You Get It! You Try And That's Really What Matters.

You get it! You try and that's really what matters.

Commenting on every single post or chapter isn't a realistic expectation because of several reasons. Maybe you're so engrossed in the story that you forget to tell the author what you liked about the chapter before you moved on. Maybe you're scrolling their page just to get a feel for the work. Maybe you've gone through to see how much this person has grown as an artist.

It doesn't matter if you tell them all the time. It just matters that you tell them at all.

Fandom culture cannot survive on likes and reblogs alone. Yeah, those help, but they don't motivate as much as a comment or a few tags do. (They are appreciated, though)

IMPORTANT PSA

I told ao3, so now I'm here to tell you all.

I do see your comments and your reblogs, but I don't always respond. I try, but sometimes life just gets in the way or I completely forget for days or weeks. Sometimes, by the time I actually remember or see the comment, it's disrespectful to even respond because it's so late.

There is no such time as too late to respond to comments and reblogs. It may take a while, but most people, I've found, are pretty understanding. At least, that's what I've seen while reading comments on other stories.

Fandom culture is, for some reason, falling back onto this theory that everyone just knows what everyone else is thinking and it's sad. Interaction between everyone who creates and consumes is falling quickly and steadily.

Artists of all kinds are getting kicked in the ass because of the rise of AI creations. We're being kicked while we're down because people are seeing our stuff, we know they are, but they're not communicating with us.

I can guarantee that commenting and rebloging and tagging will motivate artists much more than you think.

I've heard stories (one of them my own) of people giving up on stories or whole art pieces because people weren't communicating or interacting with them.

I've heard stories where people have picked up pieces that they hadn't touched in years because someone commented on their work.

Fandom Culture has become less of a community and more of a consumer base. It's disappointing, to say the least.

I was born in 2004 and raised on old fandoms and fandom culture. I didn't jump into it until 2017, but even then was so much better to post and write because people were leaving comments about their favorite parts or compliments and keyboard smashes.

New people coming into fandom culture aren't getting the true experience that a lot of us grew up on and in. They're coming into a place closer to window shopping than an actual library.

2020 was largely the cause of this when huge amounts of people entered fandom culture because there was nothing else for them to do. But they're not all to blame. We didn't do a good enough job teaching them the proper etiquette. But it's not too late.

Lesson number one is to comment. Never post a hate comment and never give critique unless it's asked for.

My dad is watching a video that I've tuned the majority of it out.

Y'know how most (if not all) women say that they'd rather face a bear in the woods rather than a man in the woods?

The video my dad is watching is this guy absolutely trashing on women and basically saying "A bear in the woods would attack you. A man in the woods would help you."

I had mom go in and have him turn it off or, at the very least, down.

I don't want to hear that shit. I've never had to fight a man off, but I have friends who have. All of them, including myself, would rather face the bear because the bear would have a reason. The bear would back off if it was a false charge. We wouldn't have to face the bear after the fact.

And my dad wonders why I don't talk about certain things with him.

"If I turn around and there's a hero, vigilante, anti hero, villain, anything or anyone related in anyway to the Justice League, I'm going to fucking lose."

It was quiet for a second, then, "Don't turn around?"

Red fucking Robin. "What did I just say?" Phantom turned on his heel to face the young vigilante.

The kid threw his hands up, "I told you not to turn around!"

"And yet here we are," he crossed his arms. "The hell do you want?"

"You seem awfully snippy today."

"Seeing as you and everyone under the sun has been stalking me, trying to get answers to questions I'm not going to answer, I think you can excuse my attitude."

With a huff, Red Robin also crossed his arms. "How do you know what I'm going to ask if no one else has been able to talk to you?"

"Because living beings are all the same. Curiosity of the unknown drags you around by your ear." Phantom turned back to continue walking away, "Now go away."

The kid matched his pace. "No way,"

His eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. "I have a meeting soon, kid. You can't come along." That was a total lie. He had nothing going on that demanded his attention now that Constantine had ditched him after getting the demon under control. Maybe he could drop by Fawcett and visit Billy?

"No you don't." This damn kid-! "You've been wandering aimlessly for the past hour."

Phantom turned again to face the vigilante. "First of all, stalking people is hella creepy. Second of all, my schedule is none of your damn business."

"Careful there, kid," Red Robin smirked, "You'll get scolded for having a potty mouth."

"I'm thirty-fucking-eight!"

"You're literally fourteen."

Phantom closed his eyes. "Nocturn give me patience," he then looked Red Robin directly in the eye, "We've had this conversation. I'm dead. I don't physically age. That doesn't change the fact that I have walked this planted for thirty-eight years. Is that simple enough for you to understand or do I need to dumb it down for you?"

Red Robin blinked, his mouth agape. What? Did he just- The nerve! The audacity! "I'll have you know," he huffed, "I'm smarter than Batman."

"He tell you that himself?"

"Yes." It was one of the only times Batman had ever praised him, so that interaction was held particularly close.

Phantom looked Red Robin up and down, his expression reading both 'are-you-serious' and 'what-do-want?-a-medal?' Without a word, he turned back to his path and began his march anew. Any attempts at conversation from Red Robin was ignored, much to the younger's chagrin. Maybe he'd go away if he ignored him long enough.

Phantom and Red Robin wandered for the better part of an hour, not so much as a word passing between them. Neither stopped for any reason, and neither broke the set pace. It could almost be considered a friendly stroll through the city, if one ignored the slight apprehension surrounding the two.

Red Robin took this time to observe Phantom. He'd never spent too much time around anyone from the JLD who wasn't Raven, so he took the opportunity to get to know another on the team.

Phantom insisted that he was thirty-eight, not fourteen, and that the reason he looks as young as he does is because he looks like he did when he died. Not a comforting thought in the slightest. He knew that, though, when B had briefed him on all the members of or associated with the Justice League.

His powerset was almost completely unknown. They'd all seen him use a flight/levitation ability, as well as some form of density shifting and a healing factor, but Red Robin was more than sre that Phantom had more up his sleeve than that. He worked as a part of the JLD team, so he had to have some magical understanding or capabilities. But Raven wouldn't tell him if she knew, no matter how much he pestered her.

Looking at the kid now, Red Robin seriously wondered if Phantom had a civilian disguise. Ether white hair, toxic green eyes, the glow he seems to give off, and the contrasting bright white and vantablack suit and gloves he wore could not be easy to hide.

There was also a slight sense of unease Red Robin felt when looking at or being around Phantom for a long time. He hadn't noticed it before, but now it was as obvious as a neon sign. It was a strange mix of Uncanny Valley and sinking horror. Why was he feeling like this?

Phantom stopped in his tracks in a dead end alley. Without turning around he said, "Alright, spit it out. What do you want to ask?"

Red Robin hesitated for a moment. Surely it couldn't be that easy? Was Phantom really going to answer his questions? He shook his head to snap himself out of it.

"Come on, kid," Phantom pulled a piece of chalk from his front pocket. "I don't have all day."

Red Robin wanted to scoff because he most certainly did have all day. But, he pushed it aside. He was about to get answers that not even the Justice League could get! He decided to start of easy. "When did you die?"

"Try again." was the growled response.

"What?"

"I said 'Try again'."

Okay, okay. Touchy. "Why'd you join the Justice League?"

"I was bored." It was clipped. Phantom's on edge. Why?

"What're the rest of your powers? I know you have more than what you've shown everyone."

Phantom walked to the wall and started to draw a door on it with the chalk. "Next question."

Red Robin rolled his eyes. "Fine. How did you die?"

Every movement from Phantom froze. Every minute, involuntary twitch, even the telling signs of breathing. For a long minute, nothing happened and Red Robin had the dawning sense that he'd just asked something he really shouldn't have.

Phantom drew a circle in the rectangle he'd drawn on the wall, completing the door. "I'm going to give you a piece of advice that you seem to have completely glossed over." The piece of chalk was hidden away as he gripped the now 3D door handle. "If you value your life, don't ask the dead how they died." He opened the door and stepped through before looking back at the red clad vigilante. "They won't be so nice about it." Then, the door closed and the chalk erased itself.

Part 6 Part 8

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How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Dick had to give it to the kid, he'd somehow thought of everything. It was a little concerning, actually, but the kid had brushed off every attempt had probing for answers. Who trained him? If he was trained at all. ...had the kid gone into vigilantism alone? Oh, dear. THat's not good fro Dick's current worries.

Reading the file Danny had handed him, Dick had to wonder how long it had taken him to put together this cover story. Also, where he'd managed to get the equipment to do it. At a glance, the kid didn't seem to have much on him. Not even a phone!

He closed the folder and set it back down on the table. "Really?" he asked, "'Congratulations, it's a boy'?"

Danny's cheeks turned a bit red as his gaze shifted to the folder. "Well, yeah. You're stuck with me now until I can get you into good habits and a healthier schedule."

"That implies that you're planning on leaving."

Danny shrugged, all his confidence now fading away. Is this what he's really like? "Well, I mean, I'm sure you don't want me sticking around at all, let alone for a while."

Dick frowned and looked back at the black folder and the binder sitting on his coffee table. God, his apartment's a mess! He smiled at Danny. "My name's Richard, but everyone calls me 'Dick'. You can stay in the guest room."

Danny lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Really?"

"Yep. You went to all this work, it'd be a shame if it all went to waste."

The grin on Danny's face was more than worth the security risk that he now posed. "You won't regret it, Mr. Dick!"

Dick smiled back at him, "Please, drop the formalities. We're cousins, apparently."

Was he attached? No. He wouldn't allow himself to get attached. Sure, maybe he was letting this kid - he really needs to start calling him Danny - stay with him for a while, but he wasn't going to get attached. Getting attached meant losing him. Dick wasn't sure he'd be able to survive if he lost someone again.

...damn it.

***

First order of business, now that Danny was officially Dick's - why would he willingly go by that nickname? - ward/cousin, Danny was going to make sure he got some sleep. Today was Dick's day off, so Danny had sent him to his room to take a much needed nap. The man was basically dead on his feet and Danny would be damned if he let him wander around this mess of an apartment with blurry vision.

The second thing he did, once he was sure Dick was asleep, was start to clean up. The place was a stereotypical bachelor's pad, complete with questionable stains in the carpet, rips in the cushions, dishes piled up in the sink, and old take-out on every table and counter. Gross.

He made quick work of the old take-out by throwing it all away and hitting it with a very small and controlled ectoblast. He was so glad Dick had disposable gloves on hand.

The dishes were the next thing he handed. The water was cleaner than in Gotham, so he didn't worry about washing the dishes by hand when they all didn't fit in the dishwasher. He dried the ones he'd hand washed before putting them away. Dick had no organisation in his cupboards, so Danny fixed that, too.

The fridge and freezer weren't too bad. Sure, the dairy products had all expired and most of the food was freezer bitten, but none of it was moldy yet and the appliance itself was in perfect working order. He'd have to go shopping later.

Danny had never liked cleaning, but he'd had to when his parents refused to follow any OSHA laws or Lab Safety courses. So, when he found the cleaning supplies, he took a deep breath and began scrubbing the bathroom. It wasn't too bad, thank god, and was already fairly clean. It was quick and he was able to move on very quickly.

The counters, tables, walls, and tile and wooden floors were all easy to clean with a wet rag and a broom. He wasn't going to even try saving the rug because it looked well beyond the point of no return. The couch and chair cushions could be sticked up, but he didn't have a sewing needle and thread with him.

The last thing he did before taking his backpack into the room he'd been given was to write down a shopping list and leave it on the counter. It wasn't a lot, just food and some dishes and toiletries. He'd have to figure out with Dick a way to pay rent, too, but that was a later Danny problem. He'd tired himself out and was still running on pretty much empty. So, he allowed himself to fall asleep. He'd check on Dick when he woke up.

Part 4 Part 6

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Danny Fenton and Billy Batson are best friends.

I will write no other dynamic between them.

As far as I am concerned, they are both Gen Z kids with way too much time on their hands who find way too much enjoyment in messing with people.

They get on like a house on fire and I love them

The loaders are gone. No one else is here. The only open dock, turns out, is still locked. I'm still the only one here.

I'm not gonna bother checking if I've said this here already or not, but I'm gonna be beyond fucking pissed if it turns out that I'mma be the only one on site for another few hours. I won't rip my managers a new one, but I'll definitely let my complaints be known about the lack of any information outside of MUST BE MOBILE FOR THE LOAD IN SHIFTS. THESE ARE NOT SITTING POSITIONS

(04:26)

I can't sleep and the near constant notifications from Tumblr aren't helping.

(No, I can't turn my phone on vibrate because too many people in my family are sick and I'm the only one who wakes up to my phone ringing more than I do my own alarm)

So, I've given up sleeping for the night. I have to wake up in like...two hours anyway. (Shift starts at 4, we leave the house no later than 3:15, my alarm goes off at 2:00 so I have time to get ready)

I've been awake since 11:15 May 1st with only a three hour nap on May 2nd. My shift is 15 hours (4:00 to 19:00)

I've got a Mountain Dew, a Powerade, and 2 Rockstar to keep me awake for the shift (and food)

...sigh

At least the pay's decent. Our highest paying venue at $16 and hour