#the comparison

[thewillowofveles]

You can't convince me she was fine

[soggydoggydisco]

I'm so normal about red valley you don't get it (visibly shaking)

[kovacs-of-courage]

Nesting Fears

I made this fic based off my dear friend @yys002's art! Check out her blog(the art below is hers)

He was walking in a dream, fading memories echoing around his lucid consciousness. 

There were voices around every corner, whispers of his loved ones, honeycomb promises behind unending walls. He was trapped in the manor, wandering up and down its lonely halls.

Dick tried to enjoy the experience, a sleep beyond nightmares was rare for him, if he remembered it at all. Life had thrown him too many dangers to rest softly, though he’d come to terms with that reality long ago. He was too proud of his life; what with the people he’d helped, the lives he’d saved, the friends met.

He missed his parents more than the world, but if they were forever doomed to die—-there was nowhere else Dick would rather be. Being Robin honored their memory in a way that doing circus tours for the rest of his life never could, to turn his tragedy into a force for good--Dick knew they’d approve.

So why did he feel so uncertain? Why was he so afraid?

Dick put his hand on the shadowed wall, his fingers flat against the ancient timber. A sigh of passive exasperation left his incorporeal form, the strain of his worries weighing harder on the young vigilante than any physical hardship. The manor had contorted a direction through his memories, winding corridors of past glories and future anxieties.

It’d taken him through miles of it, or so Dick assumed. Dreams tended to play fast and loose with reality, the forest infinitely more important than the trees. Dick just wished he’d wake up already, but it seemed that wasn’t what his subconscious had in mind.

The room shifted around him, a blurring mass of colors and whirring sounds that passed as soon as it arrived. Dick didn’t feel alerted by this special change like he would in the real world, staying in a plain state of confused discomfort.

He recognized the room he’d landed in immediately, foreboding sinking into his chest like poisonous worry. Cautious in his step, he approached the lone statue-head in the center of the rectangular room--more fit to be a windowed coffin than a place for the living.

The marble carved features of Thomas Wayne stared back at him, set on a similarly expensive pillar-- confirming Dick’s worst suspicions.

This was Bruce’s study.

There was history to the room, an importance that lent it a weight closer to crime alley than simply a place where the Wayne family liked to read. Bruce had told Dick close to everything there was to know about his mission, about Batman, including where he’d originally gotten the inspiration for it.

Dick looked back to the head of Thomas Wayne, the stone where his pupils should be staring daggers into his being. Righteous judgment radiated off it like smoke from an SOS flare, a wordless indignation towards Dick being in his presence.

“I don’t know what you want from me, I don’t even know why I’m here,” Dick said, disregarding the insanity of choosing to talk to a lifeless statue. He chose to not look it in the eyes, opening the curtains to observe the rolling greens of the Wayne estate.

Dick tried to enjoy the view, his mind’s admittedly imperfect recollection of his childhood home, as the imaginary sun slowly rose on the distant horizon. He closed his eyes, grasping at some sense of peace in the half nightmare around him.

“You know exactly why you’re here, boy.”

Gone as soon as it came, the silence overtaking the room shattered, the rumbling baritone of a voice unknown acting like a sledgehammer thrown across softened glass. It’d caught Dick off guard at first; as deep and guttural as trigon, the avalanche-like vibrations of each enunciated word a death sentence in its own right.

He looked to his left; at the only thing he could imagine as the source of the noise. 

The Statue spoke again, it’s stoic expression unmoving, it’s lips motionless: 

“Bruce should have never let you join his crusade, a child has no place in war.”

Dick gritted his teeth, aggravation flaring like hot fire within him, figment of his imagination or not--hearing the same tired spiel of Bruce’s boneheaded arguments made him want to scream.

“Oh put a sock in it, rock pile,” Dick said, looking the statue dead-on, “If you can’t even come up with your own points, then there’s nothing you can say that’ll change my mind.”

A laugh roared through the air, it’s intensity like an earthquake to a withered coffin; shaking the room so violently as to carve gaps in the floorboards and throw books from their shelves.

Dick struggled to stay afoot, his trained grace doing little in the fantasy of the dream. 

“And yet you argue with me still!” The Statue laughed, “I’m not here to convince you of anything, little bird--only to remind you of a truth you so pathetically avoid.”

The condescending tone clicked all the wrong buttons for Dick, draining his vast well of patience to an exceedingly shrinking pool of agitation. He wanted to be as far away from the manor as possible. He’d prefer the worst patrols in Gotham, the deadliest missions with the titans, at least then he’d be doing something productive.

Not this.

“And what truth is that, oh hallowed prophet?” Dick leered, sarcasm etching his sentence’s end, “Go on, what cold truth do I need repeated? What wise wisdom of the batman have I forgotten? Is the eighteen-year-old apprentice still too young to be taken seriously?

The Statue remained impassive at the surface, betraying the hostility it so flagrantly spoke with, “Quite the opposite in fact. You are an apprentice in name alone, what use does Bruce have for a student he cannot teach, nor listens to his orders?”

It pained Dick to admit, but the statue, whatever part of his mind it represented, was right. Bruce and him didn’t need one another anymore, and that was a knife to his heart that kept on twisting. He was quiet for a tense few seconds, his fists balled and breathing slow.

“Batman and Robin are partners, we’re a team...he knows that,” Dick muttered, his hot anger turned to frigid vulnerability.

He waited for a response, the risen moon beaming through the glass, shining bright his open fear.

“Nothing lasts forever, even the brightest stars fade,” The Statue said, “Bruce knows this more than anyone, as should you.”

Dick tilted his head, disbelief plastered across his face, “We don’t just lay down and accept it! Bruce calling us quits isn’t gonna stop me from helping people. I’m not a kid anymore, I can make my own decisions.”

“I find that hard to believe, boy wonder, when you spend so much of your time tracing his footsteps,” The Statue said, holding it’s views like a scalpel to Dick’s life, “Robin is no more his own hero then when you were eight years old, or leading a team of second-rate sidekicks that pales in comparison to what your mentor helped create.”

The insult at the Titans salted the already bleeding wound, Dick’s emotions bubbled to a chaotic boiling point--no one hit his friends without going through him first.

“Keep the Titans out of this, or I’ll kick you off that pillar myself! We’ve earned our place, time and time again,” Dick said, his volume nearing a yell.

The statue didn’t waver, if it was bothered by Dick’s threat--it hid that fact well.

“Your defensiveness merely emphasizes my point,” The Statue explained. 

Dick’s squinted his eyes, his stance tense and rigid. 

The Statue continued to elaborate, dispassionate as always, “What is the tale of a squire without their knight? What is a son who never surpasses the father? You must grow beyond these trappings of youth, not retreat within them.” 

“Robin is my creation though,” Dick stressed, motioning his palms to his chest, “It’s the last thing I have of my parents, of my history...Who am I without it?”

The question elicited a hum of laughter from the statue, baritone and rebounding, though without malice, for once. Dick’s cheeks flushed red, embarrassment at his open vulnerability like salt on a bleeding wound.

“Am I to hear that the Flying Grayson is afraid to take a leap of faith? Is it not defiance of fear that creates the heroics you so revel in?”

Dick sheepishly rubbed his arm, “Well when you say it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“The path you walk, you’ve known it’s course for far longer than your visit here,” The statue said, “The confusion you face in regards to the future is temporary, if you still have the bravery to persist.”

“Then what is this conversation supposed to be?” Dick asked. “My subconscious motivating me to keep going?”

The Statue said plainly it’s clarification, “Close, but no cigar. That moment will come in a short while; any moment now, actually.”

Dick shook his head, puzzled and uneased, “And what that’s supposed to be?”

“A taste of skies yet flown. You’ll see.”

Before Dick had the chance of questioning the statue’s cryptic answer, an invisible force had thrown him on his back; the shrill cry of a beast sounding life or death danger in his pained eardrums.

He struggled to regain his composure, his heart-rate jumping to his throat as he watched spider webbing cracks infect the floorboards; the noise of the unknown beast quickly reducing the room to literal splinters.

The dream was quickly becoming a nightmare, that much was plain to see. Dick swallowed the lump in his throat, the primal fear heightened by the reality around him coursing shivers from head to toe. He pushed past it, the courage of all his years dancing away from death’s grip reminding him of his true strength.

Dick pulled himself to his feet, gritting his teeth in concentration. Real or not; He’d never turn tail from danger, nor the future. The view from the window pane had brightened to an immeasurable degree, a near blinding wall of sunlight swallowing the space that the manor’s land had formerly occupied.

Another cry broke the air, just as earsplitting and hope-stopping as the last, but this time Dick could see the source...and it was flying right at him.

The creature was monstrous, an ever changing avian patchwork of leather-stitched sinew and brown and gray feathers. The details to its appearances were like a mirage, changing at the slightest glance, blending into a variety of patterns in the seconds of it’s current flight path.

Dick watched the bird in amazement, aware of the danger it presented and finding himself unable to move; completely mesmerized and terrified in equal measure. It molted it’s feathers to new patterns in ways that made Dick want to jump out the window and join it.

It roared again, it’s callous beak now a rallying cry for a cause that Dick felt deep in his heart. He blinked and it’s coat had darkened from the humble colors of the robin; the kiss of a midnight river drenching it’s dozen foot wide wingspan, adorning sleek slings of golden pride on it’s chest. 

There was beauty in the change, the transformations from one mode to another. For every reinvention there was horror lost, a terror thrown aside. Dick couldn’t help but admire that, envy it’s adaptation to something more.

Dick blinked again, the large talons of the bird mere inches away from the fragile glass. 

It’d changed once more, molting it’s dreamlike austerity to streamlined nobility. Darkness drenched it’s form, the touch of the space holding stars; yet it did not consume it. There was light in it’s eyes, grandness in it’s purpose, freedom in it’s flight--Dick looked into the brilliant sapphire streaking it’s breast and found hope, not despair.

He found a symbol he could believe in, a soul that longed to soar as much as his own.

Dick had found something more valuable than anything in the skies and wonders above.

As the glass shattered, and the bird’s mighty talons embraced him--Dick understood what it was.

And he was never letting go.

[insight-chronicles]

So I'm reading Onyx Storm and I can't help but make comparisons between Xaden and Jinwoo.

The cocky attitude

Wielding shadows

Being OP

Hiding how powerful he is

Its like reading SL fanfiction but in disguise and with dragons and its making me love it even more!!!

[inkskinned]

it's extremely critical that you see the photo of the perp walk for luigi mangione as being propaganda. i've seen so many people wave it off and instead fawn over his looks. and trust me, i know it ended up being kind of pathetic and weird - but please don't brush it off as a "modelling opportunity" for him. it's a fucking terrifying message the police are sending.

i want to make a few comparisons here, in case you're not from the US or familiar with why the perp walk thing is something to pay attention to. just to set the groundwork for why this is a purposeful, unusual, and cruel act by the nyc police - for why this is not a common occurrence and for why that matters.

the prosecution alleges the show of force is due to the charge of "terrorism." for comparison, in june 2015, tsarnaev was found guilty for the boston marathon bombing, which killed 3 people and injured hundreds. his actions are considered to be an act of domestic terrorism. i have spent the last hour looking through google for pictures of similar to mangione's perp walk - and so far, i have found zero. i also just do not personally remember a moment like that, despite living in boston at the time.

they allege that luigi is a stone-cold killer who carried out a longterm plan, making him particularly dangerous. again for comparison: in nyc, recently cory martin was found guilty of the killing of brandy odom. the murder was planned and premeditated to steal insurance money. and yet no staged perp walk. why didn't her life matter enough for a "show of force"?

but mangione gets paraded by a veritable army of police officers as if he is a rabid animal. for a single citizen who allegedly killed one other single citizen, the "largest perp walk ever" occurs.

so what is the "strong message" that the mayor and the police were trying to send here? the mayor speaks as if mangione is already convicted of terrorism. there is a very thin number of people who feel threatened by the CEO's death. none of us felt like mangione needs to be under massive armed guard.

the message is that you shouldn't resist. they are trying to "make an example" of him - that if you behave badly and kill a single rich person, you'll be treated as if you killed hundreds of people. you will be treated worse than a man who was found guilty of terrorism. you will be considered guilty without trial. the message is that the rich are a protected class, and you cannot touch them without massive punishment. they are trying to prevent a revolution by showing dominance and force against you.

the message is that the police are a puppet of the wealthy and that the law is not equally applied across class disparity. it is "some are more equal than others." it is "one life is more precious than another."

the show of force wasn't for luigi. it was for us. it was a warning. they are trying to remind us who is really in control.

[nothorses]

there is a judge in Seattle who does the weekly name change hearings, and who says it's her favorite part of the week. she says she doesn't read out previous names, or ask about the reasons why people want to change them. she says it's a beautiful moment, and a celebration; a claiming of a new identity, or a reclamation of an old identity. she encourages the room to clap for folks. then she welcomes everyone up, one by one, by last name and with warmth; she shows them the court order where nobody else can see, asks them to double check the spelling, and then they're done! do they want a picture? do they want their friends and loved ones who came with them to be in it too? do they want the court order in the photo? she helps everyone pose, shakes hands and stands with them for as long as they need to take it, recruits the clerk for help taking photos of the folks who came alone. then she tells them where to go next, congratulates them, and claps along with the rest of the room.

probably three quarters of the people there were trans, and she centered their experience quietly, with love and joy.

I think I'll be thinking about her a lot this January, and for a long time after. it's good to know she's there.

[jasontoddsguns]

“Boromir apologist” he doesn’t have anything to apologize for????? He fell victim to evil ringTM like once. and then immediately redeemed himself. Guys come on.

[rambling-robot]

crazy that gravity falls was like, hey what if we made twin brothers, and one of them is the worse one. he gets bad grades, he likes to punch his problems, everyone thinks of him as “the other one.” he’s engulfed in a shadow that’s shaped like him. he doesn’t even have his own name—it’s derived of his brother’s name, the only one his parents planned on having and using. everything about him is derivative—imitative of another person (his twin brother) (the one everyone likes and wants) and is disapproved of for that reason (he isn’t just “bad at this thing,” he’s “not as good as his brother”). and then he ruins his brother’s science fair project (the one next to his own—no one noticed it because it’s not good, it’s almost stupid next to a “perpetual motion machine” made by a high schooler) (he tried to fix it) (he doesn’t know how; he’s not as smart as the guy who made it) and he gets kicked out. the potential of the money his twin could’ve made is enough to throw him onto the street, and he can’t go home until he makes that money back (the money that was never gained and therefore was never lost. he never had a chance of making enough). he took every job he could (his brother went to school). he got banned from multiple states (his brother bought a house). he traveled internationally and went to prison and had people try to hunt him down and kill him because he couldn’t make enough money (his brother’s house has three basements. he made them himself, as secure as can be). and when his twin finally summons him for help, things go wrong (he messed up this machine like the last one) (he doesn’t know how to fix it. he isn’t as smart as the guy who made it) (he tries to fix it) (he was never any good at reading and these blueprints are impossible, coded and fragmented and in a science that he didn’t know existed) (he tries to fix it). the townspeople ask who he is, and he doesn’t even say his own name (it was hardly his to begin with). and he invites them to a house that isn’t his to show off experiments that aren’t his because he needs to make money that can’t be his. everything he does for the next 30 years is in his twin’s name, for his twin’s sake. he had two funerals for himself and it isn’t even his body in the casket; he had to wear his brother’s name to both of them. if he had died before he fixed the portal, that funeral wouldn’t have been for him. we meet him as a funny and unique character, but in-universe, he’s only ever been defined by someone else.

and then they went, this is entirely in the background btw. most of that is going to be revealed in one episode and won’t be addressed again. he’s a primary comic relief, even. I’m ill about this.

[agentmilayawithshield]

“No, [...] we need someone exactly like you.”

"Just luckier?"

[the-city-in-mind]

[lesbianslovenamari]

Dungeon Meshi characters’ heights compared with the averages for their race:

Laios’ Party:

I’ll repost with more

[nessa007]

Ted Lasso + The Wizard of Oz

[uncanny-tranny]

I think so many people are so deeply alienated from themselves that they have no clue how to exercise their free will and autonomy. For some, this alienation runs so deep that they are afraid of their own autonomy and humanity. It is completely understandable why one would have those feelings, but it can be worrisome.

I want to help others who feel this way, so here are small things I have done to exercise my free will:

Add "guilty pleasure" songs to playlists and actually listen to them (I have a ton of late 1990s-early 2000s music I listen to now proudly that I never listened to in the past out of shame)

Getting the décor item, bath set, bed spread, ect. in the patterns you like, even if it's "childish" (I got a dinosaur-themed wastebasket from the kids' décor section and I adore it)

Taking a new route to get to a place you go to often

Eat dessert first

Celebrate well, and often

Collect things that are "odd" or don't seem like an "acceptable" thing to collect (somebody on my "for you" page collects dandelion crayola crayons and it was so cool!!!!!!)

Incorporate one new piece in an outfit you wear frequently (e.g., a new chain, a necklace, ribbons, bracelets, ect.). Challenge yourself to add onto the outfits if you feel up for it.

Sing along to songs without worrying that you sound "good" or your intonation is completely accurate

Read a book from a genre you weren't allowed to read as a kid (comics, thrillers, mysteries, anything!)

Walk without having a specific destination or goal

Pick up a new craft without expecting yourself to master it or to ever be "good" enough. Get your hands messy.

I don't want to shame anybody for not feeling as though they have free will or that they are exempt from exercising it. However, I wanted to give ideas so that you might read this list and find your own ways to express your intrinsic autonomy and will. You deserve to be a person, to feel alive, not just living. That is what our lives are for.

[forthosetunedin]

2007 // 2022

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

Viago, when playing as Rook De Riva: you IDIOT you were my favorite fledgling why did you have to make a mess of this now I have to jump through all these convoluted hoops to keep you safe. Teia stop telling Rook how much I missed them it's not funny they could have DIED. also your room is exactly the way you left it please come home

Strife, when playing as Rook Aldwir: Why hasn't this weird bug i kicked out of our camp ages ago died yet :|