#homeless isn’t a crime

[cyarsk52-20]

Texas governor Gregg A-Butt abbott & republicans: “We have to solve the mental health issue” Also, Greg Abbott, republicans, Mayor Adams, and Governor Hochul: it’s perfectly fine choke to death anyone with a mental health issue

Texas and New York: y’all could had beto O’Rourke, tish james and Maya Wiley respectively.

[wonderjanga]

Billy’s Homelessness

Being a homeless kid has its perks, Billy supposes. He’s picked up tips and tricks from other kids and even adults during his time. It’s practically second nature to him at this point. Only thing is, the fact that it’s second nature in the first place is what can come back to bite him in the future.

Like lock picking. He’s good at it, and it’s not something he’s particularly proud of, but it’s helped him when he’s needed it most. He’s gotten shelter from blizzards, sleet, and rain with this skill. That’s why when Billy, Flash, GL, and Supes got locked in an all yellow room with red sun lamps and a locked door.

Supes, GL, and Flash: *all discussing how to get out* Marvel: *leans down in front of the keyhole of the door*

Supes: “Alright Flash, vibrate through the door-”

Marvel: “Done!” *opens door*

*silence*

GL: “How’d you do that?”

Marvel: “I picked the lock.” *walks out and immediately gets shot in the face by one of the guards*

Then there’s pickpocketing. He’s also unfortunately good at this. Freddy says he’s better though. Billy isn’t about to make a contest out of it. Batman found out about this particular talent when both him and Billy went undercover for a mission to uncover the scheme of some foreign politician.

Batman: *as Bruce Wayne* “That’s the man.” *subtly gestures to him*

Marvel: “Him? Okay… What do you wanna do?”

Batman: “First, we need to properly identify-”

Marvel: “Oh, okay.” *walks over to the man, passes him, then comes back to Bruce* “Here.” *places the man’s wallet in Bruce’s hand*

Batman: “…that he was involved in the crimes.”

Marvel: “Oh.”

*silence*

Batman: *opens the wallet anyways and starts looking through it*

Marvel: “Do you want me to put it back?”

Batman: *puts one finger up to Marvel’s face while he continues looking through the wallet*

Marvel: *deflates slightly* “Oh, okay.”

Batman: *pulls out a clue from the wallet* “Put this back, chum.”

Marvel: *scurries off to put the wallet back*

Bruce then heavily lamented how Marvel knew how to pickpocket so well. Cause the thing is, Marvel’s like six feet tall. (Had to make him a little shorter guys. My bad.) A man like that had no business doing that so well in a bright red sweater and yellow hat.

Then, there’s the avoiding cops. He rarely sticks around for them. He does not mess with them. He’s had too many bad experiences as Billy for it to translate well to Marvel. Whenever one tries to talk to him, he’ll say the bare minimum as politely as he can and fly off. Sometimes, if he knows it’s a cop who’s harsher on the homeless than most, he’ll act polite(passive aggressive) and then give them a nice, firm(crushing) handshake. One such incident was when a cop asked for a photo:

Cop A and Marvel: *posing for a photo by shaking hands*

Marvel: *smiling at the camera, his grip tightening on the hand*

Cop A: *awkward laugh* “That’s a tight grip you got there, Captain.”

Marvel: *lightens his grip, looking down to Cop A’s name tag: Richard* (This isn’t Nightwing guys) “My bad, dick.”

Cop A: “Excuse me?”

Marvel: “Oh no no no, not like “dick,” Dick.” *grip tightens again* “Not like some spineless, lowlife piece of shit from the bottom of my boot that gets scraped off onto a bigger pile of shit, kind of dick.” *smiles the whole time as he speaks* “No, like your name, officer, Dick.”

Cop A: “I prefer Richard.”

Cop B: *takes photo*

Also, anybody who gets that reference gets a kiss. Man or woman. It doesn’t matter. I don’t make the rules. By the way, someone definitely recorded that entire interaction and #passiveaggressivecap ended up trending on twitter.

Then, there’s the time Supes came over to Fawcett to hang out. They were chilling on a rooftop talking when down below they both saw a teenager steal food from a seller.

Supes: *doesn’t see Marvel move* “Aren’t you gonna stop that kid?”

Marvel: “Uh… no. He’s homeless. He clearly needs it more than we do.”

Supes: *blinks rapidly but then remembers he’s not in Metropolis and can’t really tell Marvel how to run his city* “Okay then.”

[dysphoricangell]

when are people gonna wake up and realize that misogyny isn’t some mystical hypothetical concept, and that it’s actually the deadliest form of oppression that exists? misogyny is the reason women are murdered by their male partners multiple times everyday in femicide, misogyny is the reason female infants are murdered the second they come out of the womb, misogyny is the reason little girls are denied education simply on the basis of being female, misogyny is the reason the female body is able to be commodified by males for sex (as well as for birth, in surrogacy), misogyny is the reason young girls are taught to run a sharp razor against their skin and participate in feminine practices the second they start puberty, misogyny is the reason women are denied autonomy and are brutalized under islamic regime, misogyny is the reason males are responsible for nearly 100% of all sex crimes (rape and sexual assault) committed (as-well as the reasoning for sex crimes being one of if not the most common type of crime done to women & girls, especially when at a young age), misogyny is the reason male health issues have so much more documented research then female health issues, misogyny is the reason young women and girls have their genitalia mutilated for “cultural/religious” purposes, misogyny is the reason males systematically rape and sexually abuse women and girls during conflicts and war, misogyny is the reason menstrual products are costly material items that many homeless women out there don’t have access to & also why women/girls are ostracized in many cultures for starting their periods, misogyny is the reason women are taken less seriously compared to men in literally every profession, misogyny is the reason gender non-conforming lesbians are being chemically castrated and having their breasts cut off by doctors in the name of trans ideology (on the largest scale we’ve ever seen), misogyny is the reason incestuous abuse is one of the most common types of sexual abuse and is nearly always committed by fathers/uncles/grandpas, misogyny is the reason catcalling women and young girls has somehow managed to become a socially acceptable form of sexual harassment, and misogyny is the reason women and girls are blamed by men for half of the issues on this list occurring.

all of these issues are caused by misogyny, and perpetuated by males.

i know it’s a difficult reality for most people to come to terms with, but these are the realities for hundreds of MILLIONS of women and girls around the world.

misogyny can’t being trivialized, it’s evil, and deadly.

[secretmellowblog]

The thing is, Jean Valjean’s “nineteen year prison sentence for stealing a loaf of bread” from Les Mis isn’t actually unusual….not even today! I see people talking about it as if it’s strange or unimaginable when it happens every day.

In modern America — often as a result of pointlessly cruel (and racist) habitual offender and mandatory minimum laws— people are routinely sentenced to life in prison for minor crimes like shoplifting or possession of drugs.

The ACLU did a report in 2013 detailing the lives of various people who were sentenced to life in prison without parole for nonviolent property crimes like:

•attempting to cash a stolen check

•a junk-dealer’s possession of stolen junk

metal (10 valves and one elbow pipe)

•possession of stolen wrenches

•siphoning gasoline from a truck

•stealing tools from a tool shed and a welding machine from a yard

•shoplifting three belts from a department store

•shoplifting several digital cameras

•shoplifting two jerseys from an athletic store

• taking a television, circular saw, and a power converter from a vacant house

• breaking into a closed liquor store in the middle of the night

And of course, so so so many people sentenced to life without parole for the possession of a few grams of drugs.

And we could go on and on!

Gregory Taylor was a homeless man in Los Angeles who, in 1997, was sentenced to “25 years to life” for attempting to steal food from a food kitchen. He was released after 13 years. The lawyers helping to release him even cited Les Miserables in their appeal, comparing Taylor’s sentence to Jean Valjean’s.

And there’s another specific bit of social commentary Hugo was making about Valjean’s trial that’s still depressingly relevant. He writes that Valjean was sentenced for the theft of loaf of bread, but also that the court managed to make that sentence stick by bringing up some of his past misdemeanors. For example, Valjean owned a gun and was known to occasionally poach wildlife (presumably for his starving family to eat.) . So the court exaggerates how harmful the bread theft was—he had to smash a windowpane to get the bread, which is basically Violence— then insist the fact that he owns a gun and occasionally poaches is proof that he is habitually and innately violent. Then when Valjean obviously becomes distressed traumatized and furious as a result of his nakedly unjust sentence and begins making desperate (and very unsuccessful/impulsive/ poorly thought through) attempts to escape…. the government indifferently tacks more years onto his sentence, labels him a “dangerous” felon, and insists that its initial read of him as an innately violent person was correct.

And it’s sad how a lot of the real life stories linked earlier are similar to the commentary Hugo wrote in 1863? Someone will commit a nonviolent property crime, and then the court insists that a bunch of other miscellaneous things they’ve done in the past (whether it’s other minor thefts or being addicted to drugs or w/e) are Proof they’re inherently violent and incapable of being around other people.

A small very petty fandom side note: This is also why I dislike all those common jokes you see everywhere along the lines of “lol it’s so unrealistic for the police to want to arrest Valjean over a loaf of bread, there must have been some other reason the police were pursuing him. Because the state would never punish someone that harshly and irrationally for no reason. so maybe javert was just gay haha”. (Ex: this tiktok— please don’t harass the creator or poster though, I don’t think they were intending to mean anything like that and its just a silly common type of joke you see made about Les mis all the time so it’s not unique in any way.) because like.

As much as I don’t think Les Mis is a flawless book or that its political messaging is perfect….the only way that insanely long unjust sentences for minor crimes is “unrealistic” is if you’re operating on the assumption that prisons are here to Keep You Safe by always only punishing bad criminals who do serious crimes. And that’s just, not true at all. Like I get that these are just goofy silly shallow jokes, and I’m not angry or going to harass anyone who makes them. but it feels like there’s an assumption underlying all those goofy jokes that “this is just not how prison works!” “Prisons don’t routinely sentence people to absurd laughably unjust pointless sentences!” “Prisons give people fair sentences for logical reasons!” When like…no

Valjean being relentlessly hounded and tortured for a minor crime in a way that is utterly ridiculous and arbitrary in its cruelty is not actually a plot hole in Les mis. It’s a plot hole in …..society ajsjkdkdkf. And the only way to fix that is to fight for prison abolition or at least reform, and (in America) stand up against the vicious naked cruelty of habitual offender and mandatory minimum laws.

But yeah :(. I hate how Les Mis opens with a prologue saying the novel will be obsolete the moment the social issues it describes have been resolved— but two hundred years later, the book is still more relevant than ever because we’re dealing with so many of the exact same injustices.

[jaxon-exe]

…. More dp x dc because brain rot

So Danny ends up homeless in Gotham after a revival to his parents gone wrong and is trying his best to stay out of the bats way. Unfortunately the kid has the worst luck and an even worst hero complex so when he stumbles across a mugging he can’t help but jump in.

It’s only after he K.O.ed the mugger that he looking up and saw the civilian he saved looking at him and in a split second of panic just faded from visibility. I mean who’s gonna believe the guy if he says his rescuer just fu/king upped and vanished.

It worked out tho. So much in fact that when Danny once again found himself jumping in to trouble before he can think he just decides to disappear after.

This happens so much that people start to take notice and the conclusion they come to? A ghost. More specifically a 13-14 y/o ghost with black hair and blue eyes. More specifically the ghost of the black haired, blue eyed, Wayne kid that died when he was 13. 

Yep! Gotham comes to the conclusion that Jason Todd has come back as a ghost to protect the streets of Gotham!!

Now obviously this gets to Bruce who knows this isn’t the case because Jason is over in crime alleys right now hopefully not going on a murder spree again so he’s gotta find out who this is and preferably before Jason hears about this.

[alwaysmoncheri]

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and jason have a complicated relationship, but when you find yourself in a troubling situation, jason just happens to be your emergency contact

𝐜𝐰: female!reader, minimal swearing, sexual assault, cat calling, assault, violence, 1.5k, jason todd x reader

<3

midnights in gotham city smell distinctly of blood. the dark streets are littered with corpses of victims who stain the rubble red. crime is high and murder remains rampant among the homeless people living on the streets. you know walking home alone at this hour alongside the hundreds of criminals that hide in the shadows is a terrible idea. but your shift at the library ran late tonight and you had no other means of transportation, hence the reason why you find yourself alone in a dark alley far from the comfort and safety of your apartment.

the faint footsteps of desperate strangers lurk behind you, the sound echoes through the night, and your skin crawls with anticipation of what’s to follow. nothing good comes from the situation that you’ve found yourself in and that’s what brings you to pull out your phone and tap on the first contact that pops up on your screen.

jason.

your relationship with jason is complicated. like most things in your life you suppose. but jason is the only one who’s almost always by your side. maybe that’s part of what possessed you to click on his name on your phone and bring it up to your ear with trembling fingers.

“hey, sweet—”

“jason, I think i’m being followed.” you breathe out quickly and you don't dare to peek so much as a glance behind you.

“shit. hang on, babe. just—”

jason's voice, laced with urgency, cuts through the tense night as the echo of your footsteps intensifies. the sounds of the desolate alley amplify, creating an eerie symphony of fear and impending danger.

“i’m so scared, jay,” your shaky voice reaches jason, carrying the weight of dread as if it were a tangible thing. in response, jason's voice becomes a soothing anchor, his words a balm to your frayed nerves.

“hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. tell me where you are,” jason's voice, steady and reassuring, breaks through the chaos. your breath catches as you fumble to provide your location, the darkness of the alley making every detail obscure.

“I don’t know, I think in an alley near the corner of 5th and main. I thought it would be quicker. jason, please hurry,” desperation seeps into your words, painting a vivid picture of the peril you find yourself in.

“just hang on, i’m on my way,” jason's promise becomes a lifeline, a lifeline you desperately clutch onto. the plea, "don’t hang up, please don’t hang up," echoes through the phone, the fear of losing that connection palpable.

“I won’t, honey. just keep telling me what’s going on, okay?” jason's voice is a steady stream of reassurance, a counterpoint to the mounting chaos.

your breath quickens as you confess, "there’s multiple, jay."

“multiple what? sweetheart, talk to me,” jason's concern deepens, the gravity of the situation reflected in the intensity of his inquiry.

“people, there’s multiple people. they’re still following me, and I can’t lose them,” your voice quivers, painting a chilling image of the shadows closing in.

“i’m almost there, okay? just hang on a little longer, can you do that for me?” jason’s words are a beacon of hope, urging you to endure the storm just a little while longer.

“they’re getting closer. shit,” panic infuses your voice as the chase intensifies. jason senses the urgency, a quiet determination in his response.

the abrupt cut-off and your distressed cry for help and jason’s call to you, "y/n!?" mark the harrowing turn. the phone, a lifeline moments ago, is silenced by a crushing foot, an audible confirmation of the looming threat.

“looks like your boyfriend isn’t going to make it, gorgeous,” a sinister voice taunts, the malevolence palpable in the dimly lit alley. the struggle intensifies, and your defiant words ring through the night.

“get off of me, you creep!” your voice is a mix of fear and defiance, a visceral response to the encroaching menace.

“watch your tone, sweetie,” a chilling warning hangs in the air as they pin you down. the confrontation takes a dark turn as you spit in their faces, a desperate act of resistance.

“such a shame that’s what you’re using such a pretty mouth for,” a sinister chuckle underscores the dehumanizing intent, leaving a bitter taste in the tense air.

“that’s alright, we don’t want you for your mouth anyway,” a chilling statement, a precursor to unspeakable horrors, hangs over the alley.

in the clash of desperation and violence, the air changes as jason, your vigilante savior, descends upon the scene like a guardian angel emerging from the shadows. the sounds of a fierce struggle ensue, muffled grunts and the scuff of boots on concrete. with a swift, powerful intervention, the men are knocked out and when they loosen their grip you sink to the ground with defeat and despair. you don’t even notice you’re crying until jason gently prys your hands from your face and rubs your tears away with the rough thumb of his leather glove

then, in one swift motion, jason's strong, reassuring arms envelop you, pulling you into an embrace that feels like sanctuary. relief washes over you, grounding you in the reality of his protective presence.

“it's okay, sweetheart. you're safe now,” jason's voice, previously a lifeline over the phone, now echoes directly into your ear, a soothing melody that erases the lingering echoes of fear. his words are a healing balm, mending the wounds of terror inflicted upon your psyche.

the dimly lit alley transforms from a nightmare into a haven under the watchful gaze of your friend. the tension in your shoulders eases, and the erratic beat of your heart gradually steadies as you bask in the warmth of his reassuring touch.

“i've got you, y/n. you're safe,” jason whispers, the warmth of his breath against your ear a soothing balm to the wounds inflicted by fear. the resonance of those words sinking deep into the recesses of your shaken soul. his presence is a shield against the haunting memories of the alley, a reassurance that the nightmare is over.

the shattered phone lies forgotten, a casualty of the struggle, as jason continues to shield you from the residual fear. he tilts your chin up gently, meeting your eyes with an unwavering gaze that speaks volumes of his commitment and protective instinct.

“let's get you home,” jason murmurs, his fingers tenderly brushing away a stray strand of hair from your face. together, you navigate the now-quiet alley, the looming threat replaced by the solid ground beneath your feet and the reassuring touch of the person who faced the darkness on your behalf.

as you approach the familiar comfort of your apartment, jason's protective hold lingers. “are you okay?” he asks, his voice a gentle murmur that eases the residual tension in your body. you nod against his chest, words escaping you as relief and gratitude flood your senses.

the apartment door closes with a muffled thud, shutting out the ominous whispers of the night. jason, ever watchful, guides you towards the bathroom. the soft hum of the overhead light bathes the space in a gentle glow, revealing the porcelain sink and mirror.

you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror – disheveled, eyes wide with residual fear. without a word, jason turns on the faucet, letting the water flow until it reaches a soothing warmth. his fingers graze yours, urging you to lean over the sink.

the splashing water echoes in the small room as jason's hands cup and scoop, the liquid cascading over your face. the feel of his fingers against your skin is both tender and firm, each touch a cleansing ritual that washes away the remnants of the night.

you glance up into the mirror, meeting jason's eyes. there's an unspoken understanding as his hands move methodically, the cool water providing a refreshing contrast to the heated intensity of the ordeal. the sensation is grounding, a simple act of care that transcends words.

as you straighten up, a vulnerability lingers in your gaze. you turn off the faucet, and the silence hangs in the air. the wet droplets cling to your skin, a tangible reminder of the shared intimacy in this simple act of cleansing. jason's hands linger on your face, his fingers tracing a silent promise. the air in the bathroom holds a charged stillness, the transition from fear to intimacy palpable.

the urgency of the night lingers in your eyes. “stay, jason, please,” the plea escapes your lips, a raw, desperate plea that echoes in the confined space of the bathroom. his gaze meets yours, and for a moment, the weight of the world seems to shift.

there's a pause, a heartbeat suspended in time, before jason's expression softens. his agreement is wordless, a nod that carries the promise of a shared refuge in the night.

the journey from the bathroom to the bedroom is taken in tandem, the touch of his hand on the small of your back a grounding force. the mattress welcomes you both, and the room is immersed in the soft glow of bedside lamps. the night unfolds with shared breaths and jason's hand finding yours.

“thank you.” you whisper to him under the sheets, the warmth of his body next to you radiating into your own, “thank you for protecting me.”

“i’ll always protect you, sweetheart.”

masterlist . jason todd masterlist . taglist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 119

Another divine twitch chat Au? Another divine twitch chat Au. With a bit of a twist. 

Billy would like to say it is in fact not his fault. It’s really not. Who hits someone with magic they obviously don’t know how to use? Well okay maybe he had done that before, but it’s not like he ever did it around other people where they could get hit! 

But someone was an idiot and now he’s here, as his normal ten-year old self kicking his legs while sitting in the Watchtower as the others argued. Apparently the League thinks he’s been de-aged, which is good as his secret isn’t out. 

The uh, issue is that something about the spell might have um, partially manifested the gods- or as he called them the Mediterranean Magic Men, if only because of how annoyed it made Zeus. Now everyone can see the chat that’s usually only visible to him and apparently it’s concerning. 

He doesn’t see how it’s an issue, Zeus has been silenced for the next hour and Hercules has been dying of laughter for the last three. Oh, wait, it might be from Mercury’s constant attempted flirting with Flash. …Or the fact they’re trying to convince him to commit a crime and he’s honestly down for doing so seeing as he’s a homeless ten year old who is down for getting clairvoyance and super speed for the next thirty minutes in exchange…

[kagekitsuneoflight]

It’s kinda funny that Jason is, in every sense of the word, the most normal Robin. Unironically, there wasn’t anything uniquely special about him before he was Robin. He was a street kid. His dad was a goon (which makes sense for Gotham. It’s a goon breeding ground) and his adoptive mom was a girl who fell in love with the bad boy, got disowned by her upper middle class parents and adopted her boyfriend’s infant son. Even his biological mother isn’t anything special! She was just a doctor who ended up becoming corrupt.

Jason Todd was no circus kid who could do an impossible signature trick. He wasn’t being scouted by some evil hidden organization.

He wasn’t the rich boy genius who lived next door.

He’s not the son of a supervillain (as lame as cluemaster is, he still *counts*).

He’s not the secret son of Bruce Wayne.

And he’s not a metahuman, nor did he led a whole organization of teens to fight when Batman couldn’t.

He’s the most regular boy to ever enter become a hero in Gotham. He wanted to do good things for the sake of doing good. He grew up poor with regular parents, where bad things happened to them. The kinds of things that could happen to *any* person living in Gotham.

There is nothing about him, pre-Robin and as Robin, that makes him Not Like Regular Kids.

His dad was a goon (who, depending on the run, was either killed by Two-Face OR. Just sent to prison and killed in prison! Which makes his backstory even PLAINER-) and his mother was a drug addict with cancer. Jason ends up homeless, and almost steals the bat mobile tires. The only thing that makes him stand out from any other tragedy befallen kid in Gotham is the fact he was bold enough to do that, get Batman’s attention, and continue to be bold enough to go against a crime lord (who was apparently his grandmother, the most interesting person in his family, but since she’s almost never brought up, she’s likely no more significant than a one-issue villain in the crime lord power hierarchy). Batman realized that Jason wasn’t going to really stop, and honestly he kinda grew on him, so he decided to adopt Jason, and eventually allow him to become Robin.

There just isn’t anything amazingly special about his backstory. The few moments where something could have been done to make it more interesting (like his biological mother) but ended up taking the most boring option. You can’t do much of anything now to enhance his past without upsetting much more well established canon, and not without making people wonder “well if his grandmother was such a big name in crime, why hasn’t she been brought up before?”

Jason Todd was a wonderful Robin (providing that he actually has a writer who likes him). He has a golden heart, he’s the voice of reason. He’s everything that a Robin needs to be for Batman. But compared to everyone else, he was nothing special. In a way, his lack of Not Like Regular Kids makes him stand out in a much more subtle way.

As if someone asked the question “Do I need to be someone special to be Robin?” And the answer was “You don’t need to be someone special, you just need to be brave, like Jason Todd was.”

[jesncin]

I really hope this doesn’t come across as rude, but why did you decide to make Lex Luthor, whose motivation is basically racism and xenophobia from my understanding, a person of color? This isn’t like, a criticism, more just, I really like your JL remix stuff and you usually have cool reasons for the stuff you change, so I was surprised by this one

I understand the curiosity! But I have to point out that "you usually have cool reasons for the stuff you change, so I was surprised by this one" made me laugh, haha. Long answer coming because I have a lot of feelings- but the point in the very end is worth it, trust me.

So for one, Lex is Afro-Greek in my version. This comes from the popular headcanon that STAS/DCAU Lex is Black (and his design is based on a Greek man). His character design, skin tone, and Clancy Brown's enigmatic performance became unintentional perceived representation for Black fans (and even DC writers). And now in the Harley Quinn show, that's become canonized! For why they like it, that's not my place to say as a non-Black person- so I listen!

I don't agree that Lex's motivation is "basically racism and xenophobia"- his themes are much broader than that. It's the desire to be the Man of Tomorrow, his jealousy of Superman, the way his intellect alone is a match against Superman's strength. Sometimes that jealousy is expressed through bigotry, but it's all a means to an end for Lex. My approach is: if Lex being Black is something we want to integrate more into his character, what opportunities does that open up narratively? Because there's rich potential for him and the characters connected to him.

When discussing MAWS I talk a lot about how when you're writing a bigoted marginalized character, there needs to be specifity with where that internalized bigotry is coming from. So a change like that for Lex Luthor could, for example; discuss how privileges like wealth can assimilate otherwise marginalized people into the kind of power that harms others in their community.

The ripple affect this has on a character like Superboy/Conner is that we get to see how -even though they're both Luthors- Conner is profiled, othered and further marginalized as a Kryptonian and a Black homeless teen because he doesn't get to benefit from any of Lex's privileges. This is just part of the many reasons why I think Conner would be infinitely more interesting if he didn't look like Kal El despite being a clone. You get to see a new intersection of how the Kryptonian identity intersects with Blackness on Earth. The potential ripple effect for a character like Lena is also really fun! What if she's struggling with her own model minority pressure when she's making up for her brother's crimes? It's all very compelling!

And MOST importantly, in a 3 trillion IQ Lex Luthor-style move-making Lex Luthor Black means that some version of Matt Fraction & Steve Lieber's Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen arc exists in my au. Which famously hinges on the twist that LEX LUTHOR AND JIMMY OLSEN ARE DISTANTLY RELATED. THEREFORE!!! We have now found a convoluted way to have Wacky Renaissance Artist Jimmy Olsen connected to The Manifestation Of Black Excellence Evil Edition Lex Luthor in this au.

[simply-ivanka]

Why the GOP Is Winning Over Minorities

The Democrats have nothing to offer but grievance, victimhood and welfare.

Josh Williams -- Wall Street Journal

On Election Day, Donald Trump revealed the new coalition underpinning the modern Republican Party. As a proud black elected Republican, I believe today’s GOP represents people like me better than the Democrats ever have.

My early life could be considered an “authentic” experience as a black man in America. I was once a homeless high-school dropout. As a young adult, I endured a devastating workplace accident that left me disabled. At 30, I pulled myself up and enrolled in college, determined to rewrite my story. Within the next seven years I became a practicing attorney and, in 2022, the first black Republican elected to the Ohio House of Representatives in 50 years.

I understand the needs and concerns of my community, because for many years I lived them. All the Democratic Party ever offered me was grievance, victimhood and welfare. What any American—black or otherwise—wants is the opportunity to work hard and achieve his dreams. The Republican agenda champions economic prosperity, energy independence, border security and community safety. Opportunity lives within the modern GOP, and last Tuesday people of color agreed in record numbers.

To understand why the Democratic Party has failed, just look at how its agenda has affected my hometown of Toledo. Toledoans are very proud of our Jeep plant, the backbone of our local economy. Unfortunately, it has been crippled by big government. New regulations and mandates have led to assembly-line shutdowns and thousands of layoffs. Decades of unfair trade practices and an oppressive tax code leave Toledo and cities like it in decline.

For our gritty town, the Jeep plant has been a leg up for generations. This work has been passed down from fathers and mothers to sons and daughters for longer than I’ve been alive. Without it, many people who grew up like me are simply left with one less option to succeed.

When I walk into the barber shop, people are talking about Jeep jobs, inflation and crime, not identity politics. They ask questions about border security and the cost of living, not culture wars. The average American who looks like me simply isn’t concerned with the fake issues being peddled by the Democratic Party and the elites who set its agenda.

My message to Washington after the election is simple: Stop pandering to us. Treat us like adults. Treat us like Americans.

Whether you love Mr. Trump or loathe him, you can’t accuse him of inauthenticity. Minority communities not only can handle that approach—we appreciate it, and we will vote for it.

Mr. Trump’s Republican Party is where I belong. It’s where my friends, neighbors and pastors belong. The voters have spoken loud and clear that his GOP is the party of the people. All of us.

Mr. Williams represents the 44th Ohio House District, which includes much of the Toledo area.

[sseniita]

unscheduled comfort

Hero’s schedule has found itself to be very full. She’s asked for a total of a week in extensions, called to be covered at work four times this month, meticulously rationed her four hours of sleep and finally, organized her crime fighting into appointments. And so, it’s safe to say that when the villain had missed his appointment- she was upset. 

Every other villain in the city has been completely uncooperative on the shared calendar the hero had sent out, but the villain was always in time and at their planned locations. She had started to look forward to the only consistent thing in her life. 

She shrugged on her old, tattered jacket. It’s gonna rain. Great. She looked at her phone and tapped her foot impatiently. 

Five minutes passed. 

Ten minutes. 

Fifteen minutes. 

Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes late. 

“Thirty minutes late!” She screamed into the pay phone, searching her pockets for more quarters. “You are thirty minutes late! At this point I won’t make it to work and I’ll get fired and I won’t be able to pay for school and I’ll die homeless!” 

“Can you- argh- can’t we postpone?” The rain pattering rhythmically on the phone box made the villain’s voice sound staticy and muffled.  

“That isn’t the point! The point is no one listens to me and I’m trying my best here! Besides, my schedule is so overfilled that next week I’m going to have to prepare a presentation during my lunch break at work!” She glanced at the broken screen on her phone. “I’m gonna be late to work because of you and I can’t get fired because being a hero pays in applause and bruises. I can’t pay my bills with fan letters, Villain!” 

“Hero- now is not the time-” The villain’s voice stopped mid sentence and the hero could hear the slight murmur of a voice on the other line. The hero held the phone closer after putting in two more quarters. 

“Who is that?” she asked in between the murmurs. 

“I- Can you shut up for a second” the hero started at the phone in disgust. The phone was muffled by something so that only the villain’s voice was clear. 

“What? No. No way. She can wait… No, this was planned… So what if I double booked… I don’t… You’re joking… Dear Lord, fine!” 

The hero tried to make sense of the betrayal currently taking place. The villain was having some sort of disagreement with the mystery person- and they had lost. Whoever the mystery person was- they were able to overpower the villain in an argument. They had the hero’s respect… and fear. 

The villain’s clear voice through the phone made her stand up straighter. “Are you in the usual place?” The villain was curt, annoyed. 

“Oh. Uh, ya. Are you coming?” The hero heard the villain’s scoff before the line went dead with two more minutes. Waste of two quarters. 

The hero hung the phone on the receiver and stared out onto the rain flooding the streets. The lights reflected on the pavement almost looked pretty, but they quickly blurred into ugly splotches as the hero tried to blink away the wet from her eyes. She hadn’t noticed when she started crying or how long she had been motionless in the phone box. A salty tear reached the edge of her lips and the cold and tiredness dawned on her. 

She reached into one of the thirty pockets her windbreaker had and pulled out her phone. 

13%. An hour and a half till my shift starts. I can fight the villain for twenty minutes and if I leave right after I’ll make it to work about 45 minutes late, and I can work on my paper on the train- oh wait. I can’t. My phone is basically dead. Cool. 

A knock on the phone box startled her into a sobering alertness. She quickly wiped her tears, wrapped her jacket closer to herself and opened the door, muttering a “sorry” before b-lineing towards an alleyway. 

“Hold on, Hero.” A hand found itself on her shoulder. Villain. The fear was delayed. There was no way she’d be able to fight him in the state. Her joints were locking, she couldn’t feel her fingers, and her nose was all snotty. This was it. Goodbye cruel world. 

“You-” Her body seemed to work on autopilot as it turned to face the villain. She found herself in a defensive position, ready to take a hit. Until her eyes caught what the villain was wearing. The tips of his leather shoes were shiny from the rain,  he was wearing a pair black slacks that elegantly hit right at his ankles. He couldn’t see his presumably also impeccable shirt due to the cozy and warm coat he had on. Black, warm cashmere that hit right almost to his knees. The hero thought for a second that maybe theft wasn’t a bad idea. She could use that coat as a blanket. Or sell the buttons and buy a house. The possibilities are endless. “-aren’t even ready! Where is your suit?” She finished. 

The villain rolled his eyes. Pushing his hair to the back with his free hand. The other hand rested an umbrella against his shoulder, keeping his dry. I could sell the umbrella and buy a car, she thought. “Neither are you, do you think you can fight me in jeans and- are you ok?” 

“I’m fine, thank you very much. It’s raining. Can we get this over with?” She answered, not bothering to wipe away the snot from her nose. 

The villain stared at her for a second, the hero knew the villain knew she was probably crying. But she couldn’t be bothered to care. She wanted to finish this and get to her shift, and then to her tiny room and tinier bed in her three bedroom-five roommate apartment. 

“Right. We’re not fighting today.” The villain turned away, the hero hadn’t noticed the umbrella was above her head until the villain began walking towards the curb. 

‘What do you mean we’re not fighting! We-”

From the distance they heard the honk from a stalling car by the road. Inside it was a woman yelling in their direction. In the dark, all that Hero could make out was the faint silhouette of brown Hollywood curls and the sparkle reflecting off shiny jewelry. The woman yelled at them. 

“She’s soaked! Give her the umbrella!” 

The villain sighed, walking back to the hero and handing her the umbrella. All the hero could do was accept it and watch the villain walk away. Then turn back. And then walk back. 

“Can we please get going? We’re already late.” 

“Huh? Late to what? What’s going on?” Perhaps it was the tiredness or confusion or fear of the mystery person in the car that let the hero be directed by the villain towards the car. 

“I have an ultrasound appointment. We’re going.” 

The hero could only laugh humorlessly as they approached the car- completely numb. “Are you pregnant?”

“No.” They reached the car where, from the passenger’s seat, a beautiful woman was beaming at the hero. “My wife is.” 

The woman held out a hand through the open car window. “I’m belle! I’m so sorry, my husband booked your flight and my ultrasound at the same time, we’re running late but I promise we’ll drive you anywhere you want after the appointment!” The hero couldn’t find it in herself to not shake the beautiful woman’s hand. 

Belle’s voice was the same one the hero tried to put on when she was on television or doing an interview that ‘needed to inspire hope in the hearts of the citizens.’ Except Belles’ came naturally, a joyous and light voice that warmed the hero right up. The hero could only do a nervous and shaky version of it, though. 

“Gosh, you’re much younger than I thought you’d be.” Belle added, with a rather pointed look at the villain- her husband. 

The hero often found pride in herself by knowing what to say. From cheeky one-liners to perfectly crafted emails. But now, in the cold, villain’s hand on her shoulder, and the warmth radiating off this woman, she was disoriented and all she could think to say was; 

“You’re making another one of him?” Belle laughed, the hero was practically sweating. “Villain- wha-” 

“Get in the car, bootlicker.” 

“Honey, don’t be mean!” 

“Get in the car, oh holy and gracious hero.” 

“Honey…” 

Being seated in the back seat of Villain’s car was sobering, Hero could care less if she was about to be killed. Perhaps they honorably discharge her from her burger flipping job once they’d find out. 

“By the way, I’m a huge fan! And I’m so sorry that you’re being forced to fight my husband. I swear I thought you two were about the same age.” 

“Thanks, I appreciate your support.” Said the hero automatically. “Um. No, we’re like 20 years apart.” 

“I’m 31, hero.” Said the villain, turning the keys into the ignition.

“Sure.” 

Belle laughed. “Awe, so you’re so charming! I’ll make sure Villain takes it easier on you, honey. Oh! Here, please have a tissue. It’s cold out isn’t it. Villain, take off your coat to give it to the hero-” 

Belle continued talking and as much as the hero wanted to ask a million questions, the evening had become dark and the passing cars hypnotized into a soothing sleep she wasn’t able to fight. 

The last bit she heard before her head hit the window comfortably was Belle speaking to the Villain. 

“Awe, look she’s sleeping. She must be exhausted.” 

“I’m not sure where she lives- to drop her off. Can you wake her up?” 

“Oh, absolutely not. Poor girl, she's so young. I can’t believe this is your nemesis. She’s barely out of highschool. Let’s take her home, she can stay in the guest room. Just for a while. Awe, she’s adorable.” 

“Love, she gave me a black eye last month.”

“Adorable.”  

And it all went dark and peaceful and warm.

sorry for not updating btw!!! been busy with work and school grrrr hero is so me FR!!!

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 70 – American Psycho by Brett Easton Ellis

I’m honestly not sure I ever would have gotten around to reading this on my own, but ended up buying it through the ‘blind date with a book’ thing a bookstore in New York was doing when I was visiting (incredible gimmick, for the record). The fact that it then took me a solid three months to actually finish probably tells you something about how genuinely difficult a read I found it. Not in the sense of being bad, but just legitimately difficult to stomach at points. Overall I’d call it a real triumph of literature.

Not that anyone doesn’t already know, but; the book is spent inside the head of Patrick Bateman, high-flying wall street trader and Harvard blueblood at the close of the Reagan era. Also a serial killer. The story is told as a series of more or less disconnected vignettes, jumping from dinner conversations at one exclusive bar or club or another to the brutal torture and murder of a sex worker to several pages of incredibly vapid pontification on Nina Simone’s discography. The story vaguely tracks Bateman growing ever-more alienated and out of control as the year goes on, but there’s very much not any real single narrative or cathartic climax here. - most stuff just happens (stuff that’s either incredibly tedious or utterly nauseating by turns but still just, stuff).

So yeah this is an intensely literary work (obviously), a word I’m here using to mean one that is as much about the form and style of the writing as about the actual events portrayed. Bateman is a monster, but more than that he’s just an utterly boring and tedious husk of a man, traits which are exaggerated to the point of being fascinating– if you told this story in conventional third person narration without all the weird asides, it would be a) like half as long and b) totally worthless. The tonal whiplash of going from an incredibly visceral depiction of Bateman cutting out the eyes of a homeless man to six (utterly insipid) pages on the merits of The Doors is the selling point here (well actually I think Ellis goes back to that specific well probably one time too many, but in general I mean).

Bateman is a tedious, unstable monster, but as far as the book has an obvious thesis it’s that he differs from the rest of his social milieu only in degree. A symptom of a fundamentally rotten society, not a heroic devil among sheep. The book’s climax, such as it is, involved Bateman getting into a drug-fueled gunfight with the NYPD, shooting multiple people in the middle of the street, and then stumbling home and leaving a rambling confession to every crime on his lawyer’s answering machine – but despite very clearly wanting and trying to get caught and face some sort of consequence or justice, people just refuse to believe that someone like him is capable of anything like that. (It’s not, it must be said, an especially subtle book).

There is, as far as I can recall, not a single character who gets enough screentime to give an idea of their personality who I’d call likeable. Sympathetic, sure, but that’s mostly because it’s pretty much impossible not to sympathize with someone getting horrifically tortured and torn apart (at one point a starving rat is involved). The upper crust of New York yuppie-dom is portrayed as shallow and vapid, casually bigoted towards quite literally everyone who isn’t identical to them, status-obsessed to the point of only being able to understand the world as a collection of markers of class and coolness, and totally incapable of real human connection. Bateman is a monster not because of any freak abnormality, but just because he takes all of that a few steps further than his coworkers.

The book is totally serious and straight-faced in its presentation, and absolutely never acknowledges any of the running gags that are kept up through it. Which shows impressive restraint, and also means that none of them exactly have a payoff or a punchline – it’s just a feature of the world that all the expensive meals at trendy restaurants everyone competes for tables at sound disgusting when you think about them for a moment, or that the whole class of wall street trader guy are so entirely interchangeable that ostensible close friends and coworkers constantly mistake each other for other traders and no one particularly cares. Or – and I’m taking this on faith because fuck knows I’ve got no idea what any of the brands people are wearing are – that the ruinously expensive outfits everyone spends so very much time and money on for every engagement all clash comically if you actually looked up what the different pieces looked like. The book’s in no way really a comedy, so the jokes sit a bit oddly, but they’re still overall pretty funny, at least to me.

I like to think I have something of a strong stomach for unpleasant material in books, but this was the first work of fiction that I had genuine trouble reading for content reasons in I can’t even remember. I’m not sure it’s exactly right to call the violence pornographic in a general sense, but as far as American Psycho goes the register and tone Bateman uses to describe fucking a woman and torturing her to death are basically identical (and told in similarly explicit detail), and all of Bateman’s sexual fantasies are more or less explicitly just porn scenes he wants to recreate, so. Regardless, the result’s pretty alienating in both cases – his internal monologue never really feels anything but detached and almost bored as he relays what he does, sound exactly as vapid and alienated as when he is carefully listing the exact brands and designers every person he ever interacts with is wearing at all times, or arguing over dinner reservations for hours on end with his friends and lovers (though both those terms probably deserve heavy airquotes around them). He legitimately sounds considerably more engaged when talking about arguing over sartorial etiquette. It all adds up to a really strong alienating effect.

Anyways, speaking of sex and violence – perhaps because my main exposure to the story before this was tumblr making memes out of scenes from the movie, but I was pretty shocked by just how explicitly awful Patrick is ‘on screen’. The horrible murder, sure, but also just the casual and frequent use of racist and homophobic slurs, the pathological misogyny, the total breakdown he has at the idea of a gay man being attracted to him and thinking he might reciprocate – all of these are entirely in character for an asshole Wall Street ‘80s Guy even if he wasn’t a serial killer, but it’s still oddly shocking at first to see it so thoroughly represented on the page. It makes how comparatively soft-pedaled the bigotry and just, awfulness, of villains in a lot of more modern books stand out a lot more, I suppose? I have read a lot of books that are in some sense About queerness and/or racism in the last year, and no one in any of them holds a candle to good old Patrick Bateman.

Part of that is just the book being so intensely of its time, I suppose. The New York of this book is very much one of the late ‘80s, incredible wealth living side by side with social rot and decay, crippling poverty everywhere and a society that has to a great degree just stopped caring. Absolutely none of which Bateman or any of his peers care one bit about, of course – they’re too busy showing off the latest walkmans and record players, going to the newest clubs, and just generally enjoying all the fruits of Reagan’s America. Recent history has made the fact that Bateman’s personal idol is Donald Trump almost too on the nose to be interesting, but in 1991 I’m sure it was a bit more subtle in how telling it was.

Anyway, yeah, horrifying and exhausting read, triumph of literature, my god did Easton Ellis hate America (this is a compliment). Now time to go watch the movie!

[suzukiblu]

Oh I want to see *several* of these WIP Wednesday options... but what's up of "Damian gets a Pocket" from today so far it too cute to pass up so that's my request, Please!

From the look of him, the Pocket is most likely either homeless or a refugee, and given that this is Gotham and Damian has no intention of leaving the city any time soon, “homeless” seems the likelier assumption. There are no particular identifying marks on the Pocket’s clothing, either in branding or in reference to anything like a sports team or location or profession. Damian is aware most twelve year-olds in Gotham are unemployed, but a homeless child would require some method to survive by, whether as a runner or a lookout or a thief. Todd stole tires, though Colin . . . well, Colin is in the system, which is not ideal in Damian’s opinion, but Colin has stated it as preferable to the street. 

Damian is not particularly pleased by Colin’s living situation either way, but he is . . . perhaps a resource that he can take advantage of, at this time. Todd might even be, if the Pocket’s point of origin is anywhere near Crime Alley. 

Father–

Damian isn’t certain if Father is a resource that he can take advantage of at this time. 

Or that Father won’t . . . disapprove of this.

[dystopyx-blog]

scratch

You have an itch. 

A terrible, gnawing, festering itch.

It eats away at you, daily, nightly.

It’s just there, at the back of your every thought.

And you can’t for the life of you find a way to scratch it.

And so it remains, constant, nagging, unbearable.

Until you’re finally able to scratch it.

And when you do, it’s the greatest thing you’ve ever experienced. 

Then it’s all over. The itch that had been plaguing you for what might’ve been months is gone, and you can live your life in peace! 

You’ll never have to worry about that damned itch again.

Or at least, that’s what you think.

But eventually, when you least expect it, it returns. 

It itches. 

You think it might even be worse than before.

It’s begging, begging for you to scratch it! 

And so you do.

You realize this itch of yours isn’t something you can be rid of, at least not permanently. But that’s okay, because you know how to deal with it.

With time, it becomes predictable. You form a routine. You set up a system so that the next time it comes, you’re ready to scratch it. And all of a sudden, it’s no longer an aggravating rash that burdens your every day life. It’s more of an everyday irritant, one you can take care of with the right steps and procedures. 

Except this “itch” of yours couldn’t be further from an everyday irritant; because to scratch your itch

somebody needs to die. 

You live in a world divided by two; the darlings and the yanderes.

Darlings are the “normal” people. Everyday, run of the mill citizens. Each one is unique in their own way. Each has their own aspirations, dreams, flaws, fears, past, quirks, and so on. 

Yanderes are the same way in that sense. Except there’s one key trait separating them from the rest of the world, the “darlings”; a sickness that darlings are incapable of having, but runs rampant in every yandere. 

Love sickness.

Yanderes are obsessed bastards by their very nature, and once they find the object of their obsession, it’s game over for everyone else.

Yanderes are willing to commit any sort of heinous crime to ensure their “love” remains with them. 

And for years, the rest of the world was forced to accept this as simply the way that it is.

Until the creation of “Yancity”.

Technically its real name is San Valentín, but nobody calls it that. From its inception everyone called it “Yandere City”, which was eventually shortened to “Yancity.”

Your government tracked down every last yandere it could (how so was beyond you) and shipped them off to some city in Alaska. 

And to keep them there, they filled the city with darlings, too.

Living in the city was free, aside from food and accoutrements. There were plenty of apartments, rent was nonexistent, and jobs were easy to find and get. Life is easy in Yandere City; so long as you ignore the fact that you’re a sheep in a city of wolves. 

So the poor, homeless, and otherwise down on their luck offer themselves to the gates of hell.

You are one of many willing victims, though you are no sheep. 

You are a snake who slithered its way into the wolf den so you can safely shed your skin. 

You’ve found the perfect place to scratch that itch.

hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii this is the prologue chapter for my yandere x reader story “Scratch.”

if it interests you, you can read it on quotev :)

[blueberry-ovaries]

EASY MEN AS QUOTES FROM MY FRIENDS

quotes taken straight from my quote book, except i assign the easy men as some of the quotes

Dick Winters: i like the thrill of premarital eye contact though

Lewis Nixon: you white mans whore

Carwood Lipton: macarena through the pain

Ronald Spiers: i love war crimes

Harry Welsh: someone messaged me and said “when i think about you i think about weasels”

Joe Liebgott: i love milfs, they have a special place in my heart

Joe Toye: i’m going to grind ur kneecaps into a powder and snort it of a homeless mans ass

Bill Guarnere: i would 100% throw hands with a toddler

George Luz: i don’t have a brain

Skip Muck: that’s not very fergalicious

Don Malarkey: bitch ass gangly ranga

Frank Perconte: yeah and what about it, i’ll bite you, chomp chomp bitch

Babe Heffron: do you guys ever look at rocks and think “i really wanna eat that” or is it just me, like some rocks just look good to eat

Bull Randleman: wait i thought south america was florida? what do you mean brazil is in south america isn’t it in like europe

Skinny Sisk: are ponies real?

David Webster: state of denial? i’ve never been to egypt though

Shifty Powers: when people talk about how they have a baby ,,they preach they’ve done the funky,,, congrats ur not a virgin

Johnny Martin: let me read your palm… yep it’s says you’re a dumb bitch

Chuck Grant: ur the pee to my pants

Floyd Talbert: like what DO you say after sex? do you just fall asleep NAKED?!

Eugene Roe: looks like a bitch is depressed, it’s me, im bitch

Pat Christensen: can’t believe i almost called Jesus a dilf

Buck Compton: ass so fat it cause mass genocide

[boyfriendgideon]

as yr favorite local jason todd fan sometimes i get so fed up with the apparent inability of most dc comic writers to write a class conscious narrative about him.

and yes, i know that comics are a very ephemeral and constantly evolving and self-conflicting medium.

and yes, i know they’re a profit-driven art medium created in a capitalistic society, so there are very few times where comics are going to be created solely out of the desire to authentically and carefully and deliberately represent a character and take them from one emotional narrative place to another, because dc cares about profit and sometimes playing it safe is what sells.

and yes, i know comics and other forms of art reflect and recreate the society within which they were conceived as ideas, and so the dominant societal ideas about gender and race and class and so on are going to be recreated within comics (and/or will be responded to, if the writer is particularly societally conscious).

but jesus christ. you (the writer/writers) have a working class character who has been homeless, who has lost multiple parents, who has been in close proximity to someone struggling with addiction, who has had to steal to survive, who may have (depending on your reading of several different moments across different comics created by different people) been a victim of csa, who has clearly (subtextually) struggled with his mental health, who was a victim of a violent murder, and who has an entirely distinct and unique perspective on justice that has evolved based on his lived experiences.

and instead of delving into any of that, or examining the myriad of ways that classism in the writers’ room and the editors’ room and the readers’ heads affected jason’s character to make sure you’re writing him responsibly, or giving him a plotline where his views on what justice looks like are challenged by another working class character, or allowing him to demonstrate actual autonomy and agency in deciding what relationships he wants to have with people who he loves but sees as having failed him in different ways, or thinking carefully about what his having chosen an alias that once belonged to his murderer says about his decision-making and motivations, you keep him stuck in a loop of going by the red hood, addressing crime by occupying a position of relative power that perpetuates crime & harm rather than ever getting at the root causes, and seesawing between a) agreeing with his adoptive family entirely about fighting nonlethally in ways that are often inconsistent with his apparent motivations or b) disagreeing and experiencing unnecessarily brutal and violent reactions from his adoptive father as if that kind of violence isn’t the kind of thing he experienced as a child and something bruce himself is trying to prevent jason from perpetuating. because a comic with red hood, quips, high stakes, and familial drama sells.

it doesn’t matter if it keeps jason trapped, torn between an unanswered moral and philosophical question, a collection of identities that no longer fit him, and a family that accepts him circumstantially. it doesn’t matter if jason’s characterization is so utterly inconsistent that the only way to mesh it together is to piece different aspects of different titles and plotlines together like a jigsaw. it doesn’t matter if you do a disservice to his character, because in the end you don’t want to transform him or even understand him deeply enough to identify what makes him compelling and focus on that.

and i love jason!!!!! i love him. and i think about the stories we could have, if quality and art and doing justice to the character were prioritized as much as selling a title and having a dark and brooding batfam member besides bruce just to be the black sheep character are prioritized. and i just get a little sad.