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#joy hates both routines and capitalism, she’d probably cause a blackout #theo would get distracted by the birds out (and the ghouls hanging out my the dumpsters) #inari has enough already with her diner #yuzuki would be the only one good at it

the OC of the person reading this

this is a very fun idea actually! I encourage people to reblog with an explanation as to why/why not

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every-time i rewatch the hannibal pilot im reminded of how much of an asshole will graham is and how it’s so funny that hannibal eat-the-rude lector did not immediately soufflé his ass. instead he developed a crush and had no choice but to wage psychological warfare on him.

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THE MISTS OF AVALON (2001)

dir. uli edel

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forever queen of my heart

daenerys and her silver

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An oddly specific smell in the air, walking through the familiar path in your old hometown, the notes you left on the margins of your books, the song that got you through hard times

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propaganda i am not falling for:

always moving on. some goodbyes need to rot a little. some griefs need to be held in the mouth like a stone.

beauty defined by algorithms. beauty exists in crow feet and smile lines

pretending to be chill. i’m not chill. i care deeply and inconveniently. i read into things. i write poems about eye contact

beige apartments with no soul. give me bookshelves and incense and loud art

sneaky links and unclear intentions. i want devotion. and also clarity

treating books as decor. read them. dog-ear them. argue with them in the margins

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Gospel for the living

Down the Supernatural rabbit hole, may I introduce my oc Theo Peck.

The Peck family has hunted the trails of Appalachian mountains for years, a rift that both generates and attracts supernatural entities.

Theo grew up into this life and took up the family's business so to say, only with a few degrees in biology that let her understand the things that go wild in the night more closely. She can ramble for hours on the wendigo migration patterns and the mating rituals of werewolves. Also one of the reasons Theo also started her own encrypted podcast for hunters, Tales and Trails.

It has become a staple on Tuesday night, even for wandering brothers on the road.

At least they have a real nerd to call when they come face to face with the latest eldritch horror. Dean has had her number on speed dial since the Tennessee incident (late teens).

"And remember folks, that's why you always bring rosemary and thistle to a banshee fight!"

I only claim ownership of my character Theo Peck and the original story, all rights reserved.

The images used on the collage are taken from Pinterest.

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Ancient glass bead PNGs

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Kermies

Art by Alex Plante

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That 40 min walk to nowhere particular Will save your life

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ugly crying thinking about my dog, well my parents’ dog, every-time I go visit he showers me with unconditional love even though I’ve been away for weeks and I don’t know how to process

(via)

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honestly this should be canon

The true reason why the Joker killed Jason wasn't because he wanted to hurt Batman or anything, it was because One Time, after Joker was caught and was being dragged away, Jason made Bruce laugh So Hard that he had to use Jim Gordon as someone to lean on, that people Genuinely Thought that he had been dosed with Joker Venom until he calmed down

But nope, just a really good joke

And from that day on, The Joker hated the second Robin with a passion

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Source: Queering the Map

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"Do you remember Christmas '94?" she wonders, voice just above a whisper, "You were kind to me then".

He remembers.

A child alone in the world, those big green eyes looking up at him like he was the hero she read about, the first meal that tasted like sharing and taking care in a greasy diner, the promises he made. 

"I tried to take you away" he replies, but it sounds empty to his own ears.

The truth is harsher.

He hadn't done enough. 

"I tried" he repeats, his gaze hardening, his walls closing.

She is good at containing herself - though he can see that glint in her eyes. He almost feel sick at the resemblance.

She is chaos contained, straining to keep control, barely able not to let herself explode. 

But her anger pours in her words, "Once. You tried once and then abandoned me at his mercy".

"He threatened to butcher a whole orphanage to get you back. I didn't want to risk anymore victims".

"All the power and the influence you have and you couldn't find someplace where he couldn't reach me?".

"You know the price this city would have paid for it, he would have drowned it in innocent blood". 

Her restraints weaken. 

"Then why let him live? Why is his life so precious that you constantly choose to discard my life and that of all innocents? Had you ended him sooner, we would all be free.”

She adds with a sneer, “I had to break away on my own, and you know how well that went.”

What had he been told? An unstoppable force meets an unmovable object.

But he lets one truth surface from his depths, but it tastes more like an illusion, an excuse to which he has clung when doubt tormented him. 

"I had hoped your presence would remind him of his humanity.

A physical reminder of the fact he still is a man and that he can do good.”

Her face contorts, painted in genuine disbelief and amazement. Probably at his ingenuity.

Her scars became more pronounced, making him suppress a reaction.

"I don't even know how many times Harley or me had to drive ourselves to first aid", she spits her words like knives, "because he needed a reminder of his humanity". 

It's not enough. 

________

Little snippets directly from my notes, one day it will form a coherent story.

A little heart to heart between my oc Killjoy and Batman.

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Michael Halak (Palestinian, b. 1975)

Terra Sancta, 2021

Oil on wood

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Jason Todd's story will always be The Story to me.

On the surface he's a buff and gruff guy with guns, a comic-book character from the world of Batman, popularly associated with dudebros and their macho view on said characters.

Underneath that is one of the most potential-filled stories I've ever encountered.

First came Batman, Bruce Wayne, a man of wealth, reputation, resilience, innovation. Practically synonymous with vigilantism. Next was Nightwing, Dick Grayson, the Boy Wonder, the original Robin. Batman's greatest success. All that Batman is, and should be, and then some. Wide smile, bright eyes, a star since childhood.

Then came Jason Todd.

A scrawny boy from the streets, caught stealing a tire from the Batmobile, in the very street where Batman's parents were killed, on the very anniversary of the event. Batman laughed.

That little boy in a yellow cape, heart-shaped strands of hair on his forehead, believed being Robin gives him magic. He liked school, liked learning, liked homework. He liked reading. He was a theatre kid. For all the anger Dick carried when he was Robin, Jason was bright.

The last thing Jason did was try to save the life of someone who never cared about him.

He found his biological mother, who walked away and never looked back. She watched Joker beat him with a crowbar nearly to death. She watched a lunatic strike a boy, even smaller than his age would have it, with steel, again and again and again. She smoked a cigarette.

As the warehouse was about to explode, Jason, in pain as he was, shielded the woman who happened to be his mother. A vixen watched her cub thrash and bleed, caught in a trap, and still the little one yanked its mangled leg free and limped to cover its mother from a hunter's gun.

Jason Todd died that night.

Bruce was a mentor more than a father, Jason a sidekick more than a child. Dick would come to regret not giving more attention to someone who could've been his younger brother.

Jason, from this point on, would be known as Batman's greatest failure. A cautionary tale, a fallen soldier, a bloodied yellow cape bigger than the body which had worn it.

To wake up in a pool of overwhelmingly glowing green, wrapped in bandages head to toe, surrounded by cloaked strangers, when the last thing you remember is pain, fear, fire. His death wasn't merciful and neither was his resurrection.

He saw a stranger in the mirror. He died a malnourished child and awoke thrice his size, a white streak in his hair, eyes gone from blue to green, an autopsy scar on his chest. A discarded child, to a short-lived sidekick, to a walking corpse. As Robin he wore a mask, he would do so later on as well, and with the mask off he would see himself no clearer.

Robin's suit worn by a new kid, regardless of the last one's tragic end. The maniac responsible for his death still alive and free to walk the streets.

You are a cautionary tale and yet no caution was taken to prevent your tale from being repeated. You were neither avenged, nor was justice carried out. You are young, feeling aged in a way you shouldn't be. You are alone, life went on without you. Your death changed nothing. The world lost you and yet there's no empty space in sight, not even a dusty one.

Driven by rage and desperation, dressed in a costume of muscle and bullets when still a boy lie underneath, he faced the one he wanted to be his father. He got his throat slit.

He came back from the dead, did the unthinkable, appeared when it was believed he would never be seen outside of hallucinations and memories. He bared his belly, as he had the tendency to do.

He asked if his death meant anything. A batarang was thrown at his neck. Canines dug in when that mouth should've been licking wounds.

It seems a son couldn't get a father's love even after digging himself out of his own grave. It seems a victim couldn't ask for justice from the one who claims to be justice in a suit.

Still, he does as he always did. Protects, fights, prevents, avenges.

For all his intelligence, patience, calculation, resilience, vulnerability - only his rage is seen. A walking, seething, irrational failure filled with violence is what he's presented as. Just as he reached a warm hand after sleeping on a cold ground, his arm was broken for thinking comfort is lasting. Any attempt to voice his gut sinking in remembrance is heard as senseless shouting.

Bruce will always be right, Dick will always be better, Damien can call himself a son.

Joker shot Barbara and left her immobile, took pictures of her in the most vulnerable and petrified state one can be in, and still Jason is mad for wanting him gone. Still, Bruce would cling to his twisted morals rather than prevent future victimhood.

It's a story of solitude, potential, vulnerability, justice, endurance.

It's a story of a brightness overlooked under the shadow of tragedy.

It's a story of one most human, so ultimately and beautifully human, in a world of magic, mutants, superheroes. He can't lift a house with his bear hands, he won't put on a dazzling smile and performance. Though a billionaire's past sidekick, though beyond capable in thought and action, he is firstly a person in the highest and more honest way. Palpable among ones otherworldly.

It's a story of one who's lived through countless losses, and still he gives. He couldn't be a child, a pupil, a son. Bruce did what he thought was best and offered training and danger to lost and hurting kids he deemed would go down the wrong path unless guided by vigilantism's hand. Jason couldn't be an adolescent, make stupid mistakes, have an innocent crush. His path was paved with violence and survival very early on.

It's a story of becoming the person who would've saved you when you needed it most.