#something up? // ask

[goldensunset]

if someone is talking about how much they love their parents do not jump in and start venting about your issues with your parents. if someone is venting about their issues with their parents do not jump in and start talking about how much you love your parents. peace and love amen swag city

[icewindandboringhorror]

(also feel free in the tags to clarify Why you made the choice you made!! :0c)

[noodles-and-tea]

do u think Bruce ever thinks about chatterbox dick and thinks about when he was nonverbal and think I’m glad he expresses himself

He’s come a long way :)

[badolmen]

WARNING 18+

19

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[seldompathic]

I imagine the phone call was life or death

[chloesimaginationthings]

Was dissecting the SOTM trailer and apparently your monty is a mm member comic is now canon

ANOTHER WIN FOR MONTY ENJOYERS!!!

(Original comic)

[blaqcats-fics]

been thinking about jason being petty towards bruce. like, oh, you spend time with your other kids, but not me? tire privileges revoked! it would be over stupid shit too.

like there’s one time bruce decides to take damien to the movies, and jason is just beside himself.

like the conversation would be like:

JASON: So, let me get this straight—you took Damian to a movie.

BRUCE: He asked.

JASON: Oh, and I wouldn’t have wanted to see Kung Fu Panda 4 with you?!

BRUCE: You were busy.

JASON: Busy taking down a cartel. Which, by the way, I learned from you. I deserve quality time!

BRUCE: Jason—

JASON: No. No excuses. You’ll learn.

Jason storms off. Five minutes later, an alert pops up on the Batcomputer.

BATCOMPUTER: Warning: Batmobile rear tires have been removed.

BRUCE: …Jason.

Cut to Jason outside, rolling two Batmobile tires away, cackling.

[frownyalfred]

in the realm of like, rich kid problems, I want to someday read/write a fic where Nightwing is slowly establishing himself as a full-fledged JL member and everyone is relieved because finally, there's a nice Bat on the Watchtower who doesn't just shoot down their plans and deny their mission requests. but. while Nightwing is kind, and polite, and charming in all the ways the Bat isn't, he's still Dick Grayson. and Dick Grayson grew up as a very rich kid's suddenly very rich kid, which is to say while Bruce might not take it personally, Dick has been fending off people almost his entire life who were trying to use him for his Dad's money. which is to say, I think once Nightwing is on board and the relationship between him and Batman is at least somewhat well-known, there is suddenly a rush of younger, less-experienced members trying to take advantage of Nightwing, mistaking that kindness and openness for willingness to either voluntarily, or involuntarily, infringe upon and cross Batman's clear-cut boundaries. bribing Dick for a better monitor shift with Batman is one thing (it doesn't really work, Dick can't bribe Bruce with much as it is) but trying to convince Nightwing to lie to Batman? to go against him? his dad? the man who pulled him up when he had nothing and gave him meaning again? that man?? and then comes the inevitable, chilling realization, that while Nightwing might wear a different mask, might wear an open smile on the Watchtower and with friends off-shift, there are some lines he won't cross, same as Bruce. he won't, sure as the sun rises and the rot rolls off the Gotham Harbor in the morning.

[demaparbat-hp]

Crush, crush, crush!

[asthedeathoflight]

Still thinking about none houses left grief, and while I understand where people are coming from, "it took me out of the world" is just... Really not a relevant criticism here. Like, that line is SUPPOSED to be jarring. It is supposed to be kind of darkly funny, but the point isnt for you to laugh. Its not trying to be a punchline. The point of that line IS to "take you out of the world" because the point is that *this world isn't what you thought it was.*

[artlyloser]

not really related to this drawing but I was sick yesterday and spent all day reading sentryagent fanfic and I'm afraid the dynamics got to me

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Stargazing, at the edge of the unknown.

[hadalhalfmoon]

shooting star!!!!

and extra doodles but they’re a lot older

[morganbritton132]

Hopper is sitting in a booth at the diner.

He watching his new recruit talk on the pay phone outside through the window, contemplating. He’s not too sure about this Callahan kid.

He’s not sure if he’s just getting older or if it’s because he has a daughter now, but Christ. Callahan still had braces last year and they just handed him a gun. The kid is nineteen.

Hopper must have been too deep in his musing because he doesn’t notice Steve slide into the booth across from him until Steve is halfway through telling him that they make him sit at the bar when the diner is busy. He doesn’t like that because people touch his hair when they go past so, “Can I sit with you, please?”

He shoves Callahan’s half-finished hash browns to the side and says, “Don’t worry, I’ll be really quiet. You’ll forget that I’m here. Mama says I’m really good at that.”

Yeah. Somehow Hopper doesn’t think he’ll be forgetting much of anything. Especially after Patty Martin, the only waitress in the building today, comes over to top of Hopper’s coffee. She gives Steve the sweetest smile Hop has ever seen on her face and asks, “Pancakes again, kiddo?”

“No thanks,” Steve says, pulling some crumbled up dollars and a handful of coins from his pocket. He slides it towards her and says with a gap-toothed smile, “One big sundae with two bananas, please.”

She looks at the money, “That’s a bit more than what you got here, kid.”

“Not of it’s your birthday.”

This is a game, Hopper realizes when Patty asks, “Is it your birthday? You had a birthday last year.”

“I have a birthday every year!” Steve giggles, and Hopper is slightly amused until Patty leaves and Steve informs him, “Mama and me come here every year on my birthday and get a big sundae. We share it. It’s tradition. I’m seven.”

Hopper scans the room and finds it lacking, “Where is your mom?”

Steve pauses. He can see the gears turning in the kid’s head. He knows that Steve must’ve heard his dad say that you don’t lie to the police but you don’t got to tell them the truth because he predictably gives a non-answer, “She’s not here.”

Descriptive, Hopper thinks but he also thinks this whole scenario is so damn sad. Instead of an interrogating, he asks, “Hey, kid. How about after you finish your ice cream, I take you for a drive in the truck. You can turn the siren on.”

Steve gives him a look like he not only thinks that suggestion is stupid but that Hopper is too. He says gently, like he’s letting Hopper down easy, “No thanks.”

“I’m going to Tommy’s later,” Steve adds. “His mama is making me a cake.”