seeing kenji muto, the director of trigun stampede, reading an article about the portrayal of women in media made me want to take a little bit of a closer look at the women in trigun and as i was rambling about this earlier to my partner, they told me to write it down LMAO
as most of us know, in a lot of fiction, women are mostly characterised through common tropes, leading to a lack of complexity and a one-dimensional portrayal: as the doting wife, the femme fatale, the mistress, or the virgin. Their role only amounts to an Other, an extension of the male hero. they’re either the whore or the madonna.
for female characters in anime that usually means they’re either the sexy femme fatale, big badonkers and all to be gazed at, the mother, the helpless damsel in distress, or the child (yet, still sexualised despite the fact that it is a literal child); they’re portrayed through the way they are being perceived by men and mostly sexualised beyond belief.
tristamp doesn’t do any of that.
in fact, the female characters in stampede achieve something that you don’t often see in anime: they are people. and stampede makes that clear in its very first episode by decidedly not going the route that you would usually take with the female characters they introduce:
of course, the biggest example here would be meryl, who i’d argue is the biggest driver of the plot, despite the fact that the plot of stampede is technically determined by vash - vash is an entirely passive character, he doesn’t make things happen, things happen to him and they mostly happen to him because of meryl. she’s the one who unties him, she drags them to the city, she makes them stay with him after ep3, she drives over wolfwood (rip my man), she stops for them to find rollo, she makes them follow the steamer.. you get it. she does all of this, despite being introduced as the newbie, the innocent person who would usually be the damsel in distress, who is helpless and shy and easily manipulated and who will probs be sexualised in her role as the “virgin” (sexually naive young girl who just doesn’t get all this adult sexuality yet hehe)
but she’s not – she wears a non-sexualised outfit, she only gets called out for being a newbie, or for being small height-wise by wolfwood, but not for being a “girl”, she determines the action despite the fact that she does have a mentor figure and is therefore still in a position of a student – she still isnt an extension of roberto, vash, or anyone
in fact, the other characters – Rosa, Elendira, Luida, Rem – all take up roles that would in other media be portrayed in very specific ways: Rosa could just be a pregnant mother, who is also a divorcee, Elendira could be an innocent child beholden to her caretaker, Luida could be the loving motherlike figure and rem the Madonna figure, symbolising all the virtues a woman should aspire to have. – Rosa is a leader, her pregnancy is mentioned one single time and never made a bigger part of her character, Elendira is young but powerful, making choices by herself that are not inherently based on any kind of innocence, Luida doesn’t coddle Vash or prioritise him over her own work and mission (which also serves to inspire another woman, meryl!!), and rem is also just a non-perfect person, with secrets and questionable morality
none of these women are judged on the basis of their gender, none of them experience gender-based violence, none of them are made into a joke, none of them are sexualised (or desexualised – if you compare them to the male characters, who also do not ever make jokes about sexual promiscuity or similar stuff), they have different body types (rem has a very pronounced chest, and yet stampede doesn’t ever focus on it or give her cleavage) – note also that when presented with the perfect opportunity to call a female character a “bitch”, they chose to go with a “witch” instead, in both original japanese and english dub
their femininity is not used as a weapon against them, nor are stereotypical hypermasculine elements used to define characters’ positive traits (vash not being our traditionally hypermasculine hero for example) - the only time we see a semblance of gender-based violence is, you guessed it, at the very end, when knives forcefully takes control and bodily autonomy away from vash and inseminates the plants against their will (also interesting to note that knives, as the character that does exhibit that kind of violence, is the only character to be shown incredibly buff and all muscle)
the women in tristamp are written for women, with the goal to be women that we can recognise, that represent the women that we are and know
anyways, i love all women in tristamp and have not once felt uncomfortable or said “oh look, a panty shot” and honestly i just find that pretty neat
1K notes
·
View notes
Yeet.
A/N: this is just pure word vomit. I’m so sorry. The title is SO bad but I was giggling so hard when I wrote it. Also this is literally so fucking self-indulgent.
Summary: Spider-People have a sixth sense. This is common knowledge to anyone who intimately knows one. What you didn’t know however was that it can occasionally misinterpret intentions, leading to disastrous results.
Hobie Brown x gn!Reader
Contents: No use of Y/N, anxiety mentions, reader gets full on thrown through a window, reader dissociates (symptoms of dissociation are described in depth), reader gets injured, angst, hurt/comfort
————
It was mid-afternoon, the sun starting to lower towards the sky-line as you hauled your bags back from the grocery store. It wasn’t a long walk, not by any means, by the bags were heavy with ingredients for dinner and the sun was at the perfect angle to shine in your eye.
As you dragged yourself through the lobby of your apartment you could feel your heart flutter at the gentle vibration of your phone in your pocket. Hobie must be telling you that he entered through the window. How you longed to see him, today had been impossibly long and he had a subtle way of making everything better.
As you shuffled your way into the elevator, smacking the button awkwardly with your elbow, you impatiently watched as you rose through the levels of your apartment building.
It felt like a century. But eventually you were met with the sweet ding of the elevator reaching the correct floor. You dragged yourself one last time out of the elevator and down the hall, however instead of the sound of sweet guitar cords you were met with silence.
You anxiously creep down the hallway. When Hobie comes over he always plays his guitar loud enough for the whole floor to hear. As annoying as it was to your neighbors you couldn’t find it in you to ask him to stop, the sweet melody melting the stress right off your bones.
You somehow manage to mangle your key out of your pocket without putting anything down, and as soon as you’re inside you’re dropping your groceries without a care in the world and pulling out your phone.
As you unlock it your worst fear is confirmed, it was Hobie texting you alright. Him not playing his guitar almost certainly meant something was horribly wrong. To make matters worst Hobie had said he had a “surprise” for you. That made the anxiety in your stomach twist even harder, the idea of one of Hobie’s many enemies capturing him, or using you to get to him sparking to life in your mind.
You leave the door to your apartment open a crack, just incase you need to run, and creep down the hallway. The door to your bedroom is open just a crack, and light is spilling out of your room, causing you to hold your breath as you creep closer.
You perch on your toes, hoping to decrease the chance of someone hearing you as you near the door, hands posed at your side, ready to fight for your life or run as fast as your legs could carry you at a moments notice.
You lean on the door frame and push the door open another few inches using the side of your foot, holding your breath as the hinges let out a loud squeak.
When you don’t hear any immediate threats coming from inside the room you carefully shift your weight forward, gripping the door frame like it would keep you from harm.
You feel your heart leap with relief as you see not one of Hobie’s enemies, but Hobie himself. He’s sitting in your desk chair, facing the closed window. He has his guitar in his hands, but that is not what stands out to you. Instead what stands out is the pair of headphones on his head, forcing his wicks out of the way in a messy way that shows he has not taken much care when placing them on his head in the first place.
You scrunch your nose in delight at the comical sight and decide that some teasing is in order, after the near heart attack he gave you.
You creep forward, your movements reminding you of a cat as a Cheshire grin grows on your face. You still completely when you’re in pouncing distance and you see Hobie’s finger still on his guitar strings. A small cue, but one that indicated you’re plan would be foiled if you didn’t attack right… Now!
You pounce forward, you barely feel your nails scrap the thread of Hobie’s shirt before a firm force is pressing on your stomach, pushing you up and over yourself.
You can barely breath, a second and an eternity pass as you crash through the air.
You don’t think you’ve ever hit anything as hard as you just did.
The top of your head and one of your shoulders feel the crunch of the impact first, but it does nothing to slow your movements as your thighs crumple downwards you, and then past you still.
It doesn’t take you long to realize that you’re falling.
Not that you had a long time to realize.
You didn’t realize that you had the instinct to face the ground. Was that something that was impeded in every human? Or were you simply privy to this trait as you saw your boyfriend leap through the air on a near daily basis?
Whatever the cause, your descent is stopped by the feeling of something pulling on your back. It reminds you of how a bully would pull on your backpack in middle school, only if the bully was a double-decker bus instead of a 12 year old.
Your internal debate on the nature of 12-year-old assholes is stopped as you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you in through the cracked frame of a window.
You didn’t remember being pulled in the wrong way through the air. Traveling in reverse. But it would be impossible to forget Hobie’s face staring at you with as much concern as you’ve ever seen on it, eyes wide and almost glassy.
You can feel the tightness of his grip on your shoulders, and you’re sure his fingerprints will be imprinted in your skin. You can see his mouth moving quickly but you can’t hear his voice.
You look vaguely at the busted window frame, the wood is cracked and splintering in nearly a hundred places. You fear your landlords reaction when he sees that. How are you going to explain it?
You feel Hobie gently brushing your forehead with his thumb, pulling you from your thoughts. You look down and see small specks of glass, almost like glitter, dusting your lap. You raise a hand to your head and it comes back a deep vermilion, you swear it sparks the same as that damned glitter.
You feel Hobie’s hand on your cheek, turning your eyes towards him.
“You with me?” Hobie’s eyes are large and concerned, troubled brows peering at you.
You can barely find the strength to make eye contact, mind still far off, falling through the atmosphere, clouds catching in your throat.
You feel Hobie’s firm thumb on your cheek, consistent pressure pulling your mind back down to earth.
“Hey now. Focus on me.”
You blink a few times, and slowly feel your bones becoming solid once more. You can hear the traffic out the window, Hobie’s breathing, feel the warmth of blood on your head. You find your chest naturally matching the rhythm of Hobie’s as he breathes deeply, prompting you to copy him.
You go to reach up to your head once more, intent of seeing how bad your injury is, but Hobie grabs your wrist and pulls your hand back down.
He stares at you for an intense moment before he scoops you up bridal style, being so incredibly gentle as he stands.
“Let’s get you cleaned up Luv.” He sounds more quite and subdued then you have ever heard him. He walks oh so gently, slow and smooth so as not to bump or jostle you.
He sits you down on the counter of the bathroom gently, and pulls a first-aid kit out from under the sink. Typically it is you patching him up after patrol, looks like the tables have turned this time.
He works in utter silence. His first mission is staunching the wound on your head. It’s no where near the point of requiring stitches, it had simply bleed a lot as head wounds are prone to doing. He cleans the wound efficiently, and before you know it the wound is hidden by a thick, white bandage on your forehead.
The rest of your wounds are thankfully small, and don’t take much treatment. After a few wipes from a damp cloth and some Neosporin your wounds are treated. The only evidence that still prove the incident occurred recently is your blood stained clothing.
Hobie stays in the same spot he was in as he treated your wounds, hovering almost. His normally large presence has shrunk and if your didn’t know better you’d say he was trying to hide himself away from you.
You are staring at your hands, finding your fingers very interesting as the intense silence clouds the air, closing in around your throat you want to say something to break it, but your throat chokes in on itself as soon as you open it.
“I’m sorry.”
Hobie looks so small as he whispers those words to you. His hands are ghosts on your thighs, you can feel him, but you’ve never felt so separated from him. He eyes the tile of the bathroom and you can practically see him beating himself up, pulling away from you in a belligerent attempt to protect you.
You gently place a hand on his cheek and turn his face towards yours, forcing him to look at you. “I don’t blame you.”
“I know.”
“I still trust you.”
He glanced away from you briefly, and blinks aggressively like he’s fighting off tears. “Are you sure you should?”
Instead of a verbal response you take one of his hands from your thigh and guide it your head, setting the tips of his fingers right on the thick bandage that lays there. “This is proof that you care. That it was an accident and we both regret it. I trust you with my life.”
He suddenly lurches forward, pulling you into his body with a sob. You hold him gently as he cries into you, rubbing his back comfortingly, letting him feel his emotions and let them out.
You have no idea how long you sat there on your bathroom counter, blood stained clothing as you try to piece back together the broken pieces of your boyfriend without any words. But none were needed.
686 notes
·
View notes
insecure — kim mingyu | 2,146 words | fluff, hurt/comfort
milm (man i love mingyu). short haired mingyu is so fucking hot. also, i will gladly spread the mingyu passenger princess agenda.
gender neutral reader. warnings: alcohol.
mingyu doesn't know what exactly he's feeling at the moment. his emotions range from tiredness due to how late in the night it is, to amusement as he half-registers the movie playing on the television, to his heart feeling like it's being crushed and released over and over again.
vernon, in his drunken state, made a quip about you and wonwoo making out years ago.
that has to be a joke, right? you've always said said you've never liked wonwoo that way, and mingyu knows you'd never lie to him. so why does it feel like he's waiting for something bad when he sees your text informing him you're on your way to pick him up from his place to spend a night at yours?
he himself had asked for it earlier in the day, happy when you said you'd love to have him over for the night. but given the stuff that's come up hardly an hour ago, he doesn't know if he wants to see you.
of course he does. but he's worried that he's going to say something stupid to you.
the doorbell ringing shakes him out of his thoughts. wonwoo beats him to opening the door. you're standing in one of mingyu's own hoodies, spinning your car keys in your hand, and the thought warms him up a bit. he's still not used to seeing you in his clothes.
you greet wonwoo and he moves aside to let you in. your eyes light up immediately when you spot mingyu. he raises his arms up to let you hug him from behind.
"feeling cold?" you ask, kissing his head, which is covered with a beanie. he kind of wishes you'd kissed his forehead instead.
"a bit, yeah," he says, not untruthfully. but the cold is not the only reason he has a beanie on. he brings your hand to his mouth to press a quick kiss. as much as he loves you, he's had enough of being teased by the boys for a day. he'd much rather save the real kisses for when you get out of here.
"no greetings for us?" seungcheol asks, taking a sip of his drink.
you smile and say hi to him and vernon. "sorry, guys. i've spent all day away from gyu. you have no idea how terrible it is."
"we've spent all day with him, and we kind of have an idea of how terrible it is," vernon says with a cheeky smile.
"hey," mingyu says, no real annoyance in his voice. you laugh, your hand resting on mingyu's shoulder.
"i'll be more than glad to take him off your hands. let's go, gyu?" you ask.
mingyu nods and pushes himself off the sofa, bidding the other guys goodnight.
you shiver when you step out of the building and walk towards your car. mingyu notices and takes your hand in his, putting it in the pocket of his own hoodie. he knows it doesn't help much, especially when your other hand must also be freezing, but the smile you give him is worth it. he lets go of your hand when you get to the car so you can settle down in your respective seats.
"so, how was your day?" you ask, putting the key in its slot. he can smell takeout from the backseat and his heart does a little flip. just a few years ago, he wouldn't have imagined he'd be sharing a life with someone like this, treasuring late night dinners with someone in a car. and he'd never imagined that someone would be you.
he's glad you're here, even though he knows you're always there for him. it's been an uphill journey getting himself to believe that you really do love him, because there are days like this when he doubts half of everything he knows.
"fine," he says, unzipping his hoodie. the inside of your car is warm enough for him to feel a bit better.
"that's not how you speak if your day went well," you say, reaching over to lay a hand on his thigh.
of course you know him too well. "the shoot began at seven in the morning," he says, leaning back against his seat to relax himself. "and then woozi wanted us to give some input on some lyrics he'd written before we wrapped up for the day. then wonwoo invited everyone home for a dinner party, but the only guys who stuck around were us four, because seungcheol had some ideas for the new choreography."
"aw," you say. "you wanted to leave earlier?"
"yeah. it's better with you here."
when you don't say anything, he looks at you, only to find you looking at him...sadly? confusedly? "not that i'm looking for trouble," you say, taking your hand back from his thigh, "but did i do something?"
of course not. you haven't done anything. even if you did, it's in the past. but the mere possibility that you did it...
"you hooked up with wonwoo."
you blink once. then twice. "what?"
that's an insane accusation to make out of context. so what if vernon said what he said? he was pretty drunk already. "um. i...vernon..."
you sigh. "did he say wonwoo wouldn't shut up about it for a while?"
so it did happen. mingyu nods, a bit numb. time and again his friends have teased you with wonwoo because his roommate is your boyfriend and his best friend, and time and again you've shown that you've only ever wanted mingyu. so why—
"did you...settle for me?" the words sound pathetic, even to himself. but it doesn't make sense otherwise. why would you give up a relationship with wonwoo? his standards for dating are so high, and mingyu often conspires with his friends to get his roommate to go on dates, only to no avail. wonwoo's quite content, being by himself.
you turn in your seat however much you can and look at him. your lips are pressed together in an unhappy line and mingyu hates that he's the reason you look this way.
"is that what you think i did?" you ask, folding your hands in your lap. "that i settled for you?"
"no," mingyu says, and knows he means it entirely. he knows you love him. a lot. but some days the question creeps up out of nowhere and doesn't let go for hours on end.
"then why would you think i did that?"
mingyu shrugs. what was the deal with wonwoo, he wants to ask.
you sigh and reach forward to hold his thigh again. this time, he doesn't let your hand escape, trapping your colder hand in place with his warm one.
"it's true," you say slowly. "i hooked up with wonwoo."
mingyu lets out a shaky breath. "why didn't you ever tell me that?"
"does it change anything between us?"
like hell it would. mingyu would kick himself if that ever happened. he stares at his hand on yours. "no," he says reluctantly. "unless you have feelings for him— i know you don't, baby. but still."
you reach for his hand with your other one, trapping it like a sandwich. an idiot sandwich, he thinks, the thought bringing a small smile to his face.
"when i say we hooked up, we just kissed. a whole lot. but it was only ever that."
mingyu looks up at that. you're serious, he realizes. "just...kissing?"
"yeah. we knew it'd go nowhere. it was a mistake."
a mistake? "when...did this happen?"
"remember that party your friend baekho threw? wonwoo invited me to it."
mingyu doesn't remember the specifics, but he knows you'd been invited by wonwoo because he'd wanted the whole group to meet his old friend from college. mingyu had taken one look at you and realized he really liked you. it wasn't like wonwoo to have a ton of friends that weren't from the band, so he'd immediately taken a shine to you.
you take your hands away from his and he immediately misses them, even though they're cold. "it was supposed to be you," you say, voice small.
"what?"
"the person i kissed. it was supposed to be you."
"what?" he knows he sounds like a broken record.
you let out a small, embarrassed noise. "wonwoo said he'd try to get you alone in a room so i could confess and see what happened. but because we both ended up being drunk by the end of the night, he mistook me for some girl and i mistook him for you and we kissed."
mingyu gapes at you. you're a very graceful drunk, leagues ahead of him, but kissing someone thinking they're someone else?
"shut up," you murmur. "if i'd known it was wonwoo i'd have backed off right away."
mingyu lets out a laugh, his heart feeling so much lighter. to think you'd been kissing wonwoo thinking it was mingyu makes him feel giddy. he likes knowing you've probably been into him longer than he's been into you.
"then what was that thing about wonwoo not being able to shut up?"
you sigh. "he found it pretty funny and always brought it up to the guys, but i wasn't amused."
mingyu can't get it out of his head now. it's more funny than it's sad. maybe it's funny in a sad way. but he can't stop thinking about how awkward it must have been for you to hang out with wonwoo after that little mishap.
"stop laughing," you scold him lightheartedly, smacking his arm.
"i'm sorry," he says, hands reaching out for you. the weight on his chest has almost gone entirely.
it's a bit difficult, but you manage to move to his side and sit on his lap. your car's a bit small for such fancy maneuvers but mingyu always loves being close to you, no matter how.
"hi," you say, finally kissing him. he's missed you all day long, and all he wants to do now is go to your place and hold you in his arms all night long.
"hi," he says, looking up at you. he can't keep the stupid smile off his face.
"still feeling cold?" you ask, lightly tugging at his beanie. "i can turn on the heat, if you want."
the hesitation comes back. he shakes his head, but if you're sitting this close to him, surely you're not going to make fun of him?
"we had the shoot today."
"so you said, gyu."
"they...made me..."
"do a hundred push-ups?"
mingyu's eyes widen. "you think i can do a hundred push-ups?"
"i don't know, maybe?"
mingyu inhales sharply. "then i'll train to do them for you."
you shake your head and kiss him again. "you can do ten and i'll still be happy. what happened then?"
mingyu deflates. he doesn't look bad, not to himself, but it's just... new. he's not used to having such short hair.
"i got a haircut," he says, tugging off his beanie and closing his eyes, scared of your reaction.
your voice is low when you say, "oh, my god."
mingyu doesn't dare open his eyes. "is that a good thing, or..."
"gyu, sweetheart, do you have any idea how hot you look?"
he opens his eyes to see yours trained on his face, flitting between his lips and his hair. he feels the slightest bit self-conscious. "i kind of feel like an egg."
"then you're the hottest egg i've ever seen. seriously, what made you go for it?"
mingyu shrugs. "it wasn't really my idea."
you frown at him. "what do you mean?"
"they thought it'd suit the comeback theme if i had short hair."
you take his face in your hands. "oh, gyu. i'm sorry. i wish you had a say in it."
he nods. he does wish he had a say in it, but as long as you find it hot, he's fine.
you run a hand through his hair, or what is left of it after the trim, your fingers scratching against his scalp much more clearly than they usually do. it feels good.
"i hate you," you say softly.
mingyu's suddenly worried. "what? why?"
"because i'm going to have to change my lockscreen again. do you have any idea how much time it took me to narrow down a perfect choice from all the 1,082 pictures i have of you?"
mingyu groans. "don't scare me like that, baby. also, you have that many pictures of me?"
"i'd have more if you didn't tour so much."
mingyu can't help the laugh he lets out. you really can cure his day with your words, no matter where you are. he pulls you down for a kiss. "let's have takeout and go home, okay?"
you grin brightly at him. "did you just call my place home?"
he supposes he did. but it's true, isn't it? "of course i did."
371 notes
·
View notes