I am a incomprehensible horror that exists in a mortal form that can only use a fraction of my power with the help of ADD/ADHD medication. though it does not help me from being a dumb of ass. Header image Courtesy of @birdkitten
Btw keep reblogging my post with fun tags and keep using your tagging system as it was intended, idc what that fuckass update say, we gonna make tumblr roll that shit back
But let's be clear, this is clearly some corporate speak for "we gonna force that bullshit on you someway somehow anyways" we will have to be more vigilant about tumblr constantly fucking with the reblog feature, them adding a goddamn menu button for reblogs on desktop was only the start, it genuinely feels like these people don't use tumblr or their main social media is twitter because they are constantly trying to shit all over the best tumblr features to make it more like fucking twitter, the battle might have been won but the war continues
When I told you the battle has been won but the war continues this is what I meant, tumblr has rolled out once again this very exact same updated but this time it only affects the least protected users of this website aka the gifmakers, edits makers, artists and creators of all sorts, because not only is every reblog of a gifset it's own post, but now every reblog of a gifset can get flagged without OP even being aware of it
They get flagged on your blog AND in your queue, and sometimes you can't even tell what the fuck was even in the post so you can give a justification for asking an appeal
And if you aren't scrolling your own blog or queue constantly like a maniac, you won't even know the reblog is flagged cuz they get put in your Review Flagged Posts section of your app and website, somewhere NOBODY even checks, and has no number next to it to tell you how many posts are in there
I got reblogs flagged all the way to 2017 in there, and the only way to know is to SCROLL DOWN
And the cherry on that bullshit Sunday is that some of these reblogs can be flagged without you even being able to appeal them like I have a bunch of them which are simply impossible to appeal, even if yet again the post is completely innocent
Tumblr seemingly continues to find new and original ways to make this place absolutely worst for creators by taking any & all agency you got on your creation away, and they fucking hiding it behind their April fools green cat
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here's the sexual content guidelines saying nudity is ok
here's the bit from the termination email telling you you can make a new account as long as it doesn't break the same rule
here's the guidelines for what counts as explicit (not mature, aka grounds for content deletion)
here's the section telling us that you will always be able to respond to content getting flagged as explicit (lie)
here's the section where it says you will be notified when your accunt gets terminated, and that the appeals are reviewed by humans (both lies)
and by the way, posting a single thing against ToS isn't supposed to be grounds for deletion, (this is what the termination email is warning you about)
sharing content without content labels isn't either
Was driving with my grandmother and in broken English she says “no eyes… no nose… no face. Don’t trust.” To which I looked around wildly in search of this omen of ill portend.
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Missed opportunity to add a Cooking feature in Flight Rising where you put together food items to create recipes that gives more food points than the simple sum of their parts (thus helping balance the Gathering system which is severely lagging behind lair expansions to feed the amount of dragons one can hold in one's lair).
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will these teens be financially compensated for their labor?
what happens to these teens when they become adults?
what happens if these teens unanimously voice that what would make them most comfortable on your platform is their parents not having any access to their accounts?
if your parents are controlling enough to set up family sharing on your account, this is what discord lets them do:
see all of your gay and trans friends with their gay and trans pride flag profile pictures and pronouns in bio
see all of the gay and trans servers you join
see all of the gay and trans people you talk to
see how much time you spend talking to your gay and trans friends
see how much money you spend on decorating your profile to express yourself
see all reports you file against other users when they make you feel unsafe (so your parents can beat you for having talked to someone that tried to take advantage of you)
edit your account settings (you can't do this on your own)
Danny had spent the last six years building something stable out of the Infinite Realms.
Which, honestly, still sounded ridiculous when he thought about it too hard.
At twenty years old, Danny Phantom was somehow the acting Leader of the Infinite Realms version of the League of Assassins, mediator of territorial disputes, protector of portals, the peacemaker, and — according to Frostbite — “a deeply beloved young lord.”
Danny personally thought that title lost meaning the third time he had to stop two eldritch entities from starting a war over haunted soup recipes.
Still, the system worked.
So Danny did his rounds.
Checking territories. Listening to complaints. Solving problems before they became catastrophes.
And unfortunately, that included Walker’s Prison.
The prison loomed in the distance like a rusted beast made of iron and misery. Chains rattled endlessly somewhere in the fog while ghosts scattered out of Danny’s way the moment they spotted him.
Walker himself appeared almost immediately.
“Lord Phantom,” Walker greeted stiffly, eye twitching like it physically pained him to be respectful.
Danny gave him a lazy salute. “Walker. Any riots? Escape attempts? Illegal soul harvesting rings?”
“Only three this week.”
Danny snorted quietly and continued walking through the massive prison halls, half-listening as Walker listed updates about inmates, contraband, and a smuggling operation involving cursed playing cards.
Then Danny stopped dead.
His body just… halted.
Like every instinct he had suddenly slammed into a wall.
Down in the cafeteria, surrounded by dead warlords, failed tyrants, and extradimensional criminals, sat a living human.
An older man with sharp green eyes and a white streaks in dark hair, perfect posture despite the prison uniform.
Danny’s core went ice cold.
Walker noticed immediately. “Lord Phantom?”
Danny didn’t answer at first.
Because there was no way.
No fucking way.
But Danny knew that face.
He remembered that face looking down at him with complete indifference.
He remembered being ten years old and realizing, in those final moments, that this man had never loved him at all.
“…Walker,” Danny said quietly.
Walker straightened.
“Who,” Danny asked with terrifying calm, “is the Mortal?”
“Oh. Ra’s al Ghul,” Walker answered. “Imprisoned for the illegal misuse and contamination of Lazarus Waters across multiple realms.”
Danny stared.
Then he laughed.
It was sharp. Breathless. Wrong.
Several nearby ghosts immediately pretended they had somewhere else to be.
“Oh,” Danny murmured. “Oh, this is rich.”
His eyes flared green.
Not the bright, clean ectoplasmic green most ghosts associated with Phantom.
This was darker.
Sickly.
The color of corrupted Lazarus Waters.
Walker took one instinctive step backward.
Every survival instinct he had developed over centuries screamed at him to leave immediately and pretend he had never seen anything.
Unfortunately, it was his prison.
Phantom started walking again.
Slowly.
The cafeteria quieted almost immediately as inmates noticed him approaching. Conversations died mid-sentence. Trays stopped moving.
Ra’s looked up at the disturbance with visible annoyance.
Then confusion.
Because the being walking toward him looked young, young enough to be almost insulting.
Tall now, broad-shouldered, clad in black and white with space itself curling unnaturally through the edges of his aura — but still young.
And furious.
“Ra’s al Ghul,” Phantom said pleasantly.
The room went still at the tone.
“Well,” Phantom continued, smiling without warmth, “this is a surprise.”
Ra’s narrowed his eyes. “Should I know you?”
Phantom’s smile widened.
“You know,” Phantom said conversationally, “that answer honestly hurts my feelings a little.”
Ra’s opened his mouth, but he never got to speak.
One second he was sitting down.
The next, his face slammed into the metal cafeteria table hard enough to crater it.
The sound echoed through the entire prison.
Several inmates screamed.
One ghost in the back dropped his lunch tray and whispered, “Oh, thank Ancients it’s not me this time.”
Phantom had Ra’s pinned before anyone could react, one hand twisted into the man’s hair while his other pressed him against the ruined table.
“Don’t worry,” Phantom called casually over his shoulder. “I’ll fix the table later.”
Walker stared at the destroyed table.
“…You always say that.”
“I usually mean it.”
Ra’s struggled violently beneath him. Phantom barely had to use force anymore. Twenty years old in human age meant very little when his existence had become something vast and ancient enough to make lesser ghosts instinctively lower their heads around him.
Phantom shoved Ra’s to the floor instead.
Hard.
Then planted a boot against his throat.
The entire cafeteria watched in horrified silence.
Because Phantom was kind.
Phantom negotiated treaties.
Phantom gave second chances.
Phantom once sat through a forty-hour mediation between two warlords because one had allegedly “stolen the other’s emotional support leviathan.”
This?
This was something else.
Phantom looked down at Ra’s with open hatred.
Not rage.
Not blind fury.
Hatred aged over ten long years.
Carefully preserved.
“Walker,” Phantom said calmly, never taking his eyes off Ra’s, “how much money would it take to transfer custody of this inmate to me?”
“What?”
Phantom finally glanced back. “I asked how much.”
Walker blinked.
Then blinked again.
Because somehow that was the part that disturbed him most. Phantom — the paragon of individual rights and resident goodie-two-shoes — would never ask something like, "How much money do you want for him?" as if this were a slave market.
Pointdexter slowly raised a hand from one of the cafeteria tables. “Uh… Lord Phantom? Respectfully? What the fuck is happening?”
Phantom ignored him.
Ra’s finally managed to rasp out, “Who… are you?”
Phantom stared at him.
Actually stared.
And his grip tightened slightly against Ra’s throat.
"Seriously? You don't recognize me even after all the hints I gave you?" Phantom mocked. "Don't you remember how you treated me? Like a punching bag? Like a spare? Don't you remember putting your foot on my neck until I died, only to use my body like some twisted kind of footrest?!"
Ra’s went still.
Walker’s expression changed instantly.
“Oh,” Pointdexter whispered faintly.
Phantom’s voice never rose.
That somehow made it worse.
“No,” he breathed, face going pale.
Recognition finally hit him.
“Oh,” Phantom mocked quietly, smiling. “There it is.”
“…Tariq?”
The name sounded wrong coming from him.
Phantom’s eyes glowed violently green.
“Don’t.” The word cracked through the cafeteria like thunder. “You don’t get to say my name like you know me, grandfather.”
I remember when I was younger, anytime I watched a movie where the characters have to kill a scary monster/alien, I always thought the act of killing it was intended to be part of the horror. Like there’s this amazing creature that we’ve never seen before, and maybe under different circumstances we could’ve coexisted with it, but it’s trying to attack you and you have to defend yourself, but by destroying it you also destroy the ability to ever understand it and that’s sad and is supposed to make you feel conflicted.
It was not until well into my adulthood that I realized most people do not have complicated feelings about movies where people have to kill a scary alien monster, nor is that necessarily meant to be part of the narrative (unless it very obviously is). They just want the scary thing to die because it’s scary. I don’t have a real conclusion to this I just started thinking about it for some reason.
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“Reminder that aspecs can still date and love their friends and family” and themselves. And their hobbies, and their passion in life, and the media they consume and their pets and places they like to go and food and drinks they like and in fact they don’t have to subscribe to the idea of “love” at all. You don’t have to date or have friends or family to be a person. You don’t have to fit into what society wants your life to be like to not be a robot. When I complain about aphobes implying that people who don’t date are machines, I’m not just complaining that they devalue platonic or familial love. They’re devaluing the idea of being your own person and thats a type of aphobia people don’t talk about enough. Aspecs can do whatever they want forever and that includes everything.
