#write articles

[an-ruraiocht]

Ballet, like opera, is wonderful because it is monstrous, the hyper-development of skills nobody needs, a twisting of human bodies and souls into impossible positions, the purchase of light with blood.

Irina Dumitrescu, "Swan, Late: The unexpected joys of adult beginner ballet."

[crustycrow]

HETEROSEXUAL CIS-PEOPLE LOOK HERE

Snaps my fingers at you as you scroll past this post

Look at me. Listen.

I'm not the best at serious posts, but that article up there reminded me of how important it is that people like you stand up for us. So hold on while I try to get this out of my mushy end-of-work-day brain.

We could fight this fight ourselves for decades trying to reach the equal laws, gender affirming trans healthcare that doesn't have a 2-5+ soul-eating years of waiting time, medical care with equal knowledge of lgbtqia+ bodies, and, what is often forgotten, inclusion in the little everyday areas of life like our way of speaking or things being set up or designed with the existence of queer people in mind.

But you joining in could get us there so much faster.

The power you have as a hetero cis person is that you set the standard for what is seen as the average way of treating us among other hetero cis people. You have been given the power of deciding what's "normal" and I'm begging you to use it.

Richard Green is a great example of to what extent your actions can help our situation, and smaller ways of support still add up to a great impact on society, and could make the days of the queer people you interact with.

Educate yourself before you speak up, but don't be silent.

[makingqueerhistory]

Seeing generative AI in queer spaces is chilling for a lot of reasons. Not least among them being that it's an easy way to edge out queer creators who are already in a precarious position, facing book bans and attacks from all sides.

As a queer history resource, watching an AI try and fill the roll that has taken so long to carve out for actual people, is disheartening. It's great to know that there is demand for queer history resources, but after so many queer people have worked so hard to build a space for themselves, it feels disrespectful to watch that spot be filled by machines.

Queer people have won the battle in a way, convinced the world that our stories are worthwhile. I suppose it shouldn't be shocking to see that the response is to try and find a way to not compensate queer people for any of their work and value.

[charliejaneanders]

The United States has always been a terrible place to be sick and disabled. Ableism is baked into our myths of bootstrapping and self-reliance, in which health is virtue and illness is degeneracy. It is long past time for a bedrock shift, for all of us.

Long covid has derailed my life. Make no mistake: It could yours, too.

[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.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

people who don't study history will simply never understand the joy of reading historian beef. there's nothing like it

[miedei]

the bau come over to dinner at you and roommate!spencer's apartment and make some observations <3 (aka spencer is sososo used to receiving love from you and they can't wrap their heads around it)

drabbles mlist | roommate!spence fic

The BAU team knows Spencer Reid. They know him to be brilliant, sweet, and kind. They also know him to be excessively clumsy, like a puppy unaware of it's now-long limbs.

They see him flounder in the office, in various police departments. They see him knock over chairs, mugs, stacks of paperwork.

They see it so often, that this sight in front of them is truly alien.

Spencer is moving through the kitchen with practised ease. His hands move without his eyes following them, grabbing and organising little jars on the counter. And, of course, he weaves his way around you, as if his body was crafted to work alongside yours.

Emily and JJ sit on the well-worn sofa, each half-heartedly holding up a conversation as they stare unabashedly through the open kitchen door. Their eyes track him as he passes behind you to get to the sink, softly brushing his hand over your back to let you know that he's there. They watch him handle plump tomatoes with care, washing them under the water with deft fingers as he rambles to you.

It's a strange feeling, to watch him so comfortable. To have never seen him in such a state. The two of them love Spencer, and they know he loves them, but this is something they've never experienced with him. They lock eyes, exchanging small smiles as they settle in to watch further.

Hotch and Derek are arguably the members on the team who have worked the closest with Spencer. From the day Gideon recruited him for the team, they've worked case after case with the younger man. Although they are so close, they've never been able to spend much time at his home, usually opting to gather at Rossi's.

It's a shock to finally see inside his apartment, and see this.

The two stand on the balcony, leaning against the railing as they take in the room beyond the french doors. Spencer has now floated to the cabinets in the living room, calling out softly to you as he attempts to locate the dish you're looking for.

"Is it the flat one we got last weekend? The one with the Delft Blue artwork?"

"No, the one next to it! Same size, but different— Oh, that's it! Thanks, Spence."

They observe as you appear in the doorway, delighted smile spreading over your face as you're presented with said dish. You turn back into the kitchen after planting a peck to Spencer's cheek.

The two profilers watch intently, expecting a flush to creep up Spencer's face any second, but— nothing. He barely acts as if anything is out of sorts.

They look on incredulously as Spencer doesn't cease his chattering, now delving into the history of Delft Blue pottery as he wanders back into the kitchen after you.

The endearing sight of Spencer in his home clues them in. This is his element, here in this apartment, with you. The disconcerting actions don't deter them. Instead, they also wander into the kitchen, playing at getting refills as an excuse to glimpse more.

Penelope is seated across from Spencer, Rossi across from you. The small dining table is barely big enough to fit the eight of you, but no one seems to mind. The surface is overflowing with plates, a seemingly random mish-mash of dishes laid out in front of them.

A record is playing softly, a rendition of Hungarian Dance No.5 melding in with the conversations that float around the room.

Both David and Penelope were just in a heated debate about the taste of scotch (she insists it's disgusting, despite allowing him to refill her glass every time), but their attention has been snagged elsewhere, and neither seem to be in the mood to look away.

Across the table, two heads huddle in closely. Spencer is angled towards you, his hands coming out to grasp your cutlery, and repositioning them repeatedly around your plate.

"...and if you place your knife horizontally, then your fork with the tines pointing to the top of the plate and the base of the knife, that means you don't want to engage in the conversation. A Victorian noble would never say it out loud, so they signalled instead."

Spencer is leaning into you without a care in the world, his entire body focused solely on his demonstration. He bends at the neck, bringing his face closer to yours as he shifts the cutlery again.

Rossi can't help but elbow Penelope, gesturing to your face when she looks at him questioningly.

Your eyes flicker from the plate to Spencer's eyes, wholly captivated by his words and movements. The lack of space between the two of you doesn't seem to register, or you don't care about it. Instead, you're listening carefully, interjecting with soft questions as he cycles through multiple iterations of cutlery placement.

The two of them can't seem to tear their eyes away from the domestic little scene. You are comfortable, not bothered by anything as the pair of you reside in your little bubble.

Penelope can't help but grip Rossi's arm when you reach a hand to brush a lock of hair away from Spencer's eyes, but he doesn't miss a beat. The sight in front of them is evidently commonplace, unremarkable to either of you.

It's run of the mill, comfortable and intimate. But not for a pair of roommates. Something else.

[toolhub24]

How to Write Unique Blogs And Articles

Writing unique blogs and articles involves a combination of creativity, research, and a distinct writing style. Here's a step-by-step guide to help you create unique content:

1. Select a Unique Topic

   - Choose a topic that interests you and is not overly saturated.

   - Consider your target audience's interests and problems.

2. Research Thoroughly

   - Gather information from reliable sources, including books, academic papers, reputable websites, and interviews if possible.

   - Take detailed notes and organize your research.

see more

[witherby]

imagine how cute would be if Bruce brings the little wayne to his work on wayne tower 🥺 the moment would be ruined if some paparazzi taking photos with flash and scaring the baby

Sooo the baby didn't end up getting scared, but this idea did make me spit out 2000 words worth of content. I hope that's a fair compromise :3

THE LITTLEST WAYNE: TAKE YOUR KID TO WORK DAY

Featuring: Bruce talking to you like a colleague, a newspaper article, and an overprotective Damian.

"Morning, Clarice. Donuts and coffee are getting delivered in five minutes if you wanna pop downstairs and help yourself. Afterwards, do me a favor and rebook the consultation with Lexcorp for sometime next month? The further out the better."

Bruce's secretary nodded, fingers flying across the keys to accommodate his request. She tucked a lock of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear and shot him a polite smile.

"Of course, mister Wayne — oh, goodness gracious."

Bruce's placid expression quickly became embarrassed. He tried to walk past her but she was already on her feet and rounding the desk, heels clicking over the linoleum floor to stand in front of him and the bundle on his arm.

"Who is this!" She cried, immediately fawning over you. You stared blankly at her as you suckled on your binky, wrapped up in a tiny Nightwing onesie (Dick got to the clothes first this morning) and hugging your father's arm. "Oh, my, you're the most adorable baby I've ever seen! I'm Clarice! I'm your father's personal secretary, and apparently the last person to find out anything, including when he adopted yet another child!"

"This wasn't a...planned acquisition," Bruce muttered, the tips of his ears pink. He let the blonde gently squish your fat cheeks and you preened under the attention, lifting one fuzzy-wrapped hand to brush against her wrist.

"A planned acquisition. Like you're another company he bought on a whim and not a precious angel," Clarice giggled. "What a doll... If you ever need a babysitter, Mister Wayne, please don't hesitate to call me!"

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, exasperated but smiling good-naturedly. "Have a great day, Clarice."

"You, too! Bye-bye, angel!" She waved, and squealed when you waved back.

Bruce disappeared into his office with you, bouncing you gently on one arm while the other shrugged off the duffel bag he carried with him. Zipping it open, he quickly tugged out a pop-up bassinet to place you in, then the pieces to an enclosed play pen he built and filled with some blankets, a couple toys, and an extra Red Robin binky (Tim got to the toys first this morning).

"Okay," he sighed, scooping you up and relocating you to the pen. "I've actually got to run my own company for a bit, and the others are busy, so you get to hang out with me today."

Bruce rested his arm on his desk, then his chin in his hand, and stared down at you. You were staring intently back at him, the binky bopping up and down as you suckled on it.

"You're a little young to learn the ropes, but I'll explain what I'm doing anyway. Every baby book I've looked at tells me you get something out of it even if you don't understand what I'm saying, so today it's time to do payroll. I'd make you sign an NDA, because you're about to see a lot of personal files, but you don't know how to hold a pencil, read, write, or speak yet, so I think we're fine."

Bruce had two monitors on his desk. He duplicated his screen and spun the other one around so you could watch what he was doing in real time.

"I don't like to delegate this task to other people because the last six times I did, they were eventually found embezzling money. Unfortunately, that tends to happen when you live in Gotham. Right now I've opened the pay software — it's this icon here, where the mouse is circling — and I'm going to ask it to open the time sheets for the last two weeks..."

---

A NEW FAMILY MEMBER? BRUCE WAYNE SPOTTED IN WAYNE TOWER WITH INFANT, SPECULATION GROWING

CEO of Wayne Enterprises Bruce Wayne seen with a baby after exiting his office this afternoon!

[An image of you in your Nightwing onesie, tucked securely in a smiling Bruce's arms as he walks out of an elevator, is printed on the front page of the Gotham Gazette.]

Sources say Wayne filed another adoption form with the courts a week ago and is being met with mixed reviews. Large portions of the public are joking that Wayne has an "adoption problem" while others speculate he is too inexperienced to foster an infant.

"Wasn't his youngest kid, like, 9 when he adopted him?" Asks one Carmine Falconi, recently released from Blackgate on good behavior. "None o' my business, of course, but I don't think he knows how to raise a tiny tot like that. My guys ain't touchin' a hair on that one's head, though. Kidnapping the odd teen or two, sure, go nuts, but even us crooks got codes, and that one's off-limits in my book."

Wayne declined to comment when the Gotham Gazette reached out and remaining family have further refused interviews about the subject.

(Alfred got to the phone first.)

---

The newspaper clipping was already framed and proudly sitting on the dining room table when Bruce woke up the next morning and shuffled downstairs for breakfast with you in his arms. He spared it a tired glance, put you in your high chair, and relented to Damian's insistent shoving so the boy could sit next to and feed you (he got to the pantry first).

"The next time you plan on actually doing your day job," the boy hissed, "bring one of us with you. There was an abysmal amount of security protocols you ignored when leaving work to allow paparazzi the chance to grab photos. I won't let your frivolous behavior cause them harm."

"Are you volunteering?" Bruce asked, gratefully accepting the mug of coffee Alfred handed over. He quietly greeted Dick and Jason as they filed into the room and had a quick rock-paper-scissors match to see who got to sit on your other side. Jason won. "Any networking events I have to attend, you almost always find a way to weasel out of."

"If it will keep our new charge safe," Damian huffed, "I can handle a few stupid luncheons."

"That's not a pass to skip school. If it's between a social or a class, you're going to class."

Damian looked simultaneously pissed and relieved. His fist clenched tightly around the small, silicone spoon, before he forced himself to relax and continue feeding you. You opened your mouth obediently for another offering of mushed-up bananas, apples, and cinnamon baby food from a high quality brand, giving a happy hum.

"Then the duty falls to one of you fools," he snapped at Jason and Dick, "which is akin to trusting a mosquito not to drink from you at the first possible opportunity. You'll pick up the slack when I'm otherwise indisposed."

"No can do, baby bat," Dick said, pouring himself a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. He quickly snapped a picture of you with your mouth open to accept another spoonful of food. "I have a day job, too. I don't even live here. I'm just on an extended vacation until the end of next week, then it's back to Blüdhaven."

Damian focused his glare on Jason next, who smirked back and shook his head.

"Legally dead. So, 'less you want Brucie Wayne and an innocent baby seen all around town with Red Hood, the crime lord, it's a no from me."

Damian weighed the pros and cons. Bruce shot him a look and shook his head, dismissing the idea entirely.

The boy grit his teeth. He scraped the last of the baby food from its jar and fed it to you, then delicately wiped the remnants from your mouth. You gummed at his finger and made grabby hands, indicating your desire to get out of the high chair. Jason scooped you up first with a swift call of "dibs!", carrying you away to get bathed and dressed for the day.

"Then...then you have to go into work with Timothy!" Damian demanded, facing Bruce again, who had finished his coffee by now and was eating a slice of buttered toast. The man raised a brow, looking only marginally more awake than he was at the start of the day.

"Tim hates being at the office with me," Bruce explained as Alfred came around to set a plate of pancakes, eggs, and freshly-squeezed orange juice in front of Damian. "Says the Brucie act is annoying to be around and it drives productivity down at least 8% every time. It's a lie, I've checked the numbers, but if he doesn't want to be at the Tower at the same time as me then I'm not going to push a non-issue."

"You?" said Damian, incredulous. "You aren't going to push a non-issue? You push everything. It may as well be your middle name."

He cut into his food with more force than necessary, cutlery scraping unpleasantly against the plate until he lifted his hands again. He shrugged off the hand Bruce tried to place on his shoulder, chewing angrily on a mouthful of pancake.

"I'm open to ideas, son," the man said, "but here are the facts: You have to go to school Monday through Friday. I won't let you homeschool because you need to socialize with people in your age group. Jason isn't interested in declaring himself alive right now. Dick doesn't live at the Manor full time and has separate responsibilities. Tim is juggling college, Wayne Enterprises, and patrols. Alfred is too ol— is aging gracefully, and might prefer to have more time to himself instead of watching the baby all alone for hours on end."

Alfred took Bruce's empty plate away with a very sharp look, then excused himself back to the kitchen.

Bruce turned in his chair to fully face Damian, who glared at his breakfast like it personally caused this mess, and not one hyper-empathetic man and his bleeding heart for orphans.

"Now, can you tell me how best to solve this problem without the occasional "take your kid to work day," or enrolling the baby in a daycare program?"

Yes, he could. But unfortunately for Damian, he had inherited a bleeding heart of his own, which constricted at the thought of giving his little sibling back up for adoption. Instead, he swallowed his next mouthful of food and sighed.

"More research is needed," he mumbled, which was the closest he could ever get to admitting he didn't know something. "However, my complaints still stand. Let the paparazzi get a bad photo if it means keeping the babe safe. Their well-being is your top priority, so act like it."

"Heard," Bruce said, sounding far too fond for Damian's liking. "Finish your breakfast and then get ready for school."

The boy grumbled but complied, and soon stood next to the door waiting for Alfred to pull a car up to the driveway. He watched Bruce carry you in his arms after he slung the duffel bag with your essentials over his shoulder, tugging the small hood of your red oneside up (Jason dressed you first today) over your head to ensure you didn't get cold.

"Have a good day, Damian," Bruce told him.

"Sure, whatever." Damian took you from his father and adjusted your hood himself. You grabbed his finger in your small fist with all the strength you could muster and tried to put it in your mouth. He gently pried it free, and Bruce popped a Batman binky in there instead. "You will be safe today. When I'm finished conforming to what American society deems a proper education, I will retrieve you myself."

Your binky bopped up and down as you suckled on it, staring silently at Damian. It was practically a yes to him, so he took it.

Glancing briefly at his father, he hesitated a moment, then kissed your forehead and quickly passed you back to Bruce before heading outside to let Alfred drive him to school.

Bruce watched him go with an unreadable expression. He quickly turned and faced Dick once Damian was out of earshot.

"Did you —"

"I'm texting you the picture right now," Dick said, thumbs flying across the keyboard. "What should the caption be for my Twitter post? #BestBrotherEver or #SecretSofty?"

"Either way, he's going to kick your ass."

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

Earth’s hottest day ever recorded by human instruments

Better way to phrase this is : top 3 hottest daily average-global-temperatures ever recorded by human instruments were this week.

[delinquentkru]

why are people acting like war crimes are being committed in the langdon & mel ao3 tag

[jewelleria]

“But there are nuances to sadistic barbarity against Jews, we are told, and sometimes gang-raping Jewish women is actually a movement for human rights. It hardly seems fair to call people anti-Semitic if they want only half of the world’s Jews to die. The phrase “Globalize the Intifada,” currently chanted at universities across America, perhaps widens the net a tiny bit—but really, who can say? Even the phrase “Gas the Jews,” chanted at a rally organized by NYU students and faculty, is so very ambiguous. How dare those whiny Jews presume to know what’s in other people’s hearts? It remains unclear why anti-Semitism should matter only when it is lethal, or if so, how many unambiguously anti-Semitic murders would be necessary for anti-Semitism to be happening outside whiny Jews’ heads. A realistic estimate might be 6 million. Even then, Jews have had to spend the past 80 years collecting documentation to prove it.”

— Dara Horn, Why the Most Educated People in America Fall For Anti-Semitic Lies

[starsintheskyandtheeye]

Respect for the Dead

By Lois Lane and Clark Kent

1,436 words

By now most of the world has been shaken by the news.

Ghosts are real! And ghosts are in danger! The original publication written by Lois Lane can be found here but we are not here to follow that well trodden avenue of discussion.

Here at the Daily Planet we have elected to focus on speaking to the ghosts themselves, rather than debate their existence alongside our fellow papers. During the hunt for the new source of Kryptonite that sparked this discovery Lois Lane made contact with one Danny Phantom. Originally he chose to anonymous but since the outpouring of support from much of the world he has since chosen to come forward publicly.

Given that the ghostly teenager is operating as a hero similar to our own Superman much of his personal history could not be shared. What was safe to share however was very different from what this reporting team had been expecting.

We had gone in prepared to hear the story of what caused a ghost that looks like a schoolboy to lead a life of ghostly vigilantism.

What we got was sweetly sarcastic individual giving us amusing anecdotes of his start as a hero, descriptions of the stranger habits he's gained since his death, and many many tips on how to politely interact with a ghost. At our confusion (who knew there were so many different types of ghost!) Phantom went on to explain and correct several common misconceptions about ghosts. So without further ado; here are the highlights of that discussion.

We begin with what was given to us as the number one rule of human/ghost etiquette. Never ask the individual, be they glowing werewolf, ghostly lunch-lady, or undead rock star, about the circumstances of their death.

It seems simple does it not? A matter of everyday politeness, and yet that is the number one reason for communication breakdowns between ectoplasmic entities and still living humans. Fortunately for the health of the interview this reporting team did not make that mistake. Phantom did not explain the nature of the offense but did not need to. It was clear that the, until then, friendly conversation would have ended abruptly if we had gone any farther down that path.

What we were encouraged (and warned) to talk to a ghost about was their obsession. As Phantom explained, "It's what drives a ghost, why we are still here, or why we formed at all."

When asked about his own obsession Phantom laughed a bit and said, "I'm a bit young for a ghost, so I don't really have one yet, I bounce around a lot. My doctor, he's a yeti, says it's normal for me though! The options are all over the place though. I know one ghost that haunts the high school to prevent bullying, a really nice guy. Another just wants to have her music heard by the world. Unfortunately her music brainwashes people to love her so we aren't super close. Or another that is all about granting wishes, but not in a singing blue genie way, in a fairy tale way, it's a mess whenever she gets over here."

That seems to be a common theme in ghostly/human interaction. Ghosts largely mean no harm but the pursuit of their own obsessions can have devastating effects on any that stand between them and their goal. Something to keep in mind if you're ordering pizza when the Box Ghost is at large.

Hoping it wouldn't cross into the realm of ghostly faux pas we went on to ask how old Phantom is. Once again Phantom seemed somewhat awkward although no more than what seemed to be his baseline when talking to (self claimed) famous reporters, saying only, "Time works differently in the realms. It can be really weird sometimes, you'll be talking to someone that looks like a toddler only to learn that they were last in a human world during the 1400s or something."

As Phantom continued to share however, the everlasting aspect seemed to be the least interesting part of the Infinite Realms, or the Ghost Zone as the Doctors Fenton, previously mentioned as ghostly experts here, call the place where the vast majority of ghosts dwell.

Ghostly yetis practicing medicine, while certainly not the least of the inhabitants were just the start. Phantom went on to share with us a sampling of the being he has encountered in his travels, medieval women moonlighting as temperamental dragons, the very concept of time, a warden of any ghosts that cross his path, and of course the ubiquitous creepy toddler so often featured on the silver screen.

According to Phantom up until extremely recently (whether by ghostly or human terms we were unable to determine) the Infinite Realms was closed off from our own home except for the occasional haunting. Which was explained to us by the telling of what was, to Phantom, a very funny joke about pop culture influencing ghost culture as people died and brought it over with them. From this we can glean several things. That the realms of the living and the dead have never been so far apart as it would have seemed to the living. That the near future will hold many changes as major religions, governments, and the common people hear what the dead have to say as they weigh in on what respect for the dead really means. And that while many things do translate, ghostly humor is not one of them.

Although of course that may be that, despite his real age being possibly many times our own - combined, Phantom is still eternally a teenager. And a teenagers jokes are often incomprehensible to any who do not share that state.

When asked about the sudden ghostly interest in our own living Earth Phantom had this to say, "Lots of ghosts want to go to the lands of the living. Especially anyone that used to be alive themselves. And anyone that didn't is curious what the fuss is about. Earth is so different from the ghost zone but it's still where a lot of us came from. If someone gets a chance to hop through the portal they'll go, to see how things have changed, or to keep things from changing, or just to stretch their obsessions. Really it's a chance to go home, just for a little while," he said, reminding us that for all they look like aliens ghosts are just as human as you or I.

With a few caveats.

The portal Phantom spoke of is an invention by the Doctors Fenton, Ectobiologists. Up until recently Jack and Maddie Fenton had been the worlds foremost ghostly experts, building a portal to the "Ghost Zone" in order to study what up until recently had been considered to be a non-sentient classification of emotional ectoplasmic imprintation.

We spoke to the researchers after our interview with Phantom, at his request. Despite the recent evidence come to light the couple remain the foremost (living) human scientists in the field. When asked about the setback to their work they had this to say, "We were devastated of course. To learn that we won't be able to study spooks -" Jack Fenton broke off there, at an extremely well executed elbow jab from Maddie Fenton who then said. "We got an extreme tunnel vision, a hazard of obsessive science. We were told we were wrong about the existence of ghosts for so long that we forgot to check that we were correct about their nature. We look forward to pivoting to ghostly anthropology and human/ghost interaction technology."

Ultimately we did not learn any groundbreaking secrets, but then if a ghost willing to go on record ( a written record at least, our recorded transcript of the conversation was near unusable due to static) you sit down and listen. We can never anticipate what a reader will take from an article but if we could make a suggestion? In this reporting teams opinion, the balance of ghost and human realms is not unlike the inversion of a mirror. We are reflections of one another. Opposite, yes, and dangerous to one another for it, but ultimately we are all the same. After all what is a ghost but emotion and ectoplasm (according to current science)? And for all that we try to rise above it, what is a human but emotion and flesh?

Fin.

Coming Soon!

Keep an eye out for top ten tips on ghostly interaction and interviews with the Justice League on diplomatic efforts with GHOSTLY ROYALTY!!

[bruciemilf]

Headcanon that, every year on their birthday, Kryptonians get new superpowers.

Clark doesn’t really keep track; That’s Bruce’s job, for the most part. This year? Mediumship.

me·​di·​um·​ship

/the capacity, function, or profession of a spiritualistic medium/

“Communication with spirits,” Bruce has this habit of nicking his thumb with his teeth, pretty, hazel eyes glossy with thought. Clark doesn’t need supervision to see how beautiful he is when his mind’s at work. “Fascinating.”

“Yep,”

Clark watches Thomas Wayne’s ghost give him the glare of the century behind his son’s back.

The skin of his jawline is entirely ripped off, peeled by Joe Chill’s gun, like the news article said. Sincerely, the Wayne glare scares Clark more.

“Fascinating.”