Gentle reminder that very little fandom labor is automated, because I think people forget that a lot.
That blog with a tagging system you love? A person curates those tags by hand.
That rec blog with a great organization scheme and pretty graphics? Someone designed and implemented that organization scheme and made those graphics.
That network that posts a cool variety of stuff? People track down all that variety and queue it by hand, and other people made all the individual pieces.
That post with umpteen links to helpful resources, and information about them? Someone gathered those links, researched the sources, wrote up the information about them.
That graphic about fandom statistics? Someone compiled those statistics, analyzed them, organized them, figured out a useful way to convey the information to others, and made the post.
That event that you think looks neat? Someone wrote the rules, created the blogs and Discords, designed the graphics, did their best to promo the event so it'd succeed.
None of this was done automatically. None of it just appears whole out of the internet ether.
I think everyone realizes that fic writing and fanart creation are work, and at least some folks have got it through their heads that gif creation and graphics and moodboards take effort, and meta is usually respected for the effort that goes into it, at least as far as I've seen, but I feel like a lot of people don't really get how much labor goes into curation, too.
If people are creating resources, curating content, organizing the creations of others, gathering information, and doing other fandom activities that aren't necessarily the direct action of creation, they're doing a lot of fandom labor, and it's often largely unrecognized.
Celebrate fan work!
To folks doing this kind of labor: I see you, and I thank you. You are the backbones of our fandoms and I love you.
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Warning: Long post?
—
Jason did not expect his ghost form to feel…like this.
(Oh, dealing with his body randomly phasing through the ground and smacking his face onto hard concrete was not fun, but Jason dealt with that just like with every other hurdle in his life. By being more stubborn than the problem itself.)
It felt like something… settled into place. That was the best way he could describe it.
He felt as if spite and anger were finally not the only things keeping him awake and running.
He felt calm, almost. Stable, at least. Whatever pent up energy that was stuck in his chest cavity now flowed freely throughout his body, redistributed, instinctually easier to manage.
It's almost like he could breathe a little bit easier.
(After much… ranting that Jason decided to ignore for his own sanity, Danny said that his case ectoplasmic corruption was probably due to the fact that Death, as a concept, doesn’t let go of things easily, time shenanigans notwithstanding.)
(Becoming a half-ghost was seemingly the only working compromise.)
—
Danny once told him that broad strokes of a ghost’s personality could be guessed by looking at their physical appearance.
Despite the cool powers, this was a slight downside. Jason dealing with the filth of the Earth meant that being to hide his emotions and who he is was kind of important. Life saving, even.
He realized later on that his ghost form was way too easy to read.
—
He looked at his arms covered in bandages, and got reminded of the amount of times he had to patch himself up in the last month.
His jacket was ripped in place he knew that would have been sewn together when he was a living breathing human (well, as much as he could be).
He always looked slightly on fire?
(Danny told him it's probably related to his... core?)
(He know he died in an explosion but really?)
And then, there was his… veil? Shroud? Cloak?
It looked really nice.
But on the other hand…
It drooped when he felt under the weather. It flicked and thrashed around when he’s either irritated or barely holding back his urge to headshot someone.
And—
(No Danny, my cloak was not fucking wagging when you brought me fresh ectoplasm last week, you’ll have to get your goddamn eyes checked—)
He'll deny it until the day he dies (a second time).
And then his cloak could sometimes just…grow bigger. He figured that it acted as an extension of his own body, and had a nice add-on of allowing him to sense things he couldn't see. Hell, he could even make a hand out of it (wacking Danny with it - gently - never gets old). Jason had to also admit it looked cool, with the wispy bits and with one of its sides becoming a bright yellow.
(It reminded him a bit of his time as Robin.)
—
Being a ghost had a lotta perks.
Dealing with targets was so much easier when no one could see you. Inflitration was so much simpler when walls became optional. Cameras will glitch out when he's around, he left no traces visible to the naked eye and, combined with his training, to say that it was useful would be an understatement.
But, sometimes, he feels like he’s changing as well the more he transforms. Not drastically, but enough for him to look back and notice.
He usually was someone who prided on being efficient and straight to the point.
But now he’s starting to… have fun.
He started using his claws whenever he could. Don't het him wrong, he still uses his guns plenty, but there was just something deeply satisfying about vaulting over things, scaling a wall or crawling on the ceiling with bare hands.
(Punching people is still the most satisfying by far, though.)
That one time hunting down the Joker wannabes was fun too.
(Danny said he’d get along great with Skulker? Did Jason want to find out? No.)
Fading in and out of invisibility, he picked them off one by one, watching as panic and dread slowly but surely creeped up on the remaining ones.
(After all, he has no respect for those trying to emulate the dead clown.)
—
(Yeah, the Joker was dead.)
(Surprisingly, that has not been a good day.)
—
One of the favorite things he liked to do was rooftop parkour. The… bendability of gravity is… fun, not gonna lie.
(Not flying though. Jason is used to having feet in regular contact with solid ground, thank you very much. No offense, Danny.)
But he gets why ghosts love to fly. When he’s jumping from rooftop to rooftop in Gotham in the at night, watching the city light fly by, cloak spread behind him, it’s as if nothing else matters.
(No Joker, no petty criminals to beat up, no avoiding the Bats so they don’t find out about his existence—)
He can just enjoy, even just for a little bit.
—
(Somehow the Demon Brat and Orphan could sense him. Will keep and eyes on those two, and also the more reasons to avoid them.)
(The real problem was the new Bat in town. Bruce, what the fuck, another one? Again?)
(The yellow one, Signal. No time to check his profile yet, but probably a meta or something.)
(First night out and the guy almost managed to actually fucking see him —looked at him straight in the eyes and all, then did a double take. Jason never phased into the pavement so fast in his entire fucking life.)
(And so far no Bats on his cloak tails yet.)
(He did help the guy incognito, just a couple of times.)
(And he also did steal his escrima sticks for fun, and once the guy went out looking for them, he’d put them right back where they were.)
(Turns out, he discovered later, that being a little shit runs in the ghost community.)
—
(Sometimes he also wonders what happened to Danny before they met.)
(He wasn't a Gothamite, that was obvious. He doesn’t pry, but it doesn’t take a lot to piece two and two together.)
(He just wonders who he has to kill this time.)
—
(Jason could not believe he forgot and underestimated just how fucking persistent every single one of the Bats could be. Of course it had to run in the family.)
He gazed down, thought the agony, at the gaping wound under his right armpit.
(The Bats have been chasing him relentlessly for a while now. He got more injuries than he can count, especially from Bruce.)
(They know. Oh, they know.)
(It didn’t go well.)
(He knows the others are there surrounding him to prevent him from escaping, he knows that Dick is right behind him, but at the moment he couldn’t care less.)
It has been a long time since the last time he got shot.
(It felt like someone set his right side on fire.)
What was flowing out in abundance was a neon, toxic green.
(The Pit Waters, ectoplasm, he didn’t even know that he could fucking bleed in ghost form—)
(Danny—)
He looked back up at Batman, holding a (frankly) ugly gun, white casing and highlights in the same shade of toxic green.
(A gun that Danny warned him about. And everything behind it.)
Jason felt something in him... snap.
(Why did it have to be you, Bruce.)
His mouth opened—
(waitsincewhenhecoulddothatthroughtthe mask—)
(Jason could see the billows of neon green smoke—)
(He couldn’t see Bruce’s expression.)
(Every. Single. Goddamn. Time.)
— and wailed.
---------------------------------------------------
I am genuinely delighted that my last post got that much attention! Thank you so much, to all who liked, rebblogged and commented, it really does mean the most. 💕
This AU may be continued? No guarantees, tho.
For those interested: Part 01
@fandomnerd103 @phoenixdemonqueen @satisfactionbroughtmeback @ascetic-orange @apointlessbox @bathildaburp @fisticuffsatapplebees @aisforanonymity @phandomhyperfixationblog @help-i-need-a-cool-username @hashtagdrivebywrites @did-i-miss-anyone-tagging-is-a-monk's-job-first-time-doing-this-aaaaaaaaaaaaaa
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