Part 5 (goes right after the line: “He was going to have to personally brief J’onn about the results of this mission.” Which is where part 4 technically ends on the main post)
Part 8
Brainstorming/Help
Thought on Danny getting sick?
gonna make danny panic spiral lol
posting frequency
Everything is in proper order on the AO3 page but I’ll be a chapter behind there and ask questions about future ideas and chapters on here.
There is a different number of parts vs chapters cause I moved stuff around and added others together. I consider the AO3 page the final version and stuff here is like sneak previews and first drafts (though to be fair I normally only have one or two drafts)
Btw I want you all to know I read EVERY FREAKING SINGLE ONE OF YOUR COMMENTS AND TAGS YOU CANT HIDE FROM ME!!!! I love every freaking one!!!
I’m gonna print them out and stick it on my wall and collect them like Pokémon fr. Seriously my favorite part of writing is seeing your guys’ unhinged comments in the tags.
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@keepsdrifting
Danny & Flashpham, Magenta, “Mist and Shadow, to the edge of night”
There’s someone running with them.
Someone else in the Speed Force.
It’s Bart who notices them first. He’s always been more sensitive to the Speed Force than Wally or Barry. Barry knows he’s the worst about it, what with constantly fighting against the idea of the supernatural, and even he notices this other being that’s running through time along side of them.
It’s hard not to once the fighting starts.
They’re a blur of black and white set against the vibrancy of the Speedsters. Set against the sea of agent white. Against red and green blood. Whoever they are, whatever they are, they aren’t afraid to draw blood, or to bleed. It’s a messy fight.
And then it’s over.
Everything ends so suddenly that Barry finds himself not only skidding to a stop but helping to stop the person that’s been running with them. They’re small; the size of Bart but frail in a way that Bart isn’t. And they’re thrashing in Barry’s arms.
“It’s okay,” Barry soothes. His words are soft, just between him and this kid—because it’s just a kid. A kid who’s splattered in red and green blood. “It’s okay. They’re down. They’re down and we’re going to hunt down all the others.”
The kid screams, though it’s an almost soundless noise, and then collapses like their strings are cut. Barry fumbles for a moment before he’s got the kid supported all the way. They’re sobbing now, their shoulders hiccuping with each one. It’s soundless too. Barry brushes fingers through the kid’s hair, even as he looks up in panic. In worry.
I was so scared they were heading for a romance subplot but congrats to Project Hail Mary for going for the far funnier option of 'Trolley Operator' and 'Guy She Is Actively Tying To The Tracks'. What a dynamic. Movie of the year.
"grace. grace! grace give attention. rocky perform human ritual of escape closet now. statement."
"come again?"
"i learn more from thinking machine. human gender preference. attraction to same gender, means word 'gay.' all eridian same gender." rocky stands straight up. "rocky come out to grace now. all rocky plural gay, statement."
"...wow, that's... rock, i'm not sure it makes much sense to apply human ideas of sexual orientation to a monogendered species."
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Why do they even make apps for ADHD. You want me to use my 24/7 handheld immediate distraction device? To manage my 'gets distracted too easily' disorder? Ooooh we developed the perfect tool for managing your anemia. Its hosted in Dracula's castle. 👍
I was about to take my meds, but then the distraction machine sent me a notification (which turned out to be your app reminding me to take my meds) and now I'm distracted and have not taken my meds.
@nagarajas
Dany/Bruce, Magenta, “To Tooms at last to Tooms at last We climb the Upward Way. And young Rhody Mccordy goes to die on the Brridge at Tooms today”
!!CONTENT WARNING, GUN VIOLENCE, OPEN ENDED (but come on, it's Danny)
“The hostage is still with Two-Face,” the police radio hummed.
Hostage.
As if Harvey’s attention was on some anonymous stranger and not Bruce’s lover. Somewhere in Bruce’s shed tux the weight of a ring in the breast pocket sat heavy. Would Bruce even have the chance to ask the question he had been so afraid of?
“Oracle,” Bruce barked.
He was too sharp, too harsh, but he hoped they understood. They knew too.
It was Danny.
They cared.
“Danny is taking all the attention. SWAT almost has the all the other hostages out, the ones we know of. Some cars they can’t get close to check,” Oracle answered.
The bridge was mess of smashed and overturned cars. There was no way that there weren’t fatalities. They just hoped to avoid more. But with Harvey.
The coin glinted against the search lights as it flipped again. How many flips had spared Danny now? Each one a promise that Two-Face would stay focused on Danny and let another batch of people go.
Bruce was still too far to stop the flip.
One more. Danny just needed one more toss to go his way.
Harvey caught the coin, smiled, and then shot Danny in the head.
Woops read this and then immediately went into a writing frenzy. thank you clock. hope you like it!
He hadn't been in the relationship for very long. It had only been one no —THREE years now? No no, maybe more like four at this point. Damn that was a lot longer than he thought it had gone on.
The point was that no, he hadn't told Bruce about his other powers yet. He’d meant to! He really did! But whenever he was around the other man he just fell into the his eyes... and that smile...
Well. It turns out time really does fly when you're having fun and all that. This was definitely the longest relationship he’d had in a while. It also didn't help that he didn't have much practice in telling others his secret.
He'd dated Sam on and off for a bit in college, and then during his years studying for his astrophysics doctorate he’d reconnected with Val and dated her for a while, and she also had also already known his secret. What could he say? He liked a competent woman who could kick his ass.
It had turned out he liked a competent man who could kick his ass too.
Vlad had somehow gotten him to agree to go to some ball with him in Gotham. Said he should "meet the people he'd be working for one day" or some BS. He knew he wasn't going to be an astronaut at that point, so he was working towards the next best thing: becoming one of people who sent the astronauts up in the first place.
Don't get him wrong! Danny would still be applying to NASA, but it wouldn't hurt to have backup plans in the statistical liklye case of being rejected. And while private ventures were one of the few other ways to get someone into orbit, he still hated nearly everyone in that room. for most of the evning he'd sulked in a corner and complained about Vlad and some other more nefarious billionaires to (unbeknownst to him at the time) one Brucie Wayne.
A man whom had found all his knowledge of other billionaires unsavory practices fascinating, and his insults hilarious. And the rest was history.
It turned out that “Brucie” Wayne was just his public persona to keep the paparazzi from looking into his private life —a move Danny respected— and that the man didn’t laugh very often for real when just existing as himself.
But that just made the times when he had Bruce snorting and giggling like a five year old all the better. He was one of the few people that could get a genuine cackle out of the philanthropic billionaire, a fact which he prided himself on.
His real smile was just that much more beautiful then the fake one he'd give to everyone who asked for an autograph, and Danny had learned to read which ones were fake and which ones weren't.
It had ALSO turned out that Bruce was a very... anxious man should we say. He liked to have emergency plans and backup emergency plans for those emergency plans. He was no Jazz, but he would bet money the man had SOME form of OCD or paranoia. Though to be fair Bruce was more likely then others to be kidnapped, threatened, ransomed, or held hostage then .
Like he said though, he loved a competent man, and the plans on plans on plans all factored DANNY into them. All the more mundane everyday plans too.
And as the younger kid who fell into his older sisters shadow, who had been belittled and made fun of for most of his childhood? Well, being remembered and put into those plans made him melt.
Seeing his name on an emergency plan among someone else's FIRST fucking priorities? Well, those plans may or may not make him swoon sometimes. And he may or may not keep some copies of those plans next to his his bed and kick his feet when he reads them. Maybe.
The point though!! Back to the point! It was so easy to get wrapped up in his thought when thinking about that gorgeous smile, and those clear sky blue, great-day-for-flying eyes….
THE POINT. right!! the point was.. he hadn't told Bruce about his former double life.
Currently Bruce thought he was a just a secret meta with minor ice powers (he'd had to give the overly anxious man something to chew on when he had realized that Danny's temperature ran always a too cold, his heart always too slow)
And so the fact he hadn't told him yet was a big problem.
Considering he had just been shot point blank in the head.
Jarred, woozy, and half conscious, (but not dead. Well. dead-ER) he could just hear the agonized mournful screaming of his love’s voice in the background of his hearing.
Bruce had probably seen the whole thing from the barrier the police had created, or from one of the news screens the helicopter cameras had captured.
Shit. those cameras could get fairly good zoom. No way he could just say Two-Face had missed and that he had passed out from the shock or something.
He could feel the blood streaming down his forehead from the entry wound as his body attempted to heal his brain. It was trying slowly sway the the bullet into leaving from the entrance like an uninvited houseguest.
He could hear Two-Face being beaten down by Batman, their city's own superhero. It was a BRUTAL takedown from what he could gauge
He couldn't see much, just the pavement directly in front of him from half lidded eyes. eyes that refused to listen to his ambitious ideas of opening up half another half centimeter so he could see more
He tasted blood in his mouth, and he could definitely, definitely smell the gunpowder hanging in the air from the recently used bullet.
Said bullet and some unsalvageable brain viscera made its way out of his head with a wet splelch.
He could still feel a sizable hole in his forehead, but knew it was just cosmetic at this point, his body having regrown the brain matter that was beyond repair.
With all the delicate, complex, and intensive work his ghost half had done, he wasn't surprised it had left the rest of the healing up to his normal immune system to finish up.
Just moments after the bullet made it comparatively undramatic exit, and his body started to listen to him again, the frickin BATMAN turned to his (perceptivly dead) body. And then clutched him close.
Oh.
Right.
It was always hard to see the ones you couldnt save, and even worse were the ones you were just moments way from rescuing, but lady luck still decided you took a few moments too many.
He still didn't know what he was going to do about the situation. Could he pass off the healing as another meta ability? Most people only had one right?
His first instinct was to speak up and reassure the (probably some sort of supernatural cryptid) hero, but before his lips would let him form words he heard–
“Danny, god– Danny. I'm so sorry. I–”
Between choked sobs and voice that was much too familiar, Danny didn't know what to do.
Batman was currently hunched over his form, cape blocking them both from search lights and stares. His shoulders were shaking, and his mouth clenched in agony and grief.
He could hardly process any of what had just been revealed.
All he really wanted was to see that beautiful smile again.
So while still probably in shock himself, Danny said the only thing he could think of with his still redeveloping brain.
Testing the muscles, he managed to form the world' smallest shit-eating grin on his face. Blood still dripping down his forehead, he said as coherently as he could manage:
Peeling off the broken breastplate of a stoic knight who only fights and never speaks, just to realize there’s nothing in there. Not metaphorically—the armor is literally empty. It doesn’t appear to affect him. If the armor stays mostly in the shape of a knight, he just gets back up to keep fighting. But with the chest plate off he just sits there, equally impervious to curiosity as I reach up into the cavity where his body might’ve gone. Stubbornly, no answers are found anywhere in there.
So I forge him a new breastplate and on the inside, because I know he has plenty of room, I put a little pocket. Not big enough to hold anything functional of course. Just a little extra piece to see what he’ll do with it.
He comes back next time with some grievous injury to his nothing, presumably from the massive shredded gash across his thigh plates. He sits and waits. I fix it for him. He is still nothing in there. I decide to add a drawing on the inside, of the type of beast I imagine could rend metal into scraps with a single blow. He puts it back on. He no longer moves as if he is injured.
Over time the interior of the knight becomes decorated with whatever odds and ends I could think to attach to the inside of a guy who’s got room to carry it. What really gets me is that he never removes any of it. Never requests a change. Not even when I installed a curtain rod for a small tapestry, or a bud vase to carry roses for his beloved, or an accordion folder for letters. He didn’t say a word for any of the many, many drawings of mythical beasts that now fight forever inside of his shell.
There are plenty of other forges. I’m not entirely sure why he keeps coming back here anyway. We’re pretty popular, but he could get his armor fixed a lot quicker (and with fewer ridiculous modifications) literally anywhere else. I asked him if I could get a look at his nothing again. He flipped up his visor and nodded his head so I could take a look. It was the same as it had been, filled with drawings and trinkets and weird little fixtures I’d put in there. I asked if he was annoyed by it, or liked it, or felt anything at all, but he literally only ever says nothing, so I’m not sure why I asked.
There’s not much room left in his nothing now. When he comes back for repairs I’ve had to fix my own foolish additions. Some of these pieces are intricate and irritating to repair, but I fix them anyway. It feels wrong to take any of it away from him now, even though I’ve been rudely encroaching on his nothingness to the point where it’s barely even there. How he squeezes his nothing back into a body so full, I’ll never understand. But it’s a game to me now, finding a spot not yet filled and putting something there. A dark part of me wonders if he ever gets filled up completely, if whatever sorcery holds the nothing-knight together may break, and it will all clatter unceremoniously to the floor.
When he hands me his breastplate yet again, it is so shockingly disfigured that I wonder if being made of nothing has somehow kept him alive. No ordinary knight could sustain such injuries. So I fix it. And he waits, unmoving, in a quiet corner of the forge. It’s like he’s watching, even though I know the reading glasses I put inside his helmet were just for fun. I’m careful to put it all back exactly the way it was when he last left. There’s no room to add more this time.
He examines the breastplate, and pauses before putting it back on, like he’s looking for something. Is he worried about the fit? But it suits him just as it always did. He calmly points to a little space, about an inch, between a miniature shelf and one of many pockets. There’s nothing there. I ask him what’s wrong, and again he points. It’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen from him, and it’s barely anything at all. I take it to mean he wants something there.
I spend some time engraving a little snail in the gap. He watches, as much as nothing can watch. When I’m finished he holds the breastplate, but he doesn’t put it on right away. I ask him if something’s still wrong. He says nothing, and puts it on. I tell him I can’t add anything else. Even if he could ask, there’s no room left.
Next time he comes back, there’s nothing wrong with his armor—he lets me check to make sure. I ask him what he’s doing here. Out from one of many pockets, he retrieves a tiny rusted knife. It’s in miserable condition, barely worth saving. I tell him I could make him a nice new one, but I’ll fix it if he likes. He puts it away and reaches around to find something else, a needle and thread. Better condition, but I’m not a sewist and I tell him as much. He puts them away. He then retrieves a little twisted piece of wax paper. I open it. It’s candy. I ask if I can eat it. He says nothing. I eat it. It’s flavored with cinnamon. I’m surprised he let me take it.
He keeps bringing me candy now. His armor is the most laborious to repair out of every client my forge serves, but it’s my own fault so I can’t complain. Sometimes he keeps me company while I work. I wonder if he is trying to tell me something when he hands me mints. I wonder again at the lemon lozenges. He stares at me when I eat, as much as nothing can stare.
One day he brings me a little jar of honey. I thank him, I tell him I’ll save it for dinner. He watches me work, he puts his repaired armor back on, and he stays. My shift passes slowly, and when I finally pack up to leave it’s dark outside. He follows me out of the forge. I ask him where he’s going. He points to the jar in my hand. I ask him if he wants to watch me eat it. He says nothing, but the nothing-knight clearly wants something, so I open the lid and dunk my finger in the honey. I try not to get any on my chin. He stands there, inches away, watching me try to consume this jar of honey without a utensil. It tastes like clovers. About half the jar is left when I’ve finally had enough of pretending to be a bear, but he doesn’t move to leave.
I ask if he’s going to follow me home. He says nothing. I tell him he can if he wants to. Again, nothing. I start walking, and he follows at my side. I know he’s not going to say anything ever, so I fill the silence. I tell him I’m grateful for the sweets, I tell him about how his various components are made, I tell him I’ve never met anyone made of nothing before. I tell him it’s a rare opportunity for a smith to work so much on the inside of something. He says nothing. I tell him again how much I like the candy.
It occurs to me that maybe filling me with sugar is as close as he can get to filling someone else’s empty armor with trinkets. I’m not sure if that’s really why he does it. I tell him I don’t have room to be filled with anything on the inside, not like him. I’m not a container for much besides food. He offers me another piece of candy. Maybe he likes containing something, the way I like to feel full. Maybe it’s nothing at all.
—
I didn’t edit this even a little bit. Thanks for reading!
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tumblr: constantly be aware of your own privilege. constantly be aware of your capacity of be evil. hey i know you really like that new piece of media but make sure you're aware of all of the problematic elements all the time. hey i noticed you reblogged a post from a designated Bad Person so please make sure you do a thorough background check on everyone you reblog from to make sure they're not bad, otherwise people might get the wrong idea about you. always be aware of everything bad that's happening in the world all the time because silence is violence. i see you not reblogging this post btw. activist burnout is a privilege so be aware of that. xyz people are required to reblog this post. if you're not constantly fighting against designated Bad People you are inherently complicit and therefore a Bad Person.
Imagine if you met someone who can't eat watermelon. Not that they're allergic or unable somehow, but they just haven't figured out how to do that. So you're like "what the hell do you mean? it works just like eating anything else, you open your mouth, sink your teeth in, take a bite and chew. If you can bite, chew and swallow, you should be able to eat a watermelon."
And they agree that yes, they do know how to eat, in theory. The problem is the watermelon. Surely, if they figured out where to start, they'd figure out how to do it, but they have no clue how to get started with it.
This goes back and forth. No, it's not an emotional issue, they're not afraid of the watermelon. They can eat any other fruit, other sweet things, and other watery things ("it's watery?" they ask you). Is it the colour? Do they have a problem eating things that are green on the outside and red on the inside?
"It's red on the inside?"
Wait, they've never seen the inside? At this point you have to ask them how, exactly, they eat the watermelon. So to demonstrate, they take a whole, round, uncut watermelon, and try to bite straight into it. Even if they could bite through the crust, there's no way to get human jaws around it.
"Oh, you're supposed to cut it first. You cut the crust open and only chew through the insides."
And they had no idea. All their life this person has had no idea how to eat a watermelon, despite of being told again and again and again that it's easy, it's ridiculous to struggle with something so simple, there's no way that someone just can't eat a watermelon, how can you even mange to be bad at something as fucking simple as eating watermelon.
If someone can't do something after being repeatedly told to "just do it", there might be some key component missing that one side has no idea about, and the other side assumed was so obvious it goes without mention.
https://drmaciver.substack.com/p/how-to-do-everything had a nice list of additional examples like this, with (non-)obvious major insights with regard to opening stitched bags, cleaning your bathroom floor, using a search engine, catching a ball, pinging somebody, proving a theorem, playing sudoku, passing as “normal”, improving your writing, generating novel ideas, and solving your problem.
If you’d asked me six months ago how to get better at something, I’d probably have pointed you to how to do hard things. I still think this is a good approach and you should do it, but I now think it’s the wrong starting point and I’ve been undervaluing small insights. [...]
I think my revised belief is that if you are stuck at how to get better at something, spend a little while assuming there’s just some trick to it you’ve missed. You can try to generate the trick yourself, but it’s probably easier to learn it by observing someone else being good at the thing, asking them some questions, and seeing if you have any lightbulb moment.
My fiance played the clarinet when he was in school. When he was first learning to play, he rented an instrument from the school to learn on. He was the last chair clarinet, had been for years, because he could not make notes that required the register key. For years, they kept making him do embrature exercises and he started to get a few notes, with lots of effort. Eventually he had to get private lessons to stay in band.
Every time he tells me this story, his frustration by this point in the story, years later, is evident. He still sounds frustrated by it, despite all the time that passed. Teachers had been giving him crap for years because he hadn't been making much progress with the instrument.
When he got to the private instructor, she acknowledged his frustration, and asked him to try to play for her. He did, and she saw all he was doing. She then did something no one else had done before. She asked him to put his mouthpiece on a different clarinet and try to play the same notes. Like magic, it worked. She looked at the clarinet he had been using and found that the school's clarinet needed it's pads replaced.
He went from last chair to first chair nearly overnight, having been taught far more techniques than typically taught at that age just to overcome the broken instrument preventing him from making noise.
Sometimes you don't need to brute force a problem. Sometimes your clarinet is just broken.
the idea that every summer will be as hot if not hotter than this for the rest of my life is unbearable i need to (remembers suicide jokes are bad for my mental health) murder an oil executive
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Danny joins Young Justice (how idk but I would guess chaos) and due to being in constant excessive danger due to all the ghosts, hunters, and his previous home security, tends not to notice things below a certain danger level.
Example:
Danny: *walks over a trip wire, around a pressure plate, ducks under a laser, and continues on completely oblivious*
YJ member behind him: *trips on the wire, causes a cascade of activated traps and barely makes it out* phantom! Why didn’t you tell me about the trip wire?!
Phantom: There was a trip wire???? *genuine confusion*
M’gann: I can tell you are genuinely confused but how did you miss the wire? *baffled*
Danny also forgets to warn his teammates of certain things, like a laser being shot from their flank etc.
i'm so confused rn, can you explain the goncharov thing?? i get off tumblr for five minutes
(Edits closed as of 28 Nov.)
Lmaoooo
Nah I getchu. So this post has been circulating for like two years:
Link to post.
But yesterday, it had inspired someone to do this:
Link to post.
Next thing I knew there were fake Letterboxed reviews.
Goncharov moodboards. Really good ones.
Link to post.
Meta analysis. So many fake meta essays. Disturbingly good ones. And of course the memes. (Edit: HAVE I SAID THIS SHIT IS DISTURBING)
As you can see, the myth just started to grow, characters and ships and tropes being added one after the other, almost bizzarely without contradiction, until there was enough of shape to the whole thing for people to start posting fanfic about it on AO3. "No beta we die like ice-pick Joe" is already a tag.
Link to post.
It was hilarious in the beginning, but the way it's developed within less than a day, kind of like it's being willed into existence, is freaking me out a bit. We're toying with powers beyond our comprehension. 😂😂😂
Link to post.
Of course, there could be an ulterior motive as well.
Link to post (tags mine).
Edit: guys, please tag these posts "unreality" so people with disassociation issues can filter them out (not this one, this is an explainer). <3
----------------------------------------------
Edit 2: Aparently the boots in the original post are actually referring to a movie called Gomorrah that came out in 2008, directed by Mateo Garrone, based on the Scampia Feud. And other people had also been making posts about the fake movie for a while before the poster took off.
found by @thepotch
Edit 3: Explainer: why did those boots have this movie on them anyway?
Edit 4: Alt text added to all images courtesy of @valentineish ❤️
Edit 5: Turns out tumblr has done this kind of thing before. Nine years in this hell place and I had to have "Squiddles" and penis smp explained in the replies.
Edit 6: This post collects the Lore so far.
Edit 7: Lynda Carter (real one)/ earns more/ Tumblr cred.
Edit 8: Holy shit y'all we have the theme music. With sheet music. And it's on Spotify!
Edit 9: THERE IS A TRAILER WITH THE THEME MUSIC
Edit on 12/10/25: I somehow missed this gorgeous gifset for the last 3 years.
----------------------------------------------
I made this post 18 hours after the movie poster went up. Closed edits 27 hours after first posting. So all of the above happened within 45 hours of the movie poster going up.
Edit 10: Google document live-compiling all the lore so far (Day 3)
Edit 11: Masterpost of Goncharov soundtracks (Day 3)
Edit 12: Entertainment news articles covering the Gonch-posting (real) (Contd from yday)
Edit 13: The music from the masterpost all compiled into a 31-minute original score with video edits on YouTube (edit: unfortunately taken down)
Edit 14: Staff's Goncharov art showcase for Tumblr Tuesday
As of closing on Day 3 there are 371 works in the AO3 tag.
-----
Updating with Day 3 shenanigans I missed yesterday:
Edit 15: Goncharov TV Tropes page
Edit 16: Ethics of Gonchposting
Important PSA 1 (how to reduce harm to Tumblr's neurodivergents)
Important PSA 2 (reality affirmation, anti-bullying)
Stop trying to vandalise collaborative information sites run by volunteers! All you're doing is abusing the unpaid labour of people trying to protect the integrity of something you only care about when you need to rely on it yourself.
Edit 17: Character lore from beezlebub whose poster they originated from
Edit 18: What we know about/ Director Matteo JWHJ0715 (#unreality)
Edit 19: Link to post with screenshotted and described NYT article (scroll down) and this golden exerpt from BuzzFeed: 💀
(alt text included)
End of Day 4 there are now 485 works in the Goncharov tag on AO3
----
Didn't get to update this on Day 5, so these are the Day 5 doings:
More trailers!
Trailer 1 (My favourite)
Trailer 2
Trailer 3
Trailer 4
I also just found out about the Goncharov Game Jam. It appears this opened a day after after the meme took off.
Goncharov was first entered into Wikipedia between Day 4 and 5 (attempts to vandalise it with fake info don't count, incidentally – please knock that shit off) under List of Internet Phenomena. This was then expanded into its own Wikipedia page at the end of Day 5 because, according to the talk history: "the topic now meets the notability threshold for its own artice due to significant coverage in The New York Times and other sources cited." We're on Wikipedia, people!
And then we made The Guardian half a day later. So while the meme is definitely dying down to embers by now, it still stays winning.
YouTube channels with episodes on the meme:
InformOverlord (4:30)
Lessons in Meme Culture (2:43)
End of Day of 5 there were 511 works on AO3, and End of Day 6 (today) there are 556.
--
🚨BREAKING 🚨 from Martin Scorsese's daughter's TikTok (real actual)
tw: unreality:
We did it you guys!
Clarification: Francesca Scorcese asked her Dad about the meme and Martin played along. Please reblog this PSA to help Tumblr people with psychosis. Thanks.
Final edit: Day 8. Media reactions to Scorcese's TikTok (everyone from Forbes to Vulture). That one Tumblr user who said they'd do a screenplay if their post got notes has promised to shoot a single scene, but please don't be dicks just because you reblogged it; leave them alone until they get around to it themselves. As of end of Day 8 there are 609 works in the AO3 tag. I love all you lunatics. Peace! ❤️
