#They can and do overlap but when duty and no hard feelings are the barrier

[deathvsthemaiden]

Tagged by @florrdemaga (thank you Iris! 💜🪄) to fill out this tag meme! These questions were really fun, I’m glad I was tagged 🏷🕊

1. Do you like answering tags?

LOVE answering tags!! Sometimes during dry spells where no one’s rlly doing any tag memes I’m like maybe I should start one... have no ideas tho alas ✊🏽😔💔

2. Do you prefer to write fanfiction, read fanfiction, create fanart, make video edits, or none of the above?

Create fanart!!! Oh god I have so many ideas for fan and original art I just barely draw anymore for various reasons. Sometimes I look at my old wips and make myself sad for no good reason, I don’t want to talk about it 😞🥀 (<- she’s being dramatic ignore her)

I dabble in reading fanfic but rarely, because I don’t have the patience to comb thru it all for quality stuff that suits my tastes AND. Most of the time the stuff I wanna read in terms of fanfic doesn’t exist bc I’m specific and picky and/or I most wanna read about my favorite side characters who get less spotlight in their respective canons... but because they’re obscure faves, I have fewer fics to choose from 😔 and I wouldn’t know where to start writing my own fanfiction, writing cohesive coherent stories in general trips me up an insane amount, so I just close my eyes and dream up vague scenarios from time to time 😴💭

3. Nails painted (include what color) or not?

I default to any bright or dark red, pale/shiny pink, plum purple, or copper. I usually paint my pointer fingers a different color because it makes the acts of pointing and gesturing more fun... I can’t explain it. Rarely do I remember to actually paint my nails tho!

4. What would your amortentia smell like? (For those who don’t know Harry Potter, amortentia is a love potion that smells different to each person based on what attracts them. Basically what are your favorite smells?)

Roses, jasmine, sage, oud, cooking or baking just like in general, can’t think of specific dishes rn, the sea, coffee, chai.... I can’t rlly choose, I don’t think about smells often 😳😳😳😳😳 I just like what I like in the moment and usually forget later GWUSBSNS

5. Would you prefer to live in an extremely hot or cold climate?

HOTTTT!!! Hot a thousand times over 🔥

6. Favorite flavor of chapstick or do you not wear any?

I acquired a tube of pomegranate burt’s bees recently and it wiped clean any and all prior chapstick flavors from my memory... am obsessed with it and the subtle red it leaves.

7. Enemies to lovers or friends to lovers?

GOD THE SECOND ONE... bores me most of the time, at least conceptually, so enemies to lovers. I much prefer drama and the idea of getting to meet new people instead of sticking to someone you’ve known forever, like for me personally friends to o lovers just feels too “expected” or “easy” (these are not the right words I can’t think of any better ones rn tho have mercy) unless it’s done in a veryyy specific way. And sometimes the obstacles in friends to lovers feel less compelling/convincing than the ones present in enemies to lovers. (I’m generalizing but it’s sort of impossible to avoid doing that when answering a q like this!)

I also love enemies to lovers or almost any complicated fictional relationship w/ some sort of animosity or tension involved because when handled effectively it’s more engaging to watch characters navigate emotions that feel almost like opposites. Also they validate my strong belief that love is never uncomplicated or effortlessly “pure,” and that the existence of it doesn’t cancel out the very real possibility of less savory and potentially valid feelings. In my experience most relationships are complicated by weird combinations of feelings and that makes the good parts of them more... idk... satisfying or precious. I’m messy basically.

8. Favorite type of weather?

Sunny sunny sunny sunny sunny 🥺🤲🏽☀️

9. Do you use :), :], or :D?

:) and :D !

Tagging: @pinkafropuffs @noblyphantasmic @chaliceandsword @chiiquitita @fithragaer @fatallist and... 6 is a nice number, I’ll stop here because I’m in a rush, but as always this is free and fair game for anyyyyyyone! Be bold be swift be unafraid 🕊

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story Pt 20 - Sci Fi

New part! I've felt more inspired lately, and am happy to share the next installment of the PFTS series.

Warning, a little bit of angst ahead.

Masterpost linked here.

Enjoy!

_____________________________

“That’s amazing!”

Pausing in my exercise with the Mech, I turned to look over at Liam who was standing off to the side of training room. He was watching me with bright eyes, a small container and a water bottle held tightly in his hands.

I stood in the training room holding a sword, practicing different strikes, while the Mech behind me held its own large sword, mimicking my movements through the Connection. The distance between us made it more difficult, but I felt the stuttering in its attacks slowly smooth out as I practiced.

I made an overhead swing, feeling the mild throbbing at my temples increase as the Mech made the same movement just a quarter second behind. Now, finished with the set of attacks I had set for myself, I sheathed the practice weapon and turned towards my enthusiastic audience.

“Hey, Liam!”

Severing the Connection with my Mech, I felt relief as the mental drain halted. Now free to move around, I walked towards him with a smile. “What brought you here?”

He grinned shyly. “I wanted to see you practice. Your control is amazing! I can’t believe you can Connect with your Mech from that distance. Also…” He hesitated, “You seem much more comfortable with a sword than you did with the pistols, no offense.”

“None taken. The sword IS much more comfortable.” I thought about the memory fragments of me refusing to give up using a sword. “I just think I might not be meant for ranged weapons.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy! Here you go.” He reached out, holding up a container of water for me to drink from.

“Thanks.”

“I also brought cake.”

I nearly choked in the midst of taking a drink. “Really? You didn’t have to. At this rate you’re going to spoil me.”

“Good.” Liam clutched the container to his chest, looking pleased. “You deserve it.”

“Whatever you say.” I shook my head, finished my drink and then paused. “…Can I ask you a question?”

His smile faded at my serious tone. “Go ahead.”

“Your mental barrier… if it’s up all the time, how are we standing so close together? Also, you’ve handed me things, and even touched me when you helped me up that one time, right?” I felt excited internally, but tried not to show it. “Does that mean I’m not affected by your barrier?”

“… I wish that were true.”

My heart sank with disappointment as Liam sighed, looking down at the ground. “With people I trust, the barrier shrinks. The more I trust them, the smaller the barrier is. My parents can stand close to me.” His eyes turned towards me again, and then back down. “You… you can get closer than anyone else.”

Liam reached out his hand, and following his lead I reached out as well until our palms touched. He studied our hands with a fascinated but sad expression.

“We are so close, it almost seems like we are touching. But there’s still a barrier.”

“So I’m not touching you?”

“No, not directly.” He looked like he wanted to cry. “I can’t feel it. It’s just the barrier.”

“… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m used to it.” Shrugging, he grabbed my hand and led me over to a nearby table and chairs. “Honestly, getting as close as this is already a miracle.”

I sat down on the chair, watching as he set up the cake on a plate with utensils. “So you really trust me, huh?”

The movement of his hands paused as he ducked his head, blushing. A mumbled “yes” made it to my ears. Chuckling, I didn’t push him any further. I sat and ate, enjoying the cake he had brought. We didn’t talk, but it was a comfortable silence.

I feel like I’ve known him forever, but I just met him recently.

Putting the odd thought aside, I finished the cake and stood up, brushing the crumbs from my uniform.

“Well, thank you for the delicious cake! But now, I'm afraid I have to get back to practice.”

Liam stood up as well, his expression concerned. “Really? Already? I thought the doctor in the infirmary told you to take it easy after the strain during the mock battles?”

“Just a few more practice swings, it will be fine.”

I don’t know how I’m going to save the world without a Connector. The best I can do is try to become as strong as possible, and hope my mind holds together long enough.

I took a stance near my Mech once more, drawing my practice sword. Glancing over at Liam, who still looked worried, I grinned. “Want to join me?”

“No, I’m terrible with a sword.” He slowly returned the smile, and sat down on the sidelines. “I’ll just watch you from here. Make sure not to overdo it.”

“I know. Just a little more practice.” I made the Connection, pleasantly surprised when my head didn’t ache right away. “Honestly, I think I’m tolerating the mental drain better.”

Liam didn’t seem reassured. “Be careful.”

_____________________________

“Be careful.”

I swung my sword in a quick practice swing, and laughed. “I’m always careful.”

“Says the woman who is going monster hunting.”

“You don’t have to come along.”

I was pulled into a warm embrace. “And let you face danger without me? Never.”

_____________________________

I blinked, mildly disoriented by the sudden memory. They had been coming more and more frequently, as if my mind was desperate to piece together who I had been before I arrived in this world.

“Alaira?”

“I’m fine…” I blinked again, but the forest in my memory didn’t fade away, but simply overlapped with the practice room around me.

Where am I?

“Alaira?”

I tried to look around, but everything was fading into darkness. “I’m…”

“ALAIRA!”

Liam’s panicked shout followed me into oblivion.

_____________________________

Well, at least I recognize this place.

I woke up in the infirmary, groaning as I held my pounding head.

“You’re an idiot.”

The stern voice of the doctor pulled my attention, and I looked up at the middle-aged woman who was glaring at me from a few feet away.

“Wow, your bedside manner is so warm and fuzzy.” I mumbled, rubbing my forehead.

“My bedside manner is saved for patients with a brain. You obviously lost yours somewhere, so you get tough love.” She waved a scanner over my head, frowning. “I told you to take it easy after you passed out during the mock battles!”

“I did! I haven’t done any fighting since that day.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What were you doing in the practice room, then?”

“Practicing with my sword?”

“WHILE Connected to your Mech from 20 feet away?? You didn’t think that might cause a bit of mental strain??!” She sighed, staring up at the ceiling hopelessly. “Lord, give me strength to deal with young, dumb students.”

The doctor sat down on a nearby chair, staring at me seriously. “You have to listen to me, Alaira. This is really important.”

“Okay.” I sat up in bed, folding my hands in my lap and trying to appear attentive. “I’m listening.”

“Your powers have grown. You were already S level when you underwent your health check at the beginning of your second year, but now… it’s at least multiplied by 10.” She shook her head. “We don’t even have a ranking for your power level. I don’t know what’s happened in the last month, it’s almost as if you’ve become a completely different person.”

I am a completely different person… at least I think I am. Is it because I’m in Alaira’s body now that her powers have changed?

I had no way to explain that to the doctor though. “So the power increase… that's a good thing, right?”

“It would be… if you had matched with a Connector.” She sighed. “With your current power level, your mental degradation rate has sped up exponentially.”

“…”

“The passing out is just one of the early signs, Alaira. Have you experienced anything else? Headaches…”

Yes.

“Irritability…”

I thought that was just my personality.

“Hallucinations… flashes of people or memories that aren’t real or never happened?”

“…”

I sat silently, stunned.

No… It can’t be. The memories in my head… the mission… Alaira’s memories of dying in a fight against the Hive… me waking up in a different world… could it all be just my mind breaking apart?

She watched my facial expression and silence with a frown. “So it’s even worse than I thought.” She brought up a holographic file and made a note.

“I…”

“No. No excuses, Alaira. You are temporarily suspended from duty until further notice. I can’t risk your safety any further.”

“But, I’m the strongest Guardian we have!” I was desperately grasping at straws. “You can’t sideline me! What if I found a Connector?”

The doctor shook her head. “I don’t even want you trying to match right now. It takes mental power, and could be the tipping point to full mental degradation.”

“But…”

“No. Alaira. You’re suspended. That’s final.”

WARNING! MISSION FAILURE IMMINENT!

TOTAL COMPLETION 5%

MISSION FAILURE WILL RESULT IN WORLD COLLAPSE AND DESTRUCTION OF THE SOUL. PLEASE COMPLETE THE MISSION.

The bright blue words appeared in front of my eyes. I glanced over at the doctor, who didn’t seem to notice them.

Is this real? Am I really here for a mission to save the world? Or is this just a product of my mental degradation?

“Do you understand, Alaira?”

WARNING!

“I do.”

She relaxed. “Good. Then return to your dorm and rest. I’ll notify your father to come pick you up.” She gathered her things and stood up, giving me a sympathetic smile. “I know it’s hard, but put being a Guardian, the Hive, all of it to the side right now. Just focus on your health.”

WARNING! MISSION FAILURE IMMINENT!

“I know.”

“And Alaira?”

WARNING!

“Yes?”

“Stay away from your Mech and the matching center, okay?”

“Of course.” I smiled. “I’ll just stay in my room.”

_____________________________

I snuck out of my room that same night.

I don’t know what’s real and what’s not… but I really don’t want to risk world collapse and soul destruction. Those both sound pretty bad.

As I crept through the hallways towards the Match center, I thought through possible plans to get me out of this situation.

First. Let's try matching again. If that doesn’t work… Maybe talk to Alaira’s father? See if there’s any research in slowing the progression of mental degradation?

I heard a security guard coming down the hallway. Panicking, I hid in the nearest classroom. The floor was ice cold even through the cloth of my uniform; my heartbeat was loud in my ears as I listened to the guard pass by on the other side of the door.

Either way, I can’t get caught just yet. I can’t risk missing what might be my last chance to match.

The guard had moved on. I waited a few moments just to be safe before opening the door and sneaking down the hallway once more. My mind was racing, circling around the disturbing idea that it was too afraid to touch:

The possibility that everything I thought was real was actually just my mind breaking down.

Am I really Alaira? Why does the man in my memories keep calling me Bel?

Who am I?

What is real?

It was agonizing, every moment of uncertainty. Questioning every memory, every conversation.

I pushed it from my mind, focusing on each step ahead of me. I needed to get to the Match Center.

If I can match a Connector, it will resolve my mental decay, and then I’ll know what's real.

I tried really hard not to think about what would happen if I still couldn’t find a Connector.

I quietly opened the door to the Match center.

“Match unable to be made.”

At the sound of the cold, robotic voice, I froze in place. For a wild moment I wondered if the match computer had sensed me walking in the building, and decided to reject me at the doorway just to save time. But reason set in and I recognized the figure hunched over the panel:

Liam.

“Unrecognized tester. Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.” The voice echoed around the room, seeming to almost physically strike Liam as he slumped further in front of the glowing panel.

His hands tightened into fists as he pressed them harder against the machine. “I’m trying to let it down. Just run the test!”

“Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.”

“Just let me test, dammit!”

“Please let down your mental barrier to proceed with Match testing.” Despite his franticness, the voice was cold and unchanged.

“PLEASE!” His fist struck the panel as he slumped to ground. “Let me try. Please…”

He was crying, and my chest hurt as I watched. “Please… let me match her.”

“… Match unable to me made.”

“Liam.” I whispered his name, feeling as if my heart was tearing in half.

“Please.” He sobbed into his hands. "I can't... I can't put it down... I just want to help her... please!"

_____________________________

“Please. Let her go. I’ll do anything.” His voice was shaking with fear, his wide eyes staring at me as I was trapped in place, unable to move.

“Just give up. This is her fate.”

“Let her go!” He reached forward desperately, unable to reach me. “BEL!”

_____________________________

“Liam.” I was crying, unable to control it.

These memories can’t just be hallucinations. They are too real. I looked over at Liam who was striking his fist over and over against the panel, ignoring the blood staining the surface as his skin tore under the repeated blows.

He’s just hurting himself. It was painful to watch. I have to stop him.

I started to walk forward, my hand reaching out…

“Liam…”

Before I could call out, I felt a sharp prick on my arm. I tried to turn to around and look, but soon a burning sensation was building deep in my muscle and my mind went blank.

“Liam…” I tried to call him once last time, as the drug injected into my arm forced me into unconsciousness.

_____________________________

Okay this whole passing out thing has gotten really old.

My mind grumbled as I slowly regained consciousness. I blinked, trying to clear the blurriness in my vision. Did a security guard find me? If so, their curfew enforcement is pretty insane if they are knocking out students.

The room around me slowly came into focus.

Wait… this isn’t the infirmary.

It was a pale grey dorm room.

This isn’t’ my room either. Feeling uneasy, I looked around, barely able to move. My limbs felt as if they were filled with lead, my head foggy.

The dorm room was clean, with barely any personal items on the desk and dresser. On the wall was several posters of famous Guardians, a calendar was pinned nearby with a vigorous Mech training schedule.

I have a bad feeling about this…

“Alaira, you’re awake!” A voice called out from the doorway, sounding pleasantly surprised.

I turned my head with great difficulty, my eyes widening at the sight. “…Chris?”

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” He smiled at me, grabbing the chair from the desk and dragging it to the bedside before sitting down. “When you asked me not to take you to the infirmary, I was worried I was doing the wrong thing.”

He seems… different.

“…” I wanted to shake my head, but felt to weak. “No… I was in the Matching Center…”

He frowned at my words, looking confused. “Matching Center? We ran into each other in the hallway. You were on the verge of passing out, and asked me to take you back to your room. “ Pausing, he shrugged embarrassedly. “Then you fainted. I don’t have access to the female dorms, so I brought you to my room instead. I hope you don’t mind.”

“…Liam.” It was difficult to talk. “Where’s Liam?”

“Liam? Do you mean Prince William?” Chris seemed even more confused. “He took leave and returned home after you passed out during your training.”

“But…”

“I think he felt a little guilty at not being able to help you match. Not that it’s his fault he can’t form the Connection.”

“I saw him.” I tried to focus my thoughts, but they kept scattering. “I saw him in the Match Room.”

Chris leaned forward, reaching for my hand. I pulled away, but was too weak to break his grip. “Alaira. You’re undergoing mental degradation. The doctor in the infirmary said you were already in the late stages. It’s common to have hallucinations, memories of interactions with people and conversations that never happened.”

I blinked. Could I have imagined the whole thing? Did I want to think that Liam was in the Match Room trying to save me, instead of running away without telling me?

How far gone was I? What was real, and what was just my mind degrading?

Something’s not right.I remembered the needle prick in my arm, and brought my free hand to the spot in confusion.

“What are you rubbing your arm for?”

“I… was stuck with a needle…”

He shook his head. “That didn’t happen. You hit your arm on the wall when you passed out, so it might be a little sore, but that’s it. There was no needle. Your brain just came up with a reason to explain the pain.”

“…”

“It’s okay, Alaira. It’s okay.” Chris squeezed my hand. “It’s normal to be confused, and a little paranoid. Your brain is breaking under the strain of the Connection to your Mech. We’ll help you. You’re going to be okay.”

WARNING! MISSION FAILURE IMMINENT!

TOTAL COMPLETION 3%

MISSION FAILURE WILL RESULT IN WORLD COLLAPSE AND DESTRUCTION OF THE SOUL. PLEASE COMPLETE THE MISSION.

“Alaira? Do you hear me?” Chris called out, concerned.

“I’m… not going to give up. I have to face the Hive. Save… the world.” My thoughts were still jumbled. I wasn’t sure if it was from the drug or mental degradation. What was real and what was fake was blurring.

“You’re not going to be suspended. You’re going to be the most powerful Guardian the world has ever seen, and you’re going to save humanity.”

I looked over at Chris, feeling confused. He wore a pleasant smile on his face, his posture relaxed, but his grip on my hand was just a little too tight, and his eyes…

… His eyes were different. The color, the shape, was the same… but the way he looked at me had changed.

“Who are you?” I asked quietly, forcing the words out through slightly numb lips.

He looked shocked. “What do you mean? It’s me, Chris. We’ve known each other since the first Mock battle in school.” He chuckled. “You kicked my butt, remember?”

“Now I know you aren’t Chris. You haven’t yelled at me that 'you’re going to follow your dream and I can’t stop it' this whole conversation. You’re not Chris. “

He laughed, a light, easy sound. “You’re right, I’ve changed. But I’m still Chris, I promise.” He reached out and patted the back of my hand, still grasped tightly in his own. “You see, I came to a realization: I was jealous of you.”

“…”

“I know, right? Self-insight from me seems like a foreign concept. But from the first day I was in awe of your skills, jealous of your level S abilities.” He sighed, leaning back, still holding my hand, ignoring my attempts to free it. “My only consolation was that you were a loner, that you couldn’t find a Match. It was the one thing that I beat you in.”

“You…”

“I kept trying to brag in front of you, hoping that you would recognize me. Hoping that you would tell me that I was the real deal, that I was a true Guardian. But that doesn’t excuse how poorly I treated you. How my friends treated you.” His regretful gaze held my own. I felt trapped in it. “I’m sorry. I will do better going forward.”

“…” My head was starting to clear, but it was a slow process.

“Seeing you pass out after our fight… seeing you in the infirmary today… in the hallway just now… I can’t ignore this.” He sighed. “You’re breaking down, right in front of me. And I can’t let this happen… not when I can stop it.”

He got off of the chair kneeling next to the bed. He reached out with his other hand, holding mine between both of his palms.

“Alaira… you’ve already have a high resonance match with me. I can save your mind, and help you save the world. It’s such an easy solution.” He smiled at me, without any sign of reluctance at all.

I felt a silent scream of terror and rage build up in my chest. I wanted to reach out and stop him, to silence his next sentence. Despite my wishes, however, his words came out all too clearly:

“I’ll be your Connector.”

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

Ya know what these self-indulgent Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow posts need? Self-indulgent banner art, that’s what.

Spoilers for issue #4!

Let’s start this off right with CREATOR CREDITS. Issue 4 of Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow is titled “Restraint, Endurance, and Passion.” Written by Tom King, Art by Bilquis Evely, Colors by Matheus Lopes, Letters by Clayton Cowles, and Edited by Brittany Holzherr. (w/ Assist. Editor: Bixie Mathieu & Senior Editor Mike Cotton)

THE STORY: 

Right, so this? This issue? Best one yet.

Also the bleakest of the bunch thus far; even though we don’t always see the brutality of the space pirates that Kara and Ruthye are following, there’s...the suggestion of it. The aftermath. And how Kara responds to it.

Okay, getting a little ahead of myself. BASIC PLOT SUMMARY: Ruthye and Kara continue their pursuit of Krem, who has taken up with Barbond’s Brigands.

The Brigands basically just. Murder and terrorize people, for profit.

Each planet they visit brings new horrors, as well as people who need Supergirl’s help.

And help she does.

KARA-CTERIZATION:

I yell a lot about the art on this book, and have, in fact, openly admitted that I’m primarily here for Evely and Lopes.

Well, that wily son-of-a-gun King went and wrote some of the best ‘Super’ stuff I’ve ever read and dang it, dang it, now I gotta yell about the words too. XD

Specifically, I wanna yell (in a good way!) about some words that occur towards the very end of the book.

Kara and Ruthye have Seen Some Things; things like genocide and mass grave sites and horrible violence, and upon reaching a planet where peaceful monks were slaughtered, Kara’s had enough, and needs to leave because if she screams, she’ll destroy what little is left of the monks’ monastery.

Here’s the text in full, because my gosh. It’s so good:

“What I write next I write based on my observations in those long-ago days at the side of the greatest warrior in the history of this august reality we all call home. It is important to note that my assertions do not rely on anything Supergirl said. It was not a subject we ever discussed or even approached, but nonetheless I believe it to be as true as the turning of worlds. You see, what is not well understood about the daughter of Krypton is that her power was not one of action but one of restraint, endurance, and passion. She did not choose to fire a beam from her eyes, or have breath of ice, or run faster than a speeding bullet. Or any of her other well-documented miracles. No, she held back her heat vision to look you in the face. She warmed her breath to converse with you. She slowed herself to walk by your side. Ever moment of every day, she suppressed the forces churning inside of her. All of the energy of a dead world that strained against her many barriers, eternally demanded to be released. I believe this effort hurt her. I believe she lived her life in pain. But I reiterate again, for I think it important enough to repeat--These beliefs are based on my time at her side, watching her as she moved through strife and sorrow. If you were to have asked her, I have little doubt she would have claimed that such as assertion was absurd. She would say she felt fine and well and then she’d as you if you needed any help.”

A long chunk of words, I know (this comic is DENSE!) but like. This is it. This is one of the defining attributes of the Supers--all that raw power at their disposal and they choose to help people, to be kind, to suppress that power for the benefit and safety of others.

HNNNNNNNG.

Hope, Help, and Compassion for All.

Whole lotta folks claimed at the outset of this book that King did not understand Kara, that he was a bad fit. And that may be so, I suppose--there’s a whole other discussion about like. The violence and swearing and ‘does that belong in a Supergirl book?’ But the characterization? Getting that Kara and Clark are just good people? 

King gets it. He got it in Superman: Up in the Sky and he gets it here, in Woman of Tomorrow.

Other things King gets! Kara is stubborn! Kara is passionate! Kara is going to fix things, even if the effort of doing so hurts her, physically, emotionally, and mentally!

(Fuuuuuuun fact for the crowd saying that Woman of Tomorrow is vastly superior to the CW show: TV Kara is ALSO all of those things! King isn’t pulling this stuff out of thin air. It’s almost like...gosh. I don’t know! Both the show and Tom King are pulling from the character’s comic history, or something!!!! HOW NOVEL.) 

Like, seriously. There’s a lot of overlap. Stop pitting Karas against each other!

Anyways!

I promised art, so here is art!

Oh, right, forgot to mention, Kara literally THROWS HERSELF INTO THE SUN to express her grief and anger, so as to not cause that unnecessary destruction. She gives new meaning to the phrase: Set yourself on fire to keep someone else warm. 

More art yelling: GOTTDAMN, the way Evely draws Kara just colliding with the surface of the sun and then the way Kara’s hair like...becomes the flames...

I am FEELING FEELINGS. HOW DARE.

Also, props to King and Cowles; King for deciding to have that initial scream, Cowles for the way the letters burst forth from the point of impact on the sun, and then back to King who decided that it would just be...devastating silent screaming from Kara, for the remainder of the scene. 

Back to the characterization, I just wanted to highlight something I mentioned...earlier on, I think? In these posts? But haven’t brought up recently, and that is how this book has not once brought up Zor-El, and I think Superman only got a quick mention in issue 2.

Honestly, I think that’s gotta be some kind of record.

It’s so refreshing. Not because I think there should never be mentions of Clark, or anything--I love that boy--but because so much of modern Supergirl comic drama is mined from the same like, angsting over her place compared to Clark, or her crazy sometimes-a-supervillain dad. 

There is no Clark and Kara drama here, no manufactured friction, because it’s just. A cool Supergirl story! 

Gonna keep going, but let’s do it with some more...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTT!!!!

Once again, Mat Lopes is all over the dang place with his palettes, it’s marvelous.

Each new planet gives Evely the opportunity to go hog wild on the worldbuilding and design, and similarly! Each new locale is an opportunity for Lopes to set the tone with colors. Like, here, towards the beginning of the book, we’ve got a planet bathed in this warm, pale yellow/orange light. 

(Quick note: “Sure, yeah, I get it. We all have our duties. And it’s mine as a neighbor to do what I can to help you with yours. Please.” A+ Kara content. We love to see it. And then locating the remains of the alien’s daughter, so that they can go visit the grave site and have some emotional closure???? It’s just. So. Touching.)

Anyways, back to colors.

Like!!!! LOOK AT THAT JUMP. From the soft, almost pastoral feel of the delicate oranges and yellows to HARD GREEN, PINK, AND PURPLE. (Difficult colors to pull off in print, I might add.) 

(This is also an interesting scene, character-wise, because I think it helps re-contextualize some earlier stuff with Kara. Like, I’m mostly thinking that incident on the bus, where she was swearing at the passengers as the space dragon was about to destroy them. Here, we see Kara kind of...goad this alien woman into releasing her pent up emotions by yelling at her/getting her to fight, and you can clearly see at the end of it that Kara did not mean the things she said, because check this out:

She goes and gives her a hug once the woman is able to finally cry.

It’s not ‘Kara is being mean, Kara is swearing at her’, it’s, ‘Kara has an unorthodox solution to a problem, and she’s gonna FIX that problem, NO MATTER WHAT.’

Circling back to the bus thing--again, that could be an instance of ‘unorthodox approach to a weird situation that Kara is going to handle because lives are at stake.’)

But also, DIG THAT KIRBY KRACKLE, BAY-BEEEEE!

And a little Strange Adventures easter egg! The Pykkts! 

(I think those guys are unique to the Black Label series, rather than deep Adam Strange lore, but don’t quote me on that.)

Moving on to YET ANOTHER PALETTE, one I’ve dubbed, ‘Treasure Planet Purple/Grey’

Love Ruthye’s snoozing against the door, waiting for Kara.

Also, just as striking as the colors of the environment, are the colors used on Kara. 

If you compare this page with the previous one, Kara’s eyes are a paler shade of blue, and the red-rimmed look on her eyes here is not as intense as the red-rimmed look we saw back in issue one, when she was confronting Krem. 

All of which to say! There’s a pale, haunted quality to both the linework and the colors. Like. We know Kara has Seen Some Things. But she’s shoving all that stuff down to protect Ruthye, to save Krypto, and to stop these monsters, and you get all of that WITH COLORS AND LINES ON A PAGE.

I love it, I love it so much.

OTHER BOOKS WISH THEY HAD THIS LEVEL OF CHARACTER ACTING, I TELL YA! THEY WISH THEY HAD THIS BEAUTIFUL ALCHEMY OF INKER, COLORIST, AND WRITER WORKING IN SUCH TIGHT TANDEM!

Ahem. XD

Alright, last bit of art, lest I just. Post the whole issue in here. (Which I’m honestly always tempted to do but Strong Feelings about Piracy hold me back.)

JUST HECKIN’ LOOK AT THAT BLUE, MAN. JUST LOOK AT IT. S’BEAUTIFUL.

And more stunning character acting from Evely. Like. Bottom middle panel. The expression, the tilt of her head and the shadows on her eyes...

*insert silent flailing here*

Oh, also, KRYPTO LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVESSSS (for now). 

I’m never right about these things, so I’m glad the one time I’ve correctly read a thing is when it involves Krypto not, ya know. Being dead. XD

Also absolutely love that Kara’s instinct is to send Ruthye home to protect her--once more leaning into that whole, ‘I’m going to protect you, even at great cost to myself’, though of course we know that she can’t send her home, not here, not now, just halfway through our journey. 

ERRRRRRGH, so mad we’re not getting twelve issues of this! CURSE YOU, POOR SUPERGIRL TRADE SALES! CURSE YOOOOOOU!

That said, King’s pacing? Has been phenomenal. I feel like Strange Adventures and even Mr. Miracle kinda...I’m not gonna say dragged, that’s not quite right. But it is more build up, I guess. Takes a while to get to the payoff.

Here, I think King is pushing things steadily along as he doesn’t have the benefit of an additional four issues, so he has to get to the point, so to speak. Keeps everything moving.

SOME FINAL, MISC. STUFF:

I’ve sort of glossed over the darker stuff from this issue, and I just wanna note that like. This is a book that features a bad guy getting stoned (in the death sentence way, not the drug way) on panel. Like. I can’t recommend this to children.

I can’t even really recommend it to some other Supergirl fans, because I know that the King elements will be too off-putting. 

It never feels like the book is going too far, though. At least in like an...exploitative way? If that makes sense?

The violence is handled with discretion, I guess is what I’m trying to convey. This could very easily tip over into like, gross shock factor territory, if not handled well, but I think the creative team pulls it off.

...Still wouldn’t hand this book to kids, though. XD

As mentioned, we’re halfway through this series! Can’t wait to see where it goes--every time I think I have this book figured out, it surprises me. So, like. Bring on the Dinosaur planet! With no sunlight! I wanna see how Lopes handles THAT. XD

(But Oh, OooooOOooh, we gotta wait until NOVEMBER.)

(Hhhnnnnng!)

(Then again, maybe that’s good; we’ve got the TV show in the meantime, and then once it ends we can pick right up with new Supergirl content just a few weeks later.)

(...Aw. Made myself a little sad, thinking about the TV show coming to an end.)

:C

So as not to end on that sad note, here once again is tiny, smushed Kara:

Give ‘em the ol razzle dazzle.

[recklessmoon]

@juniperblooded

“...and they lived happily ever after.” 

März finishes the story, closing the cover of the book and looks down to the sleeping form snug against him. He watches Wolfram’s breathing rhythmically going up and down, his long eyelashes flutter every now and then. Placing the old book off to the side, fluidly the conductor scoops the toddler into his arms, and presses him against his chest.

Thankfully, Wolfram is an easy child to please, so it didn’t take him long to lulled him to sleep. He steps away from the pews and summons forth members of his entourage with a flick of his wrist. They heed his command, swiftly joining his side.

“He’s finally fallen asleep, Herr von Friedhof?” A woman asks, who adorns a dress with shades of red and black her face hidden by a feathery mask. 

“Indeed, he has,” A nod follows, while he side eyes her, “may you assist me to putting the pews together?”

“Why not use the upper quarters?” suggests a man in a black suit, wearing a similar feathery mask, “it should be a lot more comfortable upstairs, no?”

“I’d prefer for him to be downstairs, he’ll be safer and more accessible to me.” It’s a shorter distance, it’d take less time to go through double doors than to run from there up a flight of steps. “Now would you mind....?”

“Not at all,” they reply in unison and with little effort they fix the pews, pushing them together to form a makeshift bed. The lady disappears and reappears fetching the blanket from another part of the sanctuary while the man has gotten a pillow from upstairs. 

“Thank you again,” März then steps forward to the bed, laying his son inside and places the blanket on top of him. He leans forward to kiss his forehead, then moves back, “Vatti will be back soon, alright....? Sweet dreams, mein schatz.”

He turns toward his nameless assistants again, then smiles. “Now, would you mind watching over him tonight? In case he awakens.”

They immediately oblige, watching their lord turn on his heel who summons forth his baton for another long night. 

Wolfram never felt unloved, he’s always been drowned in it, he’s always been catered to. He knows his parents love him, even though they’re usually away. That’s why Father found Friedrich and gave him to him as a friend at the (very) tender age of six months so he wouldn’t be lonely. Wolfram knows his parents mean well, he learned to accept it.

Besides, he isn’t entirely alone, every now and then he’d catch the wisps of red and black from his peripheral vision, watching over him from the distance. A few times he mistook some of his Vatti’s entourage for him, because they dressed in a familiar black and red. 

(Perhaps it’s because he yearned for his Vatti’s affections, his touch, to hear his gentle voice when he felt lonely. But that’s selfish isn’t it?). 

Vatti’s assistants are nameless, their identities buried underneath the sands of time. However, he’s able to identify some of them for their talents. One knew how to sew, another knew how to child rear, and one of them knew a thing or two about playing a stringed instrument. In times when Friedrich would become a little overbearing they’d appear before him, and distract him with some menial task. 

Even though they are physically with him, Wolfram can’t help but feel lonelier because of their aloofness. They were close, but far away; they were companions to Wolfram’s loneliness when neither his cousin Vanessa or his Vatti or Father were with him. 

“How long has Vatti been doing this?” Wolfram asked the more masculine appearing assistant once, they sat inside the church as Wolfram skimmed one of the books for the umpteenth time.

“Quite long.” He answers, “before your birth, of course.”

“Do you...know why Herr?” Wolfram asks. 

“To help others,” The man answers simply, “there is too much injustice in this world, and we–” He refers to the rest of his father’s assistants, how many more were there? “are the prime result of that.”

Wolfram nods wordlessly, going back to contents from the book. It was always like this. But Vatti was doing this for others, this was the right thing to do. And Wolfram loses himself between the pages again, evading the creeping loneliness in his heart. Eventually goes to bed, arranging the pews into a bed and falls into a deep slumber hoping to dream of his family.

“The child has been restless lately.”

“I wouldn’t blame him, after what he’s gone through.”

“But doesn’t he feel familiar? There’s something more nostalgic about him now.”

The unfortunate accident between his former client and son caused a disruption of peace. An ancient power swelled in his son, and honestly März wasn’t sure of how to confront it. Wolfram had drawn into himself, putting up barriers to prevent the unimaginable for everyone’s sake. But that only made everyone else worry for his well being; it was a cruel cycle, he wanted to break it somehow. 

How much longer would his own sins harm his family? He doesn’t go a night without thinking that, but it appeared he was dealt some divine punishment in some shape or form. The chatter of his attendants overlap with his own thoughts, as they ready themselves for another long night.

( “Drowned underneath the ethereal moon, a cursed princess dealt with a cruel fate. Why have you remained at the boundary? Please sing for me.” ) 

While they have achieved another small victory, his duties as a revenge conductor do not distract him. Instead of this I should be looking for leads for Wolfram, März thinks as he watches Odette and Siegfried ruin Rothbart. They were given another chance, but not his son. He purses his lip together as the revenge tragedy concludes and they make their way home, returning back to the entrance of the church. 

The moment he enters the church, he feels his body suddenly feel heavier. He groans, while he pushes on ahead, stumbling through the threshold. It’s then a voice he didn’t want to hear emerges.

“Having difficulties, boy?”

“Of course not, I know what I must do. I know what I’m doing.”

Id laughs mockingly at him, it echoes in his skull which causes März to frown.

“I might just have the answer you may need.” Id tempts him.

“That’s a bunch of nonsense and you know it.” März curtly replies in his mind, while making his way into the sanctuary. He looks around for familiar violet and black colors, but they aren’t here. “Since when were your ideas ever good?”

“Till that broad ruined everything.” It answered back.

“Don’t bring Elisabeth into your twisted games.” 

“Ha ha, well, you were having a grand ole time before she woke you up, didn’t you?”

März feels bile rising up his throat and he physically shakes his head. He runs his fingers through his messy strands of hair. He deeply inhales then exhales, now else where could he be? Hm.

“It might’ve been your fault, by your hand,” Id continues on, März can hear the smirk in its voice, “think about it, everyone involved made contact with us at some point and requested a revenge tragedy. Whose to say your son isn’t any different? He is the outlier here.”

März tries to ignores Id as he makes his way toward the kitchen, speeding up his gait with every passing word. Where was Wolfram anyway? He notes how the door is ajar and he gently pressing his palm against it, the door creaks open and Wolfram is there. März sighs with relief, then steps inside. Wolfram’s back is toward him, but he watches his shoulders shake for a moment and fumble with something in front of him

“Wolfram...? Why are you still awake?”

“U-Um, I....Vatti...g-guten abend, I was just...getting some water to drink before going back to sleep.” Wolfram reluctantly turns around, there’s a glass of water in his hands. His son smiles sheepishly, “W-welcome home...how did things go...?”

“They went well,” März replies shortly, he shortens the distance between them and places his hand gently onto his shoulder. “and how was your day?”

“It was fine.” Don’t burden him, Wolfram thinks to himself, the atmosphere is suffocating him and that knife he was eying earlier was awfully tempting, “I’m glad it went smoothly though...um...Father came home earlier. He, uh...made an sexual innuendo about you before and seemed sad that he just missed you before returning to help grandfather with something.”

Only Amethystos would. März feels annoyance spring up in him, but it subsides when he hears the rest. At least he came home to visit Wolfram, it made him happy to know that he wasn’t left alone for small time. With a guiding hand, März proceeds to lead him outside of the kitchen.

“Let’s go to bed....together...like before,” März begins, while rubbing his son’s shoulder gently, he watches his son’s eyes shine like they did before...before this whole mess started. “Would you be okay with that?”

“Y...yes!” Wolfram replies eagerly, but he realizes that and then says with a sheepish afterthought, “um, if you do not mind of course...Vatti.”

With a smile, März leads his son upstairs to where he and his mother used to sleep. It took some persuading because Wolfram felt funny about it, but in the end he were able to procced without any problems. As he lays side by side Wolfram, while gently rubbing the top of his head – he tries to ignore the annoying voice of Id and the troubles that may arise later with this child known as die Ashenprinz.

Fairytales truly do have happy endings. 

März had been cynical of them since being denied his own happiness once. But with dawn emerging above the horizon, it meant a new future was opening up to the newer generation. 

His son made his first friend, a boy who came from the future. He had saved him from the recesses of his mind and guided his son out of the realm of the darkness. 

His son was able to find the love of his life, while the child who gave them a hard time finally remembered who he was. What else did the future hold? The golden boy whom his son met was the pinnacle of light < love > that he often dreamed about. And his son was able to meet that, without succumbing to the darkness. They were able to triumph together, successfully.

And as a father, it made him the happiest that he could have been.

Perhaps that’s what his own mother, Therese meant when she’d be the last to bear the darkness so he’d be able to go into the light. It seemed like the torch had been passed onto him now, but he didn’t regret a single thing.

Even if Id continued to bother him about his son’s happy ending, he would never give in and allow its thoughts to plague his mind. 

The darkness from his hair begins to ebb away, allowing for the moon to finally be able to seen again. With a sigh of relief, März gives Wolfram a smile when he turns toward him. 

Wolfram’s smile blinds him, it’s the happiest he’s ever seen him.

And the moon reflects it back, showing its true colors. 

“The light is so warm, Vatti.” 

[spookyknight]

KlanceWeekFic: The Little Things

Being a Paladin of Voltron isn’t always easy. Sometimes the little things teammates do to help each other out can mean a lot.

  Allura finally wraps up the debriefing after what feels like hours of debating how the whole ion-cannon-nearly-destroys-the-Castle mid-battle snafu could have been avoided. With their leader missing, the team is stretched thin. Coran is left alone during each skirmish and everyone’s been working hard to shore up the Castle’s defenses.

The group disperses, Pidge partnering up with Coran to take another look at the particle barrier and Hunk heading to the hangar to repair some recent damage to his Lion. After countless quintents of nearly round-the-clock activity, Lance is beyond ready to slink off and catch up on sleep.

“Lance! Hold on a tick.” Allura’s leader-voice grates through him. “You still need to perform maintenance on the defense drones.”

Lance whirls around, his eye twitching. He loves their Altean caretaker, he really does, but the blue paladin is primed and ready to snap.

Keith steps in—literally moving in front of Lance. “Actually, I wanted Lance to run through some drills with me.”

“Oh.” Allura looks back and forth between them; her tense posture loosens. “Alright, then. But first thing tomorrow, I need you to work on those drones.”

Lance feigns a smile. “Sure thing, Princess.”

Lance trudges through the hallway behind Keith. It’s outta the frying pan and into the fire. At least programming defense drones is mostly stationary. He doesn’t know how he’s going to summon the energy to physically train.

He stretches, grunting when he feels his back pop. “Can we wrap this drill thing up quickly? I am this close to passing out.”

“Relax. That was just a fib to get you out of maintenance duty,” Keith admits. “You need a break.”

Lance’s jaw drops. “You lied to the Princess?”

“It’s a white lie.” Keith shrugs. “Allura’s under a lot of pressure, she needs to always be doing something and it makes her feel better knowing we’re busy too. I get that. But you look absolutely beat. You can’t function like this.”

“Wow.” Lance gapes at the red paladin. “That’s...surprisingly observant of you.”

“I’m observant,” Keith protests.

Lance holds up his hands in defense. “I know. You are. Just...not always about people.” Not about me, he doesn’t say. “So where are we going to go to hide out?”

“Uh…our rooms?”

“You haven’t really thought this plan out, have you?”

Keith throws his hands up. “I was trying to do you a favor!”

“And I’m grateful,” Lance retorts. “But we need to make ourselves scarce for this to work. I think I know a place.”

He leads his companion to one of his favorite spots on the ship: the Altean holodeck. There hasn’t been much downtime to explore its features, so this is a treat.

“Are we supposed to be in here?” Keith asks.

“No.” Lance deadpans. “We’re supposed to be training. Come on.”

He gestures for Keith to follow him to the central column. There, Lance places the mind-meldy headset over the red paladin’s head.

“OK, quick,” Lance says. “What’s your favorite place in the universe?”

Keith frowns. “I don’t know.” Lance levels him with a look and he balks. “You put me on the spot!”

“Alright, okay. Just...” Lance sighs. “You enjoyed Olkarion, right? Because it was quiet.”

“It was peaceful, yeah.”

“So: a forest.” Lance motions for Keith to close his eyes and, amazingly, he obeys. “Picture yourself in a forest. The most peaceful fairy tale woodland you can imagine.”

Keith takes a deep breath. In and out. The white expanse of the room flutters green—leaves blowing in the wind. The airy shapes take form: tall tree trunks, overlapping branches, verdant undergrowth.

There’s a dizzying sensation of movement as the image shifts. The ground rises up until they’re amid the thick forest canopy. An intricate network of lofted buildings form a treetop village, a kind of charming composite of Endor’s moon and Lothlórien.

The platform they end up standing on provides a panoramic view of the treehouse city. A round swinging bed crowded with pillows hangs on sturdy ropes from the cabana roof. There’s gauzy mosquito netting draped gracefully around each column and fairy lights tucked under the eaves.

“Not bad.” Lance takes in the facsimile, impressed. “Your imagination has got some talent.”

Keith opens his eyes and looks a bit dazzled at his own daydream. “It read my mind?”

“Basically. It’s never exact but it gets pretty darn close.” He strides over to the swing-bed with a smirk. “One bed? Keith, you dog. If you want a cuddle you just have to say so.”

Keith glowers. “I don’t think you factored into my ‘happy place.’”

“Ouch.” Lance mock-gasps, a hand over his heart. He climbs onto the soft mattress, near the middle so it doesn’t tip over, but leaving enough space for a friend. “I’ll overlook that, since I owe you.”

He pats the space next to him. Keith looks on, skeptical, and Lance puts on the most earnest expression he can manage. Finally, the red paladin returns the headset to the column and climbs onto the mattress next to Lance.

When they’re settled, Lance shifts his weight so the bed starts swinging rhythmically. Keith scoots closer, throwing an arm around his companion’s middle. Lance’s pulse races. This is probably a bad idea.

Voltron is in a tight spot. They need to focus; now is not the time to be toying with unspoken feelings. But Keith leans into him and he’s warm and sleepy and maybe Lance could stop himself from combing his fingers through Mullet’s stupid hair but it’s infuriatingly silky and he doesn’t want to.

“Thanks,” Lance murmurs, so as not to disturb the moment. “I know you’re really worried about Shiro. It...it means a lot that you spoke up for me.”

“Everyone’s working really hard.” Keith looks up at him. “You think I don’t notice that you’ve been putting in extra time on the training deck and giving Pidge upgrade suggestions and strategizing with Allura and Coran.” He runs his fingers over Lance’s spine and smiles when the blue paladin shudders. “But I do.”

Lance hums and snuggles closer, not trusting his voice.

“And I’m grateful,” Keith quips.

Lance scoffs. “Yeah, yeah.”

Keith laughs, a light airy sound that dwindles into steady breathing. “Get some rest.”

Lance wraps himself up in the red paladin, drifting off to the sound of a fabricated breeze blowing through digital leaves.

It’s always the little things. Those small things that make you sit up and take notice—or, those tiny things that you overlook. In Lance’s case, it’s four Altean rodents. Not long after the two paladins doze off, the mice tattle on them.

“Technically,” Allura says, “They’re misappropriating Castle technology, disobeying orders, and quite literally sleeping on the job.”

Coran nods, then tilts his head in thought. “On the other hand, they are bonding as teammates.”

“True.” Allura smiles. “And I suppose they’ve earned a short respite.”

“And it’s quite a touching scene.”

“It is.” She squares her shoulders, decided. “Give them two varga. Then end the simulation and make sure they hit the floor when you switch it off.”

“Yes, Princess.”