#very odd that i was here for the like. creation of prev as a term. why did noone use it until a couple years ago. this webbed site is like

[gouinisme]

mutuals i love you but prev and op don't mean the same thing. op is the person who made the original post prev is the person you reblogged from. if you're citing the person you reblogged from's tags you should use prev. if you're referring to the content of the original post you should use op. take this knowledge with you. i love you

[matchbet-allofthetime]

I think you might be right about some kind of a stereotype existing but on the other hand Sara might be inspired by the Atlantis (look at Asra's parents and tell me they are not Milo and Kida- maybe more like that headwear kids mother had as a queen ) .there are multiple disn*y refferences in that game. But yeah that's just one thing I wanted to say (the stereotype might be real and it's sad they didn't have main characters ethic hair. )

(this ask is referring to this previous post of mine:)

Okay, first of all— HILARIOUS that you censored Disney. Got a cackle out of me. I, however, will not be censoring it because FUCK Disney. Anyway— onto the substance below the cut.

On the point of Asra's parents possibly being based on Kida and Milo, I think that's a hard "maybe".

I don't think, logically, that either him or his parents were based on them. That's my opinion though, as someone who watched that game's creation in the development era, and who saw the original designs before the game was even super fleshed out. (Odd times.)

I never saw anything about Asra and his family being based on Atlantis' characters, but maybe it was never strictly said. Who knows.

In Atlantis, the cultural references taken to create the Atlantean people were mostly that of Egypt (civilizations lost to time, brought to ruin), Mayan architecture + customs + jewelry + etcetc, and even ideas inspired by Cambodia, India, and Tibet.

So yes, I'd say there's possible overlap in how Asra + his family were designed and Kida+ the Atlanteans. However, direct correlation where one came from the other? I'd wager no, probably not. Or at least not purposefully/consciously.

But back to my point made in my prev post, Asra is a brown man with white hair. His mother ALSO has white hair.

Nadia's sister, Nafizah, has white hair (fades to pink, questionably, but it's mostly white, so still fits the stereotype). Nazifah's mother, Nazrin, ALSO HAS WHITE HAIR.

All of these characters mentioned are BIPOC characters. (I say BIPOC as an overarching, all-encompassing term because I think all these characters are Middle-Eastern, especially given they were heavily inspired by Middle-Eastern cultures, so there's that.)

Every single one of these characters (from the same damn game) have white hair.

And yes, some are the children of others, so genetics work their magic.

But why not give them black or brown hair, like with Muriel or Namar (Nafizah's father) or Salim (Asra's father)?

I just think about this a lot, and there's so many characters depicted like this, ESPECIALLY in this one game.

Okay, now that the thought puke is over—

Again I LOVE all of these characters! Very, very much, in fact.

I think it's just interesting to question the why of these things— why do so many BIPOC characters have white hair? It makes me wonder.

Thank you for your ask— and the opportunity for me to think further on this as a result so I could get my words put in, perhaps, a better fashion.

I also wish designers did more ethnic hair! It is beautiful, and it should be celebrated and shown more.

Something I'd like to add that isn't canon to Atlantis, but I think about a lot:

All of the Atlanteans that have hair seem to have these straight edges, with only a few stray, "sharper" hairs here and there.

This could be simply a result of how they cut their hair, but I doubt they'd do sloppy, uneven work.

That, coupled with the way their hair always looks segmented and "layered" in these flat, squared-off strips has always made me think of locs or wicks, especially when it makes their hair look bigger.

I know a lot of it is simply the movie's style, but I think about it a lot anyway.

[umbraastaff]

I Saw Seven Bounties, chapter 2

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Now on Ao3!

Kravitz throws his scythe on the ground, and it evaporates in a very unsatisfying manner because it doesn’t exist when he’s not holding it. How dare that lich-- sorry, “Barry” “Bluejeans”-- set KRAVITZ, the Raven Queen’s best reaper, on fire? If his sentence in the Eternal Stockade wasn’t already set for a mortally inconceivable period of time, Kravitz might actually propose it be lengthened for resisting arrest.

He writes the stupid, obviously-fabricated name into the “nickname” portion of the bounty sheet for the lich. If nothing else, he has a tiny bit more information, some miniscule notion of progress. Not that this is going to be a gradual progression. He’s taking down that lich the next time they meet.

For someone who claimed to not know the “death police” existed, Barry sure does a good job of avoiding them. If he has any specific home base, he moves around enough that there’s no way to pinpoint it. He’s hard enough to pinpoint, himself-- anytime his energy gets picked up, he’s already gone.

It takes several more weeks of watching and waiting and predicting where the red lich will appear, mixed with a fair amount of luck, but Kravitz finally gets ahold of a location Barry’s still hanging around at. It’s a large, dusty library in a tiny, abandoned town-- probably had more books than people, even in its heyday.

Kravitz creeps around the corners of shelves in perfect silence, only to find the lich entirely off-guard, reading a book. He’s using two Mage Hands to do it, and at least those are blue. But the moment he has that thought, both of them fade to an inky black. The lich raises his head, surprised, and quickly finds Kravitz.

“Oh, uh,” he doesn’t seem particularly concerned, “Hi again, Kraaaaavitz, right?”

Kravitz starts walking forward, drawing his scythe as he goes. “I’m honored you bothered to remember my name when you won’t even give me yours.”

The lich puts a bookmark in the book. Then he uses one of his real hands-- the skeletal ones-- to unzip a line in the dimensional fabric, something not far from a function of Kravitz's scythe. Then he drops the book through the hole and waves it closed. As Kravitz carefully eyes his hand movements for elemental gestures (like the one for that god-forsaken fire), Barry says, “I’m, wait, sorry? I thought I did, uh, give that to you. It’s, I’m Barry Bluejeans, that’s my real name. I’m- I’m not fantasy Rumplestiltskin over here.”

With that, the gap between them is closed, and Kravitz takes a definitive swing. His scythe actually covers a wider area than its visual representation shows, and it can pull a targeted soul from any direction within its radius. So of course it comes as a surprise when Barry actually moves in the opposite direction, and in fact opts to roll backwards and phase through a bookshelf.

“Okay, uh, sorry again. I have, uh, a couple questions about the-- about your allegations, that you mentioned last time-- when we met?” His voice, low and gruff and making no effort to be spooky, doesn’t come from any one cluster of books. It’s being projected in such a way that it’s coming from all directions. Clever. “Because I think, actually, you might be wrong about, pretty much all of it.”

“You’re a lich,” Kravitz says. “You- you’re literally, I can feel it with my goddamn magic reaper senses, a defiance of the balance between life and death.”

“That’s harsh, but sure, okay. Can you say-- can you walk me through the, uh, the charges from before, though?” He pauses for a moment, but Kravitz can still feel his energy hanging like static in the air. He can almost see the red of the electricity. “I can, uh, I’ll come out of the walls, afterwards, if you want? So you can take a, another swing, at me.”

Kravitz narrows his eyes, but he perfectly recites, “Self-applied undeath, creation or takeover of living bodies beyond permissible minion-related necromancy, and twenty-six deaths that were not followed by a trip to the Astral Plane.”

The energy in the air dances lightly across the books on the shelves. Kravitz tenses, because it’s similar to the patterns when liches start breaking down, but… nothing happens. Finally, Barry says, “So, yeah, okay, gonna start with the second thing. What’s-- what do you mean by, uh, creation of bodies? I haven’t- I definitely never possessed anyone.”

“You should know,” Kravitz says. “The only way to have a death count higher than one is to return to a new living body. And the only way to do that is to possess one or grow one.”

“It’s not, but uh, thanks for the tip that you’ve got-- that there’s a really just, absolutely disgusting way of coming back to life. I’ll be sure to, I’ll, uh, look into it.” The magic crackles again, making the shelves creak this time. Kravitz waits. “And, okay, the other two things. What’s your jurisdiction?”

“I… everywhere?”

“Can you just-- can you humor me for a minute here, and uh, tell me what’s the jurisdiction for enforcing those laws, in very-- in formal terms?”

Kravitz thinks for a moment. “The Material, Ethereal, and Astral Planes.”

“Just in this planar system?”

“Yes?” Kravitz’s voice is a little off pitch, caught completely off-guard by the question. “Yes. The only planar system, Mr. Bluejeans.”

“Oh,” say the walls. The energy in the room gets a little sharper, pricking at Kravitz’s skin. He holds up his weapon, ready for Barry’s complete nonsense to dissolve into the insanity liches are known for. The magic still doesn’t feel angry, exactly, but it doesn’t need to be-- just tense. Ready to crack like an eggshell around its wielder.

But it doesn’t. The power touching Kravitz pulls back into the walls, and he feels an odd lightheadedness, as if he’s been upside-down this entire time and only just now has started standing upright. The voice sounds again, now from a specific direction: right in front of him. “I said I’d stand here for a-- for at least a second, and you did answer all my dumb, uh, my dumb shit questions, so--”

Kravitz doesn’t need any more invitation than that. He swings his scythe, hard. The red robe before him dissolves. There’s no soul because of course there isn’t.

“--too slow,” the projection says, and Kravitz can swear he sees it wink an eye socket as it vanishes. And then, before he can focus on finding the lich’s actual location, a book falls on his head. Several more are already on the floor around him, having fallen from the highest shelf on the rapidly descending bookshelf.

Mere moments later, Kravitz finds himself questioning his decision to take this job from underneath a sizeable pile of books and a massive bookshelf resting atop it.

Barry Bluejeans is gone.

Again.