Bisexual women with a preference for women aren’t lesbians, they’re just bisexual with a preference.
Bisexual men with a preference for men aren’t gay, they’re just bisexual with a preference.
Both bisexual men and women who have a preference for the opposite sex or gender aren’t straight or lord forbid, “bihets”. They’re bisexual with a preference.
DC Nuclear Winter Special #1 – “Last Daughters” (2018)
written by Tom Taylor art by Tom Derenick & Yasmine Putri
THIS. IS. EVERYTHING.
This is the type of Kara Zor-El story arch I crave and will beg for! Look at the character development in just two pages of this comic! The ache it creates when Kara refuses to put her own child through what her own parents put her through. She knows the horror – the absolute torment – it is for a child to land on a completely strange planet and be brought up by a species different from her own. How terrifying it is. And she refused to put her child through that pain.
And don’t even get me started on how amazing Kara looks here!
Dagna was five years old, and she was determined that there was more. More than her father’s shop that smelt of leather and veridium, more than her ailing mother’s little stories of good and bad children, more than her cousins’ gossip about the other families in their quarter. Then one of her uncles, whose best friend was in the Mining Caste, spoke to her about a song.
They call it Stone Sense, little one, he said, ruffling her shock of red hair. Say it’s like a song. Music from the Stone. I think it’s nonsense.
But the idea stayed with her, and she wondered if she could learn to hear it too.
***
Dagna was ten years old, and Maglen who ran the meats stall brought her back to her father for the eighth time. They keep finding her down near Dust Town, she said, worried and angry. Says she’s exploring. Keep her out of there, Janar. I know she lost her mother, but you need to be stern with her.
And her father punished her and asked what she was doing, and she said, tears in her eyes but her voice steady, that she was trying to find a song.
You’re to be a merchant, Dagna. There is no song for us. We buy. We sell. It’s what we know, it’s what we do.
She knew when he was lying, though. That was the thing about fathers.
They always lied when they didn’t know the answer.
***
Dagna was fifteen years old, and the Shapers knew her well, the plump daughter of the armor merchant near the Diamond Quarter, the girl whose nose was always smudged with book-dust. She asked about lyrium. She asked about the Stone. She asked about music.
She read, but didn’t dare, to ask of magic.
Because it seemed clear, as clear as the scent of leather and the shine of veridium, that a merchant’s daughter should never ask after the impossible. At least not to those who could limit her access to books.
She read, and she read and she read, and she read. She dreamed, even though all the books said that she could not.
***
Dagna was seventeen years old. The Warden stood at Dagna’s height, the brand on her face ugly but powerful in what it meant. We are not constrained by our birth. The Warden Brosca was fierce and beautiful with blades on her belt and a bruise under one eye and books spilling out of her pack. And Dagna was in love, but more importantly, she understood what the Warden meant, what she was.
Will you help me? she asked.
Warden Brosca grinned. Touched the brand on her face. Looked around at the stone walls surrounding them. Leaned in and said, There’s so much more than this. Of course I’ll help.
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