never before & never since

Bats usually keep an eye on large gatherings in Gotham, but in this case Bruce literally can't pay them enough to do their jobs.

---

In Gotham, large gatherings are always risky business. With half a dozen big name rogues with half a dozen screws loose, things can get out of hand FAST.

So yes, forgive Bruce if he likes having at least two bats or birds on the scene when people group together and make themselves easy targets.

His rag-tag group of children, adult or otherwise, usually agree with him. But in this case-

"I'm not going out of my way to help anti-gay protestors," Tim says before Bruce even let's himself think about which of his partners in anti crime he would like at his back. "I'm the one that green-lit the Wayne Enterprises gay agenda that they're protesting."

"That's... Fair."

And it was! Bruce was hardly going to force his bisexual son to save people that would tear him down if given half the chance. He'd demanded far too selflessness of Tim already.

It was just... No one else was volunteering either.

---

Dick, alerted by Tim about the group of anti-gay protestors planning their little event on Facebook, takes one look at Bruce approaching and shakes his head.

"I've heard what they said about my baby brother," he cautions before Bruce can say anything.

Tim, out and secure in his identity, doesn't care what any civilians have to say about him. Dick, deeply angry and protective, cares very much what slander people sling at his little brother.

Bruce, understanding that maybe his eldest was getting better about managing his anger, but deeply unwilling to test his resolve, nods and backs away.

---

Damian is his next choice, though he doesn't hold very high hopes for him either.

"Father, I will not be responsible for the safety of fools willingly endangering themselves," Damian says, reasonably and Bruce is glad to hear it. He has a whole speech about protecting civilians even if they act in defiance of their own safety. It's blown to pieces when Damian explains further. "I've already taken the liberty of inviting Jon and his paramour to heckle them."

"No metas in Gotham," Bruce says before his brain can catch up to his mouth. "This is already a tense situation and-"

"No metas in Gotham," Damian repeats, pitching his voice lower as he mocks his father. "What do you propose Duke is, Father?"

This is an argument he isn't willing to have. Not right now. He puts a pin in it and reaches out to Jon to politely request that he doesn't make an appearance at the protest. Jon concedes in exchange for his permission to come to Gotham's pride event next week. Bruce gives it under the stipulation that Jon and Jay let him give them a full primer on Gotham rogues and how to counter them.

---

Stephanie is somehow warned in advance and texts him before he can reach out to her.

"sorry not sorry, if doctors in Texas can choose to let people die then so can I. ask someone else to help w your homophobe problem"

Bruce wants to point out that is a gross simplification of the fraught political state of Texas. He also wants to point out that they are nowhere near Texas.

He wonders about the feasibility of sponsoring abortion access and trans healthcare in another state if only because it is GENUINELY funny when bigots with talk shows get into a tizzy over Brucie Wayne.

He lets the thought lie for the moment.

---

Duke hears him out, at least, before telling him that he's really sorry, B, but he's gonna be sick that day. It's all very sad, has he tried to talk to Jason?

---

Cass looks at him. He looks at her. They both know she won't be his backup.

---

He hates to say it, but Jason WAS his last choice in this situation. Not for lack of trust or faith in his abilities, but because-

"I'm asking Aunt Harley to have Poison Ivy start a pollen induced gay orgy," he says bluntly when Bruce asks if Jason would be busy on the day of the protest.

"At the-"

"At Wayne Enterprises, for the protest. Yes. Stay away if you value your heterosexuality, old man."

Bruce, remembering his college days and the types of things he's gotten up to in his own time, doesn't correct his son. Revealing that his father was intimately familiar with gay sex isn't a conversation Bruce ever wanted to have with Jason. Or anyone else.

Bruce, wisely, lets the police handle the protest.

I am a hockey blog, but tbh this the best Gritty take I’ve seen. Cities should just have monsters, sports or no sports.

my heart won’t start anymore (stop ‘cause you’re losing me)

i lowkey ship tumblr ♠ twitter now

the twitter users are coming QUICK post twitblr yaoi

I have never made art faster in my life

it’s because they’re divorced

Man this goes hard feel free to screenshot 💔😰💔💔😰

The mods are asleep, post Tumblr x Twitter art

Okay okay but this is fascinating because it's such a visceral example of how mythology works.

Most characters in mythologies are personifications of concepts, or embody some natural phenomenon - like the story of Hades and Persephone is there to explain why the seasons change, Persephone being spring, Demeter - summer, and the absence of them both resulting in death (Hade's domain) and winter, and so we can't have Persephone stay in underworld all year round or have Demeter steal her back to earth permanently, otherwise they myth would lose its core function.

Interpreting the myth without the lense of the natural phenomena that it explains would make it lose an integral part of itself, and therefore make the plot and characters seem strange or unnatural. Why does Demeter hate Hades so much, seeing how so many mothers are okay with Zeus doing atrocious things to their offspring just because he's Zeus? Does Persephone actually want to stay or not? What's with the bizarre arrangement?

Most modern interpretations strip myths of their natural contexts, making them character-driven instead of phenomena-driven, which just makes them land differently - they can still be fine stories, just not myths, not is the traditional sense.

And now we get to this beauty. This is absolutely a myth, the most classical kind. The relationship between characters, who are personifications of objects, phenomena or concepts (in this case, online platforms) used as an intuitively understood metaphor for an event (the demise of Twitter and the Tumblr userbase being unwilling to accept Twitter's userbase).

It's a story that can work as a so-called "explanation myths". We have seasons because Persephone spends half a yesterday underworld and half a year with her mother. We don't like Twitter because the Twitter God and Tumblr God broke up. Ladies and gents and other assorted respectables, we here are witnessing the creation of a perfect modern myth.

Okay but which of them took the shoelaces in the divorce?

I thought about it way more than a non-feverish me would, and I've come to the conclusion:

The modern myth that is The Divorce of Tumblr and Twitter carries the themes of regression, corruption and downfall. Some of Twitter userbase used to be part of Tumblr userbase, but they left and changed (corruption). Now that Twitter is becoming uninhabitable (downfall), people are trying to return to Tumblr (regression, possible downfall of Tumblr), and to keep them off Tumblr is returning to its old cringe self (regression).

So, if we are to follow the themes, the logical conclusion would be to send the shoelaces back to the president.

This is the fastest I've ever written I think

There once lived a young man, handsome as daylight, bright and strong. He was known as Twitter, beloved by the people, a favorite of the gods. His chosen companion, Tumblr, was not dear to the people or the gods. He, a traveling storyteller, preferred solitude. His tales were strange and often unpleasant to the ears, but enchanting in their vulgarity. 

One day, Tumblr's patron goddess, Yahoo, enraged by his vulgar words, put a curse on him. He was not to utter vulgarities, speak of the pleasures of the flesh. His stories of lycanthrope companions were lost to the sands of time, and with them, his last listeners turned away from him. 

Twitter watched others laugh at his beloved, turn him away from their doors, and a dark thought settled over him. He was perfect in every way, his only fault was the affiliation with the cursed taleweaver. And so, little by little, they drifted apart. 

In his travels, Tumblr stumbled into the temple of Apollo, who bestowed upon him the gift of prophecy. He made acquaintance with the trifecta of wise temple maidens who induced visions through hallucinogenic incense. His stories changed, still bizarre and often vulgar, but at times full of wonder and truth. 

At that time, Twitter enjoyed all the luxuries of the mortal world. He was the companion of kings, wealthy merchants, legendary heroes, wise philosophers. 

One day, a man richer than rich, richer than the God of wealth, went to the senate of directors and asked to buy the most precious thing in the entire polis. 

The senate thought long and hard, and said: "do you wish for our finest singer, the most sweet-voiced of the land, Spotifia? I am afraid I cannot part with her. "

"No, " said the rich man, his voice cold and harsh, "I said I have come to buy your most precious thing."

"Have you come for our gambler, the chosen of the god of luck, MAXimil? They earn us more riches than you can offer. I shall not part with them. "

"No," the rich man repeated, "I have come to buy your most precious thing. I have come for Twitter."

The senators laughed, then, for they knew this must be a joke. Twitter was too beloved by the gods to be owned as a servant. But the rich man did not smile. He offered money, then more and more still. As the goddess of hubris clouded his mind, he offered more money than he could afford to spend, more than the senate could afford to refuse, for it was enough gold to form armies five times the size of their polis. 

And so Twitter, the proud Twitter, the untouchable Twitter who laughed at kings and scholars alike, became a servant. 

As he was put onto a gilded ship to be sailed off to the rich man's land, he prayed to the gods that granted him beauty and strength and a sharp tongue, but none answered. His cruelty and vanity made them turn away, and he was too full of his power to notice. 

Finally, the young man remembered one more name. He called for Tumblr, his forgotten companion. 

First time he called, the birds took off and flew in all directions. Second time he called, the animals fled in fear. Gathering all the strength he had, he called a third time.

His call shook the earth and the skies, and in an instant, Apollo's taleweaver stood on the shore. 

Twitter cried in relief. "My love!" he called, "save me! Save me, and I shall be yours for the eternity to come. I shall bask you in glory and riches. I shall make the people love you."

Tumblr looked at the rich old man, at the gilded ship, gilded chains, at the other slaves that were meant to please the rich man during his trip, dressed in the finest clothes fit for kings and immortals. 

"You'll like your new life, dear. " said Tumblr. "You are idle: he shan't make you do much. You are prideful: he shall treat you like a god. You are vain, and so you might fear you might be forgotten, one servant among many. Fear not," he smiled. "I shall sing a song of us."

I AM SORRY I DIDNT KNOW WHAT BEAST I WOULD CREATE WITH THE DIVORCE THING OH MY GOSH

Ms. Rosamund “I have three late-night hours to kill so I’m going to brute force my way into a pineapple” Pike

I was indifferent to her before, but watching her decide to spend the three hours leading up to an interview clawing open a pineapple with her bare hands, I am now strongly in favor of her

It's forty minutes into the latest state of the company press conference and Bruce has had to mute his mic entirely to avoid being turned into a meme AGAIN for sighing too much at his own event. For all that he's spent almost 20 years coaching his own children on not making scenes, he's really not much better. It's hot and he doesn't want to be here. His ribs hurt. He's tired. He's hungry. He's every excuse Dick or Jason have trotted out over the years.

(Tim understands company manners and can almost always be trusted to stick it out as long as he's allowed to vent his frustrations afterwards. He's recently taken to smashing ugly thrifted dishes. Stephanie and Damian have been collecting any ceramic not entirely pulverized and turning them into pavers for Alfred's garden.)

(Bruce gave up after Tim. He really only needs one kid to tag along to social events. If the kid start to outnumber him they start getting IDEAS.)

His distraction is why it takes two very rude repetitions of his name for him to take notice at the young reporter pushing his way to the front. Lucius stands, cutting off the project manager currently presenting and speaks into the mic.

"Please keep hold all questions until the end of the presentation, thank you."

"Mr. Wayne," the reporter tries again and Bruce waves away Lucius's further protests.

"Can I help you?" He asks, smiling with the full force of Brucie Wayne's charm behind it. It's been awhile since his last scandal, but if the press is inventing drama then it's less work for him.

The man holds up a photograph almost accusingly. He reeks of gotcha journalism.

Bruce squints towards him, unable to fully make out the contents of the photo. Dick may have been right when he gently suggested Bruce add glasses to his Brucie Wayne persona but that was a hill Bruce was still willing to die on. It was bad enough he had to have a prescription COWL.

"What do you have to say about the presence of your adopted son, Timothy Drake at the illegal mob in Robinson Park last Saturday?"

"Drake-Wayne," Bruce corrected because Tim hyphenated, damn it. He was the first of his children to let Bruce tag the Wayne name on and it mattered, damn it. "Wait do you mean-"

"How about reports of him kissing a man while there?"

"A blond man?" Bruce asked, finally giving up and crossing to take the photo for himself. "Oh. No, that's his boyfriend."

There was a beat of silence before Bruce realized his mistake. Just as the reporters began to squall, he dropped the blurry photo and began to speed walk off, phone suddenly in hand.

Through the podium's microphone, the gathered reporters heard one thing as Bruce evacuated the immediate vicinity.

"Tim? Don't be mad."

---

Despite Bruce's best efforts, he becomes a meme.

---

Immediately following the bombshell that Timothy Drake-Wayne had a boyfriend, social media blows up, clamoring for more information. They're ravenous for it, desperate. Tim doesn't have a personal social media presence but they stalk his professional accounts religiously. Bruce does have personal social media, but he maintains radio silence.

In the end, a Gotham based "influencer" stumbles across Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne getting donuts at Kosher Donuts and Co. Dick is personable, as always, and stops to speak with the young woman briefly.

"Yeah, Tim wasn't mad," he laughs when asked. "Just disappointed. But man, he knows how to milk it."

"Bruce is in the doghouse, huh?" she asks, full of false sympathy.

"A little bit," Dick says as Damian mumbles, "Titus would never share."

"But," Dick continued. "Tim's spun it so Bruce is on the hook for like, half a million in donations for local LGBT charities. Tim says it would hurt less if he sponsored a new shelter too, so that's something to look forward to."

"That's a lot of money! Where's it all going?"

"Oh you know," Dick says and gestures vaguely. "A lot of different programs."

"Yeah? Anything you personally want to see done with the funding?"

"Drag story time," Damian answers before Dick can. He looks intense. "But not for children. For dogs. In the shelter."

---

A day later, Tim breaks the silence. He goes live on Bruce's Instagram.

"So the problem was that Bruce thought the reporter was saying I was being unfaithful," Tim explains. "He totally forgot I wasn't out to everyone yet. Bruce was just worried because he's already told me if I break up with my boyfriend, he's not uninviting him from any future family events."

"Luckily, I was in fact just kissing my boyfriend at PRIDE. Just because people got shifty with the permits at the last second because of protestors doesn't make it an illegal mob. If you wanna hear about Wayne's and illegal mobs, talk to Dickie about his younger years. Nothing I do can compare."

cruelty is so easy. youre not special for choosing it

"The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist; a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain."

-Ursula K. LeGuin, The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas

final girl x girl who died offscreen but continues to haunt the narrative

gothic sacrificial bride girl x fridged wife

girl transformed by monstrous adolescence x girl killed off by the narrative for having too much sex

cute girl born to suffer as a symbol of the death of childhood innocence x girl who died and came back wrong

and most importantly!

girl who must kill to survive x girl who kills for fun

@starfleetrambo no need to keep this genius in the tags, come now

-Emily Dickinson.

- Tamsyn Muir, Nona the Ninth

💝 Thank you for 1k. Special thanks to my lovely friend @sessjudoodles for helping sketch the line work for the Albertaceretops :)

sadako yamamura accepting the academy award for best live action short film

i would like to thank my father. for throwing me in that well. i would also like to thank you guys, the academy, for your support. see you all in about a week

Hi,

It’s you friendly neighbor fanfic author here. In the light of this apparent new trend of people feeding unfinished fics to AI to get an “ending,” and some people even talking about “blanket permissions,” let me just say this:

I EXPLICITLY FORBID ANYONE TO FEED MY FICS TO AI. DUDE, THAT IS ABOUT THE LEAST RESPECTFUL THING YOU CAN DO. IF YOU DO IT, SHALL YOU BE EXCOMMUNICATED FROM YOUR FANDOM AND WALK ON LEGOS BAREFOOT TILL THE END OF DAYS.

That is my anti-permission.

Thank you for your attention.

As above, so below.

Yes, I know I only update OBIS like once a year, but that’s because I’m a busy, stressed adult.

The kind of busy, stressed adult that works full-time and hasn’t taken a vacation day in almost a year, while simultaneously having a bunch of other random stuff wearing me down (taxes, assorted family drama, health issues, rent doubling in eight years, clearing tens of thousands of dollars of medical bills and attorney fees, that kind of joy and delight).

Despite the above, I still work on my story whenever I have time. My chapters are crafted with love and care, and painstaking detail, and I think they’re worth the wait.

While I appreciate that it’s a long wait between updates, if you really can’t be bothered to bear with me while I write it in between the parts where I need to live my life, and are so impatient that you would rather have AI bastardize original ideas on the cheap than wait for the real thing, you should probably take your need for instant gratification elsewhere and write your own damn story.

With your words.

Not mine (which would require my permission, which you do not have), and definitely not AI’s (which would invariably do a substandard job of imitating my writing style, write a million words of nonsense, and then abruptly choke to death on the plot).

I would like to make it expressly clear that if anyone’s going to choke to death on the plot of my story around here, it’s going to be me.

Thank you for your patience and understanding while the next chapter drives me still further into a spiral of madness, which I have come to understand is an integral part of the creative process.

Cheers!

Dubs 🍓

OP: 听说温柔的女生，夏天都喜欢穿裙子

i have such a profound hate for stories that go 'what if just some guy like literally just some guy was thrown into these horrible circumstances with huge stakes' and then take it back and go 'haha he is not just some guy, he's the specialest little boy in the planet, last in a long line of specialest little boys, it was in his blood all along'

You can't claim that your narrative is a profound commentary on human nature if the human representative is Spiders Georg

there's just something inherently holy about a girl vibing alone in her room

via Vincent Giarrano on instagram

https://instagram.com/vgiarrano?utm_medium=copy_link