#hi??? how the hell did i write this much

[voiice-of-the-soul]

It irritates me alot when people say that making medic more compassionate is ''missing the point of his character'' when he is literally shown to be in the comics.... did you miss the part where he showed concern for both sniper and miss pauling's well being in comic 5 and 6.

His actions are a combination of genuine attachment + clinical interest and these things do not cancel out one another. He is always pushing boundaries and going against the grain and i think this is what led to him losing his license in the first place. He felt stifled by the rules imposed on him.

He is shown to be extremely passionate so it makes sense that he would use his endless fascination with medicine as a way to show his affection. He loves his friends so he will find a way to make them borderline indestructible. Malpractice is his love language.

[thedemises]

. . . SAVE A HORSE, GO ON A RIDE WITH THE COWBOY! featuring boothill!

notes! . . . y'know the phrase, “save a horse, ride the cowboy”? well, I decided to-do something about it with boothill... except it's sfw and more like “save a horse, ride with the cowboy” cuz i dont do nsfw here >:/. god give me acceptance for how boothill is so ooc here- 😭😭 idnk how to write his character properly, and does he even have a horse?? I don't remember seeing a horse when his character and banner got leaked, so let's just pretend he does have one for the sake of K'hailreigh for this plot. 💀

imagine returning the horse boothill had been searching for all day after it got the chance to escape through the tall fences the moment they were opened, his eyes widen at the sight of his companion with you guiding alongside it. normally, his horse wouldn't follow after someone else's orders other than him... and it behaves pretty feisty and rough with people who isn't him.

boothill is relieved to see that his trusty horse hadn't been injured, briefly thanking you as he goes over to fuss over his stallion. you can't help your gaze wandering and examining his figure, in awe of the metallic and cyborg parts of the cowboy in front of you. sure you might've seen people having artificial and metal parts attached to them, but this man right here just plainly looks like a robot if it weren't for his humanly head.

boothill notices you eyeing every inch of him, glancing from the lasso that hangs at his hips to the pistols to his arms and to his legs. he glares a wolfishly smile at you, baring the shark-like teeth that you gaze in short surprise at, and asks in a teasingly tone, “like what you see, darlin'?”, observing how you blink owlishly at him. but then, he's becomes sort of surprised when you nod your head and confirm that—yes, you like his appearance and how the color scheme matches altogether, while indirectly  commenting how he's a good-looking cowboy.

boothill, after his turn of blinking at you, grins and narrows his eyes with an intrigued look in them; amused by you and how you don't seem in the slightest.. nervous or terrified in his presence. you perked the cyborg's interest.

finishing the small talk with the man, you mention that you'll be needing to go somewhere for an errand and boothill takes the opportunity to offer a ride there on his horse—as a thanks for retrieving his horse, taking in your surprised expression with a grin as he ends the sentence with a “darlin'”. he insists, even if you refuse, so you decide that it'll be quicker to go in a horse ride with the cowboy than rather walking by foot as you were given no other choice.

with boothill's assistance, you were boosted onto the horse and instructed by him to hold on as he looks back at you, flashing a toothy grin and a finger tilting his hat just slightly for a short moment before you and him rode off towards where you were needed to be at with his horse. startled by the increasing speed his horse was going, you instinctively grasp onto the cyborg cowboy's built body in order to not fall off during the ride accidentally—boothill grins at your expression, his laughter going with the wind, “better hol' on tight for now, sweetheart. this'll be a rough ride! i'll get ya to where yer headin' in no time!”

© thedemises 2024. all rights reserved. please do not repost, copy, or claim as your own. ━━  word count: 508.

[bigskydreaming]

Imagine looking at a character whose entire premise is that in every stage of his life, he's made every version of himself into someone that inspires people to such a degree that EVERY SINGLE VERSION OF HIM has people wanting to literally follow in his footsteps in some way or another.....

And coming to the conclusion that like.....the most important things about him are the sum of all his trappings. His entirely homemade developed from scratch could not exist if not for what he already was and brought with him BEFORE crafting this newest version of himself trappings, with his greatest trait throughout all of it being his adaptability; his ability and willingness to roll with the punches and not try to simply weather any opposition or changes to his life but instead reshape himself as needed to better fit INTO whatever new shape his life and the world around him takes. All while managing to carry the most innate, fundamental and necessary aspects of himself from one version to the next. Thus every single version of himself is different but simultaneously every single version of himself is also undeniably the same person.

The strength of this character, to me, will always be that he can be so many versions of himself, he can become so many things, all without ever actually losing or discarding any of the aspects of himself he considers most essential, the things he's not willing to lose or give up just to keep going. Finding that road not taken by most, usually because most never even think to look for it as an option. But one that he's always able to find because the one trick he's mastered in his tumultuous life is threading that needle of not just digging in his heels in an unproductive way but rather being selective about when and where he makes a stand and decides "this is not a thing I'm willing to compromise about" but here are places and ways I can and will change and evolve and adapt in order to make it possible for me to hold onto these parts and keep them as they are.

And that's why its always so mind-boggling to me that so many writers can't seem to think of anything else to do with Dick Grayson other than invent some new reason for him to just....not be that person, or to like just take the character whose most basic fundamental trait he's NOT about to compromise on is willingly giving up his spot in the driver's seat of his own life.....and make him just a passenger in his own life and stories.

Dick Grayson at age nine....at age nineteen...at age twenty nine....the one core thread running through all versions of him is the only way he's standing back and letting you call the shots for him or putting him on the sidelines in some way is over his dead body.

HOW he goes about that, what that looks like, who he becomes and what aspects of himself he plays up at some times and what traits he lets fall by the wayside at other times when they offer less in service to his primary goal here....that changes constantly. He changes constantly.

But those changes are almost always (or at least they used to be/should be IN MY OPINION) made with the intention of keeping certain things about him or his life as consistent as possible.

That's the duality of Dick Grayson that I'm here for. The inherent contradiction of him that COULD allow for endless conflict and breaking new narrative ground in all sorts of ways if mined properly:

His eternal willingness to compromise....but only ever in pursuit of doubling down on the ways he's not willing to compromise.

Forever walking that tightrope in ways that only a kid born and raised in a circus could ever hope to.

[blimbo-buddy]

I hate Jimmy but I like him in the fact that we’re supposed to genuinely hate every fiber of his being. I think the story tricks us into thinking he’s a good person, or at the very least a morally grey character, and it’s like the story itself shows annoyance toward it while also giving us a sense of sympathy for falling to the same manipulation that Jimmy puts others through. But that is only if we actually realize the truth.

it shows annoyance towards us as the player/viewer but saves its special hatred for Jimmy. Not us, Jimmy. It’s annoyed that we show some kind of good will towards Jimmy before the silent reveal in the text that he assaulted Anya. It’s like the game acts like how an actual person would realistically react to this stuff: the player/viewer glosses or barely acknowledges the aspect of rape (as many have while playing the game) and the game shows fury towards you. But if you piece everything together about the assault, then it’s like the rose-tinted glasses fully come off and you see the horrible situation for what it actually was, for who Jimmy truly is

the game is like a test for its player/audience.

do we gloss over the horrific actions of Jimmy, the smaller details in the conversations between Anya and Curly, and the context clues of what Jimmy did to Anya; and thus allow the game to show its righteous fury towards our incompetence

or

Do we realize the truth of everything, of the actions of our protagonist; actions that we were led to ignoring by the main character himself before learning about what he’s done to everyone on the Tulpar; and thus allow the game to still show sympathy towards us while also rightfully being frustrated and maybe even hating us still

in other words: Do you eventually see the tiny, dead pixel in the vastness of it all; or are you so used to seeing the bigger picture that it never crosses your mind until it’s too late

[im-smart-i-swear]

can you remember being born? were you born at all

[aroacee-of-spades]

^ face of someone (me) who just finished the arcane finale

[puppyeared]

Atla live action 😐

[bayofwolves]

they did this to shane

[icewindandboringhorror]

just a few little bits from the past few days

[wellzofyouth]

That one post of my mine predictably aged like fine wine. Never let somebody on comic twitter in the writer's room😭😭😭 Like imagine a 1 to 1 adaptation of literally any event?? -1b at the box office. "Who are these people???"

[divinekangaroo]

Anyone else think of a diagram like this when Diana mentioned 'points of a triangle' in the Season 6 Episode 5 dinner?

[sharlmbracta]

astorvember backstory week

i'll probably be able to properly start writing about this (if i ever manage to) after the end of this semester. but the idea itself had been around for quite a while since 2022 or even 2021 i think.

"YOU WILL NOT TAKE THEM," he screamed.

The glow seemed to be coming at him. Glowering.

A strong soul, it hummed. Amusedly.

He only growled. "You will not take them."

It chuckled. A fog seemed to be enclosing around him, it was suffocating. He could barely hear the shallow- even before the fog, already too shallow, she had been so, so strong for him, and now he was losing her he couldn't lose her -breathing of his eldest anymore.

He tightened his grip around her, one arm numb, draped around her shoulder. He felt his vision receding, his breath sweltering, the ragged feeling his youngest had described before he had fallen he should have fled the place with them while he could, he should have sent them away while he could, it was his fault- a screech, sudden, sharp pain in his torso, traveling up to his heart, clamping it tightly.

A strong soul, it echoed, reverberating in his head this time.

He snarled. You will not have it, vile thing, you slaughtered them.

That was not my doing, it laced over, the higher priestess had deemed this area unredeemable, uninhabitable. Declared it to be purged, her well-known prestige allowing it to be carried out. Quite a shame, really, it stroke gently over his heart, I'm only here to pick up from the ashes, of what's worthy to be strengthened, given new power that only the pure and strong can withhold.

He felt himself slump over. He was struggling to keep his senses erect and alarmed, but he was barely able to stay awake anymore. He wasn't sure if it was the plague, the fog, or even the emotional aftermath of sorrow anymore. Still, he kept fighting, he had to. And why should I trust you?

Your children. I can grant them new power as well, new life.

He took a sharp breath. An offer of life, not only of him, but of others, his loved ones, things that were not to be taken lightly. Even yet, he knew better than to trust any god or spirit, after everything he had witnessed in his life. There was never true compassion, free of charge, in this world, he had learnt it all by the hard way. There was always a catch. And the cost?

It grinned in the darkness. You will serve me for the rest of your life.

He snapped awake then. A brainless slave, he bit out. how unoriginal. What about the children? Will you resurrect them and enslave them as well, turning them into mindless pawns of your own? They do not need their bodies to be tainted just to be mere vessels for your bidding, they have suffered enough.

As do you, it cooed. You are failing to realize, that my offer is not a ravagement, it is a gift, a reward for your valiance. You have proven yourself worthy, to serve as my hand, to carry out justice on such transgressions like these. Balance will finally be restored, by your hand. The world will hide from its lies, no longer.

He felt something trickle into his heart. It was burning, but it was only half unpleasant. He felt like boiling over and rage again, this time externally, to everyone who had hurt the children, the horrors they had to endure, while everyone else with the power had turned a blind eye to them, all of them. He flew up, suddenly coming alive, feeling every part in his body and his blood in it, more vigilant and awake than he had ever struggled before. The liquid rage, now being felt in his veins, he wanted to lash out to everyone who had been involved in all the offence, and willful ignorance. The suppressed rage, growing out, coming back to him now, all at once. The sudden power being injected to him seemed to be feeding on his anger and grief, amplifying them more. He could do it, take the offer, and act out revenge- justice. He would serve out justice. He could do it now.

But.

"You failed to answer my question," he snapped, "What about the children?"

Ever so perceptive, it mused, with that unruly tongue of yours. He was about to snark back when he suddenly felt his entire body his blood freezing over, before being lurched forwards it was like his insides were being melted his blood being let go again, he toppled over and vomited.

You ought to behave, voice like knives grazed internally over him, I am not a benevolent god.

"Why not just kill me now and get it over with, god," he spat, "so I can fight you both in the afterlife sooner."

It slammed him to the ground. Mortal. Silly, silly mortal. Articulating into his skull to the ground with every syllable. You. Cannot. Defy. Me.

"I can certainly fight to try," he gasped out.

And your children will be left to forever rot for your insolence, it growled. You may be foolishly brave, perhaps even more than the arrogant King himself, but that does not mean I could swipe you and all of your children out of existence and throw you all in eternal poison while keeping all your minds to last forever, spiraling wild towards the endless loop of insanity.

It paused to marvel at its work of blood, and its success of undoing now prevalent in his eyes. There was still defiance, but now there was a hint of what wasn't there before. Fear. It would serve you well, the voice climbing up into his throat, Do not interrupt me again. Do not make me repeat myself again. I am not a benevolent god. However, the stars have aligned tonight, a natural blood moon, and I am willing to grant you mercy.

Nipping on the edges of his heart. Your children will be let go. Their souls will be intact, while having more vigor than all of you have ever imagined. They would be blessed by my touch, even stronger in the repeating nights of today. They would be safe from, and even thrive in the forces that the tainted ones call "threats."

"And what of me?" He managed to voice out. "Will my mind be ripped away by you? How would I possibly know if you actually would carry out your part of the deal if I'm not there to witness and prove it? How would I know you wouldn't just devour me at the end of the contract?"

You will still have your mind as well, it lingered, as a guarantee. You will be free to choose your most intimate actions, under my eye, but the children will be away from my eye, they would not be chained. All of you, my power granted within the dark, you will thrive. Without my dark, you will be rendered vulnerable in the light. That is the major catch, but it is my nature, and it secures a promise. I will not be able to locate them, but I will be able to sense them, as the essences are of parts of my own. You, will carry on my dark to the light, place the crumbs and sparking stones in the corners of the lightest places, by the usefulness of your physical form, a vessel of the light, while having this contract of duty you hold as my hand.

He let himself relax then, the safety of his children accepted into term. It then slid up to his chin, caressing it. Do you now concur to the contract, the union?

He took a deep breath, and firmed himself. "I do."

Very well. The process will begin.

Excruciating heat exploded from his chin where it was caressing it, spreading first to his brain to numb it, though he doubted it was working, as he only felt an absolute level of burning, as it trickled down his throat and cascaded into his organs, not even able to register his own bloodcurdling screams. There was no space left within him to think, only the white-hot pain filling him to the brim.

A voice, now much deeper than before, vibrated within his entire body, coursing through him like he was a woodwind.

You're taking this very well. Most others would have physically and irreversibly shattered by now. Just a little longer now, keep holding yourself up, and your promise will be fulfilled.

The burning current injected into his body continued to run their individual courses, back and forth, until they settled on the top of his forehead, forming a pus, then an opening, the force being exerted, while the stream settled to a simple oscillation, as if in tandem, they were singing a lullaby. His breathing calmed, it felt like he was breathing underwater, his nerves and mind detached from his body, all already sunk under the motionless layers and layers of tar, but he calmed, nevertheless, like one does when falling near and into the absolute death.

There was a still, he was solid, rooted, numb, unexisting, silence felt than he had ever before.

Then, he was ignite, a burst of flame from his heart and forehead, and he was shot back upwards, beneath the ground, he broke the surface gasping for air as he woke.

You have proven yourself by surviving.

He felt sore all over, but he felt more vigorous than ever before, as if he had been injected a tremendous amount of intravenous fluids.

He felt a warm liquid dripping on his nose, under his eye, down his cheekbones. His forehead felt weirdly cold and empty, but there was something else that stung beneath his hair that he couldn't make out of. As soon as his vision cleared, he stumbled to the children, where they stirred. If they had gone through the same level of pain as well...

Do not fret, they have mercifully been spared, exempt from the test you endured. Your subconscious, while on your metamorphosis, had pulled away the recline of them, from them, into you.

Fell to his knees. He was exhausted, but the renewed warmth in his bloodstream kept him awake, feeling each pump and cycle of his circulation. He looked to his hands, wobbling. His brain felt like it was twitching, in and out, threatening him to snap him out like an overworked power cord any second. All the sheer power would take some time getting used to. He sighed. What have he gotten himself into? This time, there was no getting out of.

The children began to stir from their slumber. A smile grew on his lips. There hadn't been a back-out option after he first decided to take them in, either, he had made himself sure of it. He had promised himself to never abandon them, and do whatever it takes to protect them.

His eldest was the first to break the surface, stabilizing herself, checking each of her senses, before sitting up. She was always determined to be ready, to protect whenever he couldn't, the most vigilant. He was so proud of her, even though he was sad, the guilt always in his chest, because she had been made to take charge at such a young age, and he couldn't do better to fix that.

"Dad!"

In his distortion, he failed to see her coming, and she crashed into him. Her eyes wide, as she knew he had always been keen on the slightest motion. She grabbed both of his hands and looked straight into his eyes, breaking his haze, pull the focus into your eyes when the other is wandering lost, he had taught her, and it had saved her, more than once, to take back her brothers and sisters. She had no idea it would ever occur that she had to use it on him, who had never lost his firmness, even when pushed over, falling down, the determination, which she swore to herself to learn and follow it through, the strength of she now called her father.

She shook herself. No. She would prove her worth, which was her form of gratitude, even when time and time again he had told her that it's okay, which she never understood and always insisted. She felt that more than ever now, especially after she had almost been lost, awoken by her sheer devotion to her family, just for her to wake up to him losing himself. No. She would not lose her family, she would not lose her true father. She would not fail again. She would prove herself to him, and make it right.

"Are you alright?!"

He could feel her, the panic, the resolve, the deeply rooted pain and sorrow he knew she couldn't even properly recognize because she was just so young to be able to process it. He knew, in her age, all the internal turmoil, when it cumulates and breaks, it would all turn towards her for her to blame herself, when it never, ever wasn't.

Emotions lurched up in his throat as he met her gaze. He was going to speak out, in conviction, that it's not your fault- when he found that his vocal cords were locked. Thinking that it was because of the lump in his throat, he took a deep breath and tried again. Locked. In fact, he couldn't move his lips either when he tried to speak to her, her gaze boring into him, her expression turning into one of the uneasy apprehension- eyes nervously darting around acutely noticing his one turning to a grimace -that he haven't seen from her quite a while.

There was a deeply rooted chuckle.

Have I mentioned that you have proven yourself untrustful?

It was his own voice, he realized, as his face turned ashen of dread. No. He couldn't have said that to her. He didn't even feel his lips, nor his throat move, yet the voice had adorned itself from within his body.

Oh, dear. Forgotten about me already?

For a brief moment of his grief, elation, adrenaline, the recede of it, and his dizziness, he had. Unknowingly, his face had contorted into one of shock, anger, and disgust, while he was still unable to tear away from the gaze of the child, her own expression turning into the one he wished he wished to never bloom upon her face his daughter's face again-

Your collateral. As I have granted to you a guarantee, you will yield to me a collateral. Your ability to flit and flick about on your dancing tongue of a show have proven to be too risky to let slide off when it is absolutely necessary for me to keep holding you in check.

-Fear.

He closed his eyes. He couldn't fight back, he couldn't talk. He couldn't snarl, lest he hurt his daughter even further. He lowered his head.

"Dad...?"

That's better, it hummed. No need to be mournful, though. You will only be locked when you try to speak with them. They are already free; why restrain them with your voice even further? No, I could not overlook the very clear possibility you have shown yourself so adamantly that your voice alone was more than enough to turn them, the gift of my own power, against me.

This was all his fault.

"Are you mad at me...?"

Your strongest, who learnt to inherit your voice, I will take them.

His eyes flew open.

If you still manage to teach it, that is. Fortunately for her, she have not completely fortified herself of you, you had wisely chosen to not completely teach her the skills of your flaunt, so she is incomplete.

"I'm sorry, Dad..."

But she is versatile, volatile; clever, dangerous. I will keep watch on her by the eye I have on you, and any one step out of line, I will take her.

"I apologize, Father."

Not only of her, but of the rest of your children as well. Their senses, liable to forfeit, one by one, by the failure to fulfill your side of the agreement.

"It's- it's my fault."

But I would not be breaking my pact, as they will still be free from my rule. These inconveniences that I have spoken of will be in no need of actual use, if, you choose to behave.

"I should have been stronger, more vigilant, to protect them, all of us, like you have, like you have taught us. I failed- I failed, Father. Again."

He shot up, then crumpled on his knees just as quickly. After the one-sided preachment had finished drilling into him, he was violently let go, thrown onto the ground, all the presence of the fog leaving him, the binds that had tightly clasped him together forcefully falling apart, effectively leaving him a broken mess of thick, hungry-sentient blood, swollen flesh, and a bleeding forehead. His entire body was throbbing, vaguely being recalled of the oscillations that had thrummed so strongly within himself mere moments ago. He shook his head, finally shaking himself back into reality, and pulled her close.

It's not your fault, he wanted to say. It never was, and never will be your fault. But he couldn't, he knew now, he never could anymore, and so he held her tighter, coaxing her sobs into him, eventually his mixing into as well, each note he could never soothe anymore whenever she froze up, numb, only able to cling onto his voice as her guidance back out. I'm so grateful you're alive, the mixture of grief and blood dripping on his fingertips, desperately clutched and stroking on her back in an attempt to assure her, oh how he pleaded to assure her with his own voice one last time, I love you. I love you and that will never change. I will never be angry at you, and I will never, ever hurt you. I am sorry it had turned out this way, I should have been more careful, it is my own fault of carelessness, not yours- never yours. Don't you ever blame yourself again. I love you, and I am so, so proud of you. "I am- so proud of you, my daughter." He choked at then, and the last restraint of him broke. He couldn't anymore, no longer had control of his own self, anymore.

Well. At least it had granted him to get that one out. Vaguely, he could feel it, somewhere within his pulse, laughing, cackling, while it was witnessing him come completely undone in front of his children he had been so strong for. He shook his head. No, he couldn't risk anything more that would cost from his children. He decided to be grateful. He had sworn to protect them, whatever it takes. Even if he couldn't talk to them anymore, even if they would come to hate him for not bothering to explain anything to them anymore. Even if he had to let them go, and realization struck him.

He really did have to let them go, didn't he? They weren't safe here, with him, not anymore. When it was watching them through him, their every move, through the newly-made gape in his forehead. He wouldn't dare think of covering it, not because of the pain, but because of the consequences he- the children- might have. His children weren't safe with him anymore. It pained him, to his core, that the words he had needled into others so long ago were coming back to him, piercing him more than he had ever wished upon the false, ignorant adults. It was almost enough to cause a meltdown on its own, but he stayed put. He didn't want his children- would he be able to call them his own anymore when he finally left them for good like all the others who had hurt them, all the same to them in the end he was just the same, no good, another no good to forget -to remember him as the weak-minded rat who fell apart after a measly plague, abandoning them, too afraid to bear the weight, the responsibility of taking care of them anymore. He couldn't do that to them, and so he only firmed his resolve, held her, weeping out only the waves that he just couldn't hold. He felt the child returning the gesture, the uncertainty clear on her palm on his back, but the gentleness she exerted was correct. He managed a titter, then. She was always a quick learner, this part of her care he would never forget. The opposite, he couldn't bring himself to wish for her. For them.

I will always love you, never forget that. Never forget that you are loved. Even when they eventually grow up forgetting himself.

Unbeknownst to Astor, the younger children were staring at him, witnessing him weep like them, fright and sorrow and confusion in their eyes; but also sheer adoration, because he was with their sister, who never cried as well, but together now, both of them crying, but also smiling, which they couldn't understand, but she was smiling too, so it meant that she understood, right? They could understand their big sister, somehow, even when they didn't.

And they could understand that their dad loved them, somehow, different from the other moms and dads that had left them.

[lord-squiggletits]

"Rodimus is a better Prime because it didn't hurt for him to bond with the Matrix while for Optimus it did" headcanon/theory my beloathed.

One day I'm literally gonna snap and make a whole post addressing why what's wrong bc I'm tired of the inaccuracy and tired of ppl not understanding the Point TM of IDW and its version of the Matrix/Primacy and even more tired of people putting down Optimus in favor of Rodimus by essentially arguing that being unworthy means you deserve to be punished/put in pain bc you just weren't good enough to hold the Symbol of Ultimate Authority

[truethes]

the fun thing about luoch.a is the realisation of how his defense isn't donning a mask, he's more of an actor instead. the version of him that you meet is typically the version of him that you, as a person, have interpreted in your head - and one in which he, in turn, will continue to play off as and, effectively complete that role.

like please think complete angelina joli.e girl interrupted rn: i'm playing the villain baby, just like you want.

[violentlydefending]

genuinely always so shocked to see mirei hate. like literally god forbid women do anything.

[rinnstars]

dude my dad is my biggest opp