait, if you didn't make your bed and there were no servants to make it, then how was it done? Tim: It made itself, duh. Dick: Would you like to expand on that answer for the class, Timmy? Tim: Come on Dick you know what I mean. The sheets move on their own and tuck themselves in, or the pillows constantly rearrange themselves. Sometimes, on a cold night, the blankets will emerge from the closet and wrap around you. Every day, bedroom stuff. Dick: Damian: Timothy, I believe you were being haunted as a child. Tim: What? Alfred: Did anyhing else stop happening when you moved out of your old home? Tim snapping his fingers: Now that you mention it, nothing whispers in my ears anymore. Dick: You were hearing whispers!? Tim: It was mostly gibbersish and hisses so I always ingored it. The ghost should have learn to not mutter. Danny, reading their lips from the Drake Manor window using binoculars: Well, excuse me for having a speaking impediment.

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I took my little brother (autistic, mostly non verbal) out and he was using his voice keyboard to tell me something, and this little boy (maybe 4 or 5?) heard him and asked me "Is he a robot??" I tried to explain to him that no, he isn't a robot, he just communicates differently, but my darling brother was in the background max volume "I am robot I am robot I am robot I am robot"

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blogging

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ENERGY SURGE DETECTED! ALERT!

DIMENSIONAL BREACH DETECTED!

ALL AVAILABLE LEAGUE MEMBERS TO GOTHAM!

....

The smog blanketed skies of Gotham were laced with a sickly green haze. Most Gothamites immediately began to evacuate to their nearest emergency shelters.

Oracle let out a brief sigh of frustration as the usual suspects began to riot and loot the abandoned vehicles and shops. The Batfamily were already chattering in her ears as the League members slowly but surely began to join the comms.

The toxic glow of the clouds surged blindingly bright. An ear burstingly loud scream hits the world, as the very air itself begins to tear.

*Constantine has arrived. He sounds panicked. Cursing in increasingly incomprehensible languages.*

Silence and a heavy atmosphere blankets the world.

The heroes tense, preparing for anything, as Dark paints the air with power, looking to seal the rift.

With a final surge. The green ripples and clears.

The other side of the rift is the aftermath of a battlefield or disaster. Above a crowd of civilians floats a heavily injured, glowing green figure, clearly deep in concentration.

Groups on both sides of the rift hesitate.

"We need to help them evacuate here NOW." J'onn has a horrified expression on his face. The rest of the league looks to Batman for confirmation. With a grim expression on his face, he nods.

...

The league might not know what happened, but they recognize a refugee situation when they see one. The survivors are helped through the rift. The injured are tended to.

A group of armored people are among the survivors. The self identified Red Huntress, Pharaoh, and Nightshade remain on guard around the injured meta who seems to be the one who opened the rift.

...

It's almost surprising how anticlimactic the rift closing and sealing over is. The green fogs over, and in between one blink and the next. They didn't even notice the last 4 coming through.