#character centric

[existentialfailure]

This new old body

Pairing: N/A (Possible Reader x Hawks in future)

Length: Oneshot, 2384

Description: The aftermath of war, Keigo is OK with it all. He is OK with how things have gone. He is OK with how things have changed. He knows if he keeps telling himself it's OK, then maybe it'll be OK.

He just needs to learn to keep walking.

Warnings: Past violence, blood and injury, injury recovery, permanent injury, quirkless hawks.

Notes: Post-war, may continue later

He doesn’t recall too much of the aftermath of his part of the war. The first few glimpses of the world are cloudy, unfocused; like watching an old movie through sandy goggles. 

He felt like a doll, stuffed full of cotton and weighed down with a belly full of rice; fat, heavy, and easily tipped over. There was only one thing that consistently felt out of place, one thought that kept nagging incessantly every time he found himself stumbling forward into a consciousness that was always too bright-

“Can… someone roll… off… back? Wings… ’ll cramp.”

Nobody would answer, or if they did, they were too busy talking slowly and with their mouths full of marbles. It was irrelevant anyway, Keigo was too tired to pay attention, and the heaviness of his eyes pulled him right back into the veil of quiet dreamless sleep.

He learned later that he was too banged up for any quirks to be used as an immediate fix all. Funnily enough to add insult to injury, nobody was really quite sure what exactly to do with Pro Hero Hawks- or rather, Former Pro Hero Hawks. As the triage team had moved in the aftermath of AFO’s grisly departure, he was tagged swiftly as an immediate evacuee- a civilian evacuee. ‘A high ranking civilian,’ he was told, as if to placate his offense. It did, and it didn’t, but he was too exhausted and fucked up on narcotics to care and muddle through his feelings. Besides, he was a reasonable man, and he knew they couldn’t send him to where the wounded Pros were going. He was a waste of resources; they were trying to get all possible weapons back on their feet to deploy right the fuck back out to fight. What could he do by that point? 

He’d have been a cute cheerleader if they gave him a shot, he thinks. Rah, rah, go team go.

The initial shock of waking up quirkless was easy to handle, in the way that he didn’t handle it. He was still blitzed out of his mind on what he was humorously calling ‘The Good Shit’, and it was easy to float in and out of the reality he was currently occupying. He had never been hospitalized to this degree - even when Dabi had tried to flame broil him- and it was apparent that the damage the villains caused had put a definitive strain on the healthcare system. The hospitals were stuck relying on hands-on techniques as quirk usage was being stretched thin and reserved for the critical patients who could survive their application, or couldn’t survive without it.

Keigo certainly wasn’t critical. The nurses and therapists visited him every so often each and every day, wrangling the flailing former hero out of his bed, disentangling him from all his lines and wires like a freshly caught fish. He was encouraged to walk to use the restroom, he was encouraged to walk to sit in a chair, he was encouraged to sit up and eat and talk and laugh and engage.

Walk, walk, walk.

Keigo certainly wasn’t critical. He doesn’t know who the hell his doctor is, the staff was stretched thin, and he really didn’t care, but he liked the practitioner who came in and congratulated him on his progress as time went on. The sound of her voice was nice, but he remembers fuck all she said, just that her voice warbled when she went over all the shit they did to him throughout the day.

Staff continued with their routine. Get up, walk, sit, stand up, move, sit, stand up, walk.

Walk, walk, walk.

Keigo certainly wasn’t critical. He was one of the lucky ones. He got out of the hospital with his face stitched from AFO trying to split his skull open like an egg, his body covered in miscellaneous bruises that looked like constellations if he stared hard and squinted. Furthermore, he felt like one giant exposed nerve, the surrounding air causing his skin to feel like it was electrified and ready to crawl off and leave him hanging there naked and wet. He probably would’ve felt better if it did.

But he was alive, which some others couldn’t say the same. He was supposed to be grateful, he knows. He is, he thinks, somewhere in the hollow of his chest. Nestled between the black of broken ribs, in the sick sinking in his gut, he is ok with the fact he is alive. He is ok with it, and he will repeat it until it's true, because it is, it has to be, or else… 

Keigo walks.

Keigo walks because he isn’t critical. Keigo walks because he is one of the lucky ones. Keigo walks because he is alive. He walks because he is ok with it.

Keigo walks because there is a thrumming emptiness in the hollow of his beating heart where something is supposed to be and there isn’t anymore. He walks because there is no longer a heaviness at his back pulling him up. He walks because there is no longer a heat in his spine, a pressure in his skull, a vibration in his mind, a purpose, a warmth-

He is caught off guard as flashing flames of blue take his vision from him, hands flying up to drive the heels of his palms rough, and harsh into his eyes. The phantom heat licks his cheeks, snapping at his nose like razor sharp teeth. He can feel it just as he had that day when he stood over Bubaigawara, fierce and unforgiving. Keigo bends, hands falling to brace himself at his knees as he is overwhelmed with the need to just breathe.

Eyes wild, and his brain lagging to catch up to the fact that there is no fire and there certainly is no cremation villain anymore, Keigo finally takes a look at where his feet have taken him. For the last several years, since earning his so-called freedom with the HPSC, he spent so much of his time seeing the city from a birds eye view. Now, he found himself feeling out of place; small and insignificant under the looming branches of blossoming trees and their bowing trunks. He doesn’t recall this particular park, or maybe he does, and his mind is just too fluffy with wool to piece together a name. Maybe he just doesn’t particularly care at the moment where he is.

The park is empty from what he can tell. Despite the haze of dusk beginning to fall, he can clearly see the rubble of what was left of benches and stone carved animals. They must’ve stood proud surrounded by well-placed flowers, if the squashed pedals and shattered colorful stones are anything to go by. Keigo takes his time meandering around the remnants of what had probably been one of the smaller parks in the city. A quiet spot for your average office worker to find respite during lunch hour, or a group of kids to sit and study.

Keigo rounds a few trees, bark scorched and bare wood carved- whether by knives or claws, he doesn’t care to investigate. He pointedly ignores the skulking shadows that follow in his peripherals, diving between bush, tree, and rock as they watch. Those piercing but empty bright yellow eyes that feel like weights on his shoulders. Bodies blackened, smokey, curled and twisted; broken in ways that made no sense but powerful in every move. Phantom muscles at his back twitch with need. He can see their talons now, glinting ebony and sharp, curling over every bit of debris ready to pierce, cut, shred, eviscerate-

“Hey, are you alright?”

For the second time today, Keigo is pulled back into reality feeling as though his chest has caved in on itself. Each rib has shattered itself free, and pierced through his lungs like daggers to fill them up with blood and drown him. His head jerks to the side, noticing now the benign shadows of the trees as they sway with the breeze that filters down to them. Yellow eyes have winked out of existence, there are no talons digging fresh lines into the damaged earth of the park, no great black beast looming around a tree ready to take on the wingless wonder.

Keigo takes his first deep breath and feels like he is going to vomit.

“Hey?” The voice cuts in again, and Keigo turns to give his frazzled attention to his current witness.

You’re not a Pro, is his first thought as his eyes sweep over you. You’re dressed rather plainly, if not smartly for what it looks like you’re doing. Keigo’s eyes flash down to the bucket in your hand, filled with an assortment of flora that you must’ve been pulling from around the shattered statue he notices just behind you. Keigo turns his mind onto investigating you, chest still heaving as he tries to get his body to remember it's supposed to breathe.

He notices you’re wearing an apron, bits of trash sticking out of pockets that you may have haphazardly stowed away as you worked. Your forearms are dusty, if not altogether filthy, and your pants are slick with dark earth.

“What’re you doing?” Keigo fires back, breathless, but jerking his head towards you almost accusingly.

Your eyebrows raise immediately, probably not expecting the minor hostility in his tone. You were a local in the area, trying to do your part in cleaning up the neighborhood after the antics of the war. This particular park had been special to you, and you had joined the neighborhood established cleanup crew trying to salvage as much of the original foliage as you could before the others came in to finish tearing down what the villains had already started. And maybe also swipe a couple of root balls of some of the flowers you’d been eyeballing since you were a kid.

You had just been coming up on one of the flower patches that used to surround the ugliest cement statue of a duck when you had noticed the blonde down near what had formerly been a fountain. Initially you were just going to ignore him, but his thousand yard stare, pale face, and accentuating ‘i’ve-had-the-shit-kicked-out-of-me’ look had drawn you over to investigate.

“Cleaning,” You answered breezily, “and are you OK?”

Keigo tilts his head slightly, bringing a hand up to rub uneasily at his chest. Of course, he is ok. He has to be ok. He is ok.

“Of course.” He answers smoothly, pulling a smile that's all teeth. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you raise a brow at it. The act causes his stitches to scrunch up at his cheek. You imagine he thinks he is charming, but the look falls flat. Keigo’s smile falters a little, and he sighs.

“Really, thanks. I’m alright. Just got a little winded from walking,” He winks, dropping his hand from his chest to stuff both into his pant pocket. He walks around you, swaying a little. You watch him, eyebrow still raised.

“You looked a little more than winded.” You mutter, slightly concerned. You’ve learned over the course of the last few weeks that a lot of people were dealing with the aftermath of the villain's act of war in different ways. While a small minority of people had managed to skate by unaffected, a large portion of the population ended up scarred in some way. Some people lost loved ones, family members, friends. Others who never got to make it into a shelter were left to defend themselves or hide from the roaming villains. Some managed to avoid encountering a villain altogether, while others… Well, they’re left with the scars of their encounter. Some physical, some mental. Some both.

You’re not sure where this guy fell on that spectrum. Studying him, you could tell he didn’t have an easy way of things during the war, if the sheer amount of visible bruising and freshly knitted gashes were anything to go by. His hair looked like it was shorn by someone inexperienced with clippers, uneven and lopsided in spots, what must’ve been bangs clipped impossibly short and laid back.

You watch him as he moves to stand in front of the desecrated cement statue of the duck, his head tilted and lips twisted as though he were lost in thought. His nostrils were flared, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d guess he was trying to hide the fact that he was still struggling to maintain his erratic breathing. You look between him and the remains of the park decor, before finally catching him watching you back.

For a moment you feel glued to the spot. His eyes look sharp and predatory, like there is something that should be there that isn’t. The gold feels molten as it's trained on you, and the deep black discoloration that tips his waterline makes them seem simply feral. He blinks, and the moment is cut, his eyes honey warm and mirthful. You aren’t sure what you feel.

“So, got a name?”

You give him your name, and he nods as he repeats it, as if committing it to memory. He lifts a hand from his pocket again, rubbing mindlessly at his chest. You sidle up beside him, staring down at the defeated duck. He returns his attention to it as well, though he tilts his head slightly acknowledging you beside him. Gently, you pry,

“And you?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, breathing shallow and calm. His chest still feels tight, and the phantom pain of something webs out from between his shoulder blades. He thinks he wants to cry, but his eyes feel dry and his mouth stays curled in a not-smile grin. His eyes rove over the ruined cement statue, how it had once clearly been a duck with wings spread, neck curled and feet outstretched. Left in a stasis of both flight and landing, neither airborne nor grounded, something in between. Now it was nothing but a crumbled up bit of dust and rock, shattered and broken, and probably not worth the effort to repair. Replaceable with something better, surely. It's just a silly statue, after all, a background piece. Decor.

“You can call me Kei.”

[meowdy-all]

Yall im UPSET! There are nearly 3k fics for Bones (TV) on ao3, and i can't fund any on Booth! We have Sweets centric and Bones Centric, hell even ZACK centric fics, but i can't find any on our favorite badass sniper!!

LOOK AT HIM!! There's so much to do with his character! Abused as a child? Give him angst. Ex Army Ranger? Give him Trauma. He's literally a main character, and we dont have more on him? Why dint yall LIKE HIM?? I Love Him! He's great! He's sassy!

I just want a good LENGTHY fic centered on him.

[girl4music]

I love how Season 3 of ‘Station 19’ is just showing us all the main character’s backstories. This is what I’m talking about when it comes to character representation and development. Show us who these people are as well as who they’re not anymore. How they’ve grew, how they’ve evolved, transitioned through their adolescence to the wonderfully complex and dynamic people that they are today. How they’ve been influenced by their past and their youth. All their mistakes, all their conditions, all their flaws, and all their traumas. That’s what I want to see in TV shows. A proper exploration of characterization in everything. The positive and the negative so I can see that they’re well-rounded individuals that deserve my attention.

This is how it should be done every time, all the time. Forget about plot because the plot should be wrapped around the characters. Never the other way around.

If you do it the other way around you force things to happen that don’t have any logical reason to happen. Focus on characterization helps you use themes and narrative plot points with substance behind them.

For example, because we know Travis Montgomery is gay and has been married and has lost his husband while on duty, he has a resistance to the system and his bitterness fuels his need to help people who are going through the same or similar emotions he does.

They make the narrative relate to him and his story so the narrative itself for that specific episode resonates even more than it would if that was not ever explored. You feel something from the main narrative because of Travis’ ties to it through his character backstory.

Characterization writing is crucial to any lasting story. Not enough TV show creators/runners are utilizing the characterization to tell the story of the show itself. They’re moving on from it too quickly because they believe getting to the plot beats is more important.

But what is the point of the plot if there’s nothing there that relates to or resonates with the audience? You’re missing the bigger picture of the whole show because you want to hurry up with telling the story. But you can’t tell a truly compelling story without proper characterization exploration. It doesn’t work.

Exploring main character backstories and relationships or even just one-off character interactions are very important to storytelling and I honestly believe that the TV art/entertainment industry has lost the plot because they focus too much on the plot and not enough on characterization.

Everything becomes a mess and nothing gets a successful and satisfying endgame because of it.

Don’t put the plot first. Don’t make it the focus.

Put characterization central to everything else and I promise you that the plot will practically write itself.

Tie themes to characters. Tie narratives to characters. Show us who the characters are and who they’re not.

Let the characterization drive the whole show.

[alpaca-clouds]

What Remains [Sando-centric Darkfic]

Going through all my old fanfics I found this one, that I... Well, I am well aware that nobody knows this fandom, because it is another one of those unknowns. But I love this manga so much.

What Remains

Fandom: Shin Angyo Onshi (Blade of the Phantom Master) Character: Sando Genre: Darkfic

A girl saves a small village from a group of bandits. A girl, who has lost everything in her life once again.

[elfdyke]

i dont think fandom people who only think about male characters and only create content for male characters are like horrible misogynists but i do think they often have some shit they need to unpack. like how can you , for example, play life is strange and the only thing you come away with from that is you want nathan and warren to fuck nasty. how can you watch birds of prey, and the only thing you come away with from that is you want roman and victor to fuck nasty......... like idk! idk! i just find it strange especially when people will engage with media Specifically about women and then put no effort in to empathize or care about them, sometimes even going far enough to say they HATE the female characters and that theyre bitches... IDK!!!!

[numberonedukethomasapologist]

Duke keeps losing durags and and bonnets around the manor and they end up in the most random spots (he takes them off when he's half asleep and throws them somewhere)

-Jason: Duchess, I found your durag.

Duke: oh? I lost that months ago, Where was it?

Jason: it was in my helmet 😒

-Damian: Thomas. Here's your headwrap.

Duke: where was it this time?

Damian: batcow was eating it.

-Stephanie: *throws the silk bonnet at duke* wherever you bought that please buy me one. My hair has no kinks in it at all~

Duke: you've had it this whole time??

Stephanie: it was in my laundry basket😋

[grimdarling69]

Another de aged Dan and Ellie story or otherwise known as Crack

Pt 1 Pt2

If only Clark hadn't been busy tracking Luthor, he would have been able to save his nephew, his sons best friend.

Once again, Lex Luthor has sabotaged him. He didn't even need kryptonite to do it this time. After Lexs mental breakdown, he had apparently gone off the grid, and unsurprisingly, he wasn't able to hear anything from him. According to the snippets from Lexs staff he had apparently refused to answer to his name, started to hate it, and called his board a " bunch of idiotic bimbos who only appear to work so they could buy expensive cars and whores".

It's definitely a mental breakdown or a possession. Lex doing something to damage his image? Unheard of. Possession didn't seem likely. What kind of person posseses a ceo just to insult his board and completely change their personality? They'd be immediately noticed.

He had been investigating Lex's disappearance for the past month and a half and had only succeeded in not being around to stop his nephew from committing suicide.

Bruce had called out for him, but being halfway across the world he couldn't make it in time, and consequently Damian made it over the bridge and he had been searching for his body for the past 3 hours and he still couldn't find him.

He had never seen Dick so shaken before. Jason had barely been able to stop him from following his brother over the bridge. After he arrived on the scene, Jason started to take his brother home.

"Find his body." He had told him before turning and wrangling Dick onto his own bike

"Stop, Jay. I have to find him. Please... Uncle Clark, please. You have to bring him home. I have to... " He could hear Dick plead with them the whole way back to the cave.

He could only bring their bikes home.

They had now all retired to the cave. He was ignoring Alfred calling Steph and Cass in the other room. Ignoring their desperate denials and begging to be told it was just a cruel prank. Ignoring Dick's full body sobs into Jason's arms, shaking them both. Ignoring Bruce's absent look and ignoring how similar Bruce and Jason's grief was.

Tim, luckily, hadn't broken his leg like what they originally had thought, only popped his knee out at such an angle it looked like it. Alfred had already reset it and listed his usual recovery despite Tim not even pretending to listen to it this time. Duke had already helped him upstairs, eyes red and swollen.

Finally the the tense silence came to an end.

"Did you find anything?" Bruce, one of his oldest and closest friends, asked, his voice calm and steady, his heart unwavering as ever but he knew better.

"I'm sorry."

"Search again."

Just as he was about to fly out again, the elevator opened.

"I found this in Damian's room." Tim hurriedly spoke he was already rushing past him on his crutches to the evidence processing, not even explaining what "this" even is.

"Tim. Explain." Bruce rushing and limped past him following quickly.

Like father, like son.

"What is it?" He turned to look at Dick, he had tear stains but his eyes were dryer his mouth was set in a firm line but he was leaning heavily on his younger brother.

"Tim found something." He responded quietly, and he continued on following his friend.

They sat silently together while Tim and Bruce worked together without speaking like a well-oiled machine firm in it's objective.

He'd say Jason was as still as a corpse with his eyes glazed over unseeing, but that observation was far from appropriate,considering everything.

99% Match found. Partial fingerprints detected unknown. The computer had finally accounted after 15 minutes of silence.

He and Jason waited for Bruce and Tim to tell them instead of jumping like Dick did to get the first look. He doubted Jason could get up, Jason was strong so strong, but he was still so young.

They all were.

Especially Damian, despite all his headstrong confidence and borderline arrogance, he will still only fourteen.

Only fourteen years old and dead by suicide.

He still needed to tell Jon he was buying time by the well-timed expedition of him and Kon already off planet and galaxy on whatever Kon called "brotherly bonding with a little bit of interplanetary fighting and toppling monarchies splashed in and maybe we'll catch a movie on the way home" they had joined some green lanterns to help rescue some new green lanterns who got in between a revolution on accident. He remembers researching for days before letting Jon go, but even just the name of the planet now escapes him.

It all seemed so trivial now.

He had seen what became of Dick and Bruce when Jason had died when Dick had been off-planet, and Bruce hadn't reached out to tell him. He just hoped Jon could forgive him.

"Clark. Where is Lex Luthor." Bruce demanded turning to finally look him in the eyes.

"I'm not sure. Lex went underground a month and half ago. Why? What does he have to do with this?" Clark asked carefully. He had to be careful not to set Bruce off.

" AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TELLING ME? Bruce's voice rose exponentially.

Too late, he couldn't help but think.

"His fingerprints are all over this goddamn envelope. Whatever was inside made Damian kill himself, and you're asking what does it matter!"

"How do we know?" Dick spoke softly, his eyes still glued to the results.

Everybody turned at the same time. Jason's head snapping so fast he winced.

"Know... Know what?" Tim asks him just as softly.

" How do we know Damian is.. is dead?" He spoke again, looking up to glance at them all.

" I know Damian. He's my.. my...He wouldn't just kill himself. He couldn't have. He showed no signs of ever even contemplating it. Not even... Damian would have told me.. Would have trusted me to help him. Lex must have taken him or.. or somehow lured him away." Dick spoke hurriedly or desperate but still completely convinced.

"Chum.."

"FUCK!" Jason exclaimed standing up and kicking his chair sending into the wall hard enough to crack the plastic. His hands shook like they were itching to wrap around someone's throat. They twitched and he ran his hands through his hair, his eyes were greener than ever and glowed so strong there seemed to be a small headlight in front of him almost.

"He could be out there being tortured or worse! And we are just sitting here twiddling our thumbs like FUCKING BABIES!" His voice grew louder and louder until he was screaming into their faces.

"Jaylad-" Bruce started just by hearing that name he knew whatever Bruce was going to say was going to be the complete wrong thing.

"We are going to find him. No matter what it takes. I never gave up on Bruce, and i can't give up in my baby brother either." Tim spoke up, his voice unwavering his heartbeat never stuttering, not even once.

He risked a glance at Bruce. His old friends face was softer, looking at his sons, but his frown was determined, and he tilted his head in the way he always did when he wasn't going to give up.

They were going to bring him home. They just had too.

---------

Crack

Boy, was Damian glad about this storm. He quickly realized that he couldn't use more than one of his powers at one time. He was able to make it to the coordinates of the apparent luxurious island Vlad was hiding out on.

He was expecting actual underground, not just some shell company bought island decked in lead and man-made waterfall galore.

He was absolutely soaking wet and shivering by the time he crashed onto the island. The storm just kept on thundering down on him, plastering his clothes and hair to his face in clumps. He better not get sick from this.

Cold fog escaped his throat, and he shivered even more.

"Daniel! Is that really you?" Lex fucking Luthor called out after he'd been laying exhausted and chilled to the bone in the grimy muddy sand for a few minutes.

"Hey, fruitloop." Was the first and last thing that he said before promptly passing out.

[hinamie]

i mean he's got all the outfits now might as well show them off

bonus:

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[risestarkiss]

On His Own Terms

Rise Ramblings #2

In my post, “This Whole Situation,” I discuss how Donnie doesn’t see himself or his mutation as something that needs to be hidden away. He wears clothes when he's out and about, and that’s about it. However, as turtlemen in the middle of NYC, sometimes they need to actually wear disguises. So, what does Donnie do in those cases?

Old ladies? Well, that’s a choice. And the way Leo phrased the question is interesting as well.

“Why do you always make us dress up as old ladies.”

This means that every time it’s up to Donnie to choose the disguise, it’s not up for discussion. They’re going to be old ladies. Period.

But the most interesting part of this scene is Donatello's answer to Leo's question.

You would think that blending in would be the main goal, but no. Donnie’s main goal with his chosen disguise is: comfort. He’s not willing to sacrifice his own comfort just to make other people comfortable with his presence.

He’ll wear a disguise if he must, but only on his own terms.

And I’m happy that he can set his boundary and stick to it.

Never change, Donnie, never change…

○○○○

…Does anyone else see Leo’s old lady drip?! Where did he get those pearls from? Forget the pearls, where did he get the pantyhose? Did he style his own wig? How long did it take for him to put on his makeup? What color eyeshadow is that? Look at those lashes! Look at those bazongas! He put so much work into his fit, no wonder he received a compliment.

[sw4nfire]

so I made the mistake of listening to the character songs sung by the voice actors and it sparked a buggy centric mad max style musician/music au and I cant get it out of my head here is a google doc with all the details and my reasonings

I tried not to change much about one piece's wacky world since I love it so much

[arealtrashact]

The endless patience of a sidekick 

[dead-girl-tells-stories]

The people of Gotham both fear and revere The Signal. As they do the rest of the Batfam but for Signal it's a bit different.

For starters, he's the only daytime hero. The other Bats usually only come out at night when the city is quieter. And while it's far from asleep, they prioritize stopping the numerous crimes that occur in the shadows. Civilian interactions far and few. Most pictures of them online seemed more like cryptid sightings than heroes soaring through Gotham skies.

The Signal on the other hand was the people's Bat. They got to see him soar through the sky, or ride his bike in all his golden glory. He gave autographs, took photos, and joined them on their daily commutes. He was a regular at mom-and-pop shops, made sure the troubled kids made it to school, and checked in on the sick and elderly. And while he did work with them when necessary, he mostly liked to fuck with the police, like a true Gothamite would.

All in all, he was the sweet sunshine that Gotham needed. He was far more human than the others. Not that he was human, oh heck no! NONE of the bats were human! But it felt that way. Until you were reminded that he was INDEED a Bat.

The way he merged and appeared out of the shadows despite his bright yellow suit, and moved without a sound. He knew about people and things before they happened. And had an intelligence that was absolutely terrifying when thought about. And the way he took care of crimes?

The Signal is cold, borderline brutal, and efficient (with commentary that leaves you agape and a chill down your spine) when dealing with criminals. It was always jarring to witness the sudden change from Gotham's sunshine boy to stone-cold Bat, and back again. It almost gave you whiplash to realize that this was the vigilante that you were talking to about your puppies a few moments ago. And it really instilled the Fear™ that that bats were known for.

The other Bats were terrifying, shadowy demons that moved through the night. Stopping crime in the darkness. Gotham knew and appreciated this. But the Signal? He was the bright light at the end of the tunnel and the warmth of the brilliant sun. But he was also...

'Gotham's Darkest Angel'

[shinotail]

also mirabelle,,,, with color

[hydrus101]

One thing I haven’t seen anyone post about yet is the “should’ve used our left hand” conversation, and it is so so so important to me.

It’s very rare that we get any verbal confirmation that John—who for all intents and purposes only exists in a meaningful physical capacity through Arthur’s left hand—interacts with the world at all unless it’s in dire circumstances where he has to, like the mines in Addison.

We don’t hear him say “let me get that” or anything active almost ever, and we have to infer that maybe he’s moving around, touching things, gesticulating, guiding Arthur in some small way when he says “here!” but it’s never really said explicitly that he touches things idly sometimes. He usually only helps Arthur, like holding the torch, and doesn’t do much for himself. And yeah, perhaps that would be clunky writing, but it bothered me for a little while.

I’ve always wanted to see him interact with the world more, touch more things, take a little initiative with the body they’re sharing, even if for practical reasons, but if it’s important to him that Arthur has some semblance of control? If he is considering Arthur’s feelings constantly by tamping down the urge to find and seek and know for himself, increasing that sense of isolation? If he’s trying even harder now to take up less space, to make himself small, in order to assuage the prickling guilt he feels for threatening taking that control back from Arthur? If he’s going to do his fucking damnedest to resist the urge to manifest even when the power is right there at his fingertips? Well, then that’s fucking delicious.

[cinna-rose]

Doing Our Life meme/text posts/whatever these are called! :)

[numberonedukethomasapologist]

Duke: Do I look like boo boo the fool to you⁉️

Rest of the batfam: ???

Duke: oh sorry *clears throat* do I look stupid to you?