#anyone else who wants !!!

[egophiliac]

starting off with an amuse-bouche of some of my initial favorite bits! y'all, this update was WILD.

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

Breaking news! Vicky Vale leaks footage of Brucie Wayne following the new teenage rogue 'Phantom' around the city saying "Please let me adopt you 😭"

Phantom refuses and saying he's a supervillian not a lost puppy.

Turns out this was a part of Bruces plan however as Phantom now sees people all over tv talking about him and the Waynes and already considering him a new member of the family. They're even asking when there will be a face reveal. There was a reason he was wearing a mask! He. Is.. A. Villian. What about that do these people not get?!

Sure he doesn't kill people. Or hurt people at all really. Or steal from small family owned businesses. Or...yeah ok. Just because you're a bad guy doesn't mean you have to be a bad guy, ya know? Apparently Gotham doesn't.

Cause they insist hes just a very confused hero

[melmedarda]

"I missed you little man." ⸻ VI & EKKO, Arcane

[lucy-bladeshield]

Can you imagine how terrified Aelwyn must be? Her baby sister and her dumb friends have just said the name of a dead god and the world went mad, and they went into the briefcase of the one named The Ball and the one with the dead god casted a ward of death on you. And now it's been who knows how long and spell after spell you try and cast won't open the briefcase?

[theerurishipper]

I feel like people really underestimate the importance of Dick being the first Robin. Like, reverse Robin AUs are interesting and such, but I just hope people realize that in the context of canon, they would never work. The reason Batman and Robin ever works is because the first Robin was Dick Grayson specifically. Because Bruce would never have taken in any child if Dick's tragedy hadn't specifically happened to mirror his own experience. Dick Grayson was the only one Bruce truly saw himself in first, because the fundamental event that defines them is the same. And he sees the opportunity to help someone the way he was never helped, to make sure that Dick didn't go down the dark path he did. So, my point here is that the only one Bruce actually made the choice to take in, the only one who could kickstart it all, is Dick Grayson, because he is the only one with whom Bruce could immediately empathize and connect with.

This never happened with any other Robin. He took in Jason because he missed Dick, he took in Tim because Tim forced himself into the role, he took in Steph because he was trying to make Tim come back to being Robin, and Dick made Damian Robin. Of course, he loved all of them, and they all have their unique relationships with Bruce that are very important and inform their characters, and he does need them too. But he specifically formed this connection with Dick that made Dick the only person he ever considered taking in. It took a very specific set of circumstances in Dick's backstory that made Bruce commit an impulse adoption that just isn't really present in any other Robin's story. And the reason Jason or Tim or Steph or Damian or anyone else whom Bruce has taken under his wing even got that chance is because of the work Dick Grayson put into Bruce Wayne.

Before Dick, Bruce was reckless and didn't care at all about himself, to the point of almost being borderline suicidal. He was more brutal, more violent, etc. The reason all this changed, is because of Dick Grayson specifically. He was the one with whom Bruce opened up, with whom Bruce was forced to grow up, to take responsibility and learn to take care of both Dick and himself. Dick, to Bruce was the one who brought "color to their [his and Alfred's] monochrome lives." Dick Grayson's specific brand of happiness and joy changed Bruce for the better. Dick gave Bruce hope. This is true for other Robins too, but only because they followed the precedent that Dick Grayson set, only because they slid into his role (they have their own interesting relationships with Bruce, but this specifically is from Dick that other Robins carried on. A legacy, if you will). Dick Grayson turned Bruce into the kind of man who would become a serial adopter.

Without his influence, without his precedent, there would be no Batfamily, because Bruce would never have gotten to the point where he would be able or willing to take in someone else and care for them properly (It took living through his trauma again to get him to take Dick in lmao). Hell, there would be no Batman because Bruce would have gotten himself killed a long time ago if Dick hadn't helped him learn self-care. Dick knows Bruce best, because he understands him on a fundamentally deeper level than anyone else in the world. And he's the only one who can make Bruce open up at his rawest, most downtrodden state. He is the only one who can give Bruce at his lowest that kind of hope. There is no Robin without Dick Grayson. It's literally a tribute to his parents, using their colors and the name his mother called him. He created that identity as a symbol of hope. He helped Bruce become the kind of man who could and would let other people that he had to care for into his life. Without Dick Grayson, you can simply forget about any other Robin or the Batfamily as a concept even existing.

[mrghostrat]

mentally i’m still here. rents going up soon.

[eluminium]

Impulse: talking about how cool it was to reach 1 mil subs Someone in chat: Skizz is gonna overtake you soon

Impulse, no hesitation, with his entire impussy:

G O O D.

I can't wait. I can't wait! Honestly I would LOVE- I would ABSOLUTELY love to see Skizz pass me in everything. Subs, views, everything. Dude deserves it. I've been dreaming about that since I started. Him coming along and making his way up and overtaking me and me riding- I'll ride his coattails for a while, you know!

[my-dear-ceramic-frogs]

🔶 🟨 ◾️🌱🔸🔲♦️🪐◾️🌻▫️🔳

The Kiss but it’s House MD

[chocmoon-latte]

The amount of posts/fanart/memes I've already seen surrounding Cooper and Hancock only proves to me that Hancock NEEDS to make a cameo in a later season. Somehow. I need them to get in a knife fight. I need them to get up in each other's faces and kiss intimidate each other.

Cooper's look was originally supposed to have black eyes and have scars identical to the Fallout 4 design, but the idea was ultimately scrapped. Boy oh boy, who else has black eyes and- HANCOCK. Hancock does. HE looks like that. This was clearly a sign from the universe.

[chloesimaginationthings]

⭐️JOJOLANDS CHARMS RESTOCKED⭐️

[silvermoon424]

I'm convinced I have the worst vibes detector of all time. I used to be a fan of Creepshow Art, iilluminaughtii, and James Somerton- all high-profile creators who got their careers tanked because they're bad people. Given the absolutely huge number of creators I subscribe to it's not surprising that this has happened multiple times, but still.

Then again, when I expressed this sentiment in the past and kicked myself for not being more aware of the red flags, someone told me that means I just want to see the good in people and am more willing to forgive faults than others are. I think that's spot-on tbh; I'm a very naive and forgiving person, which has often been taken advantage of. But it's just my nature, I can't help it.

This will inevitably happen to me again, but I'd rather not beat myself up over not constantly being attuned to every red flag people give off.

[charmedslayer]

SUPERNATURAL (2005-2020) “Swan Song”

[starstruckodysseys]

figayda confession scene still goes hard to this day. i have information that might be actionable and of interest to you. if at any waking moment outside of combat when you and i were together you had tried to kiss me it would have been received favorably. legally this doesn’t have the structure of a contract it’s really more of a threat. i think you’re perfect the way you are. i kiss her and i skateboard away. live lou and ally reaction in the background. what more could you ever want

[novelconcepts]

There’s a line from American Gods I keep coming back to in relation to Yellowjackets, an observation made early on by Shadow in prison: “The kind of behavior that works in a specialized environment, such as prison, can fail to work and in fact become harmful when used outside such an environment.” I keep rotating it in my head in thinking about the six survivors, the roles they occupy in the wilderness, and the way the show depicts them as adults in society.

Because in the wilderness, as in prison, they’re trapped—they’re suffering, they’re traumatized, they’re terrified—but they’re also able to construct very specific boxes to live in. And, in a way, that might make it easier. Cut away the fat, narrow the story down to its base arc. You are no longer the complex young woman who weighs a moral compass before acting. You no longer have the luxury of asking questions. You are a survivor. You have only to get to the next day.

Shauna: the scribe. Lottie: the prophet. Van: the acolyte. Taissa: the skeptic. Misty: the knight. Natalie: the queen. Neat, orderly, the bricks of a new kind of society. And it works in the woods; we know this because these six survive. (Add Travis: the hunter, while you’re at it, because he does make it to adulthood).

But then they’re rescued. And it’s not just lost purpose and PTSD they’re dealing with now, but a loss of that intrinsic identity each built in the woods. How do you go home again? How do you rejoin a so-called civilized world, where all the violence is restricted to a soccer field, to an argument, to your own nightmares?

How does the scribe, the one who wrote it all out in black and white to make sense of the horrors, cope with a world that would actively reject her story? She locks that story away. But she can’t stop turning it over in her head. She can’t forget the details. They’re waiting around every corner. In the husband beside her in bed. In the child she can’t connect with across the table. In the best friend whose parents draw her in, make her the object of their grief, the friend who lives on in every corner of their hometown. She can’t forget, so she tries so hard to write a different kind of story instead, to fool everyone into seeing the soft maternal mask and not the butcher beneath, and she winds up with blood on her hands just the same.

How does the prophet come back from the religion a desperate group made of her, a group that took her tortured visions, her slipping mental health, and built a hungry need around the very things whittling her down? She builds over the bones. She creates a place out of all that well-intended damage, and she tells herself she’s helping, she’s saving them, she has to save them, because the world is greedy and needs a leader, needs a martyr, needs someone to stand up tall and reassure everyone at the end of the day that they know what’s best. The world, any world, needs someone who will take those blows so the innocent don’t have to. She’s haunted by everyone she didn’t save, by the godhood assigned to her out of misplaced damage, and when the darkness comes knocking again, there is nothing else to do but repeat old rhymes until there is blood on her hands just the same.

How does the acolyte return to a world that cares nothing for the faith of the desperate, the faith that did nothing to save most of her friends, that indeed pushed her to destroy? She runs from it. She dives into things that are safe to believe in, things that rescue lonely girls from rough home lives, things that show a young queer kid there’s still sunshine out there somewhere. She delves into fiction, makes a home inside old stories to which she already knows the endings, coaxes herself away from the belief that damned her and into a cinemascope safety net where the real stuff never has to get in. She teaches herself surface-level interests, she avoids anything she might believe in too deeply, and still she’s dragged back to the place where blood winds up on her hands just the same.

How does the skeptic make peace with the things she knows happened, the things that she did even without meaning to, without realizing? She buries them. She leans hard into a refusal to believe those skeletons could ever crawl back out of the graves she stuffed them into, because belief is in some ways the opposite of control. She doesn’t talk to her wife. She doesn’t talk to anyone. It’s not about what’s underneath the surface, because that’s just a mess, so instead she actively discounts the girl she became in the woods. She makes something new, something rational and orderly, someone who can’t fail. She polishes the picture to a shine, and she stands up straight, the model achievement. She goes about her original plan like it was always going to be that way, and she winds up with blood on her hands just the same.

How does the knight exist in a world with no one to serve, no one to protect, no reason propelling the devastating choices she had grown comfortable making? She rechannels it. She convinces herself she’s the smartest person in the room, the most capable, the most observant. She convinces herself other people’s mysteries are hers to solve, that she is helping in every single action she takes. She makes a career out of assisting the most fragile, the most helpless souls she can find, and she makes a hobby out of patrolling for crimes to solve, and when a chance comes to strap her armor back on and ride into battle, she rejoices in the return to normalcy. She craves that station as someone needed, someone to rely upon in the darkest of hours, and she winds up with blood on her hands because, in a way, she never left the wilderness at all.

How does the queen keep going without a queendom, without a pack, without people to lead past the horrors of tomorrow? She doesn’t. She simply does not know how. She scrounges for something, anything, that will make her feel connected to the world the way that team did. She moves in and out of a world that rejects trauma, punishes the traumatized, heckles the grieving as a spectacle. She finds comfort in the cohesive ritual of rehabilitation, this place where she gets so close to finding herself again, only to stumble when she opens her eyes and sees she’s alone. All those months feeding and guiding and gripping fast to the fight of making it to another day, and she no longer knows how to rest. How to let go without falling. She no longer wears a crown, and she never wanted it in the first place, so how on earth does she survive a world that doesn’t understand the guilt and shame of being made the centerpiece of a specialized environment you can never explain to anyone else? How, how, how do you survive without winding up with blood on your hands just the same?

All six of these girls found, for better or worse, a place in the woods. All six of them found, for better or worse, a reason to get up the next day. For each other. And then they go home, and even if they all stayed close, stayed friends, it’d still be like stepping out of chains for the first time in years. Where do you go? How do you make small choices when every decision for months was life or death? How do you keep the part of yourself stitched so innately into your survival in a world that would scream to see it? How do you do away with the survivor and still keep going?

They brought it back with them. Of course they did. It was the only way.

[thisismisogynoir]

I love it when women hate men. I love it when women are allowed to vent to each other about how horrible and creepy men are. I love it when women form friendships with and prioritize each other over relationships with men(whether they're attracted to them or not). I love it when women put men dni in their bios and on their nude photos and on posts on their blogs. I love it when women refuse to mollycoddle and accommodate entitled male feelings with "but this doesn't mean I hate all men, I know a few men who are great, I love my father/sons/brothers/uncles/male cousins/guy friends" I love it when women complain about men WITHOUT "not all men" being a disclaimer. I love it when women avoid socializing with/refuse to be around/befriend/get close to men because they know men can't be trusted. I love it when women make "kill all men" jokes. I love it when women offer absolutely no concern or care for men's feelings and if their misandry offends men whatsoever because why should we, men are the oppressor class who have raped and killed and abused us and kept us as subjugated as second-class citizens for millennia, they regularly mistreat us and the women in their own marginalized communities still every single day and make this world so much harder and more awful for us to be in, and if we choose to hate them and not spare them any sympathy then so be it, and I don't just mean "men as a class" either, you can be a woman who doesn't want to have anything to do with any man on an individual basis and completely cuts off men from her personal life too and ykw I will love and fucking support you in that because men deserve absolutely NOTHING from us. If they're so tough and strong then they can handle it just like they can handle being lonely. If you are a woman who hates men, ESPECIALLY IF YOU ARE A LESBIAN AND/OR A TRANS WOMAN, then just know that I love you. I love you, I support you, and you are safe here.

[elnathsstar]

Listen, I am aromantic, but it's getting cold and dark and I so desperately want somebody who I can cuddle under my covers with, somebody I can teach to dance, somebody I can drag outside at night when we're supposed to be inside, and it's so cold that it could start snowing any minute, or maybe already be snowing, and then we would go and sit in the dark at the lake with the lights while listening to Taylor Swift and sharing my headphones, and then dancing around outside to mirrorball and not caring who sees us because we are so madly platonically in love with each other that we only care about the other. I want somebody to drag around charity shops while I plan my Halloween costume, and my birthday outfit, and the outfit for the various Christmas parties I will take them too- even the one hosted by the church that I usually end up just sitting in a side room watching whatever Nativity movie they put on for the entire time. The kids would ask if we were dating, and we'd just look at each other and giggle, while my parents and grandparents who are watching us bicker over an Uno game are thinking about how pure our love is. Kisses are always an option, but never pushed for, and even if the other person liked me romantically they would be okay with and understand how I don't feel the exact same way, but I still love them so so much. Like a platonic soulmate. We would share clothes, and I'd save them a piece of my birthday cake, if they weren't already there for it. We would go on walks together, and they would be one of the first people I call when the cold weather is affecting my mood or my health, and then they would come over unprompted with something sweet and a hoodie. We would both chill on my bed, not caring about how cramped it is or the fact that my bed is a high rise so we can't sit up straight, because we don't have any trouble with being close to the other, and on days where it may be hard to be physically close to someone, they would sit back patiently and read me a chapter of whatever book we had picked up, pausing to add their own witty comments and applauding me when I guess what will happen next accurately. We wouldn't even necessarily be 'dating'- and we wouldn't label what we had as romantic, despite the dates and the kisses and the cuddles, and we'd both be fine with it. We would just exist together, in the same space, comfortably.

I want to be wanted.