#read my new story everyone!

[geneticdriftwood]

persephone's in hell; a rooftop conversation

for @mysterycitrus

persephone's in hell, @mysterycitrus // white winter hymnal, fleet foxes // assorted dc comics

[tannnnblogs]

Part 1 | Part 2

[ace-and-ranty]

MORE SCHOLOMANCE. MORE SCHOLOMANCE!

ATTENTION EVERYONE, MORE SCHOLOMANCE!!!

[focsle]

I hate and love that my comic scratches the ultimate itch of the sort of narrative I want to consume because on the one hand, I love working on it and it is fully my Essence. But on the other hand, when I want to unwind and am craving a particular Type Of Story only to remember that it doesn't exist I'm just like......do I gotta do everything myself?

[mintjeru]

chibifies your joongdoks 💕

open for better quality | no reposts

[carlyraejepsans]

for real WHERE does the idea that [utdr humans] are nongendered so that "you can project on them" come from. their literal character arcs are about NOT being a blank slate to be filled in by the audience

i think i understand the assumption on some level for undertale, because there is a very intentional effort to make you identify with the "player character" in order to make your choices feel like your own (the beating heart of undertale's metanarrative lies in giving you an alternative path to violence against its enemies after all, and whether you're still willing to persue it for your own selfish reasons. YOUR agency is crucial).

of course, the cardinal plot twist of the main ending sweeps the rug from under your feet on that in every way, and frisk's individuality becomes, in turn, a tool to further UT's OTHER main theme: completionism as a form of diegetic violence within the story. replaying the game would steal frisk's life and happy ending from them for our own perverse sentimentality, emotionally forcing our hand away from the reset button.

i think their neutrality absolutely aids in that immersion. but also, there's this weird attitude by (mostly) cis fans where it being functional within the story makes it... somehow "editable" and "up to the player" as well? which is gross and shows their ass on how they approach gender neutrality in general lol.

but also like. there's plenty of neutral, non PCharacters in undertale and deltarune. even when undertale was just an earthbound fangame and the player immersion metanarrative was completely absent, toby still described frisk as a "young, androgynous person". sometimes characters are just neutral by design. it's not that hard to understand lol.

anyone who makes this argument for kris deltarune is braindead. nothing else to say about it.

[tsireyast]

I feel like we dont talk about one of the main reasons nico was ostracized at camp, not just because hes a son of hades.

Camp half blood is small enough so that rumors and information spread fast, but that doesn't mean they are always right. So imagine you're a random camper, and you're told nico, one of the new campers, gets in a big fight with Percy. During which he makes skeletons appear and somehow opens a huge crack in the floor. But percy wins and nico leaves camp.

Don't you think it would've rang a bell?

Don't you think it would've reminded them too much of two summers ago, with luke?

Dont you think everyone would've been even more scared, because now they know nico is a child of hades, one of the big three, and therefore very powerful?

There must have been so many rumors that summer of nico being part of the kronos army. Betraying camp just like luke did.

Of course after the battle of manhattan many people would've changed their minds. Hes in their side now, after all. But there are probably still many campers who think nico left them to join luke, before he changed their mind and helped them win against luke and kronos. People who still hold a grudge against him for joining the "enemy".

[measurelessdreamer]

Part III of my musings of my scogan kid fic idea - How they tell Kayla

Part I | Part II

They need to tell her somehow. They need to tell all of them, obviously, but judging by the situation, telling her takes precedence over the rest, at least in some way. Logan and Scott might not agree on many things, but they have to agree on this.

Naturally, they have no idea how, though. Even if they put aside the fact she is only four, Logan doesn’t know her, and as for Scott, despite the endless list of contingencies he has up his sleeve, this is a situation anyone would be running short on.

It’s another one of these things that show just how different they are. Scott wants to settle on the exact words they’ll say, Logan thinks it’s ridiculous and that no words, no matter how carefully scripted and rehearsed, could make it any easier on her or them. Scott wants to rip the band aid off, Logan wants to avoid shattering that little girl’s world for as long as possible.

“She’s gonna know, Logan,” Scott says through gritted teeth and Logan knows he shouldn’t doubt that when out of the two of them, it’s no competition who is more fluent in her needs and feelings, but it doesn’t really occur to him how much out of the loop he can be about this until it happens and it’s so sudden, heightened senses or not, he doesn’t know he misstepped until it’s too late.

I imagine it’s not his fault, though. He and Scott are wired differently and as much as they both have it in them to easily love this little girl, they go about it in different ways. Scott needed time to become confident and comfortable in the role of a father to such a young child. Logan followed his gut because there was little else he could do when Kayla would thrash in someone else’s arms to the point bones would start breaking and he has at least adamantium to support him. There wasn’t much time to second-guess back then.

But she is older now and as much she has no way of knowing the full extent of her powers, she is much less prone to losing her control. She knows her limits with Logan, she knows her limits with Scott. She can see when they happen not to return the favour.

Logan’s as much to blame for it as a person who has never held a baby in their arms would be for holding them the wrong way, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting to see her smile one second and then look at him with something akin to fear glinting in her eyes for long enough that Logan sees the red beams that are threatening to be let out. It’s not that she wants to hurt him, but something is wrong and worst of all, something is wrong with Logan and she’s scared and she doesn’t know what’s happening until Scott makes his way into her field of vision and gets her to calm down.

I imagine she originally meant to tease Logan. With her teleporting ability, she would sometimes appear out of thin air where he could see her and she would scream “boo!” And laugh halfway through it because she could never catch him off-guard as her teleporting radius is small enough for him to catch her scent or hear her footsteps before she makes her move. But this Logan isn’t as in tune with her and, not only that, he happens to be deeply in thought when it happens and instead of maintaining his composure and greeting her with a smile, she sees him flinch for the first time and waits for the grin to come and for the sense of accomplishment to greet her, but it never comes and it’s terrifying.

Alternatively, I imagine it could have something to do with Logan having memories of drowning. I originally meant for one version to be sort of subtle to the point that no one else would notice Logan’s mistake aside from Kayla, and the other one would have to do with flinching, but it turns out they both are about flinching. But this other time would be scarier in a way. Let’s say that Kayla is playing with a watergun and she finds Logan and Scott and sneaks up on them and shoots and it’s bad luck she chooses Logan as her first target and that she hits him in the face. The Logan from this timeline would glare and groan and, in worst cases, tell her he’s not in the mood right now, but this Logan has no such memories to guide him. Instead, another memory of water resurfaces and it’s the last thing he remembers and he knows he’s no longer there, but he just forgets for a moment and the flinch comes along with the familiar sound of his claws coming out and as if scaring the shit out of Kayla is not enough, he now has Scott staring at him with something he can’t place. He wants it to be judgment but he has a feeling it’s not.

She doesn’t run away, but he thinks that has much more to do with Scott than it does with him. He wishes he could run away the moment Scott tries to explain things to her. It doesn’t sound rehearsed because he is taking cues from her which is so rarely what he does that Logan can’t help noticing.

She has questions because of course she does and as much as Scott could answer all of them to some degree, Logan is best suited for it and it’s damn time he actually looks at her.

“So… you travelled in time? Like Marty?” she asks.

“Marty McFly. From Back to the Future,” Scott supplies, making the math and realising the intricacies of Logan’s time travel far too late and so does not escape the look Logan sends him.

“I got that much. Nice to see something that didn’t change.” Even if it’s just a movie. Even if he has no idea why she could reference it.

She asks where he comes from and he tells her. She asks why he would want to change the future, he says it wasn’t the future anyone would want. He doesn’t see the trap door until it’s too late, doesn’t realise that she is too young to comprehend that her sheer existence is his doing and that everyone in this school would be dead by now if it weren’t for him. She only sees a man who looks like her father and isn’t and his being here means her dad is gone.

“I don’t like this. I don’t want it. I want my dad,” she says and neither Scott or Logan can come up with what to say. They both try, but she doesn’t listen and she runs away before they can try again and Logan feels dread unlike any other. The future was fixed, he’d done the impossible, but he can’t fix this.

“Give her time. She’ll come around,” Scott says, ever the diplomat, but there is an undercurrent to his voice that is the only reason Logan isn’t telling him to go fuck himself because the words sound empty but aren’t a jab and Logan knows he doesn’t know this Scott and how they possibly found themselves being fathers to a little girl, but everyone else seems similar to people he’d come to know and care about, and so things cannot be so different-

“Would you come around?” he asks and it is a jab because he remembers what it was like to see Scott after Jean’s death and even if it no longer applies to this Scott, it is in his head and he cannot unsee it. “Sometimes you just can’t come around, Slim.”

“Clearly,” Scott says and Logan doesn’t know what that means but before he can question it, Scott is walking away and Logan doesn’t stop him and then faces having Scott avoid him the following days.

[simgerale]

me after attempting to get back into sims and realizing i had a lot more to do than play the game

[definitelynotshouting]

Can i just say guys, holy fucking macaroni, like. I know i say this a lot, but the reception for hunger au has been like NOTHING ive ever experienced before, and im so incredibly grateful for it. Genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much-- writing hunger au has probably been my best overall experience of 2023 and thats all thanks to yalls lovely comments, bookmarks, kudos, and asks i get in my inbox about it. It's hard to believe this is real sometimes, you guys just blow me away ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Its still several hours from midnight for me, but i wanted to wish everyone a preemptive happy new year anyways :] heres to another year of hunger au, which is so very far from being finished, and i cant wait to keep writing it for yall!!!!! :DD and again, thank you guys so so much for such a crazy and wonderful response to my self indulgent fic, because without it this never would have grown to be what it is today❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Happy New Year everybody!!!! 🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆 See yall in 2024!!! :D

[icewindandboringhorror]

recent lounging babey images

[coquelicoq]

raksura for the ask meme?

YAY

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most) moon was designed in a lab to appeal to me personally, so. it's about the trust issues!

scrunkly (my "baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped) the sky copper clutch!! traumatized children imprinting on a guy with baby fever is usually what i go to fanfic for so to have it right there in canon? incredible. i love all of frost's little tantrums and idk, just the way that she claims moon as her family in a way that has nothing to do with court politics? she's like, we're your clutch, obviously. and this is our court because it's your court, and all the other jabronis who live here are on thin ice. she's ready to throw down with moon's wife/the government at all hours of the day and she's like six years old. i love that moon has that energy in his life even though he personally is pretty confused and exhausted by it lol.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave) it's hard out here for an ember stan because he is in so few scenes relative to the space he occupies in my psyche! i need 5000% more interactions between him and moon. him and stone. him and shade. him and river. him and the teachers. him and the clutches. him and jade and balm and chime. oh my god him and malachite? him and celadon? him and delin??

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week) niran. i'm always up for a "longsuffering ship captain resigns himself to another restless night of hearing gigantic shapeshifters with incredible stamina fuck nasty on the roof of his cabin" moment. technically i have never been in that exact situation, but i feel like i can relate.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave) river who is CLASSIC poor little meow meow territory like yes his whole personality is being a grade A asshole and sure he tries to kill my blorbo a few times, but once you get to know him he's so sad and pathetic that i'm kind of like okay where can i sign up to defend him from the largely factual aspersions of his dozens of quite frankly justified haters? he'd hate that. the good shit 👌

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason) stone. every time he crankily says "why did i ever reproduce" upon finding himself entangled in yet another ridiculous clusterfuck thanks to one of his hundreds of idiot great-great-great-great-great grandchildren, an angel gets its wings. he's depressed and antisocial but he can't totally check out because he has to mediate relationship issues between his dumbass relatives. love that for him.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell) malachite but specifically because malachite would not be scared of superhell. she'd skulk around being invisible, maybe fuck some shit up if she felt like it, and leave when she got bored. she probably makes it like. opal night's sister city or something. and nobody in the court is at all phased. yeah that's our reigning queen who recently got back from vacation in superhell. she does that. she says it's relaxing.

[the-darklings]

Hi I found coa a while back and I’m obsessed with it and I was wondering if you’ll ever work on it again? No pressure or anything just curious

heyo

first, thank you for reading. second, it’s honestly unlikely i’ll return to coa. jw4 did the opposite of inspiring me — it was a massive let down and it kinda killed my hype for the franchise :// I think i’m at a point where i’m done fooling myself and can admit that the characters in that series have outgrown coa boundaries.

however, if you like coa you might be happy to hear but all all original characters in that series, including v herself, are main characters in the original novel series i’m working on.

[mishkakagehishka]

Should i say something controversial

[suddencolds]

Loose Ends | Genshin Impact

Happy (late now, I'm sorry!) birthday, @caughtintherain!! I hope it was a good one! :) ❤️

I am hopelessly behind on archon quests (I haven't officially met Kaveh or exchanged more than a few sentences with Al-Haitham) and Genshin as a whole; hence, I feel super unqualified to be writing this. (The last time I wrote anything for Genshin was over a year ago—how time flies!)

That said, please take this Kavetham / Haikaveh fic ft. sick Kaveh—it was fun to try my hand at writing new characters after so long; I hope this is okay!

—

It is only, as far as Kaveh is concerned, a mild cold.

It starts off with a slight twinge in his throat, a rasp to his voice, a headache that a daytime nap can’t shake off. Small annoyances, but nothing more than an inconvenience—the slight hoarseness to his voice is barely noticeable after he clears his throat, and the good thing about the headache and the sore throat are that they don’t show, which means that while he takes extra care to keep his distance with clients, he looks no less presentable than usual.

It’s not exactly his intention to push himself, but he doesn’t go out of his way to take things easy, either. He has plenty of things to worry about already—a meeting with a client to go over a second round of design proposals, and before that, several new alternative proposals to sketch out, in light of the client’s feedback on his initial sketches. Then there’s the delivery of materials to worry about for a different project—he needs to go through the materials to make sure that they line up with the load-bearing calculations he’s done and then, in the following few days, supervise the construction of its most basic foundations. Everything—the delivery, the work he’s paid for in construction, the meetings he’s added to his calendar—is on a tight schedule, and Kaveh has no intention of going back on his promises.

It’s for that reason that he stays up a couple nights in a row finishing the sketches. Kaveh is nothing if not thorough—he considers both aesthetic presentation and practicality in tandem, makes small adjustments to the building at hand, from its most basic foundations to its exterior qualities—sloping roofs and high, curved windows, its circular stairwells and wide, elegant columns. He thinks, too, on how to present his work—his client had said that the first round of designs had seemed too extravagant and asked for something more subtle and understated, but Kaveh believes that even buildings which appear unremarkable can be thoughtful and elegant in their subtleties. The challenge is just in the execution.

And it’s for that reason that he ignores the harsh, grating cough that develops, the headache which only seems to worsen, the exhaustion that he can’t quite seem to shake—then again, is that not just to be expected, when it’s been days since he’s had a proper night’s rest? He’d certainly had his fair share of late night work at the Academiya, back when he’d frequently stay up late to help other students with their work—a little tiredness isn’t anything he’s not accustomed to.

On the third day, when he wakes up congested and shivering, when every subsequent sneeze scrapes at his throat, when he finds himself dizzy and too-hot in such a manner that suggests he might be running a fever, he waves off all of these things, gathers his latest sketches, and heads out into town just before dawn for the meeting.

It goes well enough—he can tell his client takes well to the new sketches for the way she surveys his designs, her eyes bright, and asks him about the feasibility of several new features. The new adjustments will be more work—more work with a quick turnaround, if he intends to keep everything up to their initial schedule—but that doesn’t bother him. If anything, he takes a little pride in the fact that the sketch she’s picked out is one that she is interested enough in to consider adding to it.

Their back and forth takes longer than planned, and by the time he leaves, his voice is slightly hoarse from overuse, his throat so sore that just speaking is enough to make him cough. His client wishes him well—actually, she tells him to get some rest, and to take his time on his next round of drafts, but also taking into account the work he has with supervising construction, he really ought to hurry things up to keep both projects coming along.

When Kaveh finally steps out from the building, it’s raining hard.

Of course today, of all days, he doesn’t have an umbrella on him. Just his luck. Al-Haitham will laugh him into his grave. But he can’t exactly wait out the rain, even if he wishes to—he has lots to do, preferably in the quiet space of his own study, and there’s no guarantee that this inclement weather will let up anytime soon.

So Kaveh does all he can, in this situation—he makes sure his manuscripts are all securely locked up in his briefcase. Then he books it. 

It’s not a long run, but it’s raining hard enough that by the time he arrives before the front door, his clothes are soaked. He wrings the rainwater out of his cape, sets his briefcase down gingerly, and reaches for his keys.

The house—Al-Haitham’s house, technically, though Kaveh doesn’t like to refer to it as such—is very quiet when he steps inside. The lights are off in the central living room, and as far as he can see, there’s no one in the kitchen, or Al-Haitham’s bedroom, or the study. Probably Al-Haitham is out, still, finishing up the day’s work.

Kaveh gets changed.

It’s a good thing, he thinks, that Al-Haitham isn’t home to see how he’s shivering so hard that it takes longer than usual to loosen his cape, to unclasp his belt, to pull his shirt over his head. It’s a good thing that Al-Haitham isn’t home to hear the loud—terribly loud—sneezes that tear through him (too loud, he thinks, to be neatly contained within the four walls of his bedroom), nor the harsh, fitful coughs that he’s been muffling into his elbow all morning. if he were, surely Kaveh would never hear the end of it.

It’s a small consolation that his sketches are dry, at least—safely locked up inside his briefcase, which at least offers the most basic protection against the elements. The new, dry clothes he picks out are a relief, too, once he changes into them. But his hair is still wet, and even though he’s changed, he finds he can’t stop shivering.

He really is a mess, he thinks.

But no one has to know. Not his clients, nor the agencies he’s worked with, nor his mentors and his peers from the Academiya, and certainly not Al-Haitham, so long as Kaveh resolves to stay out of his way. If he can produce a sketch of the building’s layout which exceeds his client’s layout expectations, his situation is irrelevant; the head cold he feels brewing is entirely inconsequential.

So he takes a seat at his desk, reviews his notes from today’s meeting, and gets to work.

—

The next few hours are less than optimal. More than once, he finds himself on the verge of dozing off, snaps awake from the pencil in his hand arcing from a steady, intentional line to a shaky tangent. Eventually, he resigns himself to keeping his head propped up on one hand as he works, if only to keep himself awake.

His head hurts fiercely. There’s a small part of him—a part which he diligently elects to ignore—which tells him that it’d probably go away much faster if he’d allowed himself some proper rest. He can rest when he’s finished, he tells himself, but judging by his current progress, that won’t be anytime soon. 

He’s so focused on his work—or, rather, so distracted by the headache, with the chills he can’t quite seem to shake—that he barely hears the front door open.

Barely, which is to say, he notices it still. Al-Haitham had advised him last night to get some rest—a thoughtful enough remark taken alone, if only it were not immediately followed with something along the lines of, It is in my own best interest if you don’t keep me up all night coughing. As if his noise-canceling headphones would not be a suitable—convenient, even—solution to that.

Just for that, Kaveh resolves to keep quiet, now. Just for that, he stifles each subsequent sneeze, muffles every ensuing cough as quietly as possible into his arm. If Al-Haitham has any complaints for all the noise he’s making, at least he can say he’d attempted to be quiet.

Barely half an hour goes by before he hears the knock on his door.

Kaveh clears his throat. “Come in,” he says. 

Al-Haitham does—he steps fully inside and shuts the door behind him. “Kaveh,” he says.

Kaveh sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Let me guess. I’m being too loud,” he says.

“I can’t help it if I— if I have to— hEHh-!” Ironically, he feels the all-too-familiar prickle settle in his nose. He’s felt it enough times over the past few days to know exactly what it precedes. “Hheh…. HEhH’eEZSCHhhEW!” It’s already humiliating enough to have to be doing this while Al-Haitham is watching. It’s with an awful sense of certainty that he realizes that he isn’t done. “hHEH… hh-HhH-hEHh’iSSCHH-YuE!”

It’s a relief, really, to let out a sneeze properly after he’s stifled so many, though it’s loud, especially in the enclosed space of his room. Kaveh sniffles, rubs his nose on the back of his hand. “Believe me,” he says, clearing his throat, though he thinks his voice doesn’t sound any less hoarse when he speaks up again, “I don’t want this cold any more than you do.”

“You sound awful,” Al-Haitham says, as if he’s merely stating a fact.

“You wouldn’t sound any better if you spent all morning talking to clients,” Kaveh says, with a huff, which—to his great dismay—turns into an untimely fit of coughs. 

“I distinctly recall telling you to get some rest,” Al-Haitham says.

“And I remember telling you it was none of your business when I sleep,” Kaveh says. “I can— hHEHh-!” he turns away—from Al-Haitham, from the desk with all of his papers—to catch a “hH-hhEH-HEh’IISSCHh-yUe!” in one cupped hand. He sniffles again, rubbing his nose, and levels as convincing of a glare as he can muster. “I can take care of myself.”

Al-Haitham frowns, seemlingly unbothered by Kaveh’s… well, rather unsubtle display. “If that was true, you’d already be on the mend by now.”

“It’s only a cold, Al-Haitham,” Kaveh says, with a sniffle. “I just have to let it run its course.”

“That sort of negligent attitude is what landed you in this very position in the first place.”

Kaveh’s head hurts. Whatever reasoning Al-Haitham has for why he’s caught this cold, he doesn’t want to hear it. He needs to finish up his sketches, needs to perform the necessary calculations to ensure the foundations he’s drawn are spatially optimized and will take well to any structural or environmental pressure. “Is that all?”

“No,” Al-Haitham says.

Kaveh shuts his eyes, braces himself for an earful. But whatever Al-Haitham is planning to say, he doesn’t get to hear it before he’s veering away again, sharply, burying his nose into his elbow just in time for—

“hhH… hEHh- hHEh’EZSCHhh’ew! HHEH’iIKSHhhEW! Excuse mbe… hh… HEHH’DZSCHh-iEEw!” 

He emerges, slightly teary-eyed, disoriented and blinking, which is why he doesn’t have time to intercept the hand that Al-Haitham presses to his forehead.

It is there only for a moment. Al-Haitham’s hand is surprisingly warm—it’s soft, a little calloused.

Then it’s gone. It takes Kaveh a few moments to parse the feeling in his chest as disappointment.

“You’d better keep your distance,” he says. “If you come down with this in a few days, I want it on the record that I wasn’t the one who told you to step foot inside my room.”

He expects a snappy response, as usual—sometimes, he thinks Al-Haitham has made a hobby solely out of being disagreeable. But Al-Haitham only frowns, watching him with such scrutiny that Kaveh wants to shrink away under it, knowing that Al-Haitham—now, as always—sees him so clearly. “Have you taken anything for your headache?”

It’s not a question he expects. Kaveh must not do a good job at keeping the surprise off his face. “What?” 

“Nothing yet, then,” Al-Haitham says, interpreting his hesitation as a proper response (which is infuriating, Kaveh thinks—he hasn’t even said anything). “How about for your fever?”

“I don’t—”

“If you are going to attempt to deny it,” Al-Haitham says, “You’d have much better luck with something that I haven’t just verified for myself.”

Kaveh rolls his eyes, sniffling. “You wouldn’t have believed me regardless.”

“Probably not.”

At least they agree on that.

Al-Haitham steps behind him, reaches over the desk to snag the papers he’s laid out over it—sketches, meeting notes, architectural blueprints, scratch paper. In one swift motion, he gathers the papers and lifts them out of reach.

“Haitham,” Kaveh hisses, scrambling to his feet. “Those are for a client.”

“I will give them back to you once you’ve recovered fully,” Al-Haitham says, turning on his heels to head for the door. “Subject to my discretion.”

“You can’t just take them! I… n-need…  hEHh… them for… hehH… my… hH-HheHH-hHEH’TZSCHh’YYUE! snf-!”

“Bless you. If you lay down, I’ll consider giving them back sooner.”

Al-Haitham is truly insufferable. Kaveh is truly, never forgiving him, (though later, when Al-Haitham comes back carrying steaming hot tea, which he says has medicinal properties that should help with headaches—procured helpfully from Tighnari, which is why he was out later than usual; later, when Kaveh wakes to a hand on his forehead, a familiar voice uncharacteristically soft, an extra blanket tucked neatly around him; Kaveh finds himself nearly convinced).

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

Why are people who look at comic books from a “critical real-world lens” so obsessed with identifying the one person who is “100% right”. That doesn’t even exist in the real world.

Lost Days wasn’t made to protest global issues. It is a comic book exploring fictional character Jason’s mental journey after being resurrected and regaining consciousness against his will and/or power. Now how dare this character, in his own story where he has his own personal objective, not go out of his way to make sure each individual child from the collective hundreds he saved from traffickers and the likes gets adopted into nice homes. Obviously we have to disregard any good he did or that he cares at all because all he did was kill the fucker at the top who was responsible. Winick also never fleshed out all 42 of the trafficked children into nuanced characters with their own thoughts and feelings which was apparently neglectful lol.

In regards to utrh, Idk what this person read but there were more drug dealers Jason didn’t kill than those he did. Not once did he ever say he wanted to eliminate the flow of drugs in the community. He took over the trade. Not to mention he explicitly stated control vs elimination is where his goals differed from Bruce’s pipe dream hence why he’s successful and Bruce is still failing. Obviously if you completely misunderstand the character’s motivations you’ll find issues that don’t exist.

People just don’t want stories to be about what they are about, huh.