dark both is and isn't the kokuyoku (black wings.) he can reclaim his place as a 'complete' work of art and finally put an end to his 'endless' existence, but he doesn't really want to. yes, his 'true' name should technically be 'kokuyoku,' yes, the majority of any non-humans would recognize him as 'kokuyoku,' but in any setting, verse, scenario, etc - he still does not want to be called by his 'original' name. it makes him happier to be called just 'dark,' because he's always so deeply marked by his own stubborn independence.

he chooses for himself, lives for himself, and doesn't ever abide by anyone else's wishes if they conflict with his own desire. he's got a rebellious streak, he's lucifer-coded, and whatever the immutable heavens or unchanging destinies around him might dictate, if he dislikes or disagrees with it, then he has no problem rejecting it to try to pursue his own paths instead.

it's worth mentioning that he's not the very first 'phantom thief dark,' either. even prior to his awakening as an entity (and curse) within the niwa's bloodlines and bodies, daisuke's far, far, far distant ancestor was active as a phantom thief using the pseudonym/call card signature of 'dark' as well. when dark says he can't exist, and could never have existed without the niwas, he means it. they're never just his hosts or marionette-meat-puppets the way krad treats the hikari; for dark, even as the 'other self' of the niwa, it's the niwa who serve as the 'other self' for him.

you treat dream like hes a toddler, shit on his friends for not worshipping the ground he walks on, act like you know exactly what dream is thinking and feeling at all times, and then the second people call you on it you back down like you did nothing wrong and they're the scary mean ones. you have the spine of a weasel.

LMFAO? me pointing out that sometimes his friends treat him objectively (and also parasocially obviously) like shit sometimes is not "treating him like a toddler" its called being able to form my own fucking opinions on shit instead of playing kumbaya bc its easier. "not worshiping the ground he walks on" Oh you meam criticizing when his best friend hangs out with a person who has publicly shat on dream, showed and discussed his doxx on stream and has let his audience berate dream and his fans in the most vile way possible? <- ignoring the fact that most of that crit was centered around mizkif just being a shit person overall. or do u mean complaining that dream, who has spoken about both the physical and mental declines hes has faced due to the agreement hed stay faceless till george, has to continue to remain in this stagnation while watching his friends live it up bc that objectively is a terrible thing to imagine a person going through. all of this also ignores the fact that despite the underlying emotions of what i post being real, its played up for fun. like be fucking serious.

Prompt 271

“Grandmother is visiting,” Damian suddenly said with no warning and with his usual not-quite demanding tone. 

“Who?” Tim wasn’t the only one to startle, seeing as Bruce had practically froze, a downturn to his lips in a silent show of confusion. 

Damian scowled. “Are you deaf Drake? Grandmother is coming to Gotham to, quote, make sure I am being properly cared for.” None of them had known that Ras was with anyone actually. At least Tim was pretty sure that would have been in the files. 

“Oh?” Dick didn’t quite crouch to Damian’s height but it was a near thing. “She-” “He,” Damian corrected, interrupting him. They all exchanged a glance before Dick continued. 

“Is he coming to the Manor or…” 

Damian scoffed again, a tiny bit of a flush against his face. “No, Grandmother will most likely be staying with Akhi-”

Now wait one moment-

“YOU HAVE ANOTHER BROTHER?!” 

hi dca fandom i make an offering after lurking for years what if one-sided crush but its not dca thats crushing hard

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

i look in people’s windows may be her shortest song but i think it’s one of the most relatable ones. “i’m afflicted by the not knowing / i look in people’s windows in case you’re at their table, what if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?” - how many times have i wondered what would happen if i saw someone again. how many times have i searched stranger’s faces for a glimpse of someone i once knew. how many times have I looked around once-familiar places in case i saw them. things end but you sometimes wish u could just see them one more time.. and what would happen? and that’s why im obsessed with this song!!!

I keep thinking about a batfamily royal au...

cass cain is so emotive and I hate that so many of yall fall straight into the stoic asian woman stereotype thing because like, the only reason cass wouldn't vocalize a feeling is when she would struggle to find the word for it because she literally wasn't taught how to speak. that's so fucking upsetting. She has such big beautiful emotions, she feels so deeply about the littlest things but everytime she has trouble putting it into words she's reminded that she was conceived not to. her abuser did not have her feelings or her pain in mind, only how well she could end a life. can you fucking imagine

do not ask me about the plot of JJK

what in the lgbt even was this scene (see tags for discussion)

@davekatweek Day 7: Beginnings

oh my god they were roommates

A rlly old idea I still think is the funniest shit ever: the Afton Virus AU boys propose using handcuffs instead of rings lol

make me touch myself after every time you use me

"feel how sensitive your cunt is from being used?"

"how wide your desperate little hole is gaping after my thick knot?"

"you better stuff your fingers inside to make sure none of my seed drips out"

a little stardust, for @kimtaegis ✨

hits the disinformation machine with a bat a big bat a big heavy lead-core thick wood bat kablam whack whack whack whack whack. miguel ohara does not have "spider instincts," he has never in even one piece of official material ever had nor experienced the phenomenon that fandom colloquially refers to as "spider instincts," okay, that concept is entirely and 100% a fandom-born headcanon that people created post-ATSV as an excuse to write the guy as a stupid Feral Brown Beast-Man caricature . lord have mercy. it takes. two seconds of research 2 not perpetuate racist malarkey. do better

Why the fuck is it on the BACK of his goddamn HEAD💀💀💀 WHO WEARS HELMETS LIKE THAT WHATS HIS PROBLEM. Lobotomy core