#i've no idea where this is going but!!

[kettlefire]

As Good as Good Gets (DP X DC Snippet)

Richard "Dick" Grayson is the golden child. In the eyes of the public, and in the eyes of the league. Dick is a sweet, caring son, a man who went from being a sidekick to being a hero. The pipeline from Robin to Nightwing had many people applauding his dedication to keeping Gotham safe.

No one knew the full story, not truly. No one but Bruce Wayne himself. And maybe a certain butler. Many don't know that Dick only became Robin to stop him from hunting down and killing the man who killed his parents.

No one really knows about the harsh fights and arguments he has had with Bruce. The times when Dick would find himself cut off from the Wayne name for a week or so. No one knows that the first person Dick warmed up to was Alfred. Having been bribed with cookies.

Things weren't always this good, trusting, happy relationship between Bruce and Dick. It had been a rough ride, a complicated one. But that was okay, because it got better.

Dick stopped being so moody and angsty. He grew up, he learned, and he changed. He became an older brother, found people that needed him. Needed him in a way that the citizens of Gotham didn't need him.

His brothers like to call him annoying. A goody two shoes who Bruce trusted more than everyone else. They couldn't fathom how someone like Dick could be so stupid and bubbly at all times.

All times, except when shit hits the fans. Despite the name calling, despite coining Dick as the stupid Wayne. They all knew better. They knew that when it mattered, Dick Grayson always pulled through. He was a force to be reckoned with when needed.

The whole Wayne family was a force to be reckoned with when called for. It didn't have to be under the guise of costumes and vigilante acts. Whether he was Officer Grayson or Nightwing, Dick was a man with his morals and values.

One night on patrol as Officer Grayson, Dick found someone who needed that force. A force willing to protect and care for the innocent. The hurt. The damaged, yet still good.

It started like any other night. A call of shots fired by an empty warehouse. There was no sighting or knowledge of any rouges being there, so Dick took the call. Told the team he'll contact them if it seems more than just a civilian incident.

The warehouse was dark, reeked of copper and oil. It didn't take long for Dick to find the trail. The liquid he found looked like the person had been dragged before walking. There was a clear struggle, even with the mess and emptiness that was the warehouse.

That wasn't Dick's biggest concern. The concern lay in just how much blood there was. Too much for any normal person to lose and still manage to stumble through the warehouse.

It wasn't just blood. It wasn't that much, but Dick could spot the strangeness in the liquid. The mixed in green that had an eerily similar color and glow as a certain pit.

Without thinking, Dick followed the trail. Barely remembering to make contact with his family. Give them an update on what he found. Words telling him to stay put for backup went in one ear and out the other.

Something in Dick's gut was telling him he couldn't wait. He needed to find the source. Whoever was currently bleeding out in this warehouse. He silenced the comm, moving further through the dimly lit building.

Then Dick found it. Or more so, he found him. It was just a boy. A boy that reminded Dick too much of the youngest Wayne. A boy sat against a wall, looking pale and weak.

Red and green coated the front of the boy's shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. An attempt to stem the bleeding. A puddle had already started to form beneath the boy, and Dick moved without thinking once again.

He quickly found himself kneeling beside the boy, hands carefully reaching out. Before Dick even touched him, the boy flinched. Eyelids suddenly opened, wide and terrified blue eyes landed on Dick's.

In just that one look, Dick knew what he had to do. The haunting, terrified, and pained look in the boy's eyes told Dick everything he needed to know. The boy was in danger. Someone had hurt this kid, and it was clear it wasn't the first time.

The boy struggled weakly against Dick's touch, terrified whimpers, and barely coherent pleas spilled from the kid's lips. It had Dick's heart aching, clear as day the poor kid has been through hell and back.

It took a lot of reassurance, gentle touches, and promises of help before the kid let Dick take a look at the bleeding wound. A promise on Dick's soul had been the final thing that earned him any semblance of trust. A strange promise, but Dick was willing to make it.

That concern turned to pure anger the moment Dick managed to pull the sticky shirt away from the wound. The sight of a Y-incision cut perfectly into the skin, stitches tight on the skin, but blood still leaking heavily from the wound.

It didn't take long for Dick to realize why. Despite the perfect surgical care of the wound, a good couple of stitches had broken. Leaving gaping spots for that red and green liquid to pour out of.

The boy was deathly silent, tears streaking down his cheek as wide blue eyes stayed trained on Dick. In that moment, Dick knew he had to help. Had to get the kid to safety, patch him up, and find out what kind of monster would do this.

It didn't matter if the kid was human or not. It didn't matter if the kid had special abilities or not. No one, absolutely no one, deserved to be vivisected.

The kid was shrouded in mystery, but that mystery only seemed to grow and become clearer when Bruce had entered the scene. The boy had tensed, eyes flashing a bright glowing green.

Lazarus pit green.

It set a pit of dread in Dick's gut. His mind brings forward memories of Jason. Jason, after his revival, after his dip in that cursed pit. The same flash that his brother would get if he got too angry. Too emotional.

As much as Dick wanted to focus on finding who did this, if it had any connection to Ra's al Ghul. He couldn't. Not when the kid tried to get up, to pull away as Bruce and the others made their way closer.

Right now, Dick only cared about making sure the boy was okay. Fixing those stitches, getting him a meal, and a warm bed.

He needed to get this kid someplace where he felt safe and secure. Comfortable and protected. Dick wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the promise he had made, but he wasn't letting anyone get to the kid.

That included his family. As strange as it seemed, Dick put himself between the others and the kid. Shooting them all a glare that they had only ever seen a handful of times.

Dick lifted the poor boy up in his arms, cradling the crying child close as he led the way out of the warehouse. Ignoring the questions or confusion coming from Bruce and the others. As Dick walked, feeling the trembling boy clinging to him, he made a rather obvious realization.

Maybe the eldest son really was more like Bruce than he expected. Just a few short moments the the boy, a boy that Dick didn't know his name, and he was ready to pull out adoption papers. To give the boy a safety he so desperately needs.

Give him the chance that Bruce had given him all those years ago.

[neverbelessthan]

SEVERANCE 2x10 | "They give us half a life and think we won't fight for it."

[darlingofdots]

I do not actually use tiktok but I do scroll through instagram reels (which are just reposted tiktoks) way too much for my own health, and I also occasionally use reddit, and I can't help but think that these platforms and the emphasis on building your "brand" or finding your niche are pushing people to attach way too much meaning to labels. "Can I like flowers as a butch" "you shouldn't wear yellow as a deep autumn" "what my sensory-seeking child ate today" "when you Find Your Style and realise your teenage outfits were hideous" STOP. People don't work like that.

There's two angles to this, I think: It's always really obvious when somebody found an audience by posting about a specific thing and now they're trying to retain that audience by talking about it as much as possible, so they end up relating every aspect of their lives to it even when it makes no sense if only so they can use the right hashtags; whereas on the other end of this interaction, people who mostly receive this kind of content get the impression that there are rigid and hard rules that dictate who gets to identify a certain way or engage in an activity or what a health condition looks like. Have you ever noticed how many shortform videos but also internet comments begin with a version of "As someone who..." as if it's some kind of certificate or qualification? There is such an emphasis on labelling and clearly defining your experience! And don't get me wrong, labels and diagnoses and community identification can be really useful, and there are conversations in which being upfront about your positionality is helpful and productive. But so many posts on the lesbian subreddit the app made me join when I made my account are along the lines of "can I still be a lesbian if x?" and "do femmes think y is attractive?" as if any of these things are monolithic, strictly defined fundamental conditions of the human soul! Even medical conditions don't work this way because every body is different! Open yourself up to the complexity of experience!

[starry-bi-sky]

"Stillborn? No, no, still born." -- DPXDC AU

Based off a comment I saw where Bruce knew about Talia's pregnancy in the earlier comivs, and was ecstatic to be a father. So much so that Talia feared he'd give up being Batman for it, so when she gave birth she put the baby (Damian) on a doorstep and (seemingly) told Bruce that the baby was stillborn.

Instead of Damian, that baby was Danny! Meet Daniel Brown, the 14 year old foster kid whose been living with the Fenton family for the last two years. He's about two years older than Damian.

His last name, "Brown", was a generic surname given to him because the note he came with didn't have one on it. It just had the name "Danyal" on it, but albeit 'Daniel' was the one that had been put into the system for, I'll be totally frank here, racism reasons.

(I looked it up to make sure, and it's generally not permissible for foster parents to change the names of their foster kids even if it's a permanent residency, and for that reason Danny doesn't have the last name "Fenton".)

Danny's got ✨~issues!~✨ He's been through a handful of homes growing up, most of them terrible for a variety of reasons. Which has, as a result, left lasting scars. He's generally a very sweet kid, just very distrustful and jumpy. He's got the signs of a kid suffering from PTSD, and a handful of other issues including attachment and insomnia. His inferiority complex could rival Damian's, and that's going to make for an interesting mutual hatred for when they finally meet.

(something I'll get into later)

He still has the blanket he was found in. It's made of a very high quality material and is a beautiful emerald green with little golden thread accents, it's high quality as a result has Danny clinging onto a desperate hope that his bio family might be out there, and the only reason they gave him up was because of some outside factor. It's been taken a few times in old foster homes, and he's flipped out each time.

While he still calls Jack and Maddie by their names, he likes them well enough. The bar isn't that high though, and while they're some of the better foster parents he's had, "better" doesn't equal "safest". Their laboratory malpractice. Basically, C- Fenton Parents. They're negligent by virtue of being engrossed in their work, but they do care equally about Jazz and Danny. So he doesn't hold it against them that much.

He kinda prefers it that way, their loud affection is overwhelming and Danny doesn't know what to do with their attention, even if he craves it. It's a bit of a complicated situation.

They took in Danny because they genuinely wanted another child, but didn't want a big age gap between them and Jazz. It was actually Jack's idea to foster, and they discussed it with Jazz beforehand. She was all for the idea. Thus, a handful of weeks later, a ton of paperwork, and inspection later, and Daniel Brown entered their household with a trash bag in one hand and eyes like shards of stained glass.

His relationship with Jazz is kinda strained, but that's by virtue of her constant psychoanalyzing and helicoptering. Like with the parents, Danny's overwhelmed by the attention and also just, straight up doesn't like the fact that she's telling him that there's something wrong with him. He knows that, thank you. He pushes her away when she does this.

Other than that though? When Jazz isn't smothering him and is acting like an actual sibling and not a third parent, they're pretty close, and Danny really likes her. They've hung out a few times on their own volition, and Jazz showed him how to take better care of his long hair.

His school situation,, pretty similar to canon with the bullying, albeit with a few more instances of him blowing a fuse and lashing out against his attackers. He's a rather angry kid, but it's quiet. It builds up, piles on top of itself, until eventually, like a volcano, it erupts and burns everyone within radius.

Danny's got a fire core, not an ice core. Phantom's hair is made of white magma; thick and heavy, setting itself on fire when his anger runs hot. When he gets angry, his skin begins to char and split open to reveal pulsating lava underneath, and he crackles and pops like a raging forest fire.

I haven't decided yet on how he meets the batfam -- i've got two ideas but they're both in opposition to each other, and drastically alter how the rest of the plot goes. But I do know that him and Damian hate each other in the beginning. And it has nothing to do with inheritance or "being the blood son" -- although their blood relation absolutely plays the major role in their disdain for each other.

Simply put, they're jealous of each other for the same thing: thinking that the other was wanted.

Damian hates Danny because, unlike Damian, Bruce knew about Danny since conception and wanted him from the moment he heard about him. He had a whole nursery set up, and still does. He never took it down -- just locked the door. Damian was thrust upon Bruce without warning, and he feels like he forced himself into the family. And while on some level Damian knows and understands that Bruce wants him and loves him as much as his other children, that doubt and feeling of inferiority still remains. He looks at Danny and sees him with what Damian always feels he needs reaffirmed.

Meanwhile, Danny hates Damian because he looks at him and sees him with everything Danny's ever wanted. He hates him because Damian grew up knowing both of their parents, with one of them for most of his life, and then moved over to the other. There was never a moment where Damian was (seemingly) left to doubt his place within the family. Damian was raised with the very same woman who left Danny on a doorstep, with no clue to his identity beyond a little green blanket and a note with only a first name. Damian was wanted everywhere, and Danny was wanted nowhere. Damian is Danny's replacement in his eyes.

(It's the little revelation that Damian grew up with their mother that elevates Danny from being quietly envious of Damian to downright despising him. What did Damian do, that Danny didn't? He could live with Damian living with Bruce -- Bruce didn't know Danny was even alive. But him living with their mom? Are you fucking kidding him?)

Damian never outright attacks Danny physically, but it's not like he hides that he didn't like Danny. Meanwhile, Danny, in all his repressive anger, quietly despised him from a distance until finally one wrong snide side-comment has him blowing up and it becomes a screaming match. They're both just enough similar to each other that when they look at each other they really just see a mirror.

They'll work it out together, eventually. But it'll be ugly and cruel and explosive, and they'll start mending the bridge to become brothers in more than just blood relation in the end.

But yeah, stillborn Danny has... a lot going for him.

[mattodore]

12 p.m.

[spybrarian]

[hi I got inspired]

“Sorry!” A soft, deep voice sings out through the door following Jade’s clear, precise knock. “Nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted.”

Jade rolls her eyes in a particularly unprofessional manner, but she’s alone in the long, fluorescent corridor. She doesn’t allow herself much give, at work, but she needs this brief moment of self-expression today. Jade understands it is not her place to question why she’s been reassigned to this office in the basement, it is only her place to do the very best job she can possibly do, but she is allowed to roll her eyes when nobody's looking.

Her face is as neat and unruffled as her hair and her perfectly pressed suit by the time she pushes open the door. The schooled expression lasts for all of a heartbeat. 

Kit Tanthalos looks up from behind her piles of paperwork, and stares straight at Jade. She’s changed a lot since the time they shared at the Academy. Everyone back then had their share of intensity - Jade knows she has maintained her own, polished it to something with clear, smooth edges - but Jade remembers Kit as a firewhip of a young woman, her ferocity and focus so sharp it was off putting. Her academic reputation was stellar, her social reputation abysmal, and from what Jade has heard of Kit these days, little has changed in either regard.

The agent before her now has a certainty and a purpose behind those blue eyes, just as focused and just as unnerving as Jade remembers, but there’s a confidence now, a solidity. This is Kit’s space that Jade is stepping into, and as unorthodox - as messy - as it looks, it seems to fit Kit like an extension of her skin. As she stands up from behind her desk, she moves with both ease and confidence.

“Doctor Jade Claymore,” Kit says, and there’s something about the sound of her name that makes Jade feel, well... researched. “Barely two years working for the Bureau and you’ve already ticked off someone badly enough to be stuck down here with me. What did you do?”

Jade steps into the office and holds out her hand. “It isn’t like that at all. I’m looking forward to working with you, Agent Tanthalos.”

Kit’s grin is as lopsided as the pile of manila folders behind her, and as she moves closer she drags her hand through hair that looks so soft, so silky, and just the wrong side of regulation. 

It’s rakish. Agents aren’t supposed to be rakish. 

"Alright then," Kit grasps Jade’s hand in hers; it’s a warm grip, and very strong. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

putting this out there just so I remember to draw it but I desperately need an X-Files AU with Kit as Mulder and Jade as Scully

[quinngefail]

Imagine Lawrence going to John and asking him for his blessing to date Adam and John being the cancer ridden old slut he is goes "hgnhgnhnghfn FAGGOT"

Itd be really funny

Just a little sneak peek to a flashback in Saw XLVII where we see John at age 29 (as portrayed by a 156 year old Tobin Bell)

[beastsovrevelation]

Captured Angel

Michael Langdon x F!Angel!Reader

Contains: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, elements of coercion, implied loss of virginity, blasphemy, hierophilia

“Good, you’re awake.”

A chill ran down your spine. You had awakened in an unfamiliar room. Your head ached, your wings hung limp, and your limbs were heavy. The air was soaked to the last thread in malice. It made you nauseous. Gritting your teeth, you dragged yourself up, your mind aflame with a single thought – you had to get out. You looked around, but before you could spot a way of escape, you felt a presence. Dark... Darker than the blackest night. Your heart froze in your chest, a taste of iron suddenly coating your tongue. Though you had not seen his face, you could recognize him anywhere. Seven heads. Ten horns. His honeyed voice left a cold, oily trace on your very soul as he spoke. You drew a deep breath, and spun around, to meet a pair of piercing blue eyes.

His lips crooked into a smirk. Holding your gaze, he moved towards you. You drew back.   

“Get away from me, filthy Beast...” you snarled.

Deep down, you loathed yourself for the instinctive reaction. You were a soldier. You had a duty to stand your ground, and instead, you cowered. He promptly crossed the gap between you two.

“Ah-ah!” he scolded, clasping your chin “That’s not very nice, now, is it?..”

You grimaced. Michael Langdon. How ironic, for Satan’s son to bear your General’s name. The one who cast him out... You hoped it hurt the Evil One greatly. Michael caressed your cheek. You winced, and pushed his hand away. Sneering, he grabbed you by the throat.  

“Why am I here?” you hissed through gritted teeth.

He glanced down at your heaving chest.

“You’re my captive” he purred “Isn’t it obvious?”

You swallowed. Struggling would only worsen your chances, you knew as much. His gaze darkened with hunger as he watched you – like a wolf, salivating at a wounded deer. Your guts had coiled into a tight knot, a sickly sweet taste coating your mouth.

“Why didn’t your bootlickers kill me?” you asked, not quite certain if you wished to know the answer.

A chuckle escaped his lips. The Antichrist’s lecherous expression made your blood boil. How dare the abomination touch an angel of the Lord, you thought. A strange sensation was budding between your legs, but you pointedly ignored it, just as you ignored the feeling of unease clawing at the back of your skull.   

“That would’ve been a waste...” Michael tilted his head “They thought a gift would please me. They weren’t wrong...”

You snarled, attempting to pull away.

“Get your putrid hands off me!”

He tightened his grip on your neck.

“Hush” he coaxed in a mockingly gentle voice “I’m not going to hurt you, angel.”

“Vile creature...” you spat.

He pulled you closer. You bared your teeth, as your face almost crashed into his. Though you did not need air, the pressure on your throat was beginning to make you dizzy. Every nerve in your body screamed to fight - your muscles   had tensed, prepared for combat. You might have broken away. Escaped this unholy place. You should have at least tried... But, perhaps because of the mist gathering over your mind, your legs trembled underneath you. You found yourself staring at his mouth. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and silken. Your pulse leapt into a frenzy.

Michael snuck his other hand under your clothes. The captors had stripped you of your armour, and taken away your sword, leaving only your linen tunic to cover you. His fingertips caressed your thigh, slowly creeping upwards. You held your breath as you felt him part the soft folds of your skin.

You had never been fondled like this before. Carnal pleasure was forbidden for your kind. You should be disgusted, you understood as much. Still, the electric-like impulse roused by his touch paralyzed you, preventing you from breaking his arm.

He stroked your entrance. You stifled a gasp, your intimate muscles tightened in anticipation. Your hole was beginning to well with slick. Taking your lack of resistance for a welcome, he slipped two fingers inside you. The feeling of his skin against your sensitive membrane made your head spin, and you barely held back from bucking your hips into his hand.

He let go of your neck, only to wrap his arm around your waist. Keeping you steady, he spread his fingers wider, straining you until it hurt. You shuddered. He massaged the velvety walls of your flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. Aware of how much satisfaction hearing your cries would give him, you clenched your jaw. His skin grazed against a certain knot of nerves, and you nearly sunk to the ground as your legs buckled from the bolt of stimulation. Still, somehow, you did not make a sound.

It only made Michael more determined. He fixated on your sweet spot, leaving you to desperately clutch the lapels of his jacket. His mouth lingered but a thread away from yours - you felt his heartbeat echo against your rib cage. He narrowed his eyes, and pressed his thumb to your clit. Overwhelmed, you drew a sharp breath.

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?..” he teased “What is it, my dear? What do you want, hm?”

He pushed a third finger into your dripping slit. You whined in pleasure muddled with despair.

“Speak up, angel” he demanded.

Virtue be damned. Something tameless had infected you. Caught in the furor of sin, you eagerly cast your innocence aflame.

“I...” you stammered “I want... I need you to ravish me...”

Michael threw you onto the bed, and climbed on top of you. Laying flat on your back, your wings sprawled open, you looked up at him, your eyes sweetly half-lidded. His knee shoved between your thighs, he ripped the front of your tunic open. You sighed as cold air brushed against your nipples. He placed his hands on your breasts, savouring the softness of your bare skin. His eyes aflame with lust, he took a moment to admire your flushed, helpless body. Biting your bottom lip, you pushed your chest into his touch. He grabbed you by the throat again.

“You’re mine” he snarled “Mine alone...”

Against your better judgement, you nodded. Your gaze wandered down to his crotch, causing your mouth to immediately water. Michael’s lips crooked into a sleazy smirk. He unbuckled his pants, and slipped his underwear down. Your eyes widened as his hard cock sprung free. Large, but not obscenely so. You pulled the skirt of your tunic up, leaving your aching cunt at his mercy.

He pinned you down under his full weight. You wrapped your arms around him, savouring the feel of luxurious fabric under your fingers. Like an animal in heat, you craved to feel him inside. His eyes locked with yours, Michael clasped your leg, and positioned himself more comfortably. You blindly caught hold of his member, helping guide it into your hole.

Your heart skipped a beat – you let out a moan as your membranes clamped around him. Hardly giving you a moment to adjust, he began to move. The sudden strain roused a twinge, but it soon was obscured by shattering pleasure. No longer holding back your mewls and whimpers, you sank your nails into his back. Should the expensive suit get ruined, it will be his fault.

Michael groaned, his teeth bared in primal satisfaction. Your response only encouraged him, and he quickly picked up the pace. Each thrust sent a shattering wave of pleasure through your fevered nerves. You wrapped your legs around his waist, welcoming them. He traced the tip of his tongue over your neck. You hissed as his long hair tickled you, overwhelming your senses even more. He purred, and nipped at your jaw.

“Kiss me” you demanded.

He obeyed, leaning down to press his mouth against yours. You parted your lips for him, and allowed your tongues to battle for dominance.

“Say my name” he ordered, upon pulling away.

“I can’t...” you gasped in horror.

“Your general isn’t here...” he growled “It’s just you and me...” he pressed his face to your temple “Say my name, sweetheart. Show the Beast how much you’re enjoying your downfall.”

He pulled his cock almost all the was out, then slammed it back in, roughly grazing your sweet spot. Your cried out, and sank your fingers into his hair. You didn’t want to think about her. You loathed to imagine her disappointment in you. But his presence eclipsed her face. Drowned it in the storm of ecstasy ravaging you.

“Michael!”

“Good girl” he praised with a grin.

Shock after shock of ecstasy tore through your body, setting every cell of it aflame. Your forehead was laced in sweat. Your muscles quivered from the tension. You were close. Very close. Turned feral by the pleasure, he grabbed you by the wrists, thrusting into you with merciless force.

“Michael...” you moaned.

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You arched your back, trembling and convulsing as a scream escaped your throat. Michael threw his head back with a snarl. You had grown painfully tight around him, prompting him to reach his own release. You felt him spill inside you – it was the strangest, most pleasant sensation  you had ever experienced.

You collapsed into the pillows, limp and gasping for breath. He slumped down on top of you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to soak in the glowing haze of bliss. But, just when he had crept off of you, and was about to pull you into his arms, you leapt up. Using his surprise for your advantage, you climbed onto him – this time, you were the one to pin him down. You caught his gaze, and drew a dagger from underneath your ruined tunic. Afraid to molest their master’s gift, the devil worshippers had missed it.

“You will find the men who captured me, crucify them, and bleed them like pigs” you growled, pressing the blade against his throat “Do you understand me, Antichrist?”

A drop of blood sept from under the metal, glowing against his milky skin in a warning.

“Yes” he murmured, as his eyes blazed with adoration.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Little bright colored outfit with a fun vest ~

(shoes from ebay like 10 years ago. everything else is thrifted)

[crownedwille]

Bts video of Edvin practicing on the YR S2 set

[stars-and-darkness]

the thing about caitlyn fucking kiramman is that i don't even LIKE her, but i also can't stop thinking about her. she could've been SO GREAT. like in s1 i didn't particularly care about her (she was just ... there. there was nothing offensive about her character, she just didn't stand out among all the others in the main cast), but in s2???? so much of what goes on with her in s2 is just so utterly delicious and right up my alley ... in theory. in concept.

but the execution is just so utterly atrocious, and combined with the rest of s2's general idiocy, it makes me so furious, but i still can't not think about the WHAT IF, ya know?

what if we maybe deferred the magical hive mind robots and the wizard cult and the multiverse to the next show (or never ... never's good) and the focus remained on piltover and zaun. what if we had a season or two more, so that the necessity of a redemption within the next six 40 min episodes didn't bog cait down (or ... you know. no redemption arc. i actually prefer that. let her be evil, lmao.)

if they had spent the time and the effort into actually exploring her inner world in order for us to see her slow descent into fascism, it could've been SO GOOD. if they had taken this kind, painfully naive yet so well-intentioned girl who descended down into zaun and saw the suffering inflicted by the system she herself has benefited from her entire life, put her through an event that actually challenges both her ingrained kindness and the newly-formed awareness of the oppressive dynamic that permeates the society she lives in and then asked the question: is caitlyn kiramman the sort of person who can suffer a huge personal loss like her mother due to this exact oppressive dynamic and still come out recognising that it's a symptom of the system her mother, PERSONALLY, propagated?

and if the answer is no, like s2 attempts to do, if, as someone much funnier than i am said somewhere on this webbed site, she takes zaun lives matter out of her instagram bio ... that's okay. hell, for me, a known enjoyer of characters who are terrible people, it's excellent. it takes the s1 character i didn't much care for and makes her into someone i would be extremely intrigued by.

but ... that's not what happens. or rather, an arc that would require a lot of work to do justice is so condensed that she goes from 0 to 100 in one 40 min episode, and i understand why it's so hard to swallow for so many people. and the worst part is that i can SEE the outline of what could've been, and it makes the switch that much more jarring. cait seemed to be going in one direction, until the memorial attack when she did a complete 360. worse than that, when she decided to form her sexy lil copaganda war crimes task force, she immediately pulled out the big guns.

(i have seen ... so much discussion on how much harm unleashing the grey on zaun actually did, and in case my opinion is somehow relevant to this discussion let me just come out and say:

how do you think gas works? we are shown, explicitly on screen, cait and the war crimes gang release it in the streets of an underground city where her family controls the vents. i think any discussion that doesn't conclude with yes, caitlyn did in fact bring unfathomable harm to hundreds if not thousands of people is a waste of time.)

more than that, while cait herself doesn't live in our world, the creators who wrote and animated this, and the viewers who saw it do, and we all have a cultural awareness of chemical warfare and its associations. it's insane to me that people go against common sense to defend her here, both because i don't think it can be defended unless you have a HEAVY case of fave-can-do-no-wrong goggles on, but also for me personally because ... why would we want to? she's finally being interesting.

all that said, and i cannot overemphasise this enough, gassing zaun should've been a moral event horizon for cait. it should've been the point at which even the people around her--most notably, bloody VI--turn on her. it should not have been the very first thing she does.

hell, she establishes the task force specifically BECAUSE she believes that the council attack, in mel's own words, was an act of one deranged individual, and she wants a small force that can extract/kill jinx, rather than a full-scale invasion that is going to harm innocents. so WHY is the first thing she and the task force do EXACTLY THAT?

the war crimes task force should have been shown to struggle in zaun for an extended period of time, during which cait grows more strained, as do her relationships with her loved ones. she should have been shown struggling with ptsd from the dinner party and guilt over not taking that shot at jinx when she had the chance. vi is the one who convinced her not to--what if she finds herself blaming her for that. what if vi (this post isn't about her so i'm struggling so bad not to derail it completely but oh my poor girl what did they do to you) is pulling away from her, more and more conflicted about what they're doing, both on a systematic level as enforcers rampaging through the undercity and on a personal level as an older sister (just give me vi actually struggling with being an enforcer, PLS, give me her feeling cornered and seeing no other way forward, give me SOMETHING). it would bring in an interesting bit of interpersonal conflict for caitvi that isn't predicated on cait fucking punching vi only for it to never come up again.

point is, we should have seen cait struggling under the weight of being the head of her house, the weight of expectations, the weight of her guilt, we should have seen her barely holding together and feeling like everyone in her life is against her (again! vi!), BEFORE she makes the choice to unleash the grey, to do exactly what she formed the task force to prevent, to take something her mother built to actually do some good (pls insert all the arguments why the kiramman vents are fucked up actually here, i'm too tired to bring them up) and turn it against zaunites, in her mother's memory.

moral. event. horizon.

(insert here something about how jinx turning the grey back onto piltover should've been a major moment for HER, and something to actually lock in all those unconnected and thematically insignificant cait-jinx parallels. how we should've seen her struggling just as much with her own rage and hate, which all stems from guilt--because cait isn't the only one who lost a parent that night. how that moment should have been a CHOICE jinx makes, not just a terrorist attack but the moment in which she chooses to fight for zaun--for selfish reasons, of course, because she's not an idealist, she's not a revolutionary--but does her motivation really matter if the result is an actual resistance movement? look, i have even more thoughts on jinx than i do cait, and if i go on i'll never stop so let's just--let's just go back to cait.)

instead, the gassing is the first thing she does, it's shown to us within a single music video, and then she's being hailed as a dictator. and as rushed a job as the first three episodes do in establishing how she got there, what really pisses me off about cait in s2 and what prompted me to furiously type up a post about a stupid cartoon when i should be translating latin texts for class is ... what now?

the timeskip between ep 3 and 4 is the most fascinating bit here! here's where she's at her angriest--her guilt is eating her alive, because she didn't take that shot, because she alienated vi (what a nice way to say she punched her and left her curling up in pain, alone, wow), everything that made her angry is still there, she still sees jinx's face in her nightmares, except now she has the ultimate power. she has avenues opened up to her that she didn't up until now, and she has ambessa whispering in her ear, fuelling her rage for her own purposes.

this should have been caitlyn at her worst. just as angry as before, just as guilty, but with the full power of a city under martial law under her fingertips.

in a world where we have revolutionary!jinx, we could've had the scene where cait lets ambessa put the Cloak of Dictatorship around her shoulders intersped with flashes of jinx digging out silco's old coat and shrugging it on. caitlyn's cloak hangs heavy and just keeps dragging her deeper underwater as she chokes on her own rage, but jinx nuzzles into the collar of her coat. caitlyn's cloak is a shackle; jinx's coat is a comfort as much as a promise.

in a world where we have revolutionary!jinx, we could've had cait have actual war on her hands.

(it doesn't even have to be jinx. i mean, i WANT it to be, but the war could happen without her, too. i just need IT to happen instead of arcane age of ultron.)

and this could do wonders for her character from so many directions--it could fuel her hatred more because zaunites aren't just rolling over as they did when she gassed them, now they're fighting back, and they're fighting dirty. it could push her deeper into ambessa's embrace because she sure as hell doesn't know anything about warfare, so isn't it lucky she has a decorated general as her mentor?

this is where i get to one more thing i'd have loved to see and that's ... no redemption. not every villain needs redemption, and they sure as hell don't need it to be sympathetic.

because arcane only had two seasons to work with, and because we HAD to have cait redeemed by the end, we get to see none of what would realistically have been her worst era. instead, when we meet her again in ep4 she is already tired, already done with all this, already disillusioned with ambessa. the most interesting part of her arc is completely skipped over in favour of a "redemption arc", and i use the that phrase HIGHLY ironically, given that it was less of an arc and more of someone from the writers' room pointing a gun at my forehead and threatening to shoot if i didn't agree with them that she was redeemed now and that it's all roses and daisies from now on.

ultimately ... i don't WANT her redeemed, but if we must, then i wish more thought and time and effort went into it, just as i wish it did with her descent.

and you know what? caitlyn as the main villain of s2 might've fit nicely into the whole theme of monster you created from s1. of how revolutionary ideas are significantly easier to hold onto when someone you love isn't at stake. you know, all the things that would make the big-collar-and-injured-eye visual parallels s2 draws to silco actually make a lick of sense.

s2 cait stumbles through a multi-season arc in nine episodes, and about as gracefully as a broken-legged foal.

[somegrumpynerd]

Does anyone else hc that Nightmare can like, absorb his tentacles back into his body sometimes? Like the way Stitch does with his extra arms?

[angryushankas]

Kyman Week Day 3: Western

Mmm yeah where do you know him from... mmm....... 🤔

[wilting-fl0wer]

The only correct form of caltam, as far as i am concerned

[rainbow-arrow]

actually how parts of the fandom depict marinette:

[mazken]

brush test slash rendering practice with ayem