#regardless of how you characterize her

[desultory-novice]

Hello! I've seen many of your posts, and I have to say that I really appreciate your posts about Susie. It's saddening to see how controversial she is, I wish she didn't get as much negative discourse as she's gotten. She is within my top 5 favorite characters in the series.

She's definitely not a total innocent goody-good by any stretch of the imagination, but I also believe some people exaggerate her antagonistic traits. I think it's very much possible that she could interact positively with some others of the Kirby cast.

My question to ask you is: What friendly interaction headcanons may you have between her and Kirby? I could imagine she gained respect for Popstar after the ending of Planet Robobot and probably vacations there sometimes (assuming she doesn't live in Popstar), and I of course imagine that Kirby would be the easiest person to befriend and have light-hearted interactions with.

Thank you so much! Honestly, same about Susie.

I think the discourse about her has been just a little too one-sided. Like you bring up, some people hold the things she did against her in a way the other characters just don't end up seeing. And I'm not calling for people to then turn around and rub other character's misdeeds in their face by pointing that out. ^^;

I believe I understand WHY Susie is somewhat singled out in this way - as to many people, Planet Robobot's story felt a little too pulled from the headlines. But I think that whiff of realism has overshadowed PR's ACTUAL story for too long at this point.

The game is 7 years old already...

Oh gosh, I also wish people could just be more...hmm, balanced about her? For a while, the discourse was that "she should be allowed to be a kickass evil boss bitch!" and, woo! Yeah! But...she can also be allowed to be a complex character who is not entirely one way or the other about her checkered past too...!

She did evil things. She doesn't have to wear that on her flashing "bad girl" lapel nor does she have to become "Susie Homemaker" (ohoho) to be allowed into the heroes club. There's a rich Susie middle ground to be explored there too!

-

Moving on to the ask itself: I love the idea of having Susie interact as she is with the greater cast at large! She's got so many wonderful and interesting traits outside those associated with her evil deeds!

As for her and Kirby. We all know she LOVES ice cream. Not only that, the Super Kirby Clash update entry where she turns Magolor's gem apple stock into apple sherbet (...I am now SO curious to know how Master Crown Sherbert tastes btw...) so we know that she literally cannot help herself when it comes to the cool, delicious sweet, as she pilfers from a complete (?) stranger's (?) supply of fruit to make some the moment she sees the possibility!

I can just imagine the two of them with their hands and faces pressed to the glass of any given ice cream shop. (Susie, being Susie, might threaten to buy the place outright if they don't get served fast enough. And innocent Kirby, rather than chastise her for this flaunting of an old family vice, would probably just respond with sparkles in their eyes: "A WHOLE ice cream shop just for us?!")

-

I also think it's fun that Susie loves to sing and sings really well and Kirby...doesn't. Well, Kirby loves to sing but does NOT sing well. Susie seems like enough of a perfectionist that, rather than leave the room running like most of Kirby's other friends would do when Kirby grabs the mic might painstakingly try to teach Kirby their scales. (Though she might turn down the volume on her ears first!)

-

PR's website gave us an insight into Susie's schedule and we know she's the overworking type. I think that this is the one area where Kirby is going to do something for HER and teach her the importance of just stopping what you're doing, sitting down, and resting.

Initially, she would grumble, talking about all the other things she could be doing right now that are on her schedule, till something about having our cute fluffy pink and puffy resting beside her finally makes her realize stopping... isn't such a bad thing after all.

I think it would be this that might get her to take a second look at Popstar. At its natural beauty. At how simple life can be...could have been. She might even find herself crying for the first time in years.

...Oh no. Oh, she did not want this. She didn't ever want to stop because if she stopped, she knew she would cry. Kirby then wakes up from their nap and brushes a few tears off her cheek and gives her a hug. Because that's what you do for your friends...

-

Kirby might also invite Susie to plant a seed in the little garden they built with the remains of the Invader Armor Robobot, and they go together to check on it. Susie doesn't like to get her hands too dirty, so she upgraded Kirby's equipment slightly. But even though the garden can run on automation now, the two of them still take time to check on it and water the plants by hand.

"How are you going to know how they're doing if you don't ask them yourself?" "...You have a point, Pinky."

-

I think Weekend Susie indicates she's got a love of fashion and I imagine she'd be the one to gift LAVISHLY on gift-giving holidays. Expensive souvenir foods and clothes from some of the most metropolitan planets in the galaxy! (Not that Kirby would take time to savor the food before devouring it,, to Susie's frustration.)

Man, I kind of adore fashionista Susie, actually? Since Kirby is every/any gender via word of god, Susie would have a field day should the puff ever take an interest in fashion. You can literally dress Kirby up in ANY style! And they love all of it! (But she also faces a conundrum because, hmm, how DO you dress up a round ball?! Still, she never backs down from a challenge! And now Kirby's home requires an extension JUST for the new walk-in closet.)

Aside: IMO, Francisca is someone who is probably effortlessly beautiful. The fact that she stands out for her beauty despite dressing the exact same as her fellow mages leans toward that interpretation. I think Susie probably works REALLY HARD to look the way she wants to be seen, and she probably likes being recognized for that. I'm sure Kirby gives out compliments easy, which would bring a blush to her (possibly) cybernetic face.

(I really like cybernetic-girl Susie, btw.)

-

Winding down, as far as them becoming friends, again, I'm someone who likes to think A) the games do generally follow release order as far as timeline goes and B) the earlier games inform Kirby's treatment of characters in later games.

And it's in this instance that I think it's very important that Triple Deluxe came before PR. Kirby got to see first hand as Sectonia discarded Taranza, someone who had up to this point only hurt and mocked Kirby, even aggressively manipulating Kirby's oldest friend to fight against him!

They saw how Taranza, with the wool pulled from his eyes and forced to confront the truth that he'd lost his dearest friend years ago, does the right thing and helps them to stop her rampage. I don't think that Kirby 100% trusts Taranza(?) until Taranza comes back in with Dedede to help. But after that, Taranza IS an ally.

The reason I bring all that up is because of that lovely little moment in Planet Robobot where, despite all that Susie has done (invade Popstar, mock its people, hurt his friends) despite her bringing out a mechanized Meta Knight to force him against Kirby for a second time mere minutes ago, when her attempts to take over Star Dream backfire and it blasts her in revenge... 

...Kirby doesn't hesitate to run to her side to see if she's okay.

Kirby has seen this before. Kirby no longer has doubts that even people who've hurt him deeply are capable of being hurt themselves. And that it is less important about WHO is hurting who than the simple fact that HURTING is bad. For everyone.

Kirby was already Susie's friend.

If you're able to stop yourself from doing the wrong thing just once, heck, even if you CAN'T stop yourself (due to the malicious claws of an especially evil hat, say...) even if you are only capable of showing a flicker of regret, Kirby will offer you their hand.

(And I think that is probably why I would rather talk about the characters of PR than what real world evils its plot touches upon. Because that is where Kirby, the character and the game, puts its focus on. That is where it tells us we can save people.)

[askwitchsheart]

Invective, how are you?

gah, feels like quite the loaded question

and why would you care to begin with? such the vile putrescence

i do suggest you play nice, invective, you can't insult your way out of these

oh lady rouge, was not expecting you

but i suppose i could play along-

-and entertain this charade to it's fullest, we know

ah well, one could say i'm doing fine

as good as you can be in the miserable monotonous void that is this hell

now, enough of that, how about you? how are you doing then?

[anneapocalypse]

On Wuk Lamat's Role in the Back Half of Dawntrail

(Note: You do not have to like Wuk Lamat, you do not have to like any character, that is your business; however this post is not an invitation to expound to me on why you hate her, so if you aren't open to discussing her positively, please move along.)

Wuk Lamat is vital to the back half of Dawntrail. Her presence in the story there is both narratively and thematically important and its lack would render her character arc incomplete.

For context, I have seen some comments that there should have been less Wuk Lamat in the back half of Dawntrail. I truly don't see how that would have been possible or made sense without throwing out most of what was set up in the first half, or simply writing an entirely different story. Regardless of whether you personally vibe with her, Wuk Lamat is the main character of Dawntrail; this is her story, and it's themes and narrative beats are inextricably interwoven with her character arc.

First of all, can you imagine what people (in-universe and out) would say about her if after the attack on her people and the appearance of the dome she just... stayed in Tuliyollal with Koana and let other people do all the work? She's the Vow of Resolve. Of course she's going to be at the forefront of the action. The whole point of her choosing Koana to rule with her in a new interpretation of the tradition of blessed siblings is that they have complementary strengths, and they have a benefit that blessed siblings don't: they can be in two places at once!

Second, a big part of Wuk Lamat's journey is learning about the cultures of Tural so that she can fairly preside over them all, and in Alexandria we get to see her bring that lesson to bear in a big way when she learns about the regulators and the processing of souls. She's rattled by it but pushes past that personal reaction to say, as the Dawnservant, "Please teach me of your history and culture so that I can understand the importance of this practice." In doing so she learns critical information about the situation. This is a culture so far removed from the Turali peoples Wuk Lamat knows, and they're also a separate kingdom not technically under her rule at all, but that doesn't actually change her response. She still reaches out with curiosity and compassion, always seeking to learn and understand.

As she comes to understand Alexandria's history, she also learns the context she'll need to understand Sphene when her true motivations are revealed later. Moreover, Sphene is a very clear foil for Wuk Lamat. The Dawnservant characterized by her love for her people and her desire for their peace and happiness vs. the Endless Queen whose love for her people has been twisted into something destructive and terrible.

And then there's the narrative beats about family, and particularly the loss of parents in different ways: Wuk Lamat earning the trust of her brother's abandoned son and taking him in as family, and her being there for Erenville as he struggles to come to terms with the death of a parent (something Wuk Lamat has also experienced very recently).

And that's to say nothing of how personal Zoraal Ja's betrayal is to Wuk Lamat; of course she has confront him personally. It couldn't be anyone else (except maybe Koana, and they both seem to agree that it should be her).

The Rite of Succession is not Wuk Lamat's whole character arc; it's only the first half. It's after Wuk Lamat comes into her own as Dawnservant alongside her brother that she truly shines. It is in the back half of the story, when the stakes are dramatically raised, that all the lessons she's learned in her journey will be tested, when the peace she seeks to preserve is so brutally disrupted. We get to see her struggle emotionally with the shock of that in Tuliyollal, then rise to the challenge of leadership. How she responds to all of that is her character. It is the culmination of everything the first half of the story has set up. This is still her story.

And personally, I think it's wonderful to see a female character not only featured so prominently in the story but getting so much character development and such a complete character arc.

[bakugoushotwife]

born sinner (part one)

pairing: crime boss!suguru geto x fem!surgeon!reader series content: blood, gore, realistic descriptions of surgery but like as accurate as someone with access to google has, angst, slow-burn, eventual smut, anxiety as a heavy theme, no curses!au, violence, guns, gang mentions and typical violence, religious imagery, etc. words: 8.5k a/n: omg omg happy new year! the gojo writer takes on suguru geto!! he's so challenging for me in the best of ways and i hope that his characterization is at least tolerable LMFAO!! i got this amazing idea from a gorgeously detailed outline from @antizenin who trusted me to bring her outline to life. i hope you love it!! part two //

the lights are entirely too bright in the meeting hall. it’s nothing compared to the lights in the OR that illuminate the vessels of a heart as you slice into it—finding the clot that caused the fourty-one year old mother of two to collapse in the middle of making breakfast. you saved her life, you save lives. you’re a cardiothoracic surgeon–and a top one at that, though you spent your residency flirting with general and neurosurgery, you ultimately landed on the heart of it all–literally. it was riveting work. it was satisfying work. you got to play god, holding the lives of everyone that came through the hospital doors in your hands. you got to be the one to repair the tear in their aorta, the one to physically pump their heart with your own grip. it was thrilling. until it wasn’t. until you couldn’t stop the bleeding or make the heart beat again. until being god of the emergency room meant sending some people to the afterlife, and realizing that you are no god. you’re just a woman with a degree and a scalpel and a crippling fear that you don’t know what you’re really doing at all.

that’s what got you here. the clock in front of you is just about the only thing to look at in this section of the hospital. the board meets here—the people that convene to discuss fates. it’s almost comically just that the long hallway before the meeting room was barren and hopeless–only the clock’s hands to tick loudly by in mock of you. 7:55 am. just five more minutes until you went from the god above it all to a simple beggar praying to be spared. you were no different from those you operated on. you’re suddenly very aware of how scratchy and hard your chair is, making you adjust and readjust to try to find some semblance of comfort in the last five minutes before judgment day. as a surgeon, you know just how out of whack your vitals are. as someone with a diazepam prescription, you know exactly what’s causing it, regardless of the MD at the end of your last name. shit, you forgot to take your pills again this morning—

there’s a faint sound of heels clicking against the cold tile floor in conjunction with the loud clunk, clunk, ding dong ding! of the clock that signals the top of the hour. it’s time. the secretary calls your name as if you’re not the only person waiting out here, and you nod without meeting her eyes. you know without lifting your gaze that hers is judgmental–like everyone’s lately. 

the problem with being god is that you can’t make mistakes without feeling the wrath of the people that once loved you and championed your name.

millions of thoughts race inside your head simultaneously: if you can’t handle the hardening stare of a measly secretary, how on earth would you be able to function under the eyes of the council, the real gods amongst men. they have the authority to revoke your license if you don’t figure out how to answer to them. the one case, the one incident, the one person’s life that ended because of your inability to handle such racing thoughts drives you to clutch at your chest now as you rise from your chair, back aching. 

“right this way.” she says without another glance, and you’re thankful for that reprieve. she turns, loud heels click clacking their way back down the hall at the same pace of your hammering heart. you love being a surgeon. you can’t lose that. you have to fight for it. saving lives is important to you! you just have to convey this. it’s not hard. swallow your fear and finally fight for something you want, put one foot in front of the other, you tell yourself. breathe in and breathe out—you have to get your sinus rhythm back to normal if you have any hope of getting through this. but it’s so hard when all your senses lie to you like this, the clock’s ticks still rattling across your brain—the long and dark hallway only stretching to be longer and darker before you. you know it’s impossible–just your mind playing tricks. or, more aptly, part of you knows that. but the other part starts to break out in a cold sweat once you finally approach the door. on the other side of the heavy oak were the group of people who would decide what your life was worth: do you get to stay a god amongst men, or will you be cast out like the devil himself? 

you can hear the different voices speaking in low whispers before the secretary has even pushed into the room. you know they must be speaking about you from the way their eyes dart all over your timid form in front of them as they shuffle their papers—reports of every mistake and triumph you’ve ever had laid out in front of them, reducing you to a datapoint. it’s a medical license hearing, but you feel like a freshly hit opossum standing before the vultures just waiting to pick your bones clean. maybe being roadkill was more freeing than this. 

this room is much darker than the lobby you waited in, dimly lit by reading lamps positioned to the right of each panelist–five total. three men and two women would decide if your mistake was enough to ruin your career. their desk towered above you, so much so you had to tilt your chin back to be able to take in their disgruntled, disappointed, and disapproving stares. your saliva feels like liquid cement when you go to swallow it down—though it tastes like bile.  

“good morning doctor.” the man on the furthest right says. he has the kindest eyes of them all, though your brain catches his deception. he’s just acting. the other panelists give you tight lipped smiles of greeting and head nods of acknowledgement. you clear your throat a little and give them a bow. 

“good morning, board of internal medicine. i’ve…prepared a statement?” you clench your jaw at the shakiness you can hear in your voice. it’s the older of the two women that nod at you this time. 

“you may present it.” she says, a drawn-on eyebrow raised expectantly. you swallow down that bile-cement flavored spit again, training your eyes on a hairline crack in the tile under your toe. it’s fitting. as time passes, this crack will widen and cause that tile to erode and crumble away. this meeting could be the crack in your foundation. the decision made here today could be the first domino of events to ruin the picture perfect life you’ve carefully put into place. 

“..hiroshi nakamura entered the emergency room on november twenty-third at 4:57 pm. he was suffering from an aortic aneurysm. as many of you are former surgeons yourselves, i know you’re familiar with the diagnosis. many of these go unnoticed. symptomatic pain is brushed off, and many times it’s too late to save them, the silent killer.” you shift your weight, doing your best to maintain eye contact despite the haunting memory. “nakamura-san was a patient of mine previously. he was diagnosed with arteriosclerosis three years prior, the exact date escapes me. it was in the summertime. july maybe. later that day i performed an endarterectomy to reduce the atheromatous plaque in his carotid artery. we kept him for the next three days for observation, his vitals improved and he was discharged with instructions to receive regular checkups. when he was brought back in…i knew immediately that the buildup must have returned, making it harder for blood to travel until it turned into a clot. when i opened him up, his pressure started dropping. he had an aortic dissection, which i’ve run into many times. but the size of nakamura-san’s was significant. i hesitated, deciding between a graft or a stent for treatment. i took too long to choose, and nakamura-san…bled out on the operating table.” you grimace, looking down at that cracked tile again. the line was shaped like a lightning bolt, its jagged curve leading straight under your shoe. you can feel your chest tighten, so you close your eyes and try to push back against the wave of emotion sitting in your throat. “i had to tell nakamura-san’s family what happened. his wife of forty years, his thirty-four year old son, thirty year old daughter, and twenty-eight year old son as well as his young grandchildren. i’ll never forget what my mistake has done to their lives, and i believe it is punishment enough.” 

you step back once you’ve finished speaking, heart still hammering away in your chest. the members of the board nod, seemingly unaffected by your words. the man in the middle of the massive mahogany table picks up his stack of papers, licking his forefinger before flipping through them. “how long have you been prescribed diazepam, doctor?” 

your blood stills. your anxiety was clearly well documented, and you knew it would be on their list of questions. “since i was a teenager, sixteen i believe.” 

he hums, eyes focused on the paper before him. “and how would you say it helps you manage your generalized anxiety disorder?” 

you would do anything for that ticking clock right about now, for this room is so quiet you swore they could hear your thoughts. “it helps considerably. i’ve stayed on it for over ten years now.”

“your prescription history is spotty. were you trying alternative therapies?” the younger woman asks, manicured red nails clutching your entire life between them via vulturous paper reports. 

you open your mouth to answer–no, argue–but realize that won’t help you anymore than the truth will. “no. i…had not.” 

she raises her brow just like the other woman did, except her eyebrow was real and also well taken care of. “so what happened? it seems like you’ve forgotten to pick up your medicine three times this year—one of which was during nakamura-san’s surgery?” you are a cardiothoracic surgeon, one that was considered proficient enough to pick her specialty. you are no fool. you can see the trap she’s laid before you even unmedicated. 

this is the end. all because of your busy schedule and long hours at the hospital. sometimes you missed pharmacy hours, other times you just forgot about it altogether, mind racing with diagnoses and cases that wait for you the next day. but that won’t matter now, you can feel it before you even answer. they knew what they were going to do before you ever walked in this room. “my business hours are usually reserved for saving lives at this hospital. sometimes i’m not able to make it to pickup.” 

“how long until your death toll matches that of your successes, doctor?” the final man at the left asks, punctuating their line of questioning. he shuffles the edges of his papers against the flat top he sits behind. “i think our decision has been reached. you’re no longer licensed to operate in this hospital or any other, effective immediately. take your medicine.” 

he has his doubts, but he supposes that is his nature. it feels strange to organize a meeting between two warring sides, hoping for a somewhat amicable and fortuitous outcome. hope is a foreign concept in this world, in suguru geto’s reality. he runs the west side of tokyo—keeping businesses running and funding local projects as well as controlling the streets with his biggest means of profit—guns for hire. he was a local historic monument. a ghost–everyone knew of him but pretended not to. everyone from bar owners to bakeries, lawyers and school teachers alike all under his influence, his pulse on the town. that’s how he knew the rival eastside head planned to make a move on his territory, and he’s been able to orchestrate a negotiation between them based on the opinion of his mentor and right hand man. 

traditionally, suguru would eliminate his problem at the source. there’s no need to play politics when you make your own rules. but he trusts wholly in his sacred few, the ones who have been with him since the beginning of his reign, and even before then. suguru’s best friend, satoru gojo was his best assassin and loudest mouth. choso kamo was a younger pup, but loyal and hardworking—very protective. and then there was toji fushiguro, the most valued of all. he’s shown suguru the ropes of this industry while still respecting and protecting him. geto entrusts his life to toji. if the man believes a meeting would be wise, then they’ll have the meeting. 

besides, there was no arguing with his logic. if they were able to pull this off, then his men will have free reign in the east, able to expand their territory into shinjuku, and have a working alliance with their only competition. so why was he having second thoughts? he blames satoru and his creepy blue eyes staring at him in the mirror he’s checking himself over in. 

“do you not trust me?” he asks the other man, tugging the top half of his too-long black hair into a neat knot. it reveals the long dragon tattoo that creeps up his neck, eyes glowing with anger at whoever looked. his own golden eyes flicker with unease as they survey the only person in the room. suguru hated how opinionated satoru could be at times, and valued it in others. though he usually didn’t know which way he felt until after the fact. 

the arctic-haired boy scoffed, kicking himself into stride from his previous position leaning against the wall. “oh i trust you. i just think it’s weird. i mean–toji’s so gung-ho, let’s slaughter ‘em all, and now we’re supposed to believe he’s become a diplomat?”

“i didn’t know you knew what diplomat meant.” suguru comments drily, sidestepping his friend’s critique of their teacher.

satoru shoves his round sunglasses back up his nose to conceal his eye roll. suguru was technically his boss—though he could get away with more than most. “hey, you asked. i just…have a bad feeling about this.” he shrugs–a knock at geto’s door causing both men to go on high alert immediately. satoru reaches for his weapon, always expecting an ambush. such is this way of life. 

“geto–sama, the car is ready.” the driver says from the other side of the wood, and satoru relaxes at the realization that it was just ijichi–a man so weak and cowardly that an ambush at his hands would be impossible. suguru releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding onto. he fastens the final button on his shirt, glancing over himself in the mirror once again. he wanted to appear polished and professional in his all black attire—and it worked. he seemed larger than life and as intimidating as ever. 

“perfect. i should get going.” he nods to his best friend–who, due to his abrasive and blunt nature, will not be attending this meeting. suguru adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves, strapping his guns to his torso and giving satoru a tight lipped smile. the latter gets the door for him, mockingly saluting. 

“i’ll hold down the fort until you get back, boss!” he chirps, nodding to ijichi before making his way back to the data room. 

toji meets them in the car. it’s a bulletproof black bronco, a fitting vehicle to cart around a high-profile crime boss. suguru’s confidence is bolstered at the sight of his most trusted companion, and he genuinely smiles as he ducks into the backseat with him. 

“hey kid, big day.” the older man says gruffly, his gravelly voice making it sound like he were sixty years his senior instead of a mere fifteen. suguru was no child, and didn’t appear to be one either. the twenty-eight year old man towered over six feet, thick with muscle and riddled with scars of experience, but to toji—suguru was a helpless kitten. 

suguru hums, eyes already scanning for potential danger as the car rolls out of the garage. “big day indeed. you’ve spoken to him already this morning?”

toji claps his broad hand down on suguru’s even broader shoulder, chuckling. “we wouldn’t be headin’ out if i hadn’t. sukuna’s ready for us.” he assures, noting how strong and steady suguru looked. toji was proud, geto has grown quite bit from the scrappy little boy he once was. if he was nervous, he was keeping that close to his chest. 

“good. i think he’ll find my proposal beneficial for us both.” he nods, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. sukuna’s crew mostly pushed petty crime and even pettier drugs—suguru’s bunch could elevate their product and offer more riches for the notoriously greedy ‘cursed king’ ryomen sukuna. 

toji snorts a little, amused by his arrogance. “let’s hope so.” he nods, checking the rearview and windows before they fall into silence. 

the ride is smooth due to the expensive tires and ijichi’s careful nature, leaving geto plenty of peace and quiet to brainstorm all of the ways this could go down. he’s doing a genuine good for japan–sure, he has to break a few laws to do it, but the people of tokyo—well, his half anyway—are prospering. he hopes that even the arrogant man that ryomen is can see what banding together would do for them both. then, it could be just a matter of time before he can branch out into the rest of japan. 

there’s that word again. hope. he feels silly each time he catches himself using it. it’s akin to faith to him. something ideal in entirety, hardly true to the touch. he only believes in what he can see–things like optimism and god are lost on him, they are only fantasies. 

“ijichi! watch the right side—” toji commands gruffly, sitting up straighter in his seat to get a better look. suguru is grounded with a shot of adrenaline, leaning over to peer at the black suv hot on their tails. this highway is busy—civilians in their own cars without a clue in the world littered all over the roads at various speeds. it could be nothing–except geto knows better than to hope that the tinted windows on the car were meant to block out the sun instead of concealing identities. the large suv switches into the left lane, speeding up to catch them. “idiot! step on it!” he calls, and suguru draws one of his guns to be prepared ahead of time, a lesson he learned from the man sitting to his right. 

“is it one of sukuna’s?” he asks aloud, cocking his .45 as the first shots ring out from the vehicle beside them. they bounce right off his armored car, but one knicks the tire. geto curses under his breath, cracking the window enough to pop off a few returning shots of his own. the cadillac is impenetrable too–though he had hoped to flatten one of their tires in return or even get one under the hood. 

ijichi starts to lose control on the vehicle as the tire blows—just the metal rim scraping against the concrete with a deafening hiss. the bronco starts to fishtail, the car beside them only furthering the inevitable by nudging the rear quarter panel into the median ahead. “i’m losing it! we’re gonna flip!” ijichi cries out in panic, prompting suguru’s eyes to widen. 

there’s a loud crunch of metal on concrete before they’re airborne. geto feels a sense of finality wash over him as they turn, his seatbelt the only thing keeping him from breaking his neck. there’s another gross sounding scrape of the driver’s side scraping on the road briefly before they rotate again—heartbeat erratic. this is it. all of his hard work would end in a fiery car accident. he can’t even feel it as his head bounces off the window, only thinking about how satoru was right. he should have appreciated his friend more—he’s probably the only person who will mourn him when he’s gone. the roof caves in when they fall onto it this time, shrapnel scratching his face and making him realize they had stopped. they’re on their back–he’s hanging upside down, but he’s alive. he can smell oil and gas and the inevitable smell of fire, so his numb fingers fumble for the seatbelt’s release button. the car alarms are going off—and he knows if he doesn’t get out soon, the relief of being alive won’t even have time to sink in before it’s ripped away again. he looks around the car—toji’s door ripped off in the accident and his body nowhere to be seen. 

“goddammit–” he growls, clicking the button on his seatbelt over and over, unable to get free. there’s a million alarms going off—the car’s sensors, the airbags, the bitter hum of gunshots ringing in his ears still, maybe even faint police sirens heading this way. none as loud as the one in his head telling him that he had to get out soon–fighting until the button finally releases him and he lands with a thud on the sunroof portion of the now mangled bronco. he crawls toward the only exit, toji’s exit, grimacing at the sickening sound of crunching glass digging into his side as he drags himself through it. he thought dying would be more peaceful—that he would be ready for it, even if he hadn’t finished his work yet. in this business, there is no tomorrow, yet he found himself fighting for one. this wouldn’t be the end of him, some sort of voice in the back of his head told him so. it wasn’t his own, in fact he didn’t recognize it—but it made him take the pain and push forward, out of the car and onto the street beside. 

the sunset would be prettier under better circumstances, but he’s grateful to see it irregardless. his head hurts, and he can’t look around as fast as he wants to without getting dizzy, that ringing deafening his senses. he sees the cadillac–still on the scene– with a group of men huddled outside of it talking. 

he sputters out a cough, clearing his lungs of some of the debris he’s inhaled. it catches their attention—and all geto can process is a pair of dark boots stomping over rubber scraps and glass shards until they’re inches from his face and the legs attached are squatting down to get a better look at him. 

“eh, shoulda known you’d survive it if i did.” he grumbles, a voice so unmistakable suguru’s blood stills in his veins. the sole of the man’s boot shoves into suguru’s shoulder, kicking him to his back. “you trust too much kid. why would sukuna negotiate when he could just take from you instead? shame. you coulda been great.” he says, fumbling behind his back for a 9mm piece, the sobering click of the safety and familiar cock of the gun clearing out all the other noises. geto’s too devastated to speak—though he knows there’s nothing he could say. he lived through the accident just to die with the truth: his mentor betrayed him. 

bang!

getting shot doesn’t feel like you think it does. it’s white hot and instant, a blistering intensity that tells you you're dying. suguru’s hand flies to cover the damage to his chest, eyes wide in disbelief still. he must have already died and gone to hell. he can’t hear anything now but the ringing of the gun and toji’s sigh. 

“meh–just to be sure.” toji yawns, scratching his head with the barrel before turning it back to suguru’s chest. 

bang!

it hurts to breathe, but he has to gasp for air either way—bleeding out on the pavement below. the ringing in his ears is replaced by tires spinning out—signifying that the rival crew had left before the cops could arrive. suguru holds his crimson soaked hand up above his face, clenching his jaw. the pain was hitting him in waves, the clawing feeling of glass embedded in his skin mixed with the burn of being shot, the inability to take a deep breath and his growing weakness, he really was dying this time. 

no. 

that voice again. he’s annoyed by it, but intrigued. why? why not give up? he asks himself, coughing despite the excruciating pain it puts him in and the wetness that seeps out of his mouth—something even he knows is blood. 

there’s so much life to live. fight. revenge, love. there’s more for you. 

he stares up at the pale outline of the moon hanging in the sky, growing brighter as the sky darkened. revenge. that was something he’d like to see. he didn’t know about the rest of it–but was confused by this…guardian angel of his. is this god? he was a born sinner—far away from anything holy. this must be an imagination of his—yet it was motivating enough to get him to move again. they wrecked just outside of harajuku. he knew of a dive bar under his business portfolio that he could try to get to–he could hang on until satoru found him and got him to the hospital, though that was a whole new set of problems. he had to get moving, the ringing of sirens getting closer by the second. 

his vision is blackening and he doesn’t even know how close he is to the bar. his breathing is ragged, everything screaming and aching, body telling him to give up but that voice urging him to keep going. night has settled in fully by now, and he’s thankful for that cover. this area of town is avoided by anyone with good intentions, hence its emptiness at this hour. it couldn’t be too late, 8 pm at the latest, but the only traffic moving through this district are giggly college students and no good drug pushers meeting up with customers in the dark. but it’s reassuring to him, it means he’s getting closer. that’s when the reminiscing hits him. he’s able to see some bright flashing lights—a telltale sign that the bar was just ahead. the shelter of the alleyway gives him some reprieve. maybe if he stops just stopped for a second to catch his breath he’d be able to get to his feet and walk inside, or just getting a phone call in would be enough to save him. he thinks about satoru, how he’d come running as soon as he picked up the phone all while cursing him out for not listening to his warnings sooner. he feels embarrassed that the only person he has to think about is his sarcastic best friend, left to wonder if things would be better or worse if he had a family to think about instead. the last thing he thinks about is that mysterious voice calling out to him to stay awake—but his body is done fighting. all is black. 

what better way to end the worst day of your life than getting shitty at the shittiest bar in town? there were probably lots of better options, like conserving your money since you didn’t know where your next source of income would stream from—but that was tomorrow’s problem. tonight’s problem was drinking your sorrows away next to the attractive man buying all your drinks. he was tall and his hair was spiky to look at but you knew it would be soft to the touch–or maybe that’s the vodka talking. his smile was more akin to a smirk rather than a genuine grin. he was trouble. but trouble was buying, so you’d keep batting you lashes and whining about your sorrows so the shots kept coming. the top-shelf vodka the man offers each time is working to its desired effect, numbing the ache in your heart and the bickering thoughts in your brain. it almost cloaks the mildew scent in the air—rose-colored glasses making the nasty blue carpet and hideous wood paneled walls of the bar look like a dream come true. you finally feel light. you almost forget about the man eyeing you like a predator in wait to your left, consciousness floating high in the clouds. 

you used to hate drinking. as a surgeon, you need a clear mind at all times. who knew when you’d be called in for an emergency case. well, needed. plus, you’ve always been an angry drunk, overly emotional and yelling constantly. it wasn’t a pleasant sight. not to mention the hangovers, ugh—your long-term psyche had always beaten out the short-term pleasure, but tonight you owed it to yourself to feel as bas as possible tomorrow. that’s why the clouds clear—your light-hearted joy short-lived as the bartender slides you another shot before muttering. 

“that’s your last one, doctor.” he tilts his head down, used to serving your fellow surgeon friends when you did have a well-timed night off, though he’s never seen you drunk as the most responsible member of your group, you were always designated driver. not anymore, you’d be lucky to get a text back from any of them now that you were disbarred. maybe that’s what actually makes you mad instead of being cut off. it’s the realization of all the things you’ve really lost–-including the right to drown your sorrows out with a swollen liver. 

“what the fuck?? and i know ya heard me talkin’...not a doctor anymore!! so let me have my vodka, i deserve it!” you whine, stretching your upper body over the scratched and chipped wooden bar keeping you from jumping across at his dumb stupid fat neck—

“no can do, miss. you’re over served as is, ‘s my job on the line.” he shakes his head, eyeing the man next to you to get you under control, assuming he knew you better than a few hours of tipsy talking. you scoff at his insinuations–both that you’re too drunk to handle yourself and that this wallet has any sway over your motor-mouth. 

“don’t look at him—fucking look at me! i’ll kick your goddamn ass, you know that?” you’re fuming. this is the proverbial straw that broke the hypothetical camel’s back. after the day you’ve had, you’re surprised it took this much to get you this rowdy. how much was one person meant to take anyways? venting out your anger would help you plenty, you think to yourself as you lift your knee up, prepared to crawl over that wooden plank saving that man’s life. 

“security!! come get ‘er. she’s wasted.” he scoffs, taking your shot away and making your blood boil even more. “they’ll get an uber for ya. take it easy, doc.” he shakes his head, making you feel remarkably judged all of a sudden, every eye in the place was on you as a guard even bigger than the man next to you drags you off the bar as carefully as he can. you don’t make it easy, kicking and screaming out despite the burning sensation in your cheeks.

“you’re scared of a girl? that’s fucking embarrassing!” you bellow to cloak your own, getting tossed on your feet gently— outside of the dingy building. 

“come on, little lady. let’s get you a ride home.” the security guard says, another one of them making their way outside as some sort of backup–like you were some genuine threat. you scoff, folding your arms. 

“fuck off—don’t need your shitty help, i’ll get home on my own!” you kick his shin, throwing your hair over your shoulder before marching off into the dead of night. 

in one of the worst parts of town. 

the cold shocks you awake, the fear putting you on edge and pushing back the drunkenness that fought so hard to claim you. every rustle of the bushes, each twig snapping has your head on a swivel. you just need to make it to your car, though it was daytime when you foolishly parked it a few doors down to avoid the traffic of drunk people leaving later in the evening. you’ve already made half the distance, the connecting alleyway just up ahead. 

you don’t make it two hundred feet before everything hits you again—and you’re bawling at your own stupidity. you should have made time to pick up your pills. you wouldn’t have to be worried about being kidnapped or murdered in the middle of the night if you had just taken your medicine. your life if over—and you couldn’t blame anyone but yourself. you’re a mess. you’re nearly gasping for breath already—the dark alley mocks you with long shadows reflecting from the moon and stray cats that hop out of the dumpster just to make you fear the worst. you wipe at your cheeks, desperately sniffling to try to regain your senses, eyes aching from the downpour. you’re constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure you’re not being followed, entirely too focused on what’s behind you to notice the log in front of you—you’re sent flying over it and towards the pavement. luckily you take the impact on your shoulder, nothing more than a shocked, “ow–” leaving your lips before you realize you’re not hurt at all thanks to your coat absorbing the brunt of it.

it’s just another strike of your famous luck then, something annoying enough to inconvenience you on a day chock full of them, but not enough to take you down. you push to your hands and knees, looking back towards the offending log—only to realize it’s breathing and has long dark hair strewn about its head. you gasp–the fog muddying up your senses clearing instantly at the realization that this was no log, but some severely injured man! you can hear his struggling breaths, springing into action immediately. it’s nearly second nature to you as you push his hair out of his face and away from his neck. it’s much too dark for you to make out specifics–but his chin shines with something you can only imagine is blood, the same wet liquid pooling in front of his torso, the man laying on his side in an almost fetal position.  

“sir–can you hear me?” you try, placing your fingers where his heartbeat should be. it’s weak and much too slow, but it’s there. you can save him. “sir what happened to you? what’s your name?” you ask loudly, trying to get him to wake up. you groan when he doesn’t respond, blindly fumbling around for the wounds. your heart is racing, any slowness from the alcohol was killed by the adrenaline consuming you now. you gasp out again when you feel glass shards and bullet holes, a good fifteen minutes away from home even if you step on it. you’re not sure if this man has fifteen minutes left in him—the reasonable part of your brain telling you to call the emergency line to get him helped. though, they’d take just as long to show up despite how serious his wounds are. “you’re gonna have to help me a little, big guy.” you groan even louder, trying to put him on his back. it would jostle him less and was the only shot you had at getting a man of his size back to your vehicle on your own. 

you swear you hear him chuckle, but perhaps you were still a bit tipsy. you grab his hands, trying to be careful of the one riddled with glass, situating them in your own at the best leverage point. you’re strong—you can do this. you need to feel useful again–and this man needs to be saved. he’s so heavy, nothing but dead weight as you tug him along behind you. you have to bend a little and pray that your legs can make it to your car, just a final push to get to safety. 

you’re grateful when you see your mom-mobile waiting for you. this was your ambulance, and you were running out of time and the strength to keep pulling, gnawing nervously on your lip. what if he died anyway? what if you couldn’t save him at all, and were only chasing highs you’d never feel again? 

no. you’re skilled. if you couldn’t save this man then… the truth was that no one could. so determination overrides your anxiety for the time being, and you pop the trunk of your sporty suv, looking down at the man with a heart sigh. “okay–i can do it. what are ya, 200, 220?” you muse, squatting down and fixing him over your shoulders as best you could—a fireman’s carry of sorts. your hips and thighs should support you more than your exhausted arms, so you heave up with a strangled grunt. you throw him in a little harder than intended, grimacing. “sorry!” you huff, circling to your driver’s side. at least he’s in, even if your arms are jello and you know you’ll have to get him in the house somehow. you aren’t even thinking about how his blood will stain your tan interior—the rush of saving a life quieting any background noise in your mind. “you gotta hang in there. hang in there, please.” you mumble, weaving through traffic. 

you back up as close to your garage as possible, trying to think ahead for anything that could make this easier on yourself. you throw the car in park, hurrying to get him out of the back. he’s running out of time, and a surgical god you may be–but there’s only so many miracles you can call in. you get him in the same hold from earlier yet you let his feet touch the ground, muscles burning at the exercise. you have to breathe in short bursts, crushed by his heaviness, adrenaline helping you accomplish something you normally wouldn’t be capable of. you stumble with him, still half dragging him. it’s a battle you’re worried you might lose, but you get him on your dining room table, splayed out like a gurney. then you’re prepping your OR, getting the lights on, all the tools and dressings you would need, and most importantly—scrubbing in. infection would kill him if you weren’t careful now. 

“you stumbled into the right hands, mister. or well…i guess i stumbled over you–but you get the point.” you roll your eyes at yourself and glove up, stretching the vinyl over your fingers and flexing them, all part of your pre-op routine. you get your first good look at him then. he’s terribly hurt, it really is even worse than you thought. bullet holes and all this blunt trauma–he must have endured something horrific. but beneath all the bruising marring his olive skin, you can tell that he’s a beautiful man. his inky hair gleams under your bright dining room lights, somehow looking silky despite the tangles bunched up throughout the mane. you sigh, turning your attention to the blood soaked shirt he had on–two perfectly round entrance piercing his front, but no exit wounds. in his case, it was probably saving his life, those bullets possibly lodged in important arteries—scary, but better than bleeding out. he’s already lost quite a bit of blood–and it’s not like you have any history on him to know what type he is. there’s no time to worry about tests–you’d have to get your emergency stash of o negative. it was universal–your own blood that you kept on hand in case of the worst. it looks like this is it. you flawlessly install the iv, watching the slow stream shoot through the clear iv catheter and into his body. it helps with his paleness after a few minutes, and you smile in relief. this was a good sign. you rip his shirt with the last remaining strength you’ve got left, buttons flying to expose extremely bruised ribs and those gaping bullet wounds. “this isn’t gonna feel great, i’m sorry.” you grab your cheap bottle of house vodka, taking another shot from it to steady your nerves before pouring a decent amount over his chest. “i have to get in here—i’m happy you can’t feel it–now, anyway.” you take a deep breath and reach for your scalpel. you decide to perform a sternotomy—cutting between his breast plate to the web of arteries beneath. “i can see the bullets. you’re gonna make it.” you whisper, more encouragement for yourself than for him. your retractors keep his chest open for you wide enough for you to get your forceps in, aiming to pull out a bullet out of a vein close to his heart. “it missed the aorta. you’re actually really lucky.” you chuckle humorlessly.

you wedge your forceps in and take a deep breath. it’s not the aorta, but it will spew blood anyway. “not my preferred method of grafting—no catheters here but. i gotta fix it somehow.” you growl a little in annoyance. you have to squint and move slowly, but you’re able to repair the first leak with a shifty little graft. you’re onto the next one, dropping the offending metal into a bowl—complete with a little clink. “we’ll get you to the hospital just to check my work, yeah?” you sigh, hoping that this would be good enough to save his life. your hands steady over the second bullet, and you repeat the same motions as before. you’re relieved at the sight of his heart literally beating underneath your working hands, knowing that he’s still fighting for his life. you remove the second one and get out of his body—sewing up his chest, letting the blood bag refill his own supply until the bag is drained. you push some saline to clean out the line before hanging a bag of morphine, the pain this mystery man would wake up to would be excruciating. 

once you’re done with the intense life-saving measures, you sit in a chair to pluck the glass from his skin and apply ointments to the road rash on his face and arms. it takes another hour or so of work, but you don’t mind. it’s strangely relaxing to feel like you’re doing your job, and it’s so rewarding when you check his pulse every ten minutes to find it getting stronger and stronger. you hate that you hadn’t invested in a stat monitor, having to check his blood pressure the old fashioned way, but that looked like it was perking up too. you grin, proud of yourself. losing your license didn’t mean you lost your touch. you decide to get the glass and rubble out of his hair, pulling it back away from his face for a second time tonight. you take another lengthy look at the man you’ve saved, still grimacing at the ugly bruises and scrapes when something else catches your eye. the man had several tattoos that seemed unremarkable at first, different dark lines tangling into patterns you didn’t recognize. but the dragon creeping from his collarbone to peek over the collar of his shirt—it’s a yakuza trademark. this man wasn’t a poor soul caught up in a tragic accident—this was a dangerous man. you just saved the life of a war-monger, countless lives ended due to his line of work. part of you wants to open his chest back up and make your grafts fail—but the other part of you wants to feel the success course through your veins when he wakes up. besides, what makes a surgeon and what makes a gang lackey? is it a good childhood? morals? options? who’s to say this man had killed anyone? god knows you wouldn’t want to be judged based off of a few sneak peeks. you sigh, piddling off to your room to get him some new clothes. 

it’s invasive, changing a stranger. but you’re at fifth base already right? saving his life gave you a get out of jail free card, even if he was in the most dangerous crime syndicate in japan. you get his matted jeans off, making yourself look up at the ceiling in modesty and respect. you shimmy the plaid pajama pants up his body–thankful that your ex never came back for his stuff. you decide against wrestling a shirt around all the bandages on his arms and chest—knowing you could hurt him just as much as you’ve helped. you decide to try your luck one last time, pushing your table the short distance to your living room to let him rest on something more comfortable than the cold marble slab. it’s an easy shove to get him onto the couch, and you finally take a deep breath and sigh it all out. success is sweet–surgery is exhausting. you pull a little blanket over him, setting hourly alarms to check on your patient until he wakes. 

he wakes up to the smell of something cooking. the light pouring in from the curtain makes him squint–definitely a sharp adjustment from the darkness that consumed him before. he hears a woman humming a few rooms away, only furthering his confusion. he didn’t die? but how…he didn’t call anyone, and he knows no one in that area would willingly bring the sirens in to help him–and where exactly was he? all of these things hit him at once, but nothing harder than the deep ache in his bones. he couldn’t describe it, something so sharp and throbbing he could hardly get his body to obey his mind’s orders to move. 

sitting up is pure hell. every red flag and stop sign goes off, making him grunt in agony. but he knows he has to get going–get out of whatever trap he’s got himself into. he doesn’t recognize the room–for all he knows, sukuna’s men followed him and have him here to torture. 

but that woman’s voice, he knows it. that doesn’t mean this isn’t a trap still. the humming stops, and footsteps pad closer until a bright face pokes into the room, an ‘o’ shape forming on her face before she enters–complete with a plate of food. 

“you’re awake–” you gasp in surprise. you had just come to do your rounds, deciding that eating with him would help you better watch out. you weren’t expecting him to already be up and at ‘em, he must be very strong. though you still notice how rigid he’s holding himself. “you really should lie down, you…” he cranes his sore neck, flashing you a glimpse of that black ink. you suddenly remember just how dangerous he is, and he looks like a dog backed into a corner, narrow black eyes sizing you up—distrust all over his feline features. 

“who do you work for?” he tilts his head to one side, and your brows furrow in confusion, oh–he was worried you worked for a rival. you shake your head, eager to defend yourself. 

“n-no one, no one right now!” you blurt out, anxiously shifting your weight foot to foot. you look down at the breakfast in your hands, holding it out for him to take instead. “here! eat, as a sign of my goodwill.” 

he analyzes the plate, then looks back up at you–peacocking his shoulders back and hissing at the pain the stretch brought him. now you know just how weak he is—and he can’t make another target out of himself. “i hope you know i will have you killed if you’re lying.” 

despite the way his glare makes your skin crawl and the hair at the base of your neck stand up, you can’t help but laugh at that. “i wouldn’t lie. i saved your life, why would i waste my time?” you shove the plate out further, basically putting it in his hands–one still heavily bandaged from dragging himself through the wreckage. 

he takes the plate from you. if he’s shocked by that, he doesn’t show it. he only watches you as he eats your food, grunting in pain every so often. you took the iv out while he slept, not sure how he’d react when he woke up to wires. “i uh…i have medicine…for the pain.” 

“who are you?” he returns without a second passing. he takes another reluctant bite of food, stomach growling in thanks. 

you tell him your name, stealing a few glances at the heavy furrow of his brow. “you were badly hurt. i am a doctor..so i helped repair what i could. you should recover. i imagine you need to lay low?” you ask with a raised brow, betraying your intellect. he knows you must have some idea of who he is. “you can stay here as long as you need. you might want to shower–but you’ll…probably need some help.” 

his expression shifts before your very eyes. his clenched jaw and steel brow relaxes into a soft look of…gratitude? truthfully, he was baffled. a doctor stumbled upon him, realized that he’s a criminal, saved him anyway—and now offers her home? he almost worries about how naive you really must be—but he owes you a debt he can never repay. you have given him a second chance—made revenge possible when he had given up completely. “thank you, little ebi. i will take up your gracious offer.” he nods, smiling kindly. 

you smile, heart going awol inside your chest. it was the right thing to do, he was injured and needed to be cared for. you’re a doctor who suddenly has a lot of time on her hands. it means nothing–but that you still have empathy left in you. you know you’re close to shaking, but you turn to leave before it can show. “i’ll grab you a change of clothes. don’t move too much until i get back.” you hum, and he hums in acknowledgement. 

he’s rather polite for a yakuza, his refined calmness even in the most dire of situations rubs off on you easily—you hold your head high as you pilfer through the tote of clothes your ex left behind, trying to find something for the big scary man in the living room. you finally decide on a plain black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. you even nab some of those painkillers you offered earlier, hoping to ease that stiffness he carries himself with to mask his suffering. 

but when you get back to the living room the only thing waiting for you is the empty breakfast plate and a few hundred dollar bills—your curtains blowing in the harsh wind. your heart sinks for an unknown reason, and you tell yourself it’s because your patient wasn’t dressed for the cold.

[jesncin]

Caped Crusader, "Safe Diversity", and Catwoman

We're at a point where it's expected that a new incarnation of any story previously with a white-dominated cast would be reimagined with a "more diverse" cast. This can mean racebending them, genderbending them or making them queer, but for the purposes of this analysis we'll be focusing on racebends. Most of the time, executives will take the "safer" routes with diversifying their cast- pick a couple of unproblematic supporting characters to be incidentally "diverse this time". Other times, there might be "braver" takes where more prominent characters (perhaps even the main character) are racebent. This doesn't necessarily mean racebending prominent characters is an inherently better thing to do.

I've been more than critical of MAWS' portrayal of BIPOC characters but especially their Asian Lois before. Sometimes BIPOC representation is just a decorative palette-swap change for these shows. Caped Crusader however, is different. It's more complicated- but it's rooted in very similar problems. Unlike MAWS (though I can only speak for S1), CC is far more willing to take on political topics: classism, sexism, police corruption and brutality, even beauty standards in the entertainment industry! Yet, in choosing to portray these topics in their stylistically anachronistic 30s-40s set piece- it makes it so the show's reluctance to discuss race intersecting with any of these topics far more apparent.

(spoilers for all of Caped Crusader)

Take for instance, episode 2: "...And Be A Villain". The story is about Basil Karlo, a less than handsome actor who wishes his appearance wasn't holding him back from both love and playing roles saved for better looking people. He makes a deal with Jack Ellman, an experimental makeup artist who turns him into Clayface. This story is set in motion when Miss Yvonne Francis, a beautiful actress, goes missing. Miss Francis is a woman of color (brown skinned, unspecified) played by Lacey Chabert: a white actress. CC goes for a generally colorblind casting what with Stephie (a white girl) being voiced by Amari McCoy (a Black actress) but it always feels icky when a white actor voices a character of color. Prominent characters of color in CC are more accurately casted. However I do think animation should be wary of using their medium to get away with their show appearing more diverse than the actual talent behind it.

The episode's theme is pretty clear on how unfair the entertainment industry is in regards to who it prioritizes in leading roles. Basil is constantly emphasized as a tragically talented actor whose appearance is holding him back. "With your talent you should be a leading man, Basil." Yvonne says to Basil in a flashback. Meanwhile as Alfred is watching through movie clips featuring Yvonne and Basil together, he comments "while lovely to look at, Miss Francis is no Gloria Swanson." So Yvonne has the looks, but not the talent and still gets prestigious roles because that's showbiz. The only time this is weirdly inconsistent is when Yvonne calls out Basil/Clayface in the finale, saying:

"I don't believe your performance. You're chewing on scenery. Relying on makeup effects to enhance weak characterization. It's insincere, Basil. It's not real."

I honestly feel like this scene was just meant to quickly "subvert" Yvonne being a damsel in distress by having her call out Basil's acting. It's a moment that isn't reinforced by anything the episode set up. After all, according to Alfred, she's not as good an actor compared to Basil. That's supposed to be how they foil each other, so this moment feels unmotivated. Again, I get what they're going for, that Basil's performance ironically relies on his newfound appearance so much that even a bad actress like Yvonne can spot his meager acting. But it doesn't work when our protagonists were actually convinced by his imitation of others. She's still a damsel in distress character regardless of her having a bit of attitude when calling her captor out.

What I don't understand is: why make Yvonne a woman of color if this was the story you wanted to tell? It's not like they're paying homage to how her voice actress looks, after all. Why, in your story set in purposely anachronistic 30s-40s era noir, did the character who was meant to represent the epitome of "not talented but gets by the industry because of her conventional beauty and pretty privilege" a woman of color? We're missing the very obvious conversation here where Tinsel Town is a white industry with white biases to what it considers attractive. It doesn't matter how many attractive actors of color exist, they're still pigeon holed into stereotyped and often racist roles (especially back then), and have to work twice as hard to get the opportunities their white colleagues get. Why is Basil, a white man, the only one afforded a marginalized narrative when Yvonne is quite literally a woman of color right next to him? The episode is especially painful to sit through when Basil is afforded so much sympathy compared to Yvonne.

"He didn't have the right look. He didn't have the right face."

"The camera is kind to some, but cruel to others."

This is transparently a colorblind narrative. Yvonne is written and even casted as a white woman. The CC crew just decided she should be a WOC likely because "wouldn't it be neat if the beautiful actress in this story is POC" without thinking about how that would drastically change a narrative already critical of the showbiz industry based on appearances. It's not intersectional and flattens the narrative to being selective of the prejudices Tinsel Town has. This episode is a great example to what CC generally does with diversity. It's not afraid to be critical of society, but it gets oddly squeamish with discussing how race intersects with these topics- opting mostly for a palette-change type of representation.

It's not entirely fair to say CC doesn't ever touch on the topic of racism. It sort of does: if you read between the lines for why the mayor gives Jim Gordon his commissioner role, and more prominently with the Gentleman Ghost (a rich aristocrat ghost that steals from the poor, believing wealth is his right) being offended that his mansion is sold to Lucius Fox (saying "and you would sell it to rabble like this?")- racism is somewhat present in the world of CC. We see the women in this show experience misogyny, but it's ambiguous if any of their struggles are intersectional with that of race. But that's... just about it. Racism isn't discussed more than it is alluded to, whenever the writers decide it's relevant. Because of this, CC has a spectrum of hits and misses when it comes to integrating characters of color in their reimagined cast.

Here's how I would visualize that spectrum using canonized instances of Asian Lois Lane. I should emphasize that representation of people of color doesn't entail the narrative owing us "a racism arc" or what have you. This spectrum is more used to measure how much racial identity was integrated in the characterization of the character: whether that be cultural identity or history. Being a person of color isn't just "person who goes through racism".

This is how I'd personally place the prominent characters of color in CC on my "spectrum of racebends" chart. Generally most of the characters of color (whether reimagined that way or were originally POC already) are fairly harmless in how they were integrated into CC's world, but none of the characters feel bespoke as a reimagining of the character and are interchangeable with their white counterparts. To quote cartoonist Juni Ba (in a discussion on CC):

"...stripping characters of color in these time period stories of any cultural, [a]esthetic or social signifiers that’d make them true to the groups being represented. Instead they dress, act and speak very western."

In my opinion, the only character that is an exception to this is Linton Midnite (or as he's popularly known as: "Papa Midnite"). Midnite is a character so interlinked with Haitian culture and mysticism that even CC couldn't erase that aspect of his identity (important note: historically, the portrayal of Midnite since his creation is riddled in racism, but that's not my place to discuss here). Midnite at most speaks with an accent, dresses more nonconformingly compared to the western standard dress of all the other characters, and practices occultish stuff (though I don't think there was anything culturally specific in that episode, please correct me otherwise if someone has more insight!). That's a lot more cultural representation than just about any other character of color in CC. Midnite can't be changed to a white character, his African identity is too interlinked with who he is.

There are a few characters I consider in poor taste to be POC- that being Arnold Flass, Yvonne Francis (who we've covered already), and Harley Quinn (who will be getting her own post, as her case is complicated). So let's talk about cops, then.

I tend to be indifferent about media choosing to diversify cop characters because it feels like choosing the most "respectable to society" role for a marginalized character to play. Cops uphold bigoted systems of power at the end of the day, so that's a very comfortable place to represent your marginalized characters. It's why we keep getting gay or lesbian cops, which Batman media absolutely perpetuates as well with Renee Montoya. It's hard to cheer for two women of color being allowed to date and kiss in public when one of them is a cop, y'know? But this doesn't mean re-imagining cop characters doesn't have narrative merit.

In regards to Jim Gordon being reimagined as a Black cop, I'm gonna refer to La'Ron Readus' video on "Fixing the Batman's Copaganda problem" where he goes into detail about the missed potential of Black!Jim Gordon from Reeves' The Batman (2022). Generally, I felt that opportunity was missed in CC as well. While I love that Barbara Gordon is in CC, nothing about her being a WOC is integrated into this version of her. It felt like if either character was white, the story wouldn't be that different. The bigger issue here is the choice to racebend Arnold Flass- a previously white, blonde, cunningly smart, and brutally corrupt cop.

CC follows some of this in their version of Arnold Flass- he's paired with Harvey Bullock (also a corrupt cop). While Bullock is the brawns of the duo, Flass is the smarts. He's cunning and even implied to be willing to frame Bullock if the worse comes to it. It isn't an inherently bad idea to racebend a corrupt white cop into a Black cop. If the writers want to tell a story about how the police force assimilates people of color into the system and forces them to be just as if not more brutal than their white counterparts, then by all means tell that story.

But that's not what CC gave us. By rarely acknowledging race, we don't get to have a conversation or themes surrounding that delicate intersection of identities. We just have "diverse Flass". Look at these panels from Year One for example, can you imagine how Flass' casual disrespect for Gordon by constantly calling him "Jimmy" could be re-contextualized with a race change? Unlike other characters who just feel like missed opportunities for not integrating race into their characterization, Flass is an elephant in the room. To not acknowledge his race in themes of police corruption and brutality is to white wash the narrative with diverse paint.

I personally think the stronger narrative decision would have been to racebend Bullock as Black instead of Flass. Flass could still be the conniving cop, but he encourages Black!Bullock to be the more "violent brute" who does the dirty work for him. It would put a newfound racial layer to how Flass considers Bullock disposable. Then we could have some kind of commentary on how the police force encourages a system of abuse that makes even fellow POC turn on each other. It'd also make it so a certain scene would be better in optics.

I have many criticisms for the scene where Batman holds a gun to Flass in the finale of CC. It's a narratively unmotivated (see my criticisms for CC's Two Face here for elaboration) and weak moment that relies on metatextual shock value to cover up how underdeveloped this take on Batman is. But it's also just very uncomfortable optics-wise. It's a common and valid criticism that Batman as a character can very easily fall into copaganda, with his status, goals, and collaboration with the police force. In many ways, Batman is often written to be committing his own kind of vigilante police brutality.

Caped Crusader wants to be a deconstruction of a Batman tied to power and hellbent on his mission to eliminate crime. But because CC occasionally omits race from its narrative, the scene where Batman holds a gun to a Black cop-a man stripped of his ability to fight back-just falls flat for me. There's no acknowledgement in this scene that Batman basically gets to be an anonymous cop, "warning shots" and all. Batman shoots at an unarmed Black man several times. It's meant to be shocking to us how Bruce is willing to stoop to such a level and indulge in gratuitous gun violence, but it honestly hits too close to real incidents where this is racially the case for me to enjoy the narrative point of this scene.

You know a character who would be perfect for calling out Batman's many privileges? Selina Kyle. Let's talk about Caped Crusader's biggest downgrade.

I've heard just about all the arguments in favor for CC's reimagining of Catwoman and none have convinced me that this was in any way a good take on the character. I see people saying that this Catwoman is a return to her golden age roots, and there's a lot of misconception surrounding that assumption. So bear with me as looking at Catwoman's history is necessary to discuss race and how a character evolves.

Catwoman debuted in the 1940s as a jewel thief who disguised herself as an old lady. She was just called "The Cat" and would not don her more feline appearance until later. True to the mystery woman femme fatale trope she was inspired by, her backstory was left unknown for a long time. 10 years later, in Batman #62 it is revealed that after a plane accident bonked her head, the now named Selina Kyle got amnesia and went on a crime spree. Giving her leeway to reform and be an ally to Batman. This would historically inform how Selina Kyle toed the line between good and evil as an anti-hero.

Her origin would be revisited in 1983, in the Brave and the Bold #197. Although not canon to the mainline universe, it is still a crucial development for her character's history. In this story, Selina reveals that she lied about having amnesia to get out of facing punishment. Her true story was that she entered a life of crime to escape an abusive relationship with a rich man. The only loss her husband understood was material loss, loss of property, so stealing was how Selina fought back.

This crucial re-examination of her character transformed her from shenanigans inducing femme fatale, to a marginalized fighter. Shortly later in 1987 in Batman Year One, Catwoman is reimagined as a street-hardened sex worker in poverty. She is inspired by the Batman to become a vigilante for her own goals and gets annoyed that she's assumed to be his sidekick.

The moment Catwoman became marginalized by power, was the point where she became worthy of solo-character status. She was not only a compelling foil to Batman-capable of going toe to toe with him and make him question his motives even though she did not share his privilege-she could lead her own adventures reflecting a side of Gotham Bruce Wayne's perspective doesn't. She actively makes the setting of Gotham stronger because of how she's evolved as a character.

Catwoman's character would continue to evolve, with some iterations reimagining her as a latina woman and others where she's canonically bisexual.

While Catwoman has been portrayed by Black actresses before, I want to focus on the most recent and prominent iteration of a race-swapped Catwoman. When Matt Reeves' The Batman (2022) featured Zoe Kravitz as Selina Kyle, an explicitly biracial character within the text of the story, we see another step this character evolves. I think La'Ron Readus' video on "Why Race-Swapped Characters Are Not The Full Story" does a fantastic job of explaining why this is a narratively great race swap. To summarize (though I do encourage watching his video as he goes into depth about 2022 Batman's Jim Gordon as well among many other examples) and add analysis of my own: Selina being the byproduct of an Italian crime lord and a Black sex worker is a brilliant marriage of her original backstory (being connected to and abused by powerful men) and her modern backstory where she's poverty stricken (and tangentially related to a sex worker if we're talking about Batman Year One).

We understand why someone of her background would have an affinity for stray cats because of how she lost her mom at a young age, she is sympathetic to fellow people from the lower class, and explicitly calls out privileged white people- including Batman who attempted to over moralize Selina's partner as a sex worker.

"All anyone cares about in this place, are these white privileged assholes."

It's especially that last line that makes it so Selina's character isn't interchangeable with her white counterpart. She's a textually rich character to contrast Bruce in Batman 2022, and we can see how years of history and evolution has brought such an empathetic character to the screen. Interestingly, Readus feels that while 2022 Selina was an example of a race-swap that works, he believes it was great by coincidence, because of the miss that was Gordon's characterization in the same movie. I think with Reeves as a collaborator on Caped Crusader, that assumption was correct.

Selina in CC is back to being a rich socialite, but (unlike her Golden Age counterpart) she's not married into wealth- she's got generational wealth (with a dad serving jail time for tax evasion). Worse yet, she's taking what little remains of her money and spending it on superficially imitating the Batman to create her Catwoman persona. She even has her own reluctant Alfred, a Catmobile, the works. Selina steals things because. She likes shiny things. And is something of a kleptomaniac. Catwoman is instantly discovered to be Selina because of course she's not as good as Batman is with keeping a secret identity (another key difference from her Golden Age counterpart, whose backstory was shrouded in mystery for a decade).

It is laughable to me that CC touts that their version of Harley Quinn has an origin of her own outside of the Joker, only to turn around and make a Catwoman that is completely tied to copying a man as her origin (did they decide Harley's goofyness as a character needed to be replicated in Selina for some reason? In their supposed dark and edgy show?). What a strange choice to fixate on the part in Year One where Selina didn't like being mistaken for Batman's assistant despite being inspired by him and turn it into a quirky bit. It feels like such a regressive take that frames Selina as a sillier, whimsical version of Bruce that just spends money on a whim because women just aren't smart enough to know how to keep track of their money. They're too busy looking for shiny things to steal. The fact that both 2022 Batman and CC have a scene where Selina is looking through her many bills she's yet to pay is wild to me. How am I supposed to care for a Selina that has the expendable wealth to create a Catwoman costume, car, and gadgets, but delay paying her maid? One of these versions of Selina is far more sympathetic than the other.

Again, I get what CC is going for. Batman is characterized to be hellbent on catching criminals, Catwoman is supposed to serve as some kind of reflection of his obsession. They're both self destructive in their goals, but one is vengeance and the other is chasing thrills. But is that really as interesting a foil as having Catwoman be marginalized, just as skilled, and making Batman second guess himself? Is it a take that strengthens Gotham as a setting by shedding light on its lower class characters? Is it a take that makes her worth revisiting as a perpetual rogue and not a one off episode where's she's basically a shenanigans-inducing nuisance to Batman? Evolved takes on Catwoman have talked about her desire to seek thrills and paired it with how she dismantles power. So it's not like CC's take is particularly unique, it just lacks all the depth that usually surrounds Selina's thrill seeking.

In a show that is frankly desperate to make it so Bruce doesn't have a personal relationship to his rogues gallery because he's too busy being "A cold, remorseless avenger of evil, seemingly more machine than man. Forged in the fire of tragedy, every fiber of his being is dedicated to the eradication of crime." (according to promo) that's how we end up with Barbara as the foil and humanity to both Harvey Dent and Harley Quinn. How the show focuses on the police force more than Bruce. It feels especially pointed that Catwoman is characterized this way. When she doesn't contrast Bruce, she becomes less personal to him as a character that is poverty stricken but still matches up to him in skill. She can't challenge him or his worldview, he can't find her fascinating as an equal, all of their chemistry and intrigue is erased.

All this to say that of the characters revealed for CC, I was honestly surprised that Selina wasn't one of the many characters racebent. CC followed up on a Black Jim and Barbara Gordon, two characters that have been race swapped before in previous media. Most prominently! Harley is Asian in this iteration, something never done before. So why is it that Selina doesn't follow up on the many times she's been portrayed by Black actresses?

It's because it's an actual good racebend if written well. It wouldn't be a "safe" racebend because writing Selina this way means you'd have to acknowledge racism, and it would be much more noticeable if you didn't. There is no canonized version of Asian Lois Lane that parallels her relationship to Superman as an immigrant. But there is a version of Selina as a Black woman who directly calls out white people and is aware of systemic power. It's in something as prominent and mainstream as Matt Reeves' 2022 Batman. So instead it just reads as cowardice to me that CC couldn't follow up on this evolution of Selina.

Not only does it weaken Catwoman and Batman's relationship to regress Selina this way, but it actively weakens Gotham as a setting and the very themes of Caped Crusader. I personally think all the energy that went into Harley Quinn should have been shared with (or straight up gone to) Selina Kyle. Because unlike CC's take on Harley, the way Selina Kyle's marginalization intersects with race and queerness would have actually critiqued Gotham's class corruption effectively. As a Black queer woman, Selina would be among the most vulnerable people in Gotham. We don't have prominent characters in CC that truly reflect the lower class, there are these unnamed characters Harvey Dent sits next to on a train. There are some orphans with Batfam names. A proper Catwoman reimagining that takes advantage of her evolution would have filled this gap in their narrative.

But that's not how "safe diversity" works. CC would rather racebend and canonize the queerness of a character like their take on Harley Quinn. A WOC who gets to kiss a cop and call out powerful men, but not in a way that makes white people uncomfortable.

If I could edit the Sandman quote that "The great stories will always return to their original forms" for Superheroes, I'd say "The great stories will always return to their most resonant forms" because without iterations we don't get characters like the Kents, Alfred or Catwoman as we know her today. Classics are good to look to, but we like these characters because they evolve. In my opinion, none of CC's takes on these characters of color feel resonant. They're not definitive to the level of Mister Freeze's tragic love story in BTAS, among many standout narrative choices in BTAS that continue across media iterations.

In my opinion, CC isn't as thoroughly clumsy as MAWS is in regards to POC representation and race-swaps (all characters of color in MAWS get put in the left side of that chart I made. In the Sunken Place. Where they all Missed The Movement). However, I can't help but see Caped Crusader's take on the world of Gotham as nothing more than an anecdote in the evolution of Batman's story for the modern era. "It's BTAS but superficially more diverse and with less compelling narrative choices."

[luvjunie]

KNEW BETTER — e42!miles x fem!reader

SUMMARY. the alluring pull of a stranger entices you to make a risky decision all too familiar to your last WORD COUNT. 3,754 CONTENTS. miles and reader are in their late teens for realistic purposes, language, brief mention of a kiss, my attempt at an adequate plot and characterizations that actually have substance SONG INSPO. “knew better/forever boy” by ariana grande AUTHOR’S NOTE. i currently have no plans to take this further but inspiration struck and i had to write it lolll

How did you end up here?

Sticking out like a sore thumb on the roof top of a family party that definitely wasn’t yours, though they’d started to feel like it in the last few months. It’s not like your family would be mature enough to come together, put their pride aside for five minutes, and get along the way these people were. And after your parents’ separation became official earlier this year, negotiation was way out of the question. This distraction from the chaos you left back home was more than welcomed.

Your friend’s hand was starting to pale from how hard you were clutching onto it, yet you didn’t notice. The music was loud and a little upbeat for your taste, but you slightly bobbed your head to it anyway, a mindless thing you found yourself doing regardless of whether you could understand the lyrics to the song or not. There's no way you’d be caught dead at a party looking as if you didn’t have at least an ounce of rhythm.

Noticing your nerves, as well as the growing ache of her fingers, your friend Camila turned her head to the side, her silky, chestnut brown tresses flowing over her shoulder when she shouted over the bass of the speakers.

“Don’t be nervous! They’re all real nice, I promise!”

"Camila—" barely hearing what she said, you stopped for a second to give a sweet smile to an older lady who passed you, then softly tugged her arm to get her attention. “Can’t we just, stay in that cute little corner over there with the—“ you paused. “What are those— enchiladas?”

“Empanadas.” She corrected with a lighthearted eyeroll, her Queen’s accent heavy on her tongue. “And no way! I want you to meet everyone.”

"Everyone—wait what?” Your eyes bulged. You probably resembled a looney-tunes character at the moment. “I thought I’d officially met everyone last month at the uhh— the fuckin—“ You made a wafting motion with your hands, as if it’d prompt your brain to get your thoughts out as quickly as the two of you were walking. “The Heritage Month BBQ, thingy?”

This was the first time the doe-eyed girl had stopped to look at you throughout your walk through the venue—like, actually look at you—and of course it was only to laugh at your ridiculous observation. She nearly doubled over.

“Ha!- Yeah, nah. That was a funny joke though.” she giggled. “That was family family. This is family and family friends. So basically, more family. You know that!”

Oh yeah. Makes complete sense. Family didn’t even sound like a word anymore at this point, you thought to yourself as she pulled the both of you to a stop at the drink table.

You and Camila had been friends ever since the second grade. The girl had the prettiest hazel eyes and the longest, shiniest hair you'd ever seen. Since time she’s liked to refer to herself as the “Puerto Rican-Filipina Rapunzel", and though the term she’d come up with was a bit of a mouthful, you’d be lying if you tried to disagree.

She’d waltzed up to your secluded spot at indoor recess in Mrs. Walter’s class, demanded the two of you be friends, and even gave you a pink Hello Kitty sticker to accompany her proposition.

And seeing as you couldn’t remember much before that, you really couldn’t remember a time when Camila wasn’t in your life, either. Protecting you from anyone who might have anything to say about her bestfriend, and always quick to step in front of you and get in someone’s face about it, even if the someone in question was a burly 6’3 football player who had to crane his neck to look down at who was cursing him out a mile a minute.

If people saw Camila, they saw you, too. That’s just how the two of you rolled. And yeah, you’d been to more than a few family parties, slapped on some low-waisted, bejeweled miss-me jeans and boots to fit in with the dress code, and attended a few bailes even though you couldn’t dance for shit. But you’d never been to a gathering of theirs that was this large. What was the occasion?

As you watched her scoop a ladle of some sort of homemade drink mix into a red solo cup, you realized you’d unintentionally asked the question in your head.

“So, what’s the big occasion?” You took in your surroundings, noting how happy everyone looked.

“Ah, my aunt finished her M.D program, or somethin’ like that. Basically, she’s gonna be a real big doctor soon, so you know we had to party. My cousin invited me."

“Mm,” you nodded stalely, accepting the cup she quickly pushed into your hand before she went to pour another for herself.

“Speaking of my cousin…”

There was a mischievous glint in Camila’s eyes. Was mischevious the right word? Maybe excited, but either way, you didn’t like it one bit.

Mid sip, you slowly lowered your drink from your lips, eyes narrowing at her in suspicion.

“Camila Janaé Reyes. What are you plotting?”

“Nothingggg!”

Judging by that tone, it was definitely not nothing.

“I just want you to meet him, that’s all.” Her words drawled as she gave you one of her sickeningly sweet smiles, and you whined like a child who’d just been asked to put a coat on before leaving the house.

“Seriously, ‘Mila? That’s why you invited me?”

“No! Well… Kinda?” she grimaced.

Your bestfriend could be quite persistent, especially with specific things others didn’t want her to be persistent with. Every human on this earth had a trait that irritated someone or made them slightly less favorable, and of course, that trait is almost impossible to recognize in yourself.

This—the overbearing persistence, the thinking that she knew better for everyone than they did themselves—was Camila’s, and it irked you to your core like no other.

“Camila, I told you, no boys. I don’t even think I have it in me after..." The rest of the sentence died on your tongue as your hand came up to pinch the bridge of your nose, prompting Camila to give you a knowing head nod. With her, you didn’t even have to finish the thought.

“I know, I know,” she said. “But his mom’s been a little worried about how quiet he’s gotten and asked if I could bring someone for him to talk to. So, I thought maybe you guys could be friends or something. That’s it! He don’t got many, and you—well…”

You almost cracked a smile at that, even though you were still annoyed with her. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

You somehow found it in you to let your guard down a bit, which, in theory, would probably come back to bite you in the ass later. You just didn’t know how soon that would be the case.

Your shoulders slumped, a telltale sign of you ready to throw in the towel, just this once like you always did. Camila was already getting excited.

“Alright, alright. Who’s your cousin?”

The petite girl rolled her lips inward to bite back a wide grin, and instead of answering you, she slid beside you and slunk her arm around your shoulders. Her neck stretched for a second as she scanned the lively gathering, her eyes widening once she found who she was scouting for.

She gestured with her chin, not wanting to make it obvious.

“See that guy by himself over there? Like, six foot two, wide shoulders, lowkey thinks he’s Batman, kinda gotta mug on him? He’s nice though, swear. When he wants to be.”

You squinted into the distance. “Uhh… I think that’s a woman, ‘Mila.”

She gasped at that, shoving your shoulder hard enough to almost make you stumble. “No not my Tia Beatriz, you bitch!”

“Oh shit—“

A laugh tore through your apology before you could stop it, and the girl next to you made a sound with her throat that was clearly her trying to hold back her own laughter.

"Idiota," she mumbled.

Two hands clamped down on your shoulders before you felt your body shift to the side a bit, someone else coming into view once your perspective changed.

“I’m talkin’bout him.”

The last time you could recall your heart dropping into your ass at this same rate was when your mom caught you trying to stuff your bra in the sixth grade before the bus arrived. And somehow, that feeling still wasn’t comparable to this.

This—this was much different.

“Y’see him?”

How could you not?

A little ways down, casually leaned back on an elbow at the tall edge of the roof, stood a lanky-looking, brownskinned boy who was far too handsome for his own good. Clad in a fitted black shirt and a cropped leather jacket, you could tell that piece of clothing alone cost more than your entire outfit. He was rocking some straight-legged, black cargo pants and a pair of Air Jordan 1’s you’d never seen before. There was a jaded look plastered on his face, and something about his body language led you to believe that he was forcing himself to be here.

You swallowed,

“That’s your cousin?”

Camila’s insanely, good looking, cousin, if you hadn’t mentioned that already. Not even her older brother was this fine. This boy put the childish crush you had on Luis to absolute shame.

“Mm-hm.”

Your gaze alternated back and forth between her and the boy in the distance. "But, you guys don’t—“

“Yeah, yeah, I know. We get that a lot, big family.” She waved you off, probably having heard this a million times.

Her posture suddenly straightened with newfound determination, and it made your heart jump.

“Well, what are we just standin’ here for? Let’s go-“

“Nope. Nuh uh.”

Camila’s head recoiled when she raised a questioning brow at you. “Fuck you mean ‘nuh uh’?”

You balked at her as if the answer were obvious.

“I am not talking to that man!”

“Well why not?” she asked incredulously.

“Because he is fine as hell, are you crazy? I ain’t got no business goin’ over there.” You don’t know why you were lowering your voice; it’s not like he’d be able to hear you over the music anyway.

But, just by a stroke of luck, he suddenly looked up, probably due to the sweltering heat of your eyes dissecting his entire persona.

“Anddd now he’s looking at me. Oh my god,” you whisked around as casually as you could play off, fingers pressed to your hot forehead as you cursed beneath your breath.

His line of sight was cast in your direction, and though he could’ve been looking right past you, which was simply wishful thinking on your end, that was a chance you absolutely weren’t going to take.

“Yeah, he’s always able to catch people staring. I don't know how he does it… And s’kinda weird now that I think about it…” Camila mumbled distractedly to herself, her pondering eyes drifting skywards. A sharp elbow to her side, yours to be exact, was enough to pull her out of her observation and earn you a pained whine.

“Focus! What do I do now? He probably thinks I’m a creep.” you groaned.

A puff of amused air blew from her nose. “Yeah, I doubt that. He’s a bit of an odd ball himself.”

That definitely did nothing to make you feel better.

“Besides, he don’t bite,"

Your feet weren’t moving on your own accord as you began walking; it was Camila tugging you out of your in-plain sight hiding spot and towards the very boy you were just marveling at.

“I think.” she added.

“Camila, I really don’t think this is a good idea—“

Through the rush of the brief murmur-screamed argument you had with her, the walk over to him was surprisingly much shorter than your brain had estimated it to be. And of course, ever the gentleman with perfect manners, the boy in question clicked his phone off and tucked it away in his front pocket once he saw the both of you approaching him.

Camila put on her sweetest voice, and albeit a bit annoying, her intentions were pure.

“Heyyy, Miles! How are you?”

Miles. That’s a cute name. Or is it only cute because I think he’s cute? Fuck, I’m spacing out, aren’t I?

The light baritone in his voice edged you to believe that it was the latter.

“Hey cous’, I’m straight.”

Miles was talking to Camila, but he was staring dead at you while he did, as if he was purposely trying to send you into a terribly premature fit of cardiac arrest.

He had a solemn look to him; face hardened with faint frown lines that seemed a bit unfitting for his age. The only resemblance these two shared was the striking allure of hazeled eyes and how they were both able to have people lost in them without even trying. There was an energy that radiated from him—something about his presence that you felt a pull towards. It wasn’t intimidating, or brooding, no. It was more on the lines of intoxicating. And it didn’t necessarily make you uncomfortable, per se, but the fact that you couldn’t pinpoint the exact feeling his stare was giving you most definitely did.

It was a known fact that you couldn’t hold eye contact for shit, and an observing Miles easily picked up on that after the third time your eyes had darted back and forth between his own and any random object you could keep your attention on. So, when he finally decided to spare you and directed them towards his chirpy cousin instead, you felt like you could finally breathe again and stole an embarrassingly deep inhale that nearly made you lightheaded.

“So wassup, who’s this?” Miles motioned towards you with a slight tilt of his head, hands nonchalantly planted in the pockets of his jacket.

Now that the focus was off you for a second, you used this to your advantage and took a moment to get a good, close look at him.

Everything about him was clean cut and neat—strategic. From his sharp, tapered hairline that was so precise that not a single strand of hair was out of place, to the tidy twin braids that kissed his shoulders, and even down to his shoes. They were crisp, and looked like he’d taken them right out the box before he came here, but you could tell that wasn’t the case. It was clear from the way he carried himself and the fresh ass silver cuban link hanging round his neck that he simply cared about his appearance enough to keep them that way.

“This,” A subtle, yet intentional squeeze to your right arm brought you back to the conversation. “is Y/n, my bestfriend. I don’t think she’s met you yet, so I just thought I’d introduce the two of you.”

He didn’t even nod. You weren’t even sure if he blinked. All he gave was a vague,

“Mm.”

What the fuck did that mean? Was that a good mm, or a bad mm?

Your ruminating was interrupted when Camila quietly murmured something to Miles that you couldn’t quite make out, her eyes hard in warning.

“Sé amable y no hagas nada estúpido. De verdad.” (Be nice and don’t do anything stupid. For real.)

He kissed his teeth at that, an indistinct irritation lingering in his tone at the latent reprimanding. “Nunca hago nada estúpido.” (I never do anything stupid.)

Brows bunched in confusion, your lashes fluttered in annoyance upon realizing it was their intent to keep you out of the brief exchange.

“Well,” Camila clapped her hands. “I’ll leave y’all kids to it! I need to go grab some of those pinchos before they’re all gone.” Both you and Miles sent an irked look her way when she gave a cheesy thumbs up and dipped.

It was just the two of you now, and since names were already out of the way, you hadn’t the slightest idea of where to start. But the worry didn’t last long; Miles was the first to speak up, which you were more than grateful for.

“So, how you know my cousin again?” His brow peaked. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Miles was good with faces—excellent, actually. He spent a lot of time people watching; knew most of Brooklyn by now, and he definitely wouldn’t have forgotten a face like yours. So he let his eyes drink you in from head to toe, committing you to memory. And damn, he sure picked a good day to be social.

You tried to focus on your answer instead of the glint of his earrings or the sharp of his jaw when his head turned to the side, so you settled on studying the buildings that lined the magenta-stained skyline in the distance.

“Well, there’s not much to it, really. I met her in the second grade, and she said we were bestfriends now, no questions asked. Guess it’s been that way ever since.” you shrugged.

“Yeah, sounds like her," he chuckled, shifting to rest both his elbows on the ledge as his back leaned against it. “She can be a little—“

“Persistent?” you interjected knowingly, a small smile painting your features.

“Shit, you tellin’ me," he snorted. “I guess that’s a nicer way to put it.”

Miles picked his cup up from where he’d previously set it down and took a swig. So far, this conversation wasn’t nearly as grueling as he’d expected it to be, and shockingly enough, he might’ve even been enjoying your company.

But unknown to you, this wasn’t the first time Miles had been introduced to one of Camila’s friends. He’d met probably three of them at this point, and honestly, he was a little over his cousin trying to throw him a bone he didn’t ask for. Did he entertain them? Possibly, for fun. Though it’s not like he actually enjoyed their presence. But there was something intriguing about you that he didn’t pick up on with the others, and he was starting to wonder what was in this punch.

“Hol’ on,” a curious look crossed his face. “You from Queens, right?”

“Mhm, grew up in the same building as Camila and everything. Why?”

“You’on really sound like it, that’s all.” he noted. Poking at the inside of your cheek with your tongue, you battled with an answer.

“Yeah, I… go back and forth, a lot.” You gave a half-hearted smile, in which he responded to with a simple nod.

Your brows furrowed as a sudden realization dawned on you.

“Y’know, now that I think about it... I don’t think I’ve ever seen you, either. You don’t come around often, do you?”

“Mm,” His lips pushed into an upturned frown—that thing people usually did when someone wasn’t far from being correct. He gave a shadowy answer and changed the subject.

“You could say that. Camila’s brought you to one of these before, I’m guessing?”

“Mm-hm, all the time.” You nodded, swirling around the fizzy liquid in your cup. “I usually chill with the elders, though.”

“Heard that.” Miles understood you completely, the corner of his mouth lifting into a lopsided smile.

Now that you’d had the chance to actually speak with him, he wasn’t nearly as aloof as you’d presumed him to be.

“This your mom’s party?”

“Yes ma'am." he hummed.

You took a quick breath in through your nostrils, and Miles almost laughed at how much one word affected you.

"So..." Your eyes cautiously dragged their way over to him. “Why aren’t you celebrating with everyone else?”

Your tone was careful. Like you already knew your question was personal.

His jaw tensed for a beat and his smile dimmed a little, but he was shrugging and back to his coolheaded mien before you could make any inferences on how your question might’ve made him feel.

“Just like bein’ by my lonely, I guess. Better this way.”

Every human on this earth had a trait that irritated someone or made themselves slightly less favorable, and this was yours. Asking intimate questions too soon, unintentionally trying to uproot information about someone’s life through the innocent curiosity that usually got you into trouble.

“S’ain’t really my kind of vibe anyway." he admitted with a flippant gesture toward the party.

You mindlessly fiddled with the charm bracelet dangling from your wrist.

“And what’s your ‘kind of vibe?’”

It was a genuine question. Honest. You knew his confession came in passing, yet that didn’t deter you from wondering what he was thinking when he said it.

Miles’ aureate gaze floated to your person, and you watched as he studied your features. Eyes flitting between the both of yours, as if he were trying to get a read on you without having to ask.

You relaxed a little when he finally cracked a mirth-kissed grin.

“You just full of questions, huh?” he teased, a glint in his eye.

Somewhere in the midst of this conversation, his body had turned towards yours, and you hadn’t noticed until now that he was facing you completely. You looked to him with the same intensity he gave you and played right back.

“You could say that.”

There were a few seconds of internal struggle, seen in the way he fought to pull his gaze away. Teeth biting at the inside of his cheek like he needed a taste of pain to remind him to behave. But, when he caught sight of the way you were looking at him, that little voice in the deep of his mind wasn’t nearly loud enough for him to listen to it.

Licking at his dry lips, he knew better, but he asked anyway with an appetent tilt of his head.

“You wanna get outta here?”

—

Now how did you end up here?

Party forgotten like an old toy on Christmas morning. A newfound agenda on your mind and a new pair of lips on yours to match.

You knew good and well that the question he asked didn’t entail stepping away from the party to get a breath of clean air; in fact, you were finding it quite difficult to breathe right about now.

Huh, and here you thought he was a gentleman.

And Miles was fully aware that this was probably a bad idea, but when he wanted something, it was as if tunnel vision clouded any chance of better judgement.

Every human on this earth had a trait that irritated someone or made them slightly less favorable, and Miles was not excluded from this verity.

Starting things he knew he wouldn’t finish, was his.

[mxdimitrescu]

Twice Type of Couples

Reactions/Headcanons Masterlist

Nayeon

~The Inseparable Couple~

Nayeon is known for her affectionate and playful personality, traits that define your relationship dynamic.

As an inseparable couple, you and Nayeon are always together, sharing a deep and close connection that keeps you bonded at all times.

Your relationship is characterized by a strong emotional connection. You finish each other's sentences, have your own inside jokes, and always prioritize spending time together.

Your dates often include spontaneous adventures, road trips, or simply enjoying each other's company at home. You thrive on new experiences and making memories together.

You and Nayeon are each other's best friends and confidants. You share everything with each other and always support each other through thick and thin.

You both feel incomplete when you're apart. Being together brings you a sense of completeness and happiness that you both cherish.

Your relationship values your strong emotional bond and the deep connection you have formed. It's this bond that keeps you inseparable and deeply in love with each other.

Jeongyeon

~The Parent Couple~

Jeongyeon is known for her caring and responsible personality, traits that are central to your relationship dynamic.

As a parent couple, you and Jeongyeon embody nurturing and supportive roles in your relationship. You take care of each other in a loving and protective way, ensuring your partner feels safe and valued.

You enjoy planning and organizing activities together, such as cooking meals, taking care of pets, and maintaining your home. These activities strengthen your bond and create a sense of shared responsibility.

Your dates often revolve around family-oriented activities. You might enjoy picnics in the park, visiting family members, or attending events together that emphasize family values.

Your relationship values stability, responsibility, and creating a warm and supportive environment for each other. Like loving parents, you prioritize each other's well-being and happiness.

Together, you work to create a loving and supportive home environment. Jeongyeon's nurturing nature complements your role, ensuring that both of you feel cared for and appreciated.

Your relationship is characterized by a deep connection built on mutual care and support. You appreciate each other's efforts in maintaining a stable and loving partnership.

Momo

~The Dancing Couple~

Momo's exceptional dancing skills and passion for performance are central to your relationship. She brings her love for dance into every aspect of your partnership.

You and Momo bond deeply over your shared love for dance. Whether it's attending dance classes together, practicing choreography, or performing dance covers at events, dance is a significant part of your relationship.

Your dates often revolve around dance-related activities. You enjoy going to dance workshops, watching dance performances, or having spontaneous dance sessions at home.

Your relationship is characterized by rhythm, movement, and a shared appreciation for the art of dance. Momo loves teaching you new moves, and you enjoy watching her shine on stage or during practice.

Dance strengthens your connection with Momo. You love how she lights up when talking about dance, and she appreciates your support and enthusiasm for her performances.

Dance brings joy to your time together. Whether you're learning a new routine or just dancing for fun, it's a way for both of you to express yourselves and connect on a deeper level.

Sana

~The PDA Couple~

Sana's affectionate and bubbly personality shines through in your relationship. She loves openly showing her care and love for you.

You and Sana are known for not holding back when it comes to expressing your affection in public. Holding hands, hugging, and stealing kisses are regular occurrences, regardless of where you are or who's around.

Whether it's a casual stroll in the park, a cozy cafe date, or just waiting in line, you both find ways to show your love for each other. Sana often surprises you with little gestures of affection, like playful pats on the back or snuggling up close to you.

Your relationship thrives on closeness and physical touch. Sana loves intertwining her fingers with yours or resting her head on your shoulder when you're out together.

Your bond is characterized by warmth and visible affection, making it clear to everyone around how deeply you care for each other. Sana enjoys surprising you with spontaneous hugs or wrapping her arms around your waist from behind.

Together, you both make it evident how much you adore each other, whether through a quick peck on the cheek or a lingering gaze filled with affection.

Jihyo

~The #RelationshipGoals Couple~

Jihyo is known for her leadership skills, warmth, and caring nature. Together, you exemplify the ideal partnership. Your relationship is built on strong communication and unwavering support, making you both feel valued and understood.

You share moments of joy, adventure, and love on social media, inspiring others with your genuine bond. Whether it's romantic getaways, thoughtful gestures, or simply enjoying everyday life together, your posts reflect the depth and warmth of your relationship, making you a #RelationshipGoals couple.

Your relationship strikes a perfect balance between independence and togetherness. You share dreams and support each other's ambitions while also enjoying quality time together. Thoughtful gestures, like planning surprise dates or leaving sweet notes, make each other feel cherished.

Mina

~The Gaming Couple~

Despite Mina's elegant and graceful persona, she has a love for gaming. Together, you enjoy spending evenings playing video games, whether it's co-op adventures, competitive matches, or exploring virtual worlds. Your shared passion for gaming creates a strong bond and provides endless entertainment.

You both have a cozy gaming setup with matching chairs, headsets, and game consoles, creating a comfortable and immersive gaming environment.

Your dates often include attending gaming conventions, watching esports tournaments, and having friendly gaming competitions. These activities not only allow you to indulge in your favorite pastime but also provide opportunities to connect with the gaming community and discover new games together.

Dahyun

~The Playful Couple~

Dahyun, known for her lively and playful nature, often brings a sense of fun and excitement to your relationship. Together, you enjoy activities that keep things light and entertaining, such as playing pranks on each other and having spontaneous adventures.

You both love going to amusement parks, where you can experience the thrill of rides and games. At home, you have game nights filled with laughter and friendly competition, enjoying each other's company in a relaxed and fun environment.

Your relationship thrives on playful banter and surprises. You have countless inside jokes that keep you both laughing, and you enjoy keeping each other on your toes with unexpected gestures and fun challenges. Every day feels like a new and exciting experience, filled with joy and laughter.

Chaeyoung

~The Creative Couple~

Chaeyoung and you often enjoy creative activities together. For instance, she loves dragging you to pottery making classes, where you sit behind her and help mold the clay, enjoying the romantic and artistic atmosphere of the class.

Chaeyoung loves to draw or paint you while you sleep in bed, capturing your peaceful moments. She finds inspiration in your natural state and loves to express her creativity through you as her muse.

Both of you spend your time exploring museums, attending art classes, or working on collaborative art projects at home. Your shared passion for creativity allows you to bond over various forms of art, enhancing your connection.

Your home is filled with artistic creations, reflecting your deep appreciation for creativity in all its forms. It serves as a space where both of you can freely express yourselves and showcase your artistic talents.

Tzuyu

~The Fashionable Couple~

Tzuyu, renowned for her stunning fashion sense and elegance, shares a passion for staying updated with the latest trends. Together, you both enjoy attending fashion shows, shopping for stylish outfits, and coordinating your looks for various events, ensuring you always make a fashionable statement.

Your dates often include visits to high-end boutiques, designer stores, and chic cafes. Exploring the latest collections and indulging in the aesthetic ambiance of stylish venues is a favorite pastime, allowing you both to bond over your mutual love for fashion.

You enjoy taking stylish photos together for social media, showcasing your impeccable sense of style. Whether it's a casual outing or a formal event, you both value aesthetics and take pride in expressing yourselves through your coordinated and elegant outfits, always turning heads wherever you go.

[bdsmrist]

gonna get a bit personal here, but as an actor it hurts me to see how ppl misinterpret a character as layered and nuanced as kim

now u might be wondering: girl wtf does being an actor have to do w lieutenant kitsuragi. well, i believe it to be the case that actors are storytellers. its our job to write in our characters studies what isnt in the script, to fill in the gaps, and portray that to the best of our abilities.

while in school, my professor’s always emphasized that as an actor, 100% of the time its more interesting when your characters motivations are rooted in love, rather than resentment. and i feel like too often i see ppl understand kim’s motivations be fueled by a desire to reject, protect himself, and detach himself from a world he resents.

now; thats not to say that isn’t entirely true. after all it is what the canon tells us explicitly: that he gave up on moralism, religion, etc, because he again and again was disappointed by the reality of elysium. therefore, that must mean that from there on out kim was a lost soul, that when coming to contact with harry’s spark, it lit his ambitions once more

and yes, to an extent, thats true, but its not the whole truth. to imply otherwise is very derivative. one of the things that makes kim such a compelling character is how he never stopped loving the world around him, *before* meeting harry. and even tho he limits how much he allows himself to indulge in it, it still bleeds through the cracks. hence, when he meets harry, he pours his devotion into the case, and in turn, into harry, without even knowing the guy

would a detached character have the patience and compassion he has for harry on day one? absolutely not. the man is borderline coddling to harry despite it all. and you can hear it in the performance!

jullian champenois’ voice is characterized by its mellow, soothing quality. hes gentle about it! and the actor made that choice for a reason! kim is a gentle person! he stands his ground, he sets boundaries, keeps u in course, and is nothing of a pushover. but regardless, his temperament is calm and reassuring. thats his function as a literary device! to contrast harry’s self-hatred and self-loathing with compassion and understanding!

think about it: would a character thats insistent on being a cold wall, sit on the swing-sets with harry for the pure purpose of just being there so harry doesnt have to confront that alone? if kim only wanted to keep people at an arms length, would he insist you two to be the ones to break the news to working class woman about her husband when ur at her doorstep? he said it himself; the precinct couldve handled it fine.

if kims actions were rooted in resentment towards an unfair world, would he be an instrument of justice for the rcm in the first place? kim, who verbatim despises the cops who become cops so they can use policing as an ego outlet?

kim kitsuragi cares. he cares very deeply, and i believe that the walls around him are a result of kim attempting to keep himself *in*, rather than keep others *out*. kim keeps HIMSELF on a short leash, because he knows that otherwise he’d go all in, just like harry.

harry and kim are at the opposite ends of the same spectrum of people that are too passionate for a world that does not reward such earnestness. therefore, harry copes with addiction, and kim copes with restrictions. regardless. its all comes back to love.

[anakirui]

so i had this crazy idea (theory time?)

i'm pretty sure this person is actually just straight up xander. which has various implications that i will elaborate on below the cut

here's why this person could be xander

first off, the bloody fork in the background reminds me of xander's eye wound, which i have provided a photo of here;

the claw marks made to gouge his eye out look like they could be done by a fork, if enough force was used by the assailant. the wound also seems fresh, and xander doesn't remember where it came from.

second off, the fact that the mystery character talks about a person using she/her pronouns attacking them. i believe this person is teruko, based off the fact that they're the only character the mystery character namedrops, especially since teruko uses she/her and this character was very recently attacked (as in, them holding a grudge for their injury would make sense).

these ideas are also supported by this scene, also at the very beginning of the prologue;

xander's wound reopened when teruko bumped into him, showing how recent the injury must be, as well as potentially foreshadowing the fact that she is (most likely) his assailant.

and also, this person has the same convictions that xander shows prior to his death; to end the killing game (and later, to kill teruko).

so... what about the note? who gave xander the note telling him to kill teruko, and if he is the prologue character, why would he even need a note telling him to kill teruko?

as of right now, i believe that xander actually wrote the note. at least, whatever xander from the circumstances of the prologue did. xander, as we know him normally, has the same memory loss as all the other students, so it's possible a note would have to be written for him so that he would remember to carry this out.

i think the answer as to how xander wrote this note for himself at a different time than the present is related to the nature of drdt's killing game; in other words, i don't have any concrete evidence, unless if anyone wants to hear my speculation on how this killing game might work.

however, we must also address the elephant in the room;

this line.

this line suggests that someone else has told xander to kill teruko, which i think is why we've all been focusing on who could've convinced xander to kill her.

the trick to this question is that i don't think that's how it's supposed to be answered; it's unlikely anyone else besides xander could, except for maybe the mastermind (which creates more questions than answers)

after all, xander hasn't known anyone there for more than 3 days, except for david (parasocially), so i sincerely doubt anyone in the killing game cast could convince xander to kill teruko (based off what we know so far).

and contrary to popular opinion, i don't think david wrote the note. in my opinion, this contradicts david's characterization, especially in the recently released ch2 ep12. this whole time, he's been justifying and excusing xander's actions (something he's done since the chapter 1 trial), wholeheartedly believing that xander must have had a "good reason" all because david was a fan of him prior to them meeting. i also think xander's ideals are too strong for him to instantly believe a note that david wrote, and he'd most likely become disillusioned with david and begin to dislike him; most likely believing in the rumors he's heard about him prior as well.

but... if xander himself wrote the note, and if xander knew it had to be himself who wrote it based off whatever information was in the rest of that note; then he'd be compelled to follow through with his own judgment, regardless of his own doubts. this is why when he starts talking to himself after stabbing teruko, he's asking why "you" (himself) asked him to kill teruko. it's self-directed to someone who has to be him but that he can't fully understand because of his lost memories, hence why xander almost seems to separate himself from the situation.

idk how well this will hold up in the future but yeaahhh

[olderthannetfic]

I'm a big mpreg and A/B/O fan who is wondering if anyone else has noticed the weird anti-abortion attitudes in a lot of mpreg and a/b/o? Like where you're "2000s Hollywood movies" levels of characters not even CONSIDERING abortion as an option for unwanted pregnancies (in a universe where this is possible and safe, and where it doesn't make sense with the character's characterization). I get why for plot reasons, abortion isn't as satisfying an end to a certain kind of pregnancy story as having the baby, same as it is in movies that do it. But you can write a character considering abortion and deciding not to get one in a way that doesn't make the option seem horrible and unthinkable or otherwise stigmatize it.

Or the number of people who seem to think abortion is such an inherently "traumatizing" topic that they need to content-warn for even a vague, offhand mention of it. It's one thing if it's graphic surgery or something - I'd probably want a head's up for that no matter what it was, at least in a story where I didn't see it coming - but just mentioning it at all? Abortion is a routine, safe medical procedure in places where it's legal. If you're doing warnings with abortion and no other medical procedures, you're reinforcing the anti-choice idea that abortion is inherently upsetting and sad. It's reinforcing abortion stigma. I've met many, many more people who've had abortions who felt happy about it and wish they could say that without having people treat them like a murderer, than I have people who had the "post-abortion regret" that anti-choice organizations talk about, and my experiences are supported by basically all the statistics about this that aren't from anti-choice political lobbying groups. It's especially egregious when people do this over an early, fully-elective (and legal and safe) abortion - a thing where patients having triggering kind of trauma is so low as to be statistically insignificant - but don't do it over related topics that genuinely contribute to a lot of PTSD, like miscarriage, infertility, adoption, and even fucking child death!!!!! I saw a fic that mentioned ALL of those things in someone's inner monologue considering what he should do about an unexpected pregnancy, but only the abortion part got warned for! Maybe some of that sounds nitpicky, but I personally know people who read fanfiction who like warnings for discussion of infertility/miscarriage because they have a lot of stress and trauma over unsuccessfully trying to have a child, and don't want to be reminded of that in their happy place.

It feels like a thing that's oddly underdiscussed when people talk about things in mpreg and a/b/o that would be kind of questionable to these same authors if they were to encounter it in stories about pregnancy where the character is a woman (like the stories where simply having a working uterus means you are inherently more nurturing or less ambitious or sweeter, or where getting pregnant suddenly makes you like that no matter how you were before). But if anything it's more common. I have to assume a lot of it's because a lot of people writing these were raised with more conservative ideas about abortion and then changed their minds, but didn't really question everything their upbringing taught them about abortions being always tragic or something that you should only do in extreme circumstances or whatever. Something you often see on Tumblr discourse about abortion, too, where people who claim to be "pro-choice" will come u with a list of reasons (disability, gender, just not feeling it, etc.) why it's "not okay" to get an abortion - not getting the point that forcing someone to carry a pregnancy they don't want is a violation of their body autonomy regardless of their "reasoning." The ableist woman who doesn't want a disabled baby still doesn't deserve have to a pregnancy forced upon her by the state!

I have to wonder if it's more noticeable to me because i wasn't raised that way at all, I had pro-choice leftist feminist parents.

Anyway long story short, I've never agreed with the anti take that mpreg or a/b/o are inherently sexist or anything like that. A lot of it is nothing like this! But it's common and I have to wonder if something working within a medium that's considered to be queerer and more progressive sometimes leads people to expose more of these attitudes than they might otherwise. Kind of like how you see a lot of weird sex-negativity in queer and fandom communities because people think merely being queer and in fandom means they can't be conservative, but they haven't actually questioned underlying sex-negative attitudes they have.... and so you get them being susceptible to anti and "kinks don't belong at pride" and such.

It's not inherently sexist, but I'm not sure it's inherently progressive, either? Not that it has to be. But I think my patience for anti-abortion stigma is, given recent big world events, at its absolute nadir lol

(sorry this is so long! guess i had more to say about this than i thought)

--

Too much American culture, maybe? IDK.

My mother considered abortions to be about like having the doctor remove a tick. I too find a lot of people's pearl clutching bemusing.

I always find it embarrassing in that bad writing OOC way when people don't include abortion where it makes sense or treat it as a Big Deal where it wouldn't be to that character.

However, I do usually expect mpreg fic to be kinking on "Ohhh nooo, now we have to stay together for the baby!" nonsense fantasies. It's one reason I dislike most of it. Given that, I wouldn't read too much into the plague of conservative anti-abortion vibes.

The fandoms that do more with A/B/O world building (giving the betas an actual role, etc.) tend to have more fic where they consider or even get abortions though.

[drowninginredink]

I just realized how unique it is that A Series of Unfortunate Events is able to make Violet feel responsible for the well-being of her siblings and like it is her duty to protect and take care of them without at all forcing her into the archetype of mother. The entire "You are the eldest Baudelaire" speech is genius in how it ensures that she can have that guardian role in her without being motherly. It is her duty as an eldest sibling, regardless of gender, not her duty as a woman. I just really appreciate that. Violet Baudelaire's entire characterization is a win against sexism and female stereotypes, and because I grew up with it I didn't even realize how notable that was.

Anyway thank you to @jeppyposting for accidentally sparking this realization

[winxwiki]

On the Winx reboot leaks

Long post, leaks analisis, spoilers if you don't want to see it under Read More. Seeing the Rainbow artist names attached onto these pictures and the development renders, these are 100% real. On top of that, It's not the first time Rainbow got something leaked, received feedback and acted accordingly. Remember the negative feedback on the 2023 easter eggs designs? Poof, gone. Remember the positive feedback on the 2023 leaked group design? Suddenly, Rainbow started using that Bloom at press events.

I genuinely believe that Rainbow "leaks" stuff now on purpose to receive feedback without actually needing to announce anything final to broadcasters.

Let's see.

From the Lorem Ipsum we can tell this isn't remotely final, but a group test. We're back to Bloom with a ponytail (they really like it!) and Tecna does have robotic limbs. Each girl's design seems to reflect their elements:

Stella has stars, the sun, wings at her feet and light, even light rays on her wings and top

Bloom seems to have scales of some sort and patterns on her leggings. Maybe to indicate that she's an artist? Or meant to represent the breath of life?

Musa, the smallest, got some musical sheet onto her. Overall not the most musical inspired design. Everybody kinda looks like an ice skating ballerina.

Flora got flowers. Really most obvious one there.

Aisha's hair is a bit too much, I prefer her civilian braids more. I like how her dress has wavy patterns of sorts and sparkles that look like shining waters on her shorts and skirt. They can do better on her though. Wings look like they got splashes of water. It's still cool that Rainbow is experimenting more with black textured hair than any american animation studio, so kudos for that.

Tecna looks like she's wearing a circuit but looks the most generic. Probably because she has too much going on with a full bodysuit with patterns. I don't like the accessory on her head.

Proof that these are real: these obvious dev documents

They even got an alt with their "civilian" hairstyles, but it says "transform". Which means no hairstyle or design is final so far.

It seems Musa and Tecna share skintones, Bloom has her own, Stella and Flora share it too, Aisha has her own and is the darkest. I think we can make Stella and Flora a little darker each in varying degrees, to show that Stella is tanned and Flora is a dark skinned latina.

There is a lot of focus on the designs we saw leaked that got positive reception. It's likely they will be finalized, since they went as far as making a test animation with that Bloom design.

A lot going on here in this room already giving Bloom so much personality. Her own shelf with the name with a heart-shaped B. A guitar? A sketchbook and school supplies. Bloom is back to drawing again, we last saw that in World of Winx but in the main series it was always just left implied by her earth room's belongings and her huge drawing desk, yet it was never expanded upon. Hopefully her being an artist can finally shine through her personality.

Most importantly, she's back to being silly, goofy and expressive again. Of course, the reboot is back to square one with the story and characterizations. I hope more quirks that were not explored in the main series get more attention in the reboot (again, like Bloom being an artist!)

The Trix now got a symbol and individual faces while sharing the same body. Icy's design is nearly identical to the original, I actually like the small cuts showing skin on her chest, so she doesn't feel too covered up. Midriffs are back and so is 2000s fashion.

Important detail, Icy is taller than Bloom. Is it her heels? Regardless, we got some more body diversity.

Some more notes:

Artist is credited as Pasqualino Masciulli, a real 3d artist at Rainbow

Date is 17 April 2024, for some reason they're using the wrong format. This is VERY recent. They're NOWHERE near done!

It says episode 106. It must be a reference to the reboot itself, Season 1, episode 6, as the old series episodes in total were 208. This means the series has at least finished writing and storyboarding, but they haven't finished with the character designs yet!

Further proof that fucking nothing is done yet, the leaker said this. From what I just noted above, I believe it. They're not remotely done.

This "Damien" motherfucker looks ai generated, doesn't fit the style in the slightest with his weirdly realistic face and the belts details and clothing folds are all over the place. Shame to whoever did this.

Who even is this guy? Is he the new character Iginio was warning us about? He doesn't look bad but they can do even better. Definitely a fascinating choice for the sexy bad boy, because I know that's who he's gonna be.

Don't fucking use AI for your art, though. It looks like shit.

Interesting, no specialists in the leaks. No Roxy or Terra either though.

This outfit is a mix of 2 outfits from season 2. Which means they're studying their own old designs. The same goes for another Bloom render and concept.

Fascinating detail: they're using 2000s dress up pixel dolls as reference. Learn from the masters! This dress doesn't resemble anything and doesn't seem to be a civilian dress but a transformation one, with all the glitters and stars around.

Last but not least, absolutely atrocious 2000s fashion is back (this is a good thing). We can hope a little but it's surprising how in 5 years they haven't done shit yet. That's some development hell. Either Iginio is really passionate about making this the second coming of Christ or they don't know what the fuck they're doing.

Free hopium tanks!

[allpiesforourown]

do you have a fav physical characterization of sqq and binghe? (ex: binghe brown fluffy hair, sqq green eyes, some people draw him with grey eyes or a mole his mouth etc)

okay so not to go on a rant, but...

i do not care for green eyed shen qingqiu. don't get me wrong, i love art of him no matter what he looks like, because at the end of the day he's my blorbo regardless. BUT the thing i love so much about mxtx is that she's one of the few writers in the world who is proud of her heritage without being nationalistic or problematic about it.

because whenever we get asian representation, we're never allowed to actually... look asian. kpop idols have to dye their hair and wear contacts. anime characters need to have naturally purple hair and eyes. we're always told that how we naturally look is "boring". which is why it's so refreshing to see someone write characters with realistic features (sans wangji's golden eyes, which is an outlier).

so it makes me kind of disappointed when mxtx writes her characters to look like ACTUAL chinese people because she loves her culture, and adaptations don't respect that. xie lian is described to have pitch black hair, not light brown, and shen qingqiu's eyes are canonically black.

again this is just MY opinion and in no way criticism against people who want to give these characters a bit more colour. but I'm asian myself and I grew up in a country where everyone has brown eyes and black hair, with maybe someone being born with blue eyes once in a blue moon. there's nothing wrong with giving asian characters uncommon feaures but also ... a character can have a stereotypically asian colour scheme and still be well designed

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #4952:

Is she really badly written or did you have expectations for her characterization that didnt fit your girlboss slay queen definition of a well written female character? Alternatively is she really well written or do you just like that she got with her love interest in the end regardless of how earned it is and consider that an achievement for her characterization despite it nothing else to prove their relevancy or importance to the story?

[titaniumions]

i think it's probably somewhat clear that i see isolde and kakania as lesbians (seems to be a common hc anyway) but i think i want to explore how that'd fit into their respective characterizations, not necessarily only from a shipping standpoint. note that this does get into headcanon territory, still i try to keep it as in-character as i can

i think kakania would actually be pretty open about it. in the 1910s?? i mean sure, she's already a controversy as she is ... an arcanist, an uncertified psychiatrist with unconventional methods, an outspoken member of society who stirs up public opinion. might as well give herself one more reason to be a subject of controversy. those who are set on hating her probably have no intention of changing that, so hey, might as well authentically be herself in every possible way including this. among those who have a more positive opinion about her, i do think this would make her somewhat of an icon. she draws other members of the community toward her. she lets them know that she is there for them and will fight for them. that they can turn to her and she will not scrutinize them for it. she'd tell them, no, there is nothing wrong with being this way. it isn't something you need to be "cured" from

in line with this, i think it would make sense for the "circle" to be a queer safe space. in fact, i like to think theophil himself could've been bi and thus would've accepted his sister's sexuality. but due to her own inhibitions (which i will touch upon later) i don't think isolde would ever have told him.

meanwhile for isolde ... i think it's more complicated. having a sexuality outside of the norm would be a deviation from the socially acceptable definition of the "perfect noble" she tries to be. so even if she were to ever consider it, she would simply end up pushing those thoughts away. no, not a chance. this shouldn't bother her at all. she's supposed to be perfect, yet she already has enough problems in her life as a member of the dittarsdorf family. considering the possibility of herself being anything but straight would lead to more problems, wouldn't it? and that's the last thing she needs. nonetheless she's ... never been attracted to a man either. but she tries not to think too much of it. maybe she just needs to wait it out. or so she tells herself

now to piece it all together ... i do really like the idea of kakania being her ... awakening. in fact i think it would make a lot of sense for her story, what with kakania being the metaphorical key to the doors that have always surrounded and confined isolde ... so hear me out. when isolde started associating with her and the circle she realized that it felt far less suffocating than ... pretty much any other aspect of her life. it's like a breath of fresh air. kakania in particular would fascinate isolde, in a way that makes isolde question things about herself. perhaps she even comes close to having a realization. but again, isolde remembers who she needs to be, and stops herself short.

eventually though, she would learn what kind of person kakania is, and what she believes in and fights for. this only deepens isolde's admiration further and she finally comes to a point of acceptance about her feelings. alright. i can accept this realization now. she no longer pushes it to the back of her mind. there's still a bit of repression and shame left in there but meeting someone who has not only awakened her, but also wouldn't judge her for it, has changed something within her entirely. the feelings overflow and she can deny it no longer. but again, at the end of the day she still needs to be perfect and socially acceptable. she can't just ... exist as freely as kakania does. but it's alright, isolde has feigned compliance for so long regardless of however difficult it might be. putting up with expectations has been a regular part of her life. so there it is, something authentic about this actor that she can't show to anyone else because it doesn't fit the part that she's supposed to play. kakania is allowed to know though, of course she is. it can just be their little secret. and one way or another, she'll figure out how isolde feels toward her. surely kakania would be quite honored to be on the receiving end of the affection of such a wonderful lady. as long as this affection doesn't eventually turn into a catalyst for destruction, right ...

[brucewaynehater101]

almost every post/fic about Tim's parents(bio, adoptive, parental figures) almost always focuses on his fathers, whether it was in hcs, fics or discussions, but never his mother(s) (sans your acc and a few others), like Tim(especially in the 90s) LOVES his mother, like ALOT, I *need* more Janet Drake & Tim Drake interactions, I *need*more Dana Winter(s?) & Tim Drake interactions.

Part of the reason for this, I personally think, is because they got so little screen time (panel time?).

Janet had maybe five instances (not counting times she was mentioned). Let me know if I missed any or got any of these wrong:

The scence where Tim saw The Graysons

A hallucination/dream when Tim had the Clench

When Janet died

An alternative reality Janet

I think I remember a scene where Tim was walking down the road with her?

Anyways, that's so few in comparison to Tim overall or even Jack and Dana.

Dana was essential for Tim (and Tim and Jack's relationship). She doesn't get talked about as much either.

The Drakes also get a ton of hate and are made into absolute monsters by the fandom. I'm all for AUs, but the relationship is a bit more complex than Tim's parents being assholes. They definitely were emotionally neglectful, but they loved and cared about him. I'm not saying their neglect should be excused or ignored, but they didn't hate their son (although I'd argue Jack was emotionally abusive as well).

Regardless, my main point is that Janet's personality wasn't really built due to her lack of screen time. This is why fanon runs with the cold, powerful Drake CEO Janet hc. I like the hc, but she was shown as caring and affectionate to Tim in the comics.

I definitely prefer Janet over Jack, and I'd be down to for more fanon material containing Dana.

Also, yes. I kind of don't see much material (myself included) chatting about the positive effects of more canon Janet. There's not much about her hugging him, being affectionate, and caring. It'd be cool to see more work focused on how much his mom loved Tim and how Tim misses her so much (also, Christmas Eve angst due to her funeral).

Hmm... This fic has excellent characterization and focus of both Janet and Dana. While it doesn't primarily focus on them, it does bring up Tim's grief with them. This is a "Tim Joins the Batfam late and was never Robin" AU. I highly recommend you check it out (content warning it gets dark):