Made That Meme From Squid Game With Cass. But Changed The Mood A Little

*sees a beloved mutual in the notes* hi honey

happy birthday cass 💜💜💜

Cass: It's just an axe wound, what's taking so long? Steph: [stitching "Steph wuz here" into Cass' back] Nothing.

thinking of the differences in cass and bruce regarding their no-kill rules, and how cass’ rule is better in regards to the batman persona and what it stands for. death and bruce have an awful relationship, to say the least. he has gained nothing from death and murder, in fact it affects him so much that all he can do with death is just sit in its presence forever, without ever working through it (he literally refers to death as ‘a curse constantly hanging over him’ i mean that is not the most accepting mindset). with cass though? she can actively process death and even accept that it has happened. she isn’t like bruce, because she uses others dying to make her intense love and empathy stronger, while bruce just uses it to fuel anger and an onslaught of repressed negative emotions (which we all know can only last you so long before your whole body just gives out). i mean, the second bruces parents died, he separated the concept of murder from his life, (even though that is literally impossible, minhkhoa, ra’s, talia, selina, and basically anyone who has been in a meaningful relationship with bruce has pointed this out. i mean even a ghost martha wayne has told bruce there’s no avoiding death, only going through it). however, with cass? she literally was a murderer. one of the many reasons cass vows to never kill is because she actively sees herself in murderers, and thinks they all have the capacity to be redeemed, while bruce barely has an idea how to even process murder, let alone accept it or the people who do it (thinking of how he straight up denied that cass killed anyone, or was even capable of doing it, even with video evidence shown right in front of him, and im not even gonna get into the whole jason todd thing). cassandra could be a better batman simply because she can look death (specifically murders and murderers) dead in the eye and accept it, something that bruce cant even do. basically what im getting at is that, ironically, cass’ backstory of her being a murderer allows her to use the batman persona to its full unfiltered potential, something that even bruce is aware of. anyways here’s my cass should take up the batman mantle propaganda!!

I'm chewing on this like it's a five course meal thank you so much for this analysis there's so much to go through.

You're so right about their different mentalities like Bruce was ultimately a victim and his drive comes from both never wanting anyone else to suffer like that but also never wanting to be a victim again himself. And if does mean that his various complexes around death and crime can sometimes be very harmful to people he should be trying to save! Batman is a symbol and an ideal and no one, not even Bruce can truly live up to it.

Meanwhile Cass views herself as the perpetrator, the responsible party instead of a fellow victim tricked into killing a man. And her projection while again not in anyway perfect is definitely better for those around her than Bruce's because it's full of empathy and a belief for change. The heartbreaking part is that she's no less fucked up over the concept of death imo, she just directs it all inwards. Every life lost is a tragedy that Bruce and Cass both carry on their shoulders. The difference is Bruce views anyone who takes a life as having sacrificed a part of themselves they can ever get back, of ruining their life regardless of circumstances. And we really do get to see frequently in comics how that standard ends up harming innocents even as he tries to do good. Meanwhile Cass... Does actually hold quite similar views but she also stubbornly refuses to believe it's true for anyone else just because she cannot escape it being her own personal truth. They killed but they can change. They killed but they can turn their life around. They felt bad for a second there, I saw them. I'm going to help them because of that.

Part of it definitely comes down to the thematic cohesiveness of Cass's Batgirl run compared to Bruce's... Everything. But ultimately yeah Cass best Batman for multiple reasons and you can fight me on this.

When I got my appendix taken out: I was nine years old, in a foreign country and had to leave the hospital early in order to get on a plane even though I really shouldn’t be flying yet. It’s was fine, cannon event, it was character development.

What I’m trying to say is that Billy Batson does not deserve an appendix and should have it ripped out immediately

I spent two weeks wasting away on a couch watching glee. I remember none of it.

I want him to experience the superhero equivalent of that. Like, yeah when he’s powered up he’s fine, but will he remember to power up? Like, he shows up to a meeting two days late because he’s been delirious all week and doesn’t remember waking up.

Secret society of Clown Enjoyers in Gotham that have to keep their love for clowns and the aesthetic a secret because Joker ruined it for them.

Their society’s goal? Either kill the Joker or, somehow, get him to change his aesthetic as the “Clown Prince Of Crime” so that they can wear their costumes without being associated with Joker.

They are the Joker’s #1 hater

Made myself depressed thinking about Cass again. Specifically DCeased Cass. Imagining her dropping her Shazam form whenever it comes time to beat up some regular goons. When the others ask her why, she fires back with simply, "keeps me sharp." The real truth is because she can't be hurt as Shazam, and after everything that's happened, after losing Bruce and Barbara and Tim and Stephanie and now even Damian, she really, really needs to feel hurt.

yeah,

Before I knew I was bisexual I was just insanely dramatic and weird around guys I liked. I had a crush on this guy in my ward - he was older than me, he played bagpipes and had a cheerful dog and an old Volkswagen bus that he worked on all the time. He also had nice scruff and unnaturally attractive hands and a good sense of humor, so I was like FULLY smitten.

I talked about him a lot and about how he was just so dang COOL, dang it, because he was so frickin’ cool. And I really liked him. I thought he was funny and smart and interesting and cool and fascinating and a bunch of other weird feelings I barely had the attention span to think about (I think my ADHD may have prevented me from coming out for a while tbh).

One day, I’m like 14-15, his dad is called to be my Sunday School teacher. His dad is this ex-military hardass with a chip on his shoulder for absolutely no reason and unattainable standards for his children. He spent most of Sunday School talking shit about his eldest boy and how he was rebellious and didn’t listen to him and how that was going to make him a bad adult and a bad son forever. How his son was too lazy and unmotivated to be successful because he didn’t listen to his advice on how to read the scriptures. He complained about how our generation was too weak to do things right and that our generation would surely be the one that brought the world’s downfall because of our laziness and sin.

And like, first of all, that guy can already go fuck himself for that. To clarify, that’s already stupid. BUT. He was talking about the man I had uncomfortable dreams about at least once a month. I couldn’t stand it. I’d get so mad I’d go home shaking sometimes because how fucking DARE he insult his hardworking stunning son by calling him lazy? For not reading the Bible the way his dad wants? When he’s already spending his time learning bagpipes? And fixing cars? And being cool? And cute? Who the fuck even cares if he uses the footnotes in the Book of Mormon? Who gives a rotten rat’s ass if he doesn’t use the scripture study manual his dad uses? He’s so cool he doesn’t even need it? So fuck off?

And eventually I got fucking Sick Of It and decided to mutiny. And by mutiny, I mean skip class. I’d just not go. And after a bit, adults started noticing and bugging me about it. At first, this was put off by small talk and excuses, but as my absence from Sunday School became more well-known, my excuses began to be rejected.

“Oh, Lizard, why aren’t you in class?” Uhm idk because my Sunday School teacher is mean to his kid and that makes me so mad wtf do you want from me? 🫠🤔

“Where’s your class, I’ll go with you!” Oh no ty I’d rather peel my own eyes than have my taste in men critiqued tyty 🩷

“Lizard, you should go to class, I’m sure they miss you!” And I miss the innocent days where my stomach didn’t hurt when a cool boy I knew was being belittled but unfortunately for us both those days are LONG gone and all that’s left is a budding psychosexual clusterfuck that will render me almost fully incapable of functioning for the better part of a decade so Bye Bye, sister Smith 🙂‍↕️

It had gotten to the point that ward leadership was involved. I was being approached by members of the Young Men’s presidency and the Bishopric to try and make me to back to class. They were telling me God had told them to find me and instruct me on my rebelliousness. This is where I implemented my secret weapon - women. Mormons are weird as hell about a lot of things, but especially about women. And I was GREAT with women. So to combat the leadership’s attention, I started helping women.

Our ward had a lot of new moms with babies who were, as babies tend to be, fussy. But for Mormon women the church is often their only social outlet, so they try to power through as long as they can even if it means enduring the exhausting ordeal of taking care of a fussy baby at church.

For what it’s worth, I have a lot of sway with babies. I got baby street cred. Me and babies have a rapport. I have always known this. I have always loved this. And in this crucial gay time in my faggot life my baby mind powers came in clutch - Every time I saw a member of the bishopric getting close, or a young men’s leader giving me side-eye, I’d start walking slowly towards class, passing by relief society. I’d wait until a mom’s baby had gotten too fussy and needed to leave the room, and I’d swoop in like a knight. “Oh, don’t you worry sister, I’ll bounce him a bit. You go back and hang out with your friends in class. You deserve a break.”

If it was a diaper change or something they’d tell me no. But if it was just some good old-fashioned baby fusses, I mean, they’d be moved almost to tears. They just got their social time back AND a free babysitter who is renowned as the Baby Whisperer. And because I was holding a baby as a favor for someone else, I of course could not reasonably be bothered to return to class.

So just like that, I was out of everyone’s sights. This went on for about a month before the straw that broke the camel’s back, which was that without my class participation the classes were quiet and awkward. I’d often take the brunt of Sunday school lectures by answering questions impulsively and over explaining myself enough that the clock could run out without anyone needing to do or say much. My absence meant everyone else was getting hit with the full unpleasantness of this guy’s bullshit. And so slowly, one-by-one, I had a group of about 8 kids on baby-holding duty. These new moms were so overjoyed, they and their husbands were both so actively in our corner that now chastising us was untenable. Now we had bargaining power. So the Bishopric approached us, confused beyond confused and uncomfortable beyond uncomfortable, and said,

“What’s it gonna take to get you back to class?”

The POWER I possessed in that moment was addictive. By being kind to the women of the ward and ignoring the Mormon de facto Rule of Law of following rules en-masse so the rule breakers feel left out, there were now so many people breaking ranks that we had effectively enacted a church boy labor strike. And they crumbled so fast it was almost like we had swayed God himself to our cause.

“I want brother assholedad gone. He sucks at teaching.”

I didn’t even have to say it. One of my rebels said it for me. I just nodded sagely and said “Yes, his class is not edifying. It’s better to not go and hold babies.”

And just like that, with a snap of my limp-wristed, Christ-wounding, bottom-brained fingers my faggot will was enacted. God’s revelation that brother shitdad was his chosen Sunday school teacher flipped on a dime. Suddenly brother shitdad was asked to be an usher and the fun dad of another one of my crushes was called in to teach us. I still stayed to hold babies a lot, but the rest of the class returned and all was well again.

Although I didn’t recognize it then, I think that was a formative moment for me in a lot of ways. I learned that being really persistently annoying will get me what I want from authority eventually. I learned that God’s will can be swayed by going in strike. I learned that ignoring men’s made up authority forces them to level with you as a person. I learned that caring for women, especially vulnerable women, can make a whole world happier. I learned that letting women rest can help them feel more love for the things that matter in their life. I learned that social bonds make everyone stronger and happier. And I learned that loving others in a gay way can change the world.

Be gayer. Read Terry Pratchett. I love y’all 💕

He's so sillyyy