#so many fatal flaw thoughts. infinite thoughts

[crossdressingdeath]

Once again trying to explain my issues with how Percy's fatal flaw is handled, I think the best way I can put it is... okay, Athena says to Percy "to save a friend you would sacrifice the world", yeah? I think that both the narrative and the fandom tend to focus too much on the to save a friend part and not enough on the you would sacrifice the world part. Because a lot of the time it's left at "Oh, he loves his friends too much so it's a bad thing!" when... eh... it really isn't. First of all, the things the narrative holds up as evidence of his flaw are the most basic shit? He hates letting other people take risks instead of him and tries to prevent it whenever possible even when it's not wise and he's quick to sacrifice himself for loved ones. That's just the Riordanverse protagonist starter pack! They're all like that! Half of them are quick to sacrifice themselves even for total strangers, Magnus literally dies doing that! The only time Percy comes off as unusually loyal is going into Tartarus with Annabeth, and one event really isn't enough to call something a fatal flaw I don't think (and Nico also goes into Tartarus for other people, twice, and supposedly his fatal flaw has nothing to do with loyalty; if the text is gonna claim that Nico's flaw is holding grudges and not loyalty then Percy jumping into Tartarus can't be used as evidence of his fatal flaw being loyalty, no I'm not still bitter that our only word on Nico's fatal flaw is that children of Hades hold grudges even though that is so not his fatal flaw). The handling of Percy's fatal flaw feels weak because... honestly it feels like Rick just doesn't want to admit that his heroes' fatal flaws are supposed to be some of the worst parts of their characters, so with Percy especially it's a lot of "No, no, I promise this is a problem, it's a huge issue that he, uh, feels bad about Annabeth having to go off on her own!" when uh. he'd have to be a pretty shitty person not to.

But the "you would sacrifice the world" part? Now there's a flaw with some character to it! Percy would sacrifice anyone and anything to keep his loved ones safe, which sounds good... until you consider that that includes people and things that were never his to sacrifice. Circe's island is a great example of this: Percy saves himself and Annabeth! They free the pirates to cause chaos and steal their ship so they can't follow! Goody, the quest continues, the pirates are no longer their concern... but unless I'm forgetting something Percy does not once think about the young women and girls on that island that he just trapped as prey to a bunch of pirates (with all the horrors that implies) until Hylla and Reyna force him to confront what he did to them, and even then what happened to the girls who weren't lucky enough to be the super-tough daughters of a war goddess is kind of swept aside. And again, Percy mostly just forgets about it once the scenes with Hylla and Reyna are done; he did what he had to do to save himself and Annabeth, and while he doesn't feel good that he hurt innocent people—some of whom were children—in the process I don't get the sense he regrets it. There's his loved ones and then there's everyone else, and "everyone else" is a secondary concern. And not to harp on this every time, but it's the same with him going on that little date with Annabeth in Rome while Nico's on his last hours before suffocating. It's fair that Percy wants to spend time with Annabeth before she maybe goes to her death! I'm not going to pretend I don't understand and sympathize with his reasoning! But the thing is, Percy is taking the risk that he might sacrifice Nico's life for a little extra time with Annabeth without ever acknowledging that that's what he's doing. If the timing had been a little off, if the twins had been in a different place, if things hadn't worked out exactly right... Nico could've died. And Percy doesn't even think of him during that scene. And as a point of characterization that is fantastic! It shows some real teeth to the whole "personal loyalty" thing! But there's no point where that's treated as a bad thing; it's just "Oh, it's so sad that Annabeth has to go off alone, Percy is in so much pain having to let her do this by herself, clearly this is his fatal flaw", with no mention of how while Percy is doing this Nico is barely clinging to life with Percy and the rest of the Seven as his only hope. Percy isn't risking anything personally to spend this extra time with Annabeth, but the total lack of acknowledgement that he is risking Nico's life and just in general is putting Nico in an awful position when he really doesn't have the right to make that call—Nico's loyalty is remarkable but I feel like even he would draw the line at "Hey do you mind suffocating for another hour or so so I can have a lengthy goodbye with my girlfriend"—really irks me and probably always will.

Also, I feel like the meeting with Akhlys and the tension between Percy and Annabeth afterwards would work better if discussion around Percy's fatal flaw was focused more on what he'll do to other people for the sake of his loyalty than just the loyalty itself? Like, maybe instead of Annabeth being freaked out at the show of power she could be horrified and upset that Percy would hurt someone like that to protect her. Now admittedly that's partially because I love a good "But I did this for you!"/"How dare you make this my fault" argument, but still. As it is it's like... yeah, okay, it's freaky, but she already knew that Percy was a super-powerful Big Three kid with the strength to go up against even major gods and also "Hm, there's water in poison, maybe I can use my water control on it" is... not not clever, but far from a revolutionary concept. I'd have expected the daughter of Athena to have thought of it at least once, y'know? I don't know, I just feel like leaning more into the "Why are you doing this for me, I don't want to be at all responsible for something like this" aspect would've been a more impactful scene and would've made his fatal flaw feel like a serious, unique flaw for once!

[1v6]

Pride Makes Prejudice [G/T]

[Word count 1589]

Her fatal flaw? Pride. His fatal flaw? Being an idiot, I guess.

A sequel(?!) to this!

---

It was almost too easy.

His trip to dreamland was, in fact, far quicker than she had initially predicted. She had predicted he would have started bombarding her with questions about her kind, and then from there she would meet a few ends, so to speak: to be kept as a pet or a toy, to be sold like one if not, or to be killed, in one way or the other, for some silly, ridiculous benefits humans believe in if they consumed her people.

His lack of preventative measures for her, again, indicates two things: Either he is an idiot, or he doesn’t deem her capable enough to escape from his clutches. The first would be a relief; the latter would offend her. She hoped it was the former situation. Any human would seal her prison with some iron chains, at least— he must be an idiot not to, no matter how physically superior he is compared to her.

Thanks to this reason, escaping the glass prison is a trivial issue for her. What will be annoying to her is what happens after she breaks the glass.

She eventually waved her thoughts away. It does not matter anyway. She would eventually find a way to escape him, just as she trumped over many other humans in her life.

She checked once again to see if he was still sound asleep. His snores told her all she needed to know.

She daintily touched her glass walls with her index finger and quietly muttered something, unintelligible to the average human.

The glass split into two, perfectly equal halves, as expected from someone of her talent.

This was her usual method of escaping. Break the glass in half, and then push one half away from the other until a crack is formed, wide enough for her to squeeze through, then freedom would be hers once again. It was a simple, yet efficient method, as she would be long gone by the time her captors discovered her empty prison.

Unfortunately, she is unable to say the same for this escapade when one of the glass halves lost its balance as she pushed it, and it fell to the ground with the loudest CRASH!

Ah. I seem to have…miscalculated.

A groan came from the large bed beside her. He is stirring.

As the popular saying goes, time waits for no one, and she is certainly not waiting for him to wake up and capture her again.

While he was occupied with moving his large, clumsy body, she stood at the edge of the infinitely tall bedside table, her back against nothing but the long drop that awaits her.

She welcomed it by leaning towards thin air, free-falling towards the cold, hard ground.

When he finally opened his eyes from that loud noise, the first thing he did was check on the borrower.

He was fucked through and through.

She was already gone.

Worst of all, the glass was broken? How the fuck did she even manage to pull that off? It’s not even shattered. Well, one half of it was shattered. It just pathetically lay on the floor in sad, transparent shards, a shadow of what it once was.

The other half just looked like someone sliced it through like butter.

Definitely weird, but okay. Note to self: …don’t put her in glass?

Anyway, he did wake up from the noise, so she shouldn’t have gone far. Probably not even left his room yet given that the door is shut, and he never remembered opening his windows, ever.

He’d sweep up the broken glass first, but at this moment he had other priorities. A very good thing he wore slippers in the house, to focus better on the recapture of the borrower. He knew it wasn’t really the right thing to do, but how many chances will the average person get to even see a tiny person, in real life? That’s right, zero. Or highly improbable though not impossible. Whatever.

He put on his glasses this time, not willing to make the same mistake as last time. Turning on the flashlight on his phone, he borrowed its light to look under dusty cracks and corners. He checked the bedside table first, since she was literally placed there and could not have run that far with her tiny feet.

Through the dusty darkness underneath the bedside table, an eye blinked through the cracks, and saw nothing. Weird. Maybe she was hiding at another angle he couldn’t see. He changed his position to look underneath from another angle, yet still no sign of her.

Then she probably wasn’t there anymore. Well, in that case, there were probably few options for her to hide before he came for her.

The bed, which would probably be very unlikely, considering the question: who’d run to somewhere more dangerous for themselves?

That leaves the dresser.

It turned out to be a good guess, because just as his body got up for the dresser, the mirror he put on it cracked into a million pieces.

Oh, so that’s how she managed to escape. 

She’s definitely here, then. He started looking around. On the top of the dresser, below the dresser like with the bedside table, in the drawers… (hey, you never know).

There was still no sign of her.

A voice inside him told him to give up, that he was probably seeing things, but the broken glass on the floor and the cracked mirror on the dresser proved otherwise.

Surely she can’t be that hard to find, he thought, first meeting encounter stories never went this bad.

Bad news: she was that hard to find.

He had spent at least an hour scouring the entire room for possible hideouts by now, and there was just— absolutely nothing! He checked his phone; the screen blinded his eyes for a brief moment, but he saw it was already 3 in the morning.

And he planned to fix his sleep schedule. Great.

If he’s sleeping at 3, he might as well sleep even later. Tomorrow’s a Saturday, he can sleep in anyway, so who cares? Certainly not him.

Late night doomscrolling go brr.

He crawled into bed, wrapping himself in his warm, cosy blanket, and readjusted his pillow to use his phone better while lying down.

Probably halfway through scrolling he watched a video that contained weird muffled noises. Funny, because it was just a video of cats doing random silly stuff that would have no reason at all to have those sounds.

He scrolled past that video.

The muffled voice persisted.

Okay.

He muted his phone, and…the noises were still there.

From under his pillow.

So he lifted it up to see what the hell was wrong with the pillow.

Her mother used to warn that her pride would be her own downfall someday.

Mother was right.

She managed to avoid his detection by changing her hiding spot whenever he shined that atrocious blinding light in her direction. After the light blinded her, she would have perhaps a few moments before his eyes descended to scan the battlefield. Shifting from one table leg to another this way, she reached the edge of the bed.

The most dangerous option is often the least dangerous option. He would have never guessed that she planned to hide in his bed and waited for him to leave in the morning. Who would, given that a normal person would want to be as far away from their threat as possible?

She would.

And the consequences of taking risks came back to bite her in the arm.

Her dark, suffocating world instantly lit up with the removal of his large pillow, making her shield her eyes to get used to the sudden change in brightness. Finally able to draw a breath of fresh oxygenated air, she stood there for a few moments catching her breath.

Moments of what felt like a chilling eternity passed, and she was still not grabbed, or caught by a certain pair of large brutish hands. She was not even touched at all. She raised her head to look at him.

Perhaps he is stupid. All he was doing was observing her movements with a mouth he forgot to close instead of, say, perhaps, capturing her. Astounded by his unmatchable idiocy, she couldn’t help but ask him, albeit with an overdose of sarcasm, “Well? I am a sitting duck. Why are you just gawking at me like you have never seen how respiration works?”

He frowned at her, though remained still all the same. “I don’t have a reason to trap you if you’re not going to leave.” He shrugged. “I only caught you in the first place because I thought you were a cockroach, then after I didn’t release you because you’d definitely run away, like you just proved to me.”

A what?! Any feeling of respect towards enemies, even humans, simply vanished into thin air after hearing that sentence. He does not even respect her enough to see her as more than a pest! For the sake of…whatever!

Yet, from this answer alone, it also shows that he underestimates her abilities.

Which means she could use Plan B, a plan she rarely ever used, due to humans tending to be overly cautious when dealing with her people.

Except him.

She forced a smile, and asked him with strained politeness, “If we plan to converse, introductions should be made.”

Her insincere smile turned into a mischievous grin.

“May I have your name?”

[redstrewn]

The 7 august 2023 redstrewn perception of Leander

Before you read:

Nothing in here is new. It's all things I've already rambled about and theories others have already shared. I'm just dumping all my thoughts in one place.

I'm crass so there's gonna be sexual jokes in there

Disclaimer 1: This perception is based on many theories by other people. I don't claim to be the original speculator for these ideas.

Disclaimer 2: Plz don't yell at me for my insane delusions of Leander. You dont have to agree and I don't expect you to.

Onto my perception of Leander.

In my opinion,

His hogging of MC is due to the following:

Primarily, their power.

He has plans for it I think. The hands could have connections to fogfall (Vere, paraphrased from memory: "You're like me: not quite human, not quite monster." Vere emerged from fogfall. The soulless that attacked MC seemed more interested/distracted by their hands).

Leander could be interested in fogfall serving him—increasing his ability with magic, which is a distortion of/messing with reality. He's got motifs of what's often considered the territory of god(s) that mortals aren't to meddle with, lest they suffer terrible consequences. (Heaven, underworld, life cycle/resurrection, immortality/eternity, crossing planes/boundaries, dislike of the unknown.)

Along with his apparent egotism from his uquiz result, his erased fatal flaw, repeated use of the word "hero," and "Mages lust for power. It's always their downfall," I think it's not unreasonable to assume he intends to meddle with exactly the things mortals are told not to mess with. He's described as a rebellious mage after all (I think. Going from memory here).

Leander is taken aback by MC's power, noting its contrast from other curses he's dealt with. Considering it can completely overtake another's mind and, in my opinion, also affected Leander before he got ahold of himself (his expression dropping and seeming to reach for MC's throat), it seems to be highly powerful and thus...something exactly a mage would lust for.

Secondarily, their vulnerability.

People have many differing opinions on Leander: whether he's a yandere, if he treats MC like special or if he's just like that to everyone, if he's actually an asshole or just naïve, etc. But there's one thing that's pretty much indisputable and canon: he's got a mad savior complex. He and his Hounds act as Lowtown's helpers and his attitude to Vere in his relationship chart spells this out clearly.

Enter MC. Completely hopelessly clueless on even the most basic customs of Eridia. Desperate and broke and with nobody to turn to. To top it all off, he can give them something no one else can: normal touch that they're starving for.

If that isn't the ultimate wet dream of a guy with a mad savior complex, I don't know what is. Pretty sure he would've cum on the spot after MC responded "yes" to his question, "Am I the first person you've touched like this?" if he didn't care about weirding out MC LMFAO.

Thirdly, his egotism

Truthfully, this is related to his savior complex—it derives from egotism.

He loves attention and dislikes being ignored canonically. To MC, he is special to a metaphorically and literally magical extent: because only he can continuously, over a possibly infinite future, offer them something they've never had in their entire life.

Won't an egotistical guy get excited over that?

MC is special to him because he knows he is special to MC. He knows his magic can't cure them. But he can offer a taste of it the way no one else can.

Fourthly...loneliness?

"Despite his popularity, he isn't close to anyone." Like the saying goes, being alone in a crowd (Bloodhounds in his case) is the loneliest feeling of all.

So why isn't he close to anyone?

It's on purpose

Eridia's currency is information. Baring oneself (metaphorically at least) to anyone poses more risk in this city than elsewhere. He's a leader. Leaders need followers. Followers need someone to believe in. For people to believe in someone, they must have good reputation. Baring his flaws poses risk to that.

Nobody want him lol

I think it would be funny if he's popular and has a good enough reputation that people respect and adore him...but know that they're better off not getting with him lol. Vere looked into his soul and fucking hates what he saw. I don't have enough evidence for this take. Just that it would be fucking hilarious.

Was he chasing after the other LIs because he's lonely?

He seems to be the type to chase anyone down (or at least anyone that may be able to offer him something) whether that's just to gather information talk over drinks/dinner or recruit them into his Bloodhounds.

So, okay, yeah maybe it's not just that he's lonely but he also gets to gather more information by picking people's brains. And also he gets to add onto his growing gang that does his bidding. And also he could convince and influence others to do things he wants (like he does with MC! "Noooo haha MC stick with me the rest can't help youuu").

He could be both lonely and networking like the business major that he is 🤷‍♀️

What's his fatal flaw?

"Mages lust for power. It's always their downfall."

🎵 Love's gonna get you killed. But pride's gonna be the death of you, and you and me 🎵 — "PRIDE." by Kendrick Lamar

God complex! Savior complex! Egotism! The deadliest of the seven deadly sins! The sin of Satan himself that caused him to be cast out of heaven! The cause of Icarus's great fall! The damnation of Faustus! Give it up for HUBRIS everybody!

It's all about arrogantly believing you can handle or know better about greater powers you're told no one should or can.

Gosh, how embarassing this would be if people knew your fatal flaw was considered the worst of all flaws...and about being the biggest failure too. If I was an egotistical guy worried about my reputation, I'd scratch out my fatal flaw too.

Does he care about MC at the time of demo?

He cares about them a lot! Because of their power, his savior complex, and his egotism! The loneliness probably helps. He's special to them so they're special to him!

So he likes them?

Sure! He loves how much their power can do for him and how much they feed his ego!

Wait what? Is he just using them?

😬🤭 Don't worry, he's lonely. He'll probably end up actually caring enough to honestly think about what's actually best for MC and not just his selfish intentions...eventually...at some point...maybe?

But he's jealous! He likes them then, yes?

I mean...I wouldn't want to lose a source of great power and ego boost to anyone else as an egotistical mage, personally. Especially not my rival that I'm actively trying to kill.

This perception of Leander is too dramatically horrible. He can't be as uncaring as you think.

I think he likes to think he cares! He probably likes thinking of himself a hero who does no wrong and only does what's best. Even if the means might be a little unconventional or reprehensible to some people.

But I also think he's highly fucking delusional about it all. Probably why people get deranged/insane vibes from him.

I think his head is so far up his own ass he can't fucking see he's clearly being more selfish than he might like to think. He's so convinced he knows better, runs away from his cushy home, runs away from enrolling into the elite institution to do his own thing and make his own group to run his own set of people. He says something like, "I'm just as good as the Senobium. Better, even."

That's some audacious shit! That sounds like a man who doesn't know his own shortcomings. And he is according to his uquiz and the fucken slashing of his fatal flaw. HUUUUUUUBRIIIIIIIIS. He's delusional about himself: his feelings, intentions, knowing what's best, whatever.

I want to fucking swing a bat against his thick skull, honestly. He'd make a great piñata.

End note

Honestly thought this post would be longer but I don't know what else to ponder about this rascal.

[baileye]

Throw Someone a Pep Rally

Everyone is insecure and everyone is in crisis. This is true because the world is insecure and in crisis. We are mirrors of what we see everywhere, a process that’s sped up and multiplied by the constant flow of grasping and clawing and posturing words and images on our phones.

Half of the people you know right now doubt themselves to such a degree that it keeps them from pursuing big dreams and casual interests alike. This isn’t something that shows on the surface most of the time, because we live in a society where self-doubt is treated like some kind of fatal flaw or worse, an infectious disease that spreads by proximity.

I’m always amazed when I encounter someone with great ideas who’s very good at the craft of writing and nevertheless treats publishing like an impossible labyrinth of snobby gatekeepers whose language they’ll never learn. To these people I say: Read the masthead. Search for an email address for an editor. Polish your essay and copy and paste it into an email that says “I thought this might work for (name of regular guest-written column). Thanks for taking a look.”

It really is that simple. Writers who talk to other, less experienced writers like publishing is complicated and difficult are just people who secretly doubt themselves so much that they’ve slowly mutated into an imitation of a snobby gatekeeper in order to protect their own egos. They don’t trust that they’ll hold onto their success, so why would they spread their knowledge of the industry around for free? They don’t want a bunch of talented younger humans crashing the gates and crowding them out.

This deep-seated insecurity and scarcity mentality can be found in many workplaces and social circles, and exacerbates the very conditions that these individuals are seeking to alleviate with their self-protective maneuvering.

Because helping other people achieve their dreams is good for you. It’s good for feeding your own buried ambitions, good for snapping you out of your needy, egocentric resting state, and good for waking you up to the infinite potential that lives inside each human being, including you. Understanding that every person you encounter is full of potential and has unique gifts (that are sometimes a mystery to them) is a route to tapping into your own limitless potential in new ways. It cultivates compassion for others and for yourself, and allows you to see the world as an abundant place full of possibility and promise.

When you jealously guard your resources, you tell yourself a story that there will never be enough for you or your friends or anyone else. It also molds your life into a “never enough” shape. You imagine limits and walls and gates and nasty gatekeepers. You experience time as constantly running out. You are “too busy” for this or that, and you can’t be bothered to slow down and help someone who refuses to speed up and get busy and make the same ‘sophisticated’ “That’s not how it works, you’re being naïve!” sounds that you make.

And when you share what you have, introducing friends to other friends, delighting in their connection, sending along important contact names to people you know are talented, giving counsel to people even when they seem a little green or awkward, slowing down to say “You’re really good at this, you should trust that,” when you recognize a spark in someone, these actions mold your life into a more abundant shape. You imagine expansive horizons, new discoveries, new adventures, and generous strangers along the way. You relish the long hours of the afternoon, the long minutes of a good moment, and you have the time to look and feel and listen and drink up the sensuous details of the day. You relish the opportunity to offer a little boost or a kind word or a hug to a person who craves that connection. You jump at the chance to spread your abundance and joy to others.

You don’t have to be a sparkly rainbow unicorn with love and optimism blasting out of your horn to do this. You can be a regular old slob, trudging around your dusty house, complaining about all of the sweaty manual labor you have to do out there in the summer heat today. (Oh hey, that’s me! Hi there!)

But when you share with someone, stop and feel it. Notice how good it feels. Remind yourself that this is the best way to be in a world gone mad. Small actions matter. Feel proud and vow to do more, feel more, give more, take more leaps of faith for the benefit of others. These are the small building blocks that add up to a joyful life.

***

The slightest hint of talent or skill or originality doesn’t mean that a person has a very small amount of talent, skill, or originality which they may or may not expand upon through decades of hard work. That hint of talent is a sign of ENORMOUS, REAL TALENT, stretching from the depths of someone’s soul, straining to show itself. Given all of the insecurities and doubts that keep that REAL TALENT tamped down, imagine the effort it took just to show one tiny strand of it to the world!

Hard work is involved in every pursuit and in every day. But hard work becomes joyful when we make a connection to the hidden abilities and talents inside us that are struggling to rise to the surface. And making that connection to our buried abilities, our muted imaginations, and our blocked desires becomes easier when we recognize that every living being is filled with just as much potential as we are. We don’t get MORE by defining ourselves as special. We get more by recognizing how special and perfect and delightful all of the humans around us are, no matter how crusted over and injured by disappointment and grief and misunderstandings they are.

Once you attune yourself to these tiny strands of talent or hope or desire in otherwise fearful or pessimistic or angry individuals, you have the incomparable luck of being in the position to encourage and endorse them. You can share with them and savor the notion that someone else on the planet might develop a deep relationship to themselves and discover their gifts for the first time.

But don’t forget to use words to say exactly how much you believe in what you see in them. When you see beauty and promise in someone that they can’t see in themselves, throw them a goddamn pep rally made of words. Tell them what you see.

Even if they’re already successful and rich and special, do it. Even if their talent is a withered strand that hasn’t been watered in years, say something. Even if they’re very old or very young or a little annoying, speak up. Even if you only see the tiniest sprout of promise, remember that this is how your own promise looked when you were younger: a little weak, a little confused, yet attached to a deep well of weird and wonderful impulses and ideas just underneath the soil.

Giving and gushing and waxing poetic on the talents and charms of others can feel out of step with the way most people live today, because it is out of step. Cultivating compassion and unconditional love for all kinds of strange and unruly humans with all kinds of strange and unruly gifts can feel vulnerable and awkward and soft and embarrassing and not that cool because our society’s ideas of what’s strong and victorious and cool are mostly sickly manifestations of our insecurity and our decadent, ignorant, defiant responses to crisis.

To be a true booster, to live in an abundant world, to feed your rich imagination and your limitless talents, in other words, you have to be a little bit of a freak. You have to be willing to throw small pep rallies all over the place, in front of colleagues, sometimes in front of family or among strangers. You have to be willing to show yourself and manifest the deep connection you’ve made to your work, your passions, your joys. When you demonstrate what’s possible, in spite of plenty of setbacks and stalling and self-sabotage, you show others what’s possible for them.

But you have to say it using words. Try some words like this:

This is possible for you, too. Anyone here can do what I’ve done. You all have unique gifts, brilliant and colorful worlds living inside you, concrete and useful abilities that want to be shared. Believe in what you’re made of. Believe in what you love.

Look for beauty in this moment. Follow the strands of hope that spring up inside you. Dare to believe in this day.

[servicetopkaradanvers]

I'm not sure if this is exactly the right place to say this, but I don't know if there is. And you're a smart person and critical thinker who has talked about this before. If this is totally weird, you can just delete it ofc. I've never properly watched Supergirl but I started reading fanfic around the time my mental health got real bad so it was a comfort thing I didn't bring too much thought to. I really identify with Lena and in the past, part of me has understood her actions-

and I know that they're wrong. The anti-alien rhetoric is obviously an allegory for racism or homophobia. She's violated people's basic human rights. And I'm scared that I'm a bad person because sometimes, I kind of get it. Which is insane because i'm a lesbian enby of color, i mean i get targeted by most of the -ist/ism actions. And I'm also too tired to think about things critically all the time. Supercorp was my comfort fic, content thing-

I knew it was problematic (the whole James thing makes me sick to my stomach, scared and sad) but I didn't know that Lena as a character was written that way. The metaphors never really clicked in my head because I never thought about it, but now I feel absolutely horrible about myself because I like and identify with Lena. I'm not really sure how to move on from here- I'm just tired. I wish there could be just one thing, one piece of media that wasn't prejudiced (granted sg is not the place to go if you want decent rep and the like) and all of those things I said earlier. Its just me somehow trying to justify how I felt and empathized with something I shouldn't have. So yeah, sorry that was really long. I hope you have a lovely day- sorry for the spam

FIRST of all, you’re fine, babe! Both in sending me this and in enjoying The Bad Media. That’s my thesis here: You’re fine. With this in mind, let’s unpack this big ol suitcase:

We’re living in a fandom moment where more than ever before, we’re thinking about the ideas we consume in fiction and how they may or may not affect us. This is a net positive! Fiction is not reality, but it undeniably impacts it, so for this and many other reasons, we should always think critically about what resonates with us and why. Does this mean dissecting every facet of something to find all the ways it might fall in line with oppressive power structures? Absolutely not.

You, as an individual, do not owe anyone an explanation for why you enjoy anything. Period. How you relate to a given character or why you like them is nobody's business but your own.

Supergirl, as a piece of media, is singularly awful in its lackluster lipservice to progressivism while simultaneously refusing to deliver any progressive themes. Socially and politically, it is a useless liberal wet dream. Kara is an immigrant from a dead culture working as the muscle for a secret FBI offshoot with zero accountability for all of the other aliens in diaspora she has rounded up and dumped into a cell without trial. Alex is allegedly a lesbian, but the key points of her endgame relationship are constantly deemed not important enough to get screen time, which is made even more absurd when examined from the angle that this series is marketed directly toward LGBT people. An embarrassing percentage of villains on this show are women of color, which is particularly loud when there are only 2 women in the main cast who aren't white. And "main" is extremely generous, given that Kelly is just there to Give Advice Good and everything M'gann says and does is as dry as toast.

My point here is that the whole show is rotted to its roots, and whatever quietly libertarian or even fascism-enabling bullshit they push onto Lena in a given week is par for the crusty, shitty course. Kara deciding that she's ok with the alien detection device because "there are bad aliens" is a lovely (read: awful) microcosm of why this show sucks so fucking hard. "People are entitled to their opinions" is for debates on whether pineapple goes on pizza, not for whether we should casually out, endanger, and disenfranchise our [insert minority metaphor here] because some of them are mean.

But what I would love for this fandom to wrap its head around, and what I hope you understand, anon, is that just because it happens on the show, doesn't mean we have to give a rat's ass about it. What the hell is The Canon, anyway? Especially in the case for Supergirl, which can't even get its own continuity right. Especially for an IP that has been rebooted dozens of times before and will be rebooted again in the future. We can just decide that Lena realized the horrible injustices she enabled through her position of power. We can even decide that they just didn't happen at all! This is all fake. It's not set in stone. Who came up with it, anyway? A network with a list of buzzwords they want included and a couple of D-tier showrunners cranking down caffeine to meet an absurdly tight deadline. It's not special. I can guarantee that you care about it infinitely more than they do, and you haven't even watched the damn show.

On a more personal level, people who are hurt, depressed, or traumatized have always and will always look for themselves in fiction. Myself included! And despite what lofty platitudes there may be on the matter, suffering does not make us kind. It does not make us better. Sometimes it's just suffering. Often it pulls us further from who we are meant to be. Often it just makes us "worse."

Trauma has made Lena emotionally brittle. A lifetime of manipulation and abuse has taught her to compartmentalize herself and lock her feelings behind a maze of doors. When she does let love in, she accepts it so wild and vulnerable that she can't see the red flags behind the rosy lenses. She latches so hard onto people she deems virtuous that she holds them to a standard none could fulfill. Her pain has to go somewhere, so it oozes out of her, into Non Nocere, into the post-reveal rift. She's a powder keg, and Kara spent 4 years shoveling more gunpowder onto the pile while holding the match between her teeth.

And despite these fatal flaws that make perfect sense through the eyes of Lena's trauma, she is so full of love. Like Kara, her suffering did not make her kind. She is kind in spite of her suffering. These are the characters we are drawn to when we're hurting. Lena’s trauma is an inextricable part of her, but it is not all of her, and neither are her mistakes.

There truly is not and never will be a piece of media that is absolutely innocent of the harmful structures thrust upon us by society, because we ourselves also participate in that society whether we are critical of it or not, whether we strive to change it or not. I'm flawed. You're flawed. Bettering ourselves is not a journey toward an ultimate destination of perfection. It is a garden we nurture in an endless labor of love because the joy that comes from seeing it flourish and change vastly outweighs the work we put into it and the weeds popping up around its unkempt edges. This is a lesson Lena herself could probably stand to internalize. Probably with lots and lots of therapy. Lots. And lots.

So, to circle back to the start of this? You're fine. You recognized the logic in a traumatized character's mistakes because our own gravest errors more often than not stem from the ways we have been harmed in the past. It's what makes Lena (or, at the very least, the many adaptations of Lena that exist in this fandom) a good character. She is, to her core, characterized proof that a crumbling foundation and poisonous soil do not define us. Which is why watching her heal and grow and learn a healthier kind of love is so, so wonderful.

In closing, I think it's worth mentioning that being critical of media does not mean that we stop enjoying the parts of it we like. There is a lot of gold to be pulled from the steaming pile of shit that is CW Supergirl, and that's why we're all here in the first place. So I really hope you can continue to enjoy it in whatever way makes you smile <3

[coffeeandritalin]

Thoughts on The Song of Achilles

I just read The Song of Achilles, and while I have book club tomorrow to gush over this book, I think the level of deep I'm digging to will probably be too much for my club-mates. So I've decided to use Tumblr to offload instead.

This is the first book I actively annotated in since... probably high school (aka, it's been more than a hot second). This was probably the best and worst book to use to start annotations again. Best because it is so beautifully written. Worst because, of course, I no longer have a heart as it has been hollowed out to relieve me of the intense pain I suffered after reading it.

In the final chapter, Patroclus calls Thetis out, "You said that Chiron ruined him. You are a goddess, and cold, and know nothing. You are the one who ruined him." I definitely agree with Patroclus here. However, in today's TED talk, I will rant about how Patroclus' is also responsible for Achilles' ruin.

To start, I have to praise Miller for how masterfully she molds each character. In just four chapters, we have a complex understanding of who Patroclus is as a person and why he ticks the way he ticks. Patroclus' defining characteristic, confidence (or lack thereof), is first hinted at on the first page, "Quickly, I became a disappointment." This is the core trait Miller starts out with to flesh out the character. The low opinion Patroclus has of himself, heavily shaped by his father, becomes the source and shaper of all his other traits.

Patroclus' low self-opinion is his greatest gift and flaw. His entire life, he has been told he is worth nothing. He is emotionally abused, depressed, and hurting. Tragically, out of this comes his humility and humbleness. In a world that is hard and cruel, Patroclus chose to be soft and kind - the key to what makes the people around him love him so deeply. There is a whole separate soap box waiting to be stepped on for this topic alone. Today, we are focusing on how Patroclus' lack of confidence becomes his fatal flaw. Just as his gentleness is borne from his low confidence, so too is his self-contempt, and this is his ultimate undoing.

From the very first moment he lays eyes on him, Patroclus has always seen himself as second to Achilles. It originates from a place of envy but eventually comes from a place of love and admiration. Patroclus, believing himself only worthy of disdain, allows this to define him. Rather, he uses it to define himself - what value could he possibly have without Achilles at his side?

It is not just Thetis' misguided, motherly love and prideful scorn for mortals that fills Achilles' mind with the whispers of gods instead of the cries of his peers. It is not just the adulation of the masses and the glorification of war that lures Achilles into hubris and a madness that even Patroclus falls prey to. It is also Patroclus' self-contempt and core belief that he has no value beyond Achilles that fuels and enables Achilles' arrogance.

There was only one person Achilles was ever willing to put on a pedestal above himself. He believes Patroclus is worth extending the Trojan War and keeping thousands of families apart for ten years (a separate discourse on this). He holds Patroclus in the absolute highest regard. On multiple occasions, although Patroclus only consciously acknowledges two, Achilles defers to what Patroclus' wants. Despite his godliness, which he is fully aware of, Achilles is willing to submit himself to Patroclus.

Patroclus is always in awe of Achilles and in disbelief that he managed to land such a hot piece of a**. Through the first two thirds of the book, Achilles also repeatedly mentions how equally in awe he is of Patroclus and repeatedly tries to get Patroclus to stand by his side as an equal. However, Patroclus' self-contempt will not allow him to see himself as Achilles' equal. Achilles makes many attempts to put Patroclus' needs first, but Patroclus consistently rebuffs these efforts and insists his needs be second to Achilles'. Over time, Patroclus trains Achilles to see his (Achilles') needs above his own (Patroclus'). Due to a highly privileged upbringing, Achilles knows no better than to gradually accept this as fact and ends up taking it for granted.

The only person who could have taught Achilles to know better and to understand reason is Patroclus himself (and probably Chiron, but Chiron isn't the one who is constantly and seductively whispering in Achilles' ears for 20 odd years). Patroclus was everything that tethered Achilles to his gentleness and humanity. However, Patroclus dotes on and spoils Achilles far too much. He makes himself, and is grateful to be, the rug that Achilles wipes his shoes on (despite Achilles equal insistence to clean off Patroclus' shoes).

With all this pre-established cognitive wiring, can we blame Achilles for being the densest of all walnuts when it comes to Patroclus' feelings and needs? (The answer is yes, and I place equal blame on Achilles as I do Patroclus for all of this.) Until the last third of the book, Patroclus is the only person who could possibly force their will on Achilles. He loved and respected both his parents, but he was defiant even against them. Of course, Patroclus has neither parent's pride and does not ever seek to force his will on Achilles or anyone else (something which he is definitely loved for). He loves Achilles and genuinely wants everything that would make Achilles happy.

Most crucial to this whole rant thought, Patroclus also refuses to acknowledge (read: zero self-confidence) that he has the power to stay Achilles' hand. Patroclus forgets he has a voice. He forgets his opinions and feelings are worth of acknowledgement. He forgets to be selfish and fight for what he wants (outside of Achilles' survival).

In true Patroclus fashion (forever putting others before himself), he finally stands up against Achilles for Briseis' sake. Although he has secured Briseis' temporary safety, he is far too late and Achilles has already been swimming in the deep end for a good thirty minutes. Achilles is entrenched in the belief that he and Patroclus are of the same mind, that his wants must also be Patroclus' wants. While he is wounded by the betrayal, Achilles cannot and does not stay mad at Patroclus because he knows his immortal glory is also what Patroclus is trying to build and preserve.

This is as deep as Achilles' understanding goes though. Achilles' belief system has been shaped too perfectly. His cause is Patroclus' cause, any ancillary motivation is but an afterthought. The blinders are up and Achilles only has eyes for his immortal glory. He is blind to how much pain was necessary to provoke Patroclus into mutiny against him. He is unaware of the searing grief it caused Patroclus (in contrast, Briseis immediately understands how severely this betrayal affects Patroclus). Worse, Achilles is completely ignorant of Patroclus' true reasoning and displays blatant lack of concern to Patroclus' emotional wellbeing by immediately launching into how he and Thetis have concocted a plan to let thousands of more Greeks suffer for the sake of his honor. Patroclus is fighting (albeit too late) to bring Achilles back to his humanity and spare innocent people from needless brutality. He has literally and physically spilt blood to right the wrongs he finally opened his eyes to, and Achilles undoes it all in one, idle stroke.

Patroclus was the only person who could keep Achilles grounded, but his infinite love only made him wish to see Achilles fly free. Patroclus was the only person who could scold Achilles into seeing the wrong in his actions and beliefs, but his dotage stayed his tongue and he instead chose to maintain Achilles naivete. Patroclus was the only person who could raise Achilles to his best self and also utterly break him, but his self-contempt did not allow him to acknowledge that he had the power, and thus responsibility, to guide Achilles. Patroclus failed to take meaningful action earlier because he had little faith that his actions and words would matter (despite Achilles, Briseis, and Chiron repeatedly trying to convince him otherwise). He eventually builds up the confidence to believe he is at least worthy of dying for someone he loves, thus cursing grief upon those who love him.

[nosunwithoutshadow]

finally posting for day 1 of darklina week! (I have no concept of time)

Rating: M Chapters: 1/1 Words: 2k Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, Fluff and Angst, Character Study, Loneliness, Angst with a Happy Ending, Feels

Summary: It’s the worst kind of cliche, but Aleksander doesn’t realize what he’s missing until it’s gone.

also on ao3

Aleksander misses it. The light. 

He didn’t realize it at first, in those lost few months after he tore the world apart to protect his people. Time stretched oddly then, as he adjusted to his new reality. He felt off balance, constantly teetering on the edge of falling into the abyss he created. The merzost coiled in his soul, making a home in his bones, craving more with each breath. He’d known the magic required a sacrifice before he stepped in front of the dead king’s army, accepted it, but a martyr never knows what they will have to give up to their cause before it’s ripped from them. 

(cont. under the cut)

He only discovers what’s missing later. After emerging from the other side of the void into a new world, one he has shaped, will continue to shape. He gathers what self possession he has left and returns to the capital, presenting himself as a tame housecat for the throne to use at their pleasure, repentant for the misdeeds of his family and content to hunt mice for the reward of a warm hearth and occasional pat. He blunts his fangs, hides his claws, and bats at toys tossed his way for the crown’s amusement, a domesticated predator biding his time. He returns to the tatters of the sanctuary he had begun to build and teaches every Grisha he can save how to sharpen their own claws so when the world comes for them, as it inevitably will, they will be ready. 

And when he has time to think again, when the urge to plunge the entire palace into a darkness they cannot escape has lessened enough that his bones don’t ache with the need, he stands in the courtyard of the Little Palace and breathes. He hasn’t lived without burdens since the day in his long-ago childhood when he realized that he and everyone like him would never be safe. It’s different now though, rather than weighing on him, the darkness drags him down, anchoring him to the earth like it would swallow him at any moment. And when he spreads his arms, exhaling and letting his eyes slip closed for the briefest moment, he feels…

Nothing. 

The days in Ravka are rarely truly warm, but dressed in all black, he’s used to the sun slanting down and soaking into his kefta. He sees the sun overhead, the near cloudless sky, feels a cool breeze rustle the fur at his cuffs, but the warmth he expects to feel doesn’t reach his skin. It’s as if he’s no longer quite part of this world, truly the abomination they call him, shunned even by the sun’s light. 

The small part of him that’s still human wants to strip off his layers in the lost hope that if he can only bare himself to the sun, it’ll be different. As if there’s any way he could ever give enough of himself to buy back what he’s sacrificed. He tilts his face up to the sky and feels nothing but the chill of the afternoon against his cheeks. 

His heart, that traitorous organ, hesitates before resuming its regular beat. He draws a deep breath, collects himself, and continues on his walk. He’d hardly been unaware that there would be a cost to his actions. Out of all the possible consequences, this is far from something that can’t be borne. He will find other ways to keep warm. 

Years pass, nearly too many to count, and yet he numbers every one. The time is counted in the lives he could not save, the indignities thrust upon his Grisha he cannot protect them from. The walls of the Little Palace grow higher, blocking the outside world and its taunting sun. Its light only serves to remind him of what he still can’t do: he can’t control the fold, can’t use it as the weapon he needs to protect his people, can’t stop them from being slaughtered beyond his limited reach, can’t promise them the true security they deserve.

He wears his layers like armor and tries to forget the missing pieces of his soul. He keeps the fireplaces of the Little Palace well stocked to ward off the cold. He nearly forgets what it feels like to have sunlight play across his skin, warming him even through winter’s chill.

But then.

And then.

Oh.

He’s spent centuries planning, but he could never have planned for Alina. Even less for what she would do to him. He touches her, and walls built over hundreds of years fracture, their foundations no longer solid. He sees her power, and he remembers dreams he no longer has any right to. He feels her warmth, and he finds he might give up what’s left of his soul to stay close enough for her heat to burn. 

It’s another small sacrifice to let go of her after that first touch, but he comforts himself with the knowledge that she won’t go far. He’s found her now, and the blinding potential of what that means threatens every ounce of his hard-won restraint. He rediscovers parts of himself he thought long-dead, pushing through dirt and cobwebs like a dormant seed, reaching out towards her sun. 

He will keep her close, there’s no question of that. Losing part of himself was torture enough the first time; he doesn’t know how he could bear it again. He’s endured so much, but not this. And she’s so much more than his scattered missing pieces. She’s life to his emptiness, the rushing river to his steady mountain, the celestial light to his earth-bound darkness. 

If he’d known just how much she was, he’s not sure he would have wanted her, the him before he met her. No blessing as potent as her comes without danger. And she is dangerous, all fire and fury, telling him “no” and crashing headlong into centuries worth of careful plans. Even so, he’s no fool to cast aside such a treasure, if he even could. He’ll hide her in his fortress, its defenses built for this day, and hone her into the weapon she was meant to be. 

It has to be said, his plans usually proceed much more smoothly. 

People are the fatal flaw to any plan, Aleksander knows, and that has never been more true than with Alina. Every time he thinks he’s learned to understand her, she surprises him again. He wants to hate her for that, at first. Even then, he can’t bring himself to, not really. His only consolation is those moments when he’s certain that she feels it too. That he’s not alone in this maddening need. She fills the empty spaces inside of him to overflowing, and even then, it’s still not enough. He’s never thought himself greedy, merely wanting what he’s earned, but for her, he might be. 

Even when their goals finally align, when at last she accepts him as her ally rather than her enemy, it’s still barely enough. It’s consuming, this need, more dangerous than merzost and infinitely more seductive. He can almost forget the hunger clawing at his soul when he’s with her, the warmth of her bathing his skin, sinking deep. She’s so powerful it’s blinding, and yet so unbearably human. A mess of contradictions, his Alina, and he wants to take the time to explore all of them. 

In the early days they don’t have much time for exploration, as one age gives way to another. The first time they bed each other is fast and desperate, fueled by all the times they’ve been denied before. It can’t even properly be called bedding, since they don’t make it farther than the nearest table. They manage to fall into bed together by the third time around, and the sense of completion as he slides into her, their eyes locked on each other, is enough to make all the centuries it took to get there worth it. Anger still simmers between them, and he can’t be certain that she won’t try to kill him before morning, but for this, he might let her. 

In the aftermath, he foolishly thinks that this must be the pinnacle. He holds her to him, reveling in the heat of her body and how perfectly it fits against his. Her light calls to his shadows, even lying quietly together like this, their bodies and spirits tangling into a single whole. 

He doesn’t have the frame of reference then to imagine how anything could be better, but then time stretches before them, and the walls between them slowly crumble. They rebuild and their lives mesh into one another, weaving around each other until they become inseparable. She reminds him of things he’d left behind, and he shows her what could lie ahead. He finds his shadows reaching out to her without realizing, what should be an unforgivable loss of control, but he can’t deny them their other half. He doesn't ask if she feels it too, conditioned by centuries to avoid any hint of weakness.

And he knows that there's no way he can complete her the way she fills the ache in his soul. It's an emptiness that's only grown over those same centuries, widened and deepened into a chasm he could never admit existed. She's his match in every way, but she's only lived a mere couple of decades. He can barely remember being that young, that long ago time when he knew so little about what was to come, what real loneliness meant. 

He clutches her to him at night, without meaning to, his body reacting to his mind’s unspoken fear that she may yet disappear. She lets him, sometimes tucking her body into the contours of his, other times turning in his hold to wrap her arms around him in return. 

They’re laying like this one night, her head against his chest, his nose brushing her hair, both sated and drifting on the edge of sleep. Aleksander idly considers his tasks for the next day, while his sun summoner traces patterns of light over his skin. She draws back, and he relaxes his hold enough to look down at her. Her thoughts are heavier than he expected, some inner struggle creasing her brow. He doesn’t expect the question that follows.

"Did you feel it, before me?" She hesitates, as if searching for the right word. "The… emptiness?"

And he remembers that he didn’t feel that much older than her when he'd opened the Fold, tearing apart the very fabric of the world out of his grief and desperation and fear of losing the people he had left. She may not be able to match the age-worn depth of his feelings, but he shouldn't underestimate the depth of them. The young feel everything so much more fiercely, he remembers. 

His mother had tried to tell him, back then, that what he felt would fade. He'd known she was wrong then, but he knows it with earned certainty now. Age may have dulled the edges of that grief, but to lose it would be to lose a part of himself. Time has given him perspective for those emotions as it held onto their all-consuming breadth. 

One forgot the passion of youth at their own peril. He'd made that mistake with Alina already. So many years, and still so much to learn. 

“Yes,” he answers. It costs him a small sliver of his pride, but the price is well worth it. In his arms, Alina relaxes, losing a small thread of tension he hadn’t realized she held. “I thought it was my burden to bear,” he continues. “I never thought we could have this.”

Her lips curve in the slightest smile. “I didn’t know what I was missing,” she admits. “Until I found you, I thought that’s how it was.”

He tightens his arms around her, pulling her up for a kiss. He takes his time, exploring the lips he’s come to know so well, reminding them both of what they’ve found together. 

“It might’ve been,” he says as they break apart. “But in a world where we met, I could never have stayed apart from you.”

She responds with a blush and a contented sigh as her lips return to his. They lay there together in their bed, passing kisses back and forth for nothing more than the pleasure of sharing them. The night deepens and, eventually, sleep catches up to them.

Alina relaxes in his arms, eyes fluttering closed. His shadows slip across the room and extinguish the last lamp. Comfortable darkness settles over the room while in the bed, Alina wraps Aleksander in her light.

[silverselfshippingchaos]

Ash of the Turks meets Genesis for the first time. They bond over Loveless together.

No warnings aside from some swearing and some guns.

Ash was tired.  But despite the dark, cloudy sky, her day was far from over. 

Her boots clacked against the floor of Shinra HQ with each step she made. The building was beginning to empty up around this time of day, the normal employees thankful to finally be able to return to the comfort of their homes. There were a few left on the lower floors of the building where Ash was, but they quickly averted their eyes upon seeing her. 

A pristine black suit, a gun strapped to her thigh, several orbs of Materia hanging from her waist, she was a Turk. Being a Turk went much further than just the suit, of course. It was a way of life. Once you’re a Turk, there’s no such thing as backing out. After all, there’s only one way to truly leave the tight-knit team.  But she wasn’t thinking about dying anytime soon.  Well, hopefully. No promises. She didn’t have much control over where her on Gaia her missions took her.

But her current mission, however, is one she chose for herself. And she was willing to risk her life to complete it. 

To walk to the cafeteria and get a fucking snack. 

She had just gotten off assignment. A simple job, just taking out monsters. But she couldn’t help but feel exhausted. Conjuring Blizzaga icicles into the skulls of random beasts wore her out a bit more than she’d like to admit. 

A small smile makes its way onto Ash’s face as she approaches the cafeteria. The lights were slightly more dim than usual, but the vending machines with her favorite energy drink and Chocobo Chocolate bars seemed to still be working just fine.  She walks into the large room, but is interrupted by... poetry? 

“Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess. We seek it thus, and take to the sky. Ripples form on the water’s surface, the wandering soul...” 

Loveless.  “Knows no rest.” She mutters. It was mostly instinctive; Ash knew most of it by heart. It was one of her favorites.  In a cafeteria is a young man, not much older than Ash herself. He’s dressed in all red, a sword sharpened to perfection resting beside him as he leaned back against a table, a pocket copy of Loveless in his hand, which was also gloved in red. 

He looks up at Ash from the pages of his book, blue-green eyes seeming to almost glow in the dim light of the hollow, empty room. Eyes infused with Mako energy, huh? A SOLDIER. A damn popular one, at that.  Genesis, if her memory serves correct. One of the First Class. Who didn’t know him? 

“Act I, Loveless.” Ash says, giving him a small nod and pulling out some gil from her suit, popping it into the vending machine against the wall.  “Correct.” He says, shutting the book, “Not many know the pages by memory.”

Ash shrugs, “It’s one of my favorite stories.” She reaches into the vending machine to grab her cold drink. She opens it and takes a sip with a sigh of relief. It felt nice to be able to sit back and relax.  “Same for me.” He says, and Ash gives him a polite smile. Goodness, they weren’t lying about the firsts being rather... good-looking. 

“I certainly didn’t expect to see a SOLDIER here. First class, for that matter.” “And I didn’t expect to see a Turk here.” He spat back, brushing some auburn hair out of his face. 

Ash chuckles, “Good to meet ya. I’m Ash. Of the Turks. But you already figured that part out, huh?” 

He looked almost amused.  “Right, the suits and the mannerisms give it away. You guys really do make being a Turk your whole personality, hm?” He remarks, and Ash just smiles back at him.

“Yeah, it’s our only fatal flaw.”

He looks her up and down.

“... And you are?” She added after a beat of silence.

“Oh, you don’t know?” He crosses his arms over his chest, and that shit-eating smirk of his only seemed to grow.  This man is a fucking shitbag, isn’t he? “Oh, no, I do. I was just trying to be polite.”

“Well then, Ash,” He bows, but it seems to be more teasing than respectful, “Commander Genesis Rhapsodos, SOLDIER First Class, at your service.”

Ash holds out her right hand, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Commander Rhapsodos.” 

Genesis takes it, and his grip is firm. “The feeling is mutual. And I assure you, just Genesis is fine.” 

“Well then, just Genesis,” Ash takes a sip from her energy drink, “What brings you here? I’m sure there’s better places to read Loveless than this place.”

Genesis tilts his head in thought, “It’s quiet and dim. Not many come in here at night, and I prefer to be alone when I’m reading.” He absentmindedly runs his fingers over the cover of his book, “And you?”

“I happened to be passing by and needed a quick boost, that’s it. Unless, of course, I’m here to gather intel,” She shrugs, “The world will never know.” She giggles, her eyes now staring at his hands. Or, more importantly, the copy of Loveless he had. 

“Hey, that’s one of the older prints, isn’t it?” She asks, pointing to it.

“You’re much too relaxed to be- Huh? Oh, yes. The ones with the white, leather covers are a rare find. This one was actually one of my first copies, it was a gift from a friend.” Responds Genesis.

“You have multiple?! I only have one of the usual copies of both the original and the novelization, and then a special edition of the novelization too. The one with all the fancy gold foil on the cover! It’s so pretty, right?” Genesis noticed how her eyes seemed to glimmer as she spoke, her hands waving around excitedly. He felt somewhat happy. The soft curve of her smile, the way her hair rested on her suit, the red glasses sitting low on her nose, framing large, warm eyes.

It felt like something out of Loveless.

“I own almost all of the editions. Loveless is a... very strong passion of mine.” He chuckles, “It’s such an interesting tale, is it not? The hero was always my favorite.”

“Oh?” Ash takes a seat on the table he was at, taking yet another sip from her drink, “My favorite is the prisoner. I really liked the traveler when I was younger, too, but I’ve come to the realization that he’s a rather bland character.”

Genesis sighs, “That’s true. Wasted potential, honestly. But I try not to think about how things could’ve been too much. I always admired the hero for thinking like that.” 

“That’s a good way to think. Especially in this line of work, huh?” She chuckles, “I’ve never been too big on the hero, but I can see why you’d like him. The way he reached out to the traveler in Acts III and IV makes me emotional every single time.” 

Genesis nods. “Right. His character gets explored a bit deeper in the play.” 

“Ugh, the play?!” Ash pouts, “I haven’t gotten a chance to see it yet! I’m rarely free.” 

“It’s well worth the watch, and much of it focuses on the prisoner, if that’s up your alley.” 

“Oh, that sounds fun. I’ll try to see if I can snag some tickets, they’re really hard to find.”

Genesis smirks. “I can pull some strings to help with that, if you’d like.” 

“That sounds grea-” Ash was interrupted by the ringing of her PHS. She sighs, “Gimme a sec.”

She reaches inside her back pocket and flips the device open, “This is Ash. How can I help, chief?” 

Her face hardens into something much more serious than what Genesis saw before, and he can faintly hear some orders over the line, but he couldn’t exactly make out the words.

“... Got it, sir. I’m heading out now.” She responds, shutting the device and shoving it back in her coat. She stands up, tossing the wrapper of her candy bar into the garbage can nearby. 

“Welp, nice talking to ya, Genesis!” She gives him a warm smile, and Genesis can’t help but smile back, “But work calls and I need to go before the chief yells at me. He’s a real scary guy.” 

Genesis had briefly met the director of the Turks. Verdot, was it?  He couldn’t help but agree. Even he felt nervous in his presence. 

“It was nice to meet you, Ash.” Says Genesis, giving her a small wave. 

“Nice to meet you too. See you around.”  Ash takes out the gun strapped to her thigh, nimble fingers flipping open the Materia flap and swapping out the glowing orb for something else on her belt in a matter of mere seconds. This one was green, and seemed to be much more deadly than the yellow one she currently had equipped. She put it back in its holster and ran out of the room.

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Pride Prompts 2020 Day 3- Caught Looking Their Way

Jim was finally halfway through his shift and it was one of the few shifts that was completely uneventful. No rogue ships, no strange organisations or unknown planets. Just sparkling, never ending space.

He didn't want to seem reckless, like he enjoyed being on the verge of death or constantly in battles. Everyone was enjoying the down time. Yet no one could deny the immense boredom that was coming from travelling between galaxies. 

A few days ago, there had been a mild rendezvous at a small Class-M planet that the Federation wanted to sign a treaty with after years of disagreements. No one had been killed, a few injured when both were fatigued with the petty arguments, but no fatalities.

The first few days of no action served everyone well, it was almost like shore leave explained McCoy. Nonetheless, after three days of nothing but empty space and the same routine, Jim was running out of distractions. 

He'd done his rounds walking around the ship, checking in on every sector and how they were doing. Every now and then he contacted a part of the ship, engineering, weapons, but they had just as little to do as those on the bridge. 

This was how he found his mind completely empty and his eyes naturally resting upon the fascinating image that was his first officer- Mr. Spock. 

He, unlike the rest of the crew, had found some way of occupying himself. Chekov wanted to research something about Russia, obviously, and Spock had been strangely eager to do the work for him. His logic was that Chekov should focus on navigation rather than a non-essential project.

Spock appeared content and busy, lost in the world of history and research. This was the exact reason why Jim had taken to leaning on his right arm and gazing blankly at him. He didn't care if anyone caught him staring or possibly smiling gloofily at the half-Vulcan while his mind cleared and the boredom dissipated.

The Captain hadn't noticed that Uhura was laughing behind her hand and that Sulu had been elbowing Chekov for him to witness this blatant display of affection. 

Jim was immersed in thought about Spock. His eloquence was currently on his mind, the way he formed his words so calmly while directing orders or stating the illogical. Another aspect of him was how comedic he could be without intending it, there had been many a time when his gratitude for Bones' insults had made him chuckle. 

He sighed, shifted slightly as he was reminded of the bravery of his Science Officer. Despite other crew members' insistence, he had shown countless times his willingness to stand up to the wrong and to carry on fighting even if everything appeared bleak. 

Jim was enamoured, there was a spell cast upon him that would not go away for a while. He wouldn't argue that he was more than partial to the man, the mere sight of Spock could lighten his day and he admitted to feeling fearful for him on missions when he got into any danger. It came with the job but the irrationality that came with love didn't care if he was employed by danger. If his heart could have its way, Spock wouldn't ever be in a life or death situation ever again. 

~~

"Mr Chekov, I have found some interesting information in my research that you may want to hear," Spock said. As he turned around, he quickly realised how every crew member around him was watching him and Jim intensely.

He didn't really know why, perhaps it was the boredom that had possessed the crew without anything life threatening to do. His logic saw through their complaints however, there was rarely a moment when there was nothing to be done. And today was not an exception to that rule.

"Mr. Chekov, do you want to hear the information?" Spock repeated closer to the man in question, who stopped his laughter and agreed to hear what he had to say. "Well, did you happen to know that one of your descendants invested in a company that would discover a more efficient fuel for Earth Spacecrafts?"

"No, I didn't know that,"

"Well, you can add that to the official doings of the Russians that you inform us all about at every moment," He said, moving to sit back down before he laid eyes on why the crew had been watching so crudely at him and the Captain.

Jim was leaning on one arm in his chair, eyes glistening and partially glazed over in a daydream like haze. His ridiculous smile plastered on his face, that, if Spock ever admitted his emotions, did make him happier on certain occasions- not that he would ever acknowledge that his human side sometimes overruled his logic.

The Captain had not seemed to notice anything he had said, or anything around him at all for that matter. His cheeks were flushed faintly as he persistently looked at him. Jim's interest did spark something in him, a kind of gratitude that he was being recognised, although he couldn't say what he had done that was so interesting. 

Spock raised an eyebrow and stepped forward, towards the Captain's chair and the lovesick man occupying it. He vaguely waved in front of him, trying, and failing, to get his attention. If he was mindlessly staring at him then he should confront him about it. 

He had been told, by his mother and some other infatuated crew members that stealing glances at someone was often a symptom of love. Perhaps it was the longing and the passion for that person that made them infinitely provocative. 

Spock had felt this need. There had been many a moment, no matter how embarrassing for him to confess to himself, when he lay wondering about the Captain, if he was as lonely as he was, whether he wanted him, no, needed him as much as he did. It made him feel ashamed.

What would Sarek think, to see him acting so foolishly when it came to his feelings. Spock was a Vulcan, and Vulcans are logical, not emotional.

But he was also Human too.

"Captain," Spock said, abandoning his efforts at waving. "Captain, you are staring,"

No answer, just the same love struck look.

"Captain," He sighed. "Jim!"

Jim snapped out of his trance at the call of his name, blinking a few times before he too realised the amount of eyes that were finding him so humorous. He sat up and dropped his arm onto his lap, looking back at Spock again.

"Yes, Mr. Spock,"

"Captain, may I have a word with you," He moved closer and lowered his volume. "In private, off the bridge,"

For the first time for the entirety of their shift, their eyes met. They agreed without words, Jim putting Sulu in temporary charge until he returned and left to wander the corridors.

~~

Most of the corridors were empty, with crewmembers being at their post and little need for extra hands, the two were safe to talk.

"I thought it would be better to confront you about your staring in private, Captain," Spock began, unconsciously leading them to a deserted conference room.

Jim hummed and pulled a chair for himself and his First Officer, "Yes, I hope you aren't offended, I wasn't doing it with malicious intent," 

Spock gave him a ghost of a smile that eased his worries, "Oh, I'm sure of that, Captain," He said, placing his hands on the table, close to Jim's. "Infact, I hypothesise that you were staring out of desire or passion, rather than anger or prejudice,"

Jim grinned. If Spock was admitting that his observations were because of his developing crush, then that meant his feelings were logical, and he only acted on what was logical. 

"Well, you would be correct," Their eyes met again, and if he was not mistaken, a glimmer of something shone in the other man's eyes. "But how did you come to that conclusion, when desire and passion are two very strong emotions?"

Spock turned his head and moved his hands closer a touch. He hesitated for a moment, clearly thinking of what to do or to say that would maintain his mask. 

As much as Jim liked to tease him about his lack of emotions, he knew they were there and were more prevalent than his culture would like them to be. He also knew of how this plagued him, to have such a human flaw that was so hard to deal with.

"It would be illogical for me to pretend that I had no experience in this way of thinking," This shocked Jim, was Spock actually admitting that he occasionally thought with emotion? "Despite how much I long for me to say that I have heard that staring is a symptom for desiring someone, I too have found myself analysing you, watching you and absorbing everything about you with little resistance,"

"Are you saying that-"

"Yes, I am admitting that I am feeling things for you, Jim. Deep, raw and human things for you, that have made me feel guilt to no end over how it betrays my blood," Spock took a long shuddering breath and made another leap, his hands reached out and interlocked with Jim's. 

Jim tightened his grip on his hands, inching closer to him before whispering, "You are not betraying anyone, Spock, you're just being true to who you are. You can love a person while still upholding logic, you have emotions but they don't need to rule you just because you acknowledge they're there,"

He leant his head forwards until his forehead bumped with Spock's. This close up, he could see the multitude of colours that made up his irises, could see the green tint of his skin and lines on his face smooth out. He was letting himself relax and enjoy what he had, finally.

They sat there for a while, hands gripped tightly, as they would not be anywhere important for a while. For now, they could enjoy each other's company. Spock could let himself relish in his devotion and Jim would not be humorously shocked due to finding out how intimate hand holding is for Vulcans- something he would damn McCoy for not telling him about later. 

So for now, they would sit in the infinite stars of space and wait until the next crisis approached them. Because they had each other now, and that meant everything in the world.

[ohayohimawari]

With Me Always - Milestone Drabble

Thank you for helping my blog reach another milestone! Thank you for following me here. I hope you enjoy the fanart that I reblog as well as my own creative endeavors.

I write these quiet, introspective pieces to acquaint myself with writing different characters and pairings. This is how I study and explore them, and I’m always happy to know that people enjoy reading them. I enjoy writing them. :)

This is also my 50th work on AO3! Milestones abound, haha!

I do not own these characters; I had a wonderful time exploring them.

With Me Always

Rated: T; no archive warnings apply

Pairings: KakaObi

WC: 1491

Summary: “Death strengthened the bond between Obito and Kakashi, not severed it.”

Read: AO3 or below the cut

With Me Always

Since he met Zetsu, Obito knew he wasn’t ever truly alone.

He’d witnessed enough of that creature’s omniscience to know that Zetsu had literally planted a piece of himself everywhere. Not even Kamui’s Dimension could offer Obito any privacy because of the pieces of Zetsu that he carried on himself. And whenever Kakashi discovered that shared space between them, it would become even more crowded.

Though for some time now, Obito had ceased to view him as an unwelcome intrusion.

Without knowing when it happened, Obito found himself frequenting the Konoha cemetery to visit his own grave rather than Rin’s. However, he was sure that it had everything to do with the official surviving member of Team Minato.

Kakashi’s self-loathing monologues angered Obito at first. It was compounded with the infuriating insult that Hatake sought friendship from a stone marker after refusing it from the person it honored. But what upset Obito the most was how empty he felt on the days when Kakashi didn’t visit the Memorial Stone at all.

It was Zetsu that pointed it out, of course, because true to Obito’s suspicions, he was always watched. As long as Zetsu didn’t bring it up, Obito didn’t question why he humored him.

Returning to Konoha was absolutely out of the question; Obito didn’t think he could walk freely around the village after unleashing the Nine-Tails upon it, although no one there knew of his transgression. Even if he could overcome his guilt and could somehow be forgiven, there was the problem of Zetsu.

However, Obito couldn’t keep himself away from the Leaf entirely. Just as he used to sit in the bushes outside of Kakashi’s home to watch him, he now sat in the bushes in the cemetery to do the same.

Watching Kakashi’s Will of Fire extinguish slowly both broke Obito’s heart and filled it with hope. No matter how much he swore his hatred for his former teammate, he hated to see him so used by Konoha even more.

In the darkness before dawn, when the moon and the sun were both hidden, it seemed the world around him held its breath, so Obito did too while he waited. In a few moments, he would either disappear, disappointed that there would be no visit, or linger longer in the shadows, closer to something like happiness. The familiar sound of sandals shuffling on the pavement interrupted the stillness, and Obito’s breath slipped silently through a relieved smile.

Kakashi’s appearance had altered again, and as much as Obito had despised the grey and black ANBU uniform, he thought the jōnin greens were infinitely worse. The vest hung off his shoulders, heavy, ill-fitting, and Hatake didn’t look comfortable in it at all.

Kakashi stood stiff, his arms limp, in a bout of silence that lasted longer than any other during his many, many visits to the Memorial Stone. Obito sat with his gaze fixed on his back, willing him to speak. Finally, he did.

“I’m supposed to be a sensei now.”

Obito bit his cheek to keep his snickers at bay. What was Lord Third playing at? How could he expect anyone to teach after they’d been chewed up and spit out by the Black Ops? Konoha must really be desperate if they put the task of molding their future shinobi on the shoulders of someone that wasn’t cut out for it.

“I’m not cut out for it, Obito.”

To think it, and to hear it admitted aloud were two different things, and it left Obito without snickers to stifle. The quiet that followed lasted long enough for pity to fester within him. Finally, Kakashi stirred again. He raised both hands to his face, and when they lowered again, they brought his mask and forehead protector down with them.

Then, he scoffed. “I don’t have the ability or patience to teach.” Kakashi glanced to the side before continuing in a hushed voice, “I have doubts that make me question whether or not I want to acquire either. I lack the will, Obito.”

Obito was sure he would’ve missed those words if he hadn’t wanted to hear them so badly. He crouched with every muscle tensed, his eyes focused on the forehead protector that looked ready to fall at any moment.

“How can I lead a team, of-of children…how can I be responsible for them when I couldn’t protect any of you—”

“Oh, would you shut up, Bakashi?”

It wasn’t the grand reveal that Obito had planned on, but he couldn’t keep his silence any longer. Kakashi had come so close to confessing contempt and dissonance for Konoha, that to hear him fall back on the same tired, old habit of blaming himself instead was too much. He was sure that Zetsu wouldn’t let this slide, so he decided to make the most of it and stood up from his hiding place.

Kakashi looked back at him over his shoulder, his face still bare and not surprised at all.

This unnerved Obito, and he felt twelve years old again when Hatake addressed him.

“You’ve gotten taller.”

“And you’ve gotten smaller,” he retorted, as their singular Sharingan eyes stared at each other. Obito blinked first. “I’ve been dead, and that’s how you greet me?”

“I talk to you almost every day; every day that I can come here anyway,” Kakashi still hadn’t blinked, hadn’t reached for a weapon, and hadn’t reached for him.

“You talk to a grave,” Obito accused.

“You think I like the sound of my own voice?” Kakashi tapped one finger on the scar that bisected his left eye. “It’s not my fault that you don’t answer.”

Obito felt his stomach drop and all of his anger with it. To think that someone, that Kakashi had an inkling that he was still alive filled him with a warmth that he’d forgotten could feel so sweet. “You knew?” He hated how vulnerable he sounded.

“You’re not as good as you think you are,” one corner of Kakashi’s mouth lifted in an attempt at smirking and then faltered. “And I’m not as good as others think I am.”

Obito walked toward him, closing the distance between them as his right eye searched Kakashi’s left.

“We share vision, Obito. I have glimpses at images that I can’t account for,” Kakashi turned to face him. “You’re with me everywhere I go, watching. I’m never alone. Even when I look in the mirror, you’re watching me.”

Obito stopped just before him, close enough to whisper. No words came to him as he realized that Kakashi was in the same predicament as himself. Whereas Obito loathed such an interference in his life, Kakashi spoke of it almost tenderly, as tenderly as someone like him could.

To be so utterly understood was profound.

“Every day, I hope that I won’t see something that will make you my enemy, Obito.”

So, Kakashi couldn’t see everything, leaving Obito with some secrets from him, at least. He hated it.

But if Obito could learn to understand and forgive Kakashi for Rin’s death, then perhaps Hatake could, in time, extend the same to him for Minato’s. “There is a way for us never to be enemies, Kakashi,” he whispered, exaggeratedly glancing around them to alert Kakashi that they might not be as alone as he thought.

Kakashi didn’t miss the cue, and Obito felt rather than saw him tense. This meant that their conversation would come to an end quicker than either of them wanted it to.

“You know I can’t do that, Obito,” Kakashi whispered. “Konoha needs me; I can’t leave it.”

“Why?” Obito struggled to keep his whispers hushed. “You know that it’s fatally flawed. This place is using you and using you up! Why are you so eager to volunteer yourself to defend it when you know—”

“It’s not the place; it’s the people within it, Obito.” Kakashi lifted one hand to Obito’s face, gingerly caressing the scars that marred it. “You taught me that.”

Obito regretted that lesson, proving that Kakashi wasn’t the only one that wasn’t cut out for teaching. As much as he wanted to argue, their time was running out, and Obito couldn’t stand the fact that Zetsu was watching Kakashi now, too.

Obito licked his lips, drew in a sharp breath between them, and pressed them to Kakashi’s.

Hatake accepted him more readily than he ever had before, his lips moving and parting, accommodating his. Obito was astounded that any part of Kakashi could be as soft as his lips were.

It wasn’t a passionate kiss; there was no urgency, no promise of fulfillment or gratification. It was a confession between them. An offering and acceptance, and Obito had never tasted anything so good.

He withdrew only when he had to breathe and rested his forehead against Kakashi’s. Their shared pair of Sharingan eyes met, memorizing, and reflecting the words that each man mouthed silently.

“Come with me.”

“Come home.”

 The End

[twatd]

Getting TWATD at the Wake, ii: The Eulogies

Every month, two writers returned to this blog. They did an essay each. For five years. And now it’s all over.

The Wicked + The Divine #45 came out a month ago, and we’re still at the metaphorical wake. In this part, we pick out two characters we haven’t written much about, consider the paths their lives ended up taking, and write their obituaries. It could get emotional.

Spoilers for... well, for the entirety of WicDiv, I guess, below the cut.

Tim: Endings are bittersweet things at the best of times, and for a series as preoccupied with death and heartbreak as The Wicked + The Divine, we were never going to reach a conclusion without shedding a few tears. Still, there are many ways in which #45 is a happy ending for several of the characters – and that’s truer for Aruna, the god formerly known as Tara, than possibly anyone else.

Looking across the span of the series as a whole, she is a character who has suffered abuse, indignity and manipulation. But here at the end, Aruna is free from many of the troubles that plagued her life both before and during her time as a god. I don’t know if the Aruna we see in 2055 is living her best life, but it seems infinitely better than we could have expected after #13, the issue which gave us a painful glimpse into a character who had remained a mystery up to that point.

Pre-Godhood, Aruna had been made to feel uncomfortable in her own body by sexism and misogyny. That feeling was amplified by her divine transformation and the increased celebrity that came with it, culminating in her begging Ananke for the mercy of death. But Ananke’s manipulation accidentally set up Aruna to transcend the cruelties inflicted upon her. As a miraculously preserved head, she was free from the burden of her body, and free to reinvent herself.

With the help of Jon, Aruna she was able to reject a new form when she wasn’t ready for one – and, once she was, to create one that existed beyond the constraints of traditional biology. Her story touches on themes of transhumanism, not an area that WicDiv has traditionally dabbled in, but one that has some interesting connections with the themes of people seeking immortality. As you might expect given the ideas of gender and bodily autonomy at play, it’s also easy to read through a queer lens.

I’m glad that, while it’s clear Jon and Aruna have developed a close partnership over the years, Gillen and McKelvie chose to leave the exact nature of their relationship open to interpretation.

Aruna’s previous discomfort with the spotlight, and Ananke’s subsequent exploitation of that fact, also ended up benefitting her in other ways. Her distance from the rest of the Pantheon meant she avoided jail time after the events of #44 (it probably helped that it’s hard to handcuff someone when they’re just a head).

You could also maybe draw a line between the sudden outpouring of appreciation following Tara’s death and the way she was able to successfully campaign for the Pantheon’s early release, performing benefit concerts and raising awareness. This goes some way to colouring the previously devastating ending of #13 in a new light, as the insincere chorus of Twitter observers become a platform Aruna is able to use for good.

There’s an important distinction, though – this time around, she was able to approach a musical career and fame on her own terms, as Aruna rather than Tara. Also, the fact that her ‘death’ wasn’t a permanent one doesn’t take away from the tragedy of it, or how the comic made us complicit in the culture that led to it.

Aruna’s story following her ‘death’ could be called WicDiv’s ultimate triumph. The old truism about suicide being a permanent solution to a temporary problem feels especially apt here. Ananke took someone who was miserable and vulnerable, and proceeded to place them in a situation that they couldn’t cope with. Ananke became Aruna’s sole source of ‘support’, isolating her from the other gods, amplifying her insecurities until Aruna felt the only solution was to take her own life.

Strip away some of the details, and the story starts to take on some truly dark parallels, but unlike so many real-life stories, there is a second act to Aruna’s tale.

Once the true nature of Ananke’s plans are revealed, Aruna is eventually able to escape her role in them, retake control of her life, and eventually thrive on her own terms. WicDiv may be a story that largely approaches death as a firm reality, but by giving Aruna a reprieve from her seeming demise, it allows us a glimpse of a real happy ending, in amongst the more complex feelings the final issue evokes.

Alex: Aruna’s story is a happy one because she escapes the cycles that life locked her into. But the god I want to talk about, I’m not sure they ever did. Which might not be a terrible thing – it was always a little different, with Dionysus.

We don’t get much time with Umar before he goes all Olympian, but the moments we do get suggest there’s less of a gap between his two identities than there is for most of the other gods. He’s the guy who drives his friends down to London so they can get wasted on the way, who asks sensitive questions of strangers.

When he becomes Dionysus, the difference is mainly a question of scale. The group of people he’s trying to do right by gets bigger and bigger, and that makes this behaviour unsustainable. That first time we meet him, in issue #8, we get pretty much the whole Dionysus story. Dude takes on everyone else’s troubles, exerts himself to make them feel better, and makes it look breezy – only occasionally cracking and showing the weight of it all.

I’m not sure that ever really changes for Umar. He keeps using his powers to make people happy for a night, even as it starts to take a toll. He waits in the darkness, lets The Morrigan attack him, just to be there for Baphomet. He has faith in the power of the crowd, even as they crush him. He just keeps giving and giving, and it lands him in a coma.

This is Dionysus’ hamartia – the fatal flaw built into every one of WicDiv’s gods, the thing that ensures their downfall. As these things go, it’s not a bad flaw to have.

It marks him apart from the other gods. Gillen has talked about the Pantheon all being aspects of himself, his own flaws built out into characters, people he’s trying not to be anymore. But Dionysus’ flaw actually makes him someone to aspire to.

A spare Gillen quote from my Polygon interview that didn’t make it into the final article: “Umar is someone I'd love to be now… But Umar's a fictional character. Therefore, it's easier for him to be Umar than for Kieron to not be a shithead.” Even in the comic, we see how Dio’s behaviour is unsustainable – but to try and live that way, all of the time, in real life? It’s impossible.

I say this with authority, because in many ways I spent my twenties trying to be a Dionsysus. I’m an Inanna by nature – a pleasure seeker who tries to be kind but can sometimes forget that having the best possible time can have consequences on the people around them. (And, sidenote, it’s a fascinating twist on the archetypes that the god with these traits isn’t the one who, y’know, gave us the word bacchanalian.)

But, to be uncharacteristically nice about myself for a second, my idea of having a good time does tend to include bringing as many people along with me as possible. The version of me I like is the one who always opens up the circle on the dancefloor to sweep up strangers and stragglers. Or spot someone who seems left out and work to change that. Or pour hours into a project that’ll be seen by just a handful of friends, or just one.

I kind of buried that person this year.

This wasn’t an active choice, or something I was even conscious of doing at the time, but looking back I can see the reasons behind it. Firstly, because it’s not always clear whether people actually want these things done for them, or if it’s an unwelcome overreach, and that thought makes me to want up curl into myself and just die. And second, because I’m not good at knowing how to apportion effort, meaning it can involve frankly life-damaging amounts of preparation for very little payoff.

It’s not a sustainable way to live. Dio might be the best possible version of the WicDiv god, but he’s still someone sacrificing his self to become an idea. It kills him, eventually, and #37 shows how he’s remembered for it by the public, the people he gave everything he had to: ‘that guy on drugs’.

But eventually he is repaid by one of the recipients of his kindness, as a little bit of that selflessness rubs off on Baphomet. And Umar joins the rest of the Pantheon as they step back from their defining flaw, allow themselves to become more than an archetype. “I thought it was my job to save everyone,” Dionysus says, and I cry my little eyes out.

Maybe that was the moment I started to realise I’d been stepping back from that version of myself. Or maybe it was talking with Tim (my other, non-fictional model for the sort of person I want to be) about issue #45, when he explained how he read the older Umar: someone in whom all that kindness turned a little bitter. Aged like vinegar, not wine.

My reading is more hopeful than that, I think. The final issue trades in hints and suggestions of lives, but with Umar more than most. And personally, I fill in that blank with a different story: someone who has tempered his need to always put others first, and become more judicious about when and how and to whom he gives himself. And that? That is someone I’d really like to be.

[schauer-thoughts-blog]

The Platform - Review & Analysis

The Platform (2019) dir. Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia

Schauer Thoughts rating: 9/10

One of the most thought-provoking films I’ve seen this year has been the spanish sci-fi masterpiece The Platform. The film premiered at the 2019 Toronto Film Festival and landed on Netflix early in early 2020. 

The concept is simple. Two people are stuck in a room with a giant hole in the floor, creating a window into the rooms above and below them. Everyday at the same time, a platform lowers to each room containing large sums of food that the two prisoners can indulge themselves on for two minutes. The catch is - no one knows how many floors there are, and the finite amount of food seems to always deplete to mere scraps by floor 100. Each participant is allowed to bring one item of choice into the system and based on the brief list of weapons and tools commonly brought in, it’s clear that the participants don’t really know what they’re getting into.

Our main protagonist is Goreng, a student who entered the system for six months to earn his diploma. Goreng’s item of choice is the book Don Quixote. He wakes up on floor 48 with roommate Trimigasi. Trimigasi explains the system to Goreng, and admits he entered the system to avoid jailtime for accidentally commiting murder. Throughout the movie Goreng moves from floor to floor and roommate to roommate, experiencing the (no pun intended) highs and lows of the seemingly infinite building. In five months, Goreng moved floors in this order: 48, 171, 33, 202, and 6. Viewers are shocked to see that floors below 100 are essentially left to starve, as absolutely no food reaches them at all. 

Once on floor 6, Goreng is utterly horrified by the abhorrent things that he has seen and done during his time. He is plagued by visions of his two previous roommates Trimigasi and Imoguiri, who he ended up having to cannibalize in order to survive. His new roommate Baharat is much more optimistic, and attempts to escape their level and reach the top of the structure, which almost results in him falling to his death. Together, Goreng and Baharat decide to bring a message to the top of the building: a perfectly untouched panna cotta. This requires them to ride the platform down to the bottom and rise back up at the end of the feeding cycle. Along the way, the two use force to evenly distribute food to the floors below, estimating that there are 250 floors. At one point they are brutally attacked and fatally wounded, but continue on. They eventually reach floor 333 with no food. This would have been an issue, but most of the inmates they’d been passing had killed themselves already. On floor 333, however, they find a young girl cowering under a bed. They realize the girl is actually the message, and after Baharat passes, Goreng leads her onto the platform and they ride it to the bottom. Goreng hallucinates Trimigasi, and walks into the vast, dark room with him as the girl rides back up.

I don’t know who decided to put this movie on Netflix when they did, but I don’t think the timing could have been more perfect. If you haven’t seen it yet, it’s very clear that the whole film is an allegory for capitalism and distribution of resources. The people at the top have plenty of access to resources and the available resources deplete as you go down the line. My interpretation of the ending is that the little girl at the bottom is just that; a child born into poverty. The only way she can succeed or ��beat the system’ is with immense sacrifice by other people. We meet the child’s mother, who continuously rides the platform in search of her child, bringing her food so she can survive to the next month. It seems she is forgotten by the system or even born inside it. Goreng’s roommate Imoguiri worked at the company responsible for the system, and declares that no one younger than 16 is allowed to enter. She also says that there are only 200 floors, which is also proven wrong. It doesn’t appear that anyone really knows what goes on inside the facility, referred to as “Vertical Self-Management Center” by the workers. Also, as Goreng and Baharat pass through the levels, we can see other random items people have brought, probably due to lack of knowledge. We see a surf board, sex dolls, a kiddie pool, and even a man with stacks of cash. Imoguiri herself even brings her dog.

The only real flaw I can think about in the logistics of this movie is the fact that no one knows how big the facility is. The people in charge want the participants to ration food and claim to provide enough so that everyone is able to eat, but if there’s no knowledge of how many floors there are and at a certain floor pretty much everyone below is dead, how are people expected to ration like that? Sure, each person could eat two grapes per day, but who’s to say that there’s enough food for that if there’s seemingly no end? Goreng and Baharat expect 250 floors, and barely have enough food to give out by the end. And the amounts they’re giving out are already incredibly small, so I don’t understand the logistics of that. 

For me, part of the horror in this movie is the concept of waking up on one of the lower floors. Knowing that waking up below floor 150 pretty much guarantees that you’ll have to kill yourself, kill and eat your roommate, or be killed and eaten by your roommate. All of those options would end in at least a part of you dying, whether it be physically or morally. And then if you survive, you could end up even lower. Goreng got lucky that he kept going from low to high floors. Levels are randomly assigned, so you could go from floor 70 to floor 130 to floor 300 and continue fighting to survive in the hopes that you’ll wake up at a high number the next month or somehow survive long enough until your sentence is over. 

Overall, I highly recommend this film. It’s incredibly thought-provoking and reflects society in such a perfect way. The feeling of dread you get when Goreng falls asleep the night before a level is nothing I’ve experienced in a movie before. And although the story is dialogue based, the action scenes are beautifully intense and dramatic. 

The Platform is one of the best movies I’ve seen this year and if anything, watch it while you’re inside and social distancing.

[thepapergirlandthespiegelman]

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR STONE OCEAN UNDER THE CUT

My thoughts on Stone Ocean Volume 1.

I spoiled myself pretty badly for Stone Ocean. Most people don’t seem to like it or take it seriously, so things tend to come up casually in conversation or online. So I knew going into this that I was going to have a hard time in the sense that a lot of really, really bad things happen to Jolyne.

Despite being prepared for the worst, I was still kind of stunned by how terrible things are in just the first few chapters. Terrible thing after terrible thing happens to Jolyne, many of which are some of my worst fears:

Her parents are divorced and her father, Jotaro, is completely absent and uncaring.

Her first love, presumably the only man who’s ever claimed to love her, who she’s blissfully, naively affectionate with, Romeo, is a complete and total scumbag. He drinks and drives, steals cars, and is probably involved in other illegal activities. While it’s not totally clear what their relationship is like, he’s probably taking advantage of her in some way.

Jolyne distracts Romeo from driving in a romantic moment, leading to him hitting and fatally injuring someone.

Romeo convinces Jolyne not to call an ambulance and to help him hide the evidence by stuffing the body into the trunk of his car.

Jolyne is arrested in her home.

In jail, a guard catches Jolyne masturbating, leaving her feeling humiliated.

Jolyne refuses to rat out Romeo, leading to her being prosecuted for both his and her crimes.

Not knowing what the Stand arrow is, Jolyne carelessly throws away the amulet from Jotaro.

Romeo pays Jolyne’s lawyer, who is working with a crooked judge, to prevent Jolyne from seeing her mother and to convince her to take a bad plea bargain.

This results in Jolyne confessing to crimes that she didn’t commit; being convicted of murder, abandonment of a body, and grand theft auto; and receiving a 15 year prison sentence.

The cruel prison staff put Jolyne in a straight jacket in a hot room intentionally to make her pass out.

They also force her to strip naked and display her body to them, along with poking her in the eyes and forcing her to sign a contract saying that their abusive and unsound medical examination was accurate.

Jolyne’s cellmate, Guess, acquires a Stand after coming into possession of the amulet and uses it to torment Jolyne.

It’s just painful to read. Jolyne starts out weak and emotionally crippled, and terrible things just keep happening to her. It seems like almost every other panel is her about to cry or wanting to give up or kill herself. There’s nothing wrong with writing about terrible things or people in tremendous pain, and people can work through their trauma and become stronger...but it just feels depressing and hopeless. Jolyne is so weak, has such little resolve, such poor moral character that she couldn’t even assert herself to her boyfriend when someone’s life was in question. It’s no wonder that Stone Free is so weak that the limit of its strength is crushing a coin (embarrassingly underpowered compared to most JoJos’ Stands). It’s surprising that Jolyne is able to have a Stand at all—does she really have any fighting spirit? How can a person like this hope to overcome all of the struggles that keep piling up on her, much less fight a universe-threatening evil?

I say this with nothing but love and affection for Jolyne. I don’t blame her for being weak. It’s very obviously not her fault. But she is weak, and I say that not out of criticism but out of concern. I can’t see how she can bear such great responsibility right now. She needs time and love and support so that she can grow stronger.

I won’t pass judgment on Araki for writing her this way either, because I do believe that stories about pain and trauma and imperfect, troubled people are important and powerful. Jolyne Cujoh, with her troubled morality and intense expressions of emotion, has the potential to say a lot about coping with trauma, in a way that greatly contrasts with a character like Giorno Giovanna, son of evil incarnate, with two other highly abusive and neglectful parents, yet who somehow never expresses his trauma in a toxic way, has resolve in abundance, and maintains an idealistic protectiveness of others. Jolyne certainly makes more sense to me than Giorno does (although there may be explanations for why Giorno is the way he is).

But if Araki does all this to Jolyne only to crush her spirit even further, kill her off, and have her team lose their battle...I just don’t know if I would see much value in that. Redemption and recovery are one thing. Writing a character to be broken from the beginning and then spending the rest of the story kicking them over and over again while they’re down until they die is...I don’t even know. I don’t know why someone would write a story like that, and I especially don’t understand it when it’s JoJo, a series that I thought was about the beauty of humanity and the strength of the human spirit.

I think part of my surprise at Stone Ocean tracks back to the fact that even knowing a lot of what happens, I still expected Jolyne to kinda be your average JoJo protagonist, masculine and strong and dominant and resolute and good. Actually, at one point, I was kind of afraid that she would just be a female Jotaro clone (she is his daughter, after all).

But she is...not. Those things. And again there’s a part of me that’s like, this could be really good. It’s really bold to have a protagonist who’s so different from the others in the series, so troubled, so flawed. And also so feminine and so affectionate; I really don’t like that all of the female JoJo characters are either pure/soft/kind and powerless or powerful but bitchy, so it’d be nice to see a female character who is openly, shamelessly loving and affectionate, but also very powerful (like Sailor Moon!).

It’s okay to have a different kind of protagonist, but if that different person ends up being the only JoJo who dies and loses...what exactly does that say? She is also the only JoJo to sort of/potentially kill a completely innocent civilian. I don’t want to be, like, “that feminist” or anything but...really...she is the only female JoJo. If she’s also objectively the worst JoJo, that sends a pretty terrible message. And I just don’t see why it should have to be this way.

Even if Jolyne does grow stronger, I won’t feel good about her as a character until/unless she comes to terms with the fact that she may have killed someone. What happened to her is absolutely awful and I feel terrible for her, but it still stands that she had some responsibility and some choice. She shouldn’t have been distracting Romeo while he was driving, and she should have called an ambulance once she saw that someone was hit. While Romeo undoubtedly bears most of the responsibility as the one driving and the one who first suggested that they hide the evidence and then pressured Jolyne into complying, I can’t pretend that Jolyne had no influence or free will at all.

It makes me feel terrible to think about Jolyne trying to cope with what she did. I can just imagine her crushed by the guilt, wanting to kill herself, unable to continue.

But it makes me feel even worse to think about her refusing to acknowledge her responsibility. She keeps saying that she was “framed,” which is technically true; she was framed for crimes that she did not commit. But at least in English (and I’m not sure if this is a quirk in translation), “framed” generally has the connotation of complete innocence; if someone was framed, they didn’t actually do anything. But even if Romeo hadn’t framed Jolyne for his crimes, Jolyne would still be guilty. If the person hit was still alive, she assisted in committing a murder by helping to put him into the trunk of the car. If he was already dead, it’s still desecration of a corpse and tampering with evidence. The latter is obviously infinitely less serious than the former, but we’ll never really know which one it is, since neither Romeo nor Jolyne even checked to see if the man was still alive, much less called a paramedic who could confirm death.

Jolyne Cujoh makes me feel really conflicted. I don’t know what to expect from here on out. I really want things to work out for her...but I already kinda know that they ultimately don’t. I want her to come to terms with what she did...but I fear that she sees herself as completely innocent and will never acknowledge that she did anything wrong.

I’ll keep reading, for now. But I can’t promise I’ll actually be able to finish this.

[gwiiyeoweo]

It was a joke, created from an accidental remark of misnaming Cor as someone else. But naturally, things escalate.

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Cor/Noctis

It started innocently enough, through a casual slip of the tongue and resulting in an embarrassed prince. 

Cor brushed the tip of his sword across the ground, relaxing from his defensive stance from which he had just parried Noctis’ attack. The boy was still slow, still trying to climb over the hurdles of chronic pain and tough scarring that addled his limbs and nerves, but his efforts and progress was nothing short of remarkable. Not many survivors, at least those with such extensive damage, could ever hope to make half the recovery Noctis made over the years. Still, there were a ways to go and many years before the young thing could land a scratch on Cor. 

“Shit, go easy on me for once, dad —” 

Noctis had been nursing his bruised ego and his even more bruised ass, flung to his back and eating dirt and gravel, until that single word froze his hands in place and blew his eyes wide open. 

Cor knew for certain that the pink dusting the boy’s cheeks was not the sunburn from the clear skies, especially not with how Scientia had slathered him with bulletproof sunscreen when he learned they’d be training outside today. Knew for certain how to spot a blooming teen’s embarrassment for what it was, how the hunched shoulders and brief panic flashing across his face meant a mini crisis taken way more seriously than it needed to be. Hell, Cor had been in Noctis’ position a handful of times, back in his days of youth training under his captain who was truly more of a father figure than a severe militant. 

But of course, Noctis was in that age of rampant hormones and emotions all thrown into a blender, stuck between keeping up this “cool” persona and penting up his anxieties when he ought to be free to feel how he wanted and seeking help when he needed — except, teenage stubbornness was a helluva beast.

In essence, Noctis was embarrassed by the all too common problem of misnaming a not-dad, dad. 

Cor didn’t really care. He’s done it a handful of times, and while he’s not an actual father, he supposed he was something of a father figure to a good number of trainees anyway. So he ignored it, like he did in the past. 

“All the more reason to keep you on your toes, considering you have a hard time even standing,” Cor said, not even batting an eyelash at Noctis’ slip. 

Noctis’ shoulders sagged in infinite gratitude, losing the stiffness that had seemed to seize him in his moment of teenage terror. Really, was it that ego-shattering to accidentally call the man a dad? 

   The accidents never stopped, though they were few and far in between. Eventually Noctis matured enough to not even care himself, even going so far as to intentionally “mistake” Cor as his father. Sometimes, he cracked dad jokes — sometimes, both of them did.

“Gods, I am exhausted. Can we take a breather? Please?”

“Hello, exhausted,” Cor said, offering a hand to pull Noctis up from the floor. The prince almost landed a good blow to Cor’s knees, much to the man’s pride, but his rushed attack left him wide open and prone to a fatal counterattack; once again, he had been flung to the ground with a well-timed kick and shove. Noctis rolled his eyes, already realizing his fatal mistake and expecting the joke to follow. “I am dad. But only ten minutes, no more than that.” 

It was strange. Not because Cor wasn’t actually a father, or that he had issues with being seen as one. It was strange simply because of how easy they had both slipped into this inside joke. Truly though, he could understand the how and why from Noctis’ point of view, even when he doubted the prince himself knew the reason.

Cor’s been around for far too long to not notice, after all, and while he’s no psychiatrist, he suspected it all stemmed from a sort of longing. A need to fill the absence of a father. He couldn’t blame Regis, not when he had a kingdom on his shoulders and a war knocking on his very walls. Neither could he blame Noctis, a withdrawn prince who tried to pass off his loneliness as cool indifference when all he wanted was a pat on the shoulder and a word of praise. Both father and son tried to spend what rare time they could with each other, Regis pushing his meetings and council session as far back as he could just to spare a twenty-minute lunch with his boy, and Noctis keeping whatever complaints he had bottled up because he fully understood that the safety of their people far outweighed his desire for a family dinner. 

He’s seen their struggles. Regis would work himself into the early hours of dawn, foregoing sleep and much-needed rest, sacrifice even more of his life and blood for his kingdom, even though the Crystal has taken more than its due. Both Cor and Clarus would have to physically manhandle their King out of his office and into his bedroom, his weak and tired protests swatted down like shriveled up flies. 

And Noctis? All he could do was watch his father wither away, see the once all-powerful man speed through his remaining years within months. And bear witness to his future in the face of his own blood, see his life cut short in the lines and wrinkles of Regis’ face. 

Cor could never truly replace Regis — he’d never dream of it — but if he could at least help the both of them by just passing off a few dad jokes here and there, then he might just end up writing down a whole list of them just to share with Noctis. 

The young man was looking more gloomy as of late, which is why they’ve been going overtime on their sparring session today. Cor’s learned how Noctis ticked, and he knew one of the prince’s flaws was his habit of bottling everything up. But wear his body down enough, and his mind will follow. Eventually, Noctis would have to spill the beans on what’s been weighing on his heart.

“Your focus is slipping, Prince,” Cor chided, tapping his blunt sword at Noctis’ foot. Said prince chose to take his ten-minute break sprawled on the ground, the cool tiles of the indoor training room a balm against his cheek. He’s even taken the liberty of lifting his shirt up to his neck, making the most of his short reprieve and cooling down as fast he can before he’s hauled back up to his feet. Cor tried not to let his eyes linger too long on that smooth skin, or the hint of a scar that wrapped around from his back to his hip bones, or that teasing peek of his chest and a dusty pink nipple —

Right, so maybe his focus was slipping. 

Cor coughed into his fist and maneuvered his gaze away, somewhere up to the left of Noctis’ face. “Something on your mind?” 

Noctis, unaware of what had just happened, only groaned and rolled his forearm over his face. "Yeah, a lot actually."

Bingo. Cor sat down beside him, placing his practice sword on his lap and folding his hands over it, and decided Noctis deserved more than a ten-minute breather to discuss his woes. He'd sit there and wait for as long as it took anyway, if only to help lighten whatever troubles that shackled his prince's spirits. 

"Go on," he encouraged, hoping Noctis was willing to share his burdens rather than keep them to himself. When there's nothing but silence, Cor almost believed those walls weren't worn down enough, was about to think of another method other than physical exhaustion to get the boy to open up. 

"It's, uh… Complicated,” Noctis finally said.

"Try me."

"Okay, well. Um. So there's a friend. A real great friend. And we have this little joke, yeah? And we're just going at it, having a good time, but eventually it just kind of escalates. I guess. So do I just keep playing? Am I getting the wrong signals here? Does he feel what I think he feels?" Noctis started rambling, flinging his hands into the air and gesturing this way and that, throwing air quotes or just waving them about. 

Cor sort of… Got it. Noctis wasn't releasing any names, but he knew this friend must be male. Prompto, Cor suspected, as he's the only friend Noctis has made outside the Citadel. 

" — like playing that dumb penis game. Like, you're in a library or something and you take turns whispering penis louder and louder until one of you chickens out or you get told to shut up. But no one's around to tell you to shut up, and eventually someone's gonna end up yelling penis because you're both pretty stubborn and — "

Cor wasn't sure where Noctis was trying to go with that analogy, but he nodded sagely along and pretends he one hundred percent understood. But whatever the case, he thought Noctis must be wary of where to go, to continue with apparent ignorance until one of them cracked and spilled how they truly feel or to stop and say it aloud at the risk of fracturing their friendship. 

" — the hell am I supposed to do? I mean, it's weird, he'll probably think it's weird but what if he doesn't? I know what I feel, and I really want to think it's not my bias giving me false signals, but I'm pretty sure he feels the same way? And if he doesn't, well, that's cool too. I won't push him, but I'd really like him to stick around and not feel pressured to keep up a facade if he feels awkward and — "

Cor leaned over and gently slapped his hand over Noctis' running mouth, and the boy shoots him the classic 'how dare you' look. He shook his head and pulled his hand away, Noctis picking up the signal and keeping his mouth shut. 

"Alright, I won't claim to be the best at these things, but I will give my two cents," Cor said, and Noctis perked up at the offer. "Personally, I would confront them, but I understand your caution. If following the rules of the game isn't working, then increase the stakes. If you don't want to directly ask them, do so indirectly but make it so terribly obvious even a blind man can see. Increase the difficulty, bonus round, however you want to think it."

Noctis frowned, mulling over the advice and turning it over in his head. “I… guess I could do that.”

“And if that doesn’t work and that friend of yours turns sour, you have a slew of Crownsguard and I to show up at his doorstep.”

“Stop that.” Noctis smacked Cor’s arm, holding back a laugh as his face brightened up. “That’s power abuse, and I don’t think that’s gonna work on him.”

“Regis would find a kingly way to name it otherwise, I’m sure.” 

That earned him another laugh, accompanied by a roll of the eyes, but Noctis already looked several pounds lighter now that he’s gotten it out of his system. Already up again, dusting his shirt and the back off his pants before hefting up his practice sword. Already raring to go for the next round without even being prompted to — nice. 

“Hey,” Noctis said, resuming his stance and digging his heels into the floor.

“Yes, Highness?”

"Thanks, daddy."

Huh, Noctis hasn't called him daddy before. 

   Cor was a damn idiot. A damn, dense idiot. 

He really should have seen this coming a mile, no, a hundred miles away. He should have seen the signs on himself before even noticing them on Noctis. 

He had seen the odd glances thrown his way, the way Noctis' eyes tended to wander over places they never wandered before, especially with a nuance the prince never used with anyone else. 

But when Cor's own eyes lingered just a second too long at the sweat dripping down that slender neck, he realized Noctis matured in more ways than just age and growth. And gods, he would drive his own sword into his heart the moment Regis found out. 

Yet when Noctis slammed himself down, he thought there might as well be a blade struck in his chest already, considering the shudder that pierced his nerves and pinned his mind back to reality. Pinned his eyes on Noctis straddling him from above and riding him into the next century. Another obscene slap of skin had Cor bite back a surprised breath, but Noctis looked on from his throne with a shit-eating grin and a lick to his lips. Cor didn't think he'd be that turned on, but well. 

“Fucking brat,” he wanted to say, but Noctis’ unrelenting rhythm only allowed him a guttural “ Fuck” instead. And he knew that stroked the prince’s ego even more, considering how he clenched around Cor’s cock at the implied praise. Unfortunately, he couldn't hold back the low groan, and his fingers dug into the pliant flesh of Noctis' hips, barely keeping himself from leaving more than just a few suspicious bruises. Torn between keeping him in place to simply savor the warmth and to drag him underneath to ravage him. 

Noctis relented in his pace only to grind himself along, slow and burning and gods damnit, the boy was toying with Cor now. He lifted a hand from Cor’s chest, bare and exposed when Noctis had clawed his way through the shirt and ripped it off — when and how he became so brazen, Cor had wondered for only a moment before lips came devouring after his — and he tiptoed two fingers across the hard planes of Cor’s stomach to his sternum, lightly digging a fingernail there.

“What?” Noctis laughed, eyeing the man with something absolutely devious. “Is daddy gonna punish me?”

Ah, shit. Those words alone were nearly enough to undo him, and he fought to keep his seams together as he squeezed his eyes and dug his skull into the safety mats underneath. Cor never thought he’d have a daddy kink, but neither did he imagine any of this would happen. (There may have been a few ambiguous wet dreams here and there, with a blurry imaged prince and the empty echo of his voice, but he had chopped it up to the dry spell as of late.) 

"Oh, I think he likes it." Noctis’ words came in breathy moans, a tell-tale sign of his own arousal and heat. He must be struggling just as much as Cor, slowly rolling his hips and denying that sweet ecstasy from them both, trying to keep his head above water and not drown in the heat of the moment, all in order to relish this rare power he had over the man. 

Cor still had his eyes shut tight, but he felt a slow drag of movement and a shift in weight on his chest. There’s warmth beside his face, where damp hair tickled his cheek and eyelids. Lips crawled up the sensitive skin of his neck, to his jaw then his ears, leaving light wet kisses as they explored and conquered. As if there was still anything left to take. 

His resistance fell to the wayside the moment Noctis had landed his first proper hit on him, taking Cor by surprise with a tricky warp and knocking them both against the nearest wall. Noctis had held the practice blade up to Cor’s neck, the blunt edge pressing against an artery. And pressing a thigh in between his legs. They had been skirting around the tension for the past few months, using their trading blows and crossing swords as an excuse to press skin upon skin and breath upon breath. But in that moment, something had just snapped. Maybe it had been Cor’s reasoning, or Noctis’ buttons being torn off. 

“Does daddy like that?” Noctis whispered into his ear, hot breath ghosting over his skin and sending a shudder down his spine. As if to further torture him, Noctis ground his hips just right and breathed a moan so obscene Cor thought he’d need to go repent at an altar.

Who in the hell taught Noctis to do that? Cor was torn between relinquishing his position to them in promotion and shoving them into the dankest prison cell beneath the Citadel, because this was an utter sin and a blessing all in one. 

Under Noctis’ crafty mouth and within his intoxicating warmth, it didn’t take long for Cor to unravel. He arched his back, even lifting Noctis with him, while his hands groped for purchase and settled on the boy’s thighs, and he came in a burst of white stars and sparklers. All sound was drowned out in the rush of blood in his ears, but he could feel Noctis’ mouth groan against his chest and the shudder of his body against his own. 

Noctis must have come right after, because Cor saw the streak of milk white on his stomach when he finally opened his eyes again, expecting a sleepy-eyed prince but getting a smug-looking brat instead. 

“Heh, thought you’d have a lot more stamina that that, old man,” Noctis said, lolling his head to the side and watching through half-lidded eyes. 

Something inside Cor flared at that, even though he knew what game Noctis was playing. Fine, he’ll fall for it, if only to turn that arrogant smile into an utter moaning mess. 

“Alright, Highness, you asked for it.” Cor growled and gripped the boy’s hips, flipping their positions with a surprised gasp from Noctis. Cor loomed over him, dragging their hips together with a forceful thrust that had the boy tipping his head back in a sharp inhale and eyes blown wide. “I think you’ve been a bad boy,” he began, nipping at a patch of skin just beneath the collarbone. “And a glutton for punishment.”

Noctis hooked his legs around Cor’s back, practically drawing him closer and deeper, keeping him from backing out with a strength that even impressed Cor, and laced his arms around the man’s neck to rake fingernails against the ridges of his spine. With fluttering eyelashes and the most wicked ‘come hither’ look Cor’s ever witnessed, Noctis tipped forward to nip at the man’s lips and gently roll that soft flesh between his teeth. 

Cor would gladly let him eat him alive, he suddenly thought, but of course — 

“Then punish me, daddy.” 

‘This little shit.’

If Noctis was laughing before, he was screaming now. And Cor would make sure to have him begging and chanting his name before he was through.

   “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Highness.” 

They're bundled up together, with Noctis atop Cor's chest and tracing a lazy circle on his skin, blanketed by their old clothes, while Cor played with the boy’s wayward hair, absentmindedly twirling a lock around his finger. It's nice, he'll admit, being able to just bask in the afterglow and finally being able to uncoil all that tension that's been building up for gods know how long. 

“Don't worry about it, already asked dad."

"You what."

So naturally, Noctis would ruin the moment by casually blurting out one of the man's worst fears. Cor's hand stilled, heart going a mile a minute — and yup, there's the pressure of dread building up in his stomach, ripe and ready for his sword. Noctis must have heard the hammering in his chest because he picked up his head to look Cor dead in the eyes and clasp both cheeks in between his hands. 

"Calm down, he's not gonna kill you," he reassured. "Hell, he gave me the shovel talk. His own son! Said underneath that gruff look is a heart that bruises like a peach. Like how you got dumped in your teens and moped around for a good month, writing cheesy poetry and whatever."

Oh, gods. Cor's stuck between relief and mortification. Relief knowing he won't have to redeem himself or repent for his lost honor — for his own, or Noctis', or both — and mortification that Noctis already talked to his own father about all of whatever this is and that Regis had revealed a snippet of his past he thought was buried forever. 

Perhaps, it was Cor who should re-analyze what he's gotten himself into. 

"Stop thinking so hard," Noctis ordered, shifting his weight over Cor, their clothes sliding off him when he straddled him again. He splayed one hand over Cor's chest while he dipped the other lower, fingers tracing the trail of hair that lead down, over muscle and hip bone and sensitive skin and hard planes of well-earned muscle. "Or I'll make you."

But oh, when his prince looked at him with such favor and demand, lips teasing and tongue sharp, how could Cor ever deny him? 

[alarriefantasy]

Heyyyy! I have another question I forgot to ask, do you have a soulmates tag or like? Like with soulmarks and all that 🤭 haha sorry if it’s too much.

I don’t have a soulmates tag!! But here you go! :) 

                                     Soulmates Fic Rec

somewhere I can rest my soul by togetherwecouldbealright

Words: 3k

Or, the AU where the way your soulmate sees you is tattooed onto your skin.

Fate’s A Bitch Really (Yes) by CalamityK

Words: 3k

or that soulmate au where everyone has the first words their soulmate is supposed to say to them tattooed on their body

I See Colors by lalune15

Words: 3k

You can’t see colors until you meet your soulmate. Harry meets his when he’s sixteen.

i’ll breathe your air into my lungs by brightbluelou

Words: 3k

or; the one where soulmates are determined by matching charm bracelets

Maybe You’re What Grounds Me by littlepinkbow

Words: 4k

or the one where once you give up all hope, hope starts kicking a soccer ball against your wall repeatedly and fate has a funny way of showing it’s face.

Meant To Be (Arse First) by BayouSexual 

Words: 4k

Or the one where your soulmate mark appears on your body where they first touch you and stays there until they touch you for the first time.Aka the one where Louis's soulmate must like bums.

Monochrome Hearts by FallingLikeThis

Words: 5k

Louis Tomlinson is a 27-year-old that just wants to see the world in color after a lifetime of shades of grey. And, oh yeah, having his soulmate by his side would be nice too. Maybe that's even the most important part.

Harry Styles is a 25-year-old who loves hearing soulmate stories, never believing he'll have one of his own, and has never seen anything at all.

Which begs the question; when finding your soulmate brings color to the world, what happens when your soulmate is blind??

Things Unsaid by LadyLondonderry 

Words: 4k

Or, where you have a tattoo of the first thought your soulmate has when they see you.

breathing in your dust by togetherwecouldbealright

Words: 6k

AU where Harry doesn’t believe in soulmates despite living in a world where soulmates and fate are key words. Louis is just a boy he meets but at the same time, he’s so much more.

Drawn to You by lululawrence 

Words: 8k

It had started with Louis getting in trouble for coloring on himself when he hadn’t touched a felt tip pen the entire day. Through the years, the random drawings had evolved and changed. There was a period in sixth form when his soulmate must have gotten shy or something, because the drawings only happened after school hours and in places that others wouldn’t be as likely to see. The inside of his bicep, his thigh. A couple times he even had drawings appear on his ribcage. While he didn’t mind those few years, he did seem somewhat soothed when they began to appear on his left arm again. He’d missed them.

Or that completely self indulgent soulmates au that plays out in not always romantic ways.

i'm at your mercy now (and i'm ready to begin) by signofthetmies

Words: 10k

where Louis' soulmark was leaked, Harry keeps his private. They're both famous popstars. Louis is waiting for his soulmate, Harry has a feeling it's him but Louis is completely oblivious.

string theory by graceana

Words: 10k

au. louis buzzes with something and glows with another.

aka. a cliche soulmatey-fate thing.

You’re Such A Heavenly View by sweetly_disposed

Words: 11k

Everyone has a soulmate. Louis has had the name of his on his wrist since he was sixteen. But things aren’t going well; it’s been two years but he’s not connecting with his mate. He’s beginning to have doubts. People aren’t supposed to be unhappy in soulbonds, are they? Is it even possible to bond with the wrong person?

Sooner or Later by jacinth

Words: 12k

Louis suspected he might have a little crush. It was harmless enough. It wasn’t as if he were any sort of threat to his sister’s relationship with Harry, was it?

a fire in us by hereforlou 

Words: 12k

Louis had always thought it wouldn’t catch him off-guard. If he ever got his Time, he would be ready, and he would be calm, and he would make his way to wherever his soulmate waited for him and blow them away with how ready and calm he was.

When he got his Time on that Monday, years after he had stopped fantasizing about meeting his soulmate, Louis was not ready, and he was not calm. What he was was late.

(Or, the one where Harry waits and Louis worries.)

More Than Anything by LycorisLife

Words: 13k

Being able to see through the eyes of your soulmate may seem like a dream come true to many, but reality proves a little more complicated. For two young boys it’s all they could ever wish for but as time passes by they come to realise that there’s no pain quite the same as longing to have someone who just isn’t there.

Oh How I Hate This Red String Of Fate by CalamityK

Words: 13k

Or that soulmate AU where Harry can see the red strings of fate that tie everyone together.

Don’t Let the Tide Come by SadaVeniren

Words: 14k

aka King Louis of the fire tribe has a week to find his water tribe soulmate. This would be infinitely easier if the four tribes on the continent were not isolated from one another.

Next To You by savannah_blue

Words: 14k

When Harry Styles won the X-Factor he quickly became the latest pop sensation. When Louis runs into him at a party, he quickly realizes that Harry Styles is nothing like his reputation of womanizing alpha. Turns out, Harry Styles is an omega. And Louis’ mate.

A story about love, support and being proud of who you are.

it’s you i find like a ghost in my mind by magneticwave

Words: 17k

In a serious, like, fit of cosmic irony, the name on the inside of Louis’ wrist is HARRY.

I Just Wanna Give You Love by lululawrence

Words: 18k

Or the one where the world is in black and white until you meet your soulmate, but Harry is world famous and Louis is…well…not.

Nothing’s Gonna Stop Me But Divine Intervention by kikikryslee

Words: 19k

Or, the soul mate AU where Harry overthinks everything having to do with finding the love of his life, and Louis doesn’t think there’s a Mr. Right for him at all. It takes them a while to realize that their soul mate is the person they want it to be: each other.

Love Me Please by angelichl

Words: 23k

Louis hates Harry, which is fine because he would really rather prefer to avoid him at all costs.

The only problem?

They’re soulmates.

Things Gone Cold by MediaWhore

Words: 24k

With his soulmate’s thoughts about him written on his skin and the world’s eyes trailing his every movement, Harry Styles is having a bit of a rough time releasing his second album in peace. And that’s not even counting the breakup. Or the car crash.

Don’t Waste Your Time On Me, You’re Already The Voice Inside My Head by AFangirlFantasy

Words: 28k

At 16 years old, everyone takes a compatibility test on their birthday. At some point after taking the test, and along with other data collected, everyone finds out if they are a Dom or Sub.

At 17 years old, everyone receives a bracelet that notifies them when they have been matched. Every Dom needs a Sub. Every Sub needs a Dom.

When Louis’ bracelet lights up weeks after getting it, let’s just say that who he is matched with, is not quite what he had been expecting.

can i be him? by amory

Words: 29k

Louis is twenty years old and has been waiting for his soulmate and true love to come along since the day he was born. Harry is an eighteen year old youtuber who is skeptical of soulmates and the pressure of being the person someone else has been dreaming of their entire lives.

They meet at Playlist Live

with no way out and a long way down by we_are_the_same

Words: 31k

Prince Harry is ten when he receives his soulmark.

I Know All Your Colors by someonethatsfunny

Words: 34k

The one where Louis is a mermaid and Harry meets him as a five year old boy. What happens when you meet a merboy at the tender age of five, but no one believes you? Will you listen to your parents and other adults who all tell you that you’ve imagined him or will you hold onto the memory of him for a lifetime, never willing to let him go? What if you can’t let him go because you’re pretty sure you were destined to meet and to be a part of one another’s lives? Maybe it’s down to fate.

Cupid’s Chokehold by bluelemur

Words: 35k

Or: Louis is a Cupid who tries to match up Niall and Harry. It doesn’t work out as planned.

Make Your Words A Weapon by HelloAmHere

Words: 36k

OR: Louis is a music critic, Harry is a rockstar, soulmates are destiny but no one ever said destiny was easy, music is everything.

before we knew by falsegoodnight

Words: 38k

Or Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed onto his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

Night Changes by colourexplosion

Words: 40k

Or, Louis and Harry are soulmates. (With a twist.)

Closer You and I by avatarlahey

Words: 41k

Or, Louis likes to sleep, particularly because the only time he gets to see Harry is when he dreams.

Featuring Louis’ ragtag team of best friends: Niall, Liam, and Zayn. Niall is the always popular childhood friend that miraculously knows exactly what to say at all times. Liam is the future Dr.McDreamy, self-diagnosed with lovesickness. And Zayn is a god amongst mortals with a fatal flaw of accepting love. Together, they help Louis uncover the mystery that is his literal dream boy.

Am I More Than You Bargained For Yet? by AFangirlFantasy

Words: 45k

AU where Harry doesn’t know what it means to be in love, and Louis’ still in love with somebody else.

Lend Me Your Hand by QuickedWeen

Words: 63k

Society has long since decided that the soulmarks everyone is born with are entirely unfashionable. They’re just another way for people of a lower class to scam their way into marrying above their station.

Lord Louis Tomlinson, Viscount Loring, on the other hand, has always believed that he will find his soulmate one day. Despite preparing for a match his whole life, he is entirely unprepared for the arrival of Gemma Styles’ younger brother.

Harry Styles has been traveling and away from society for over a year. Coming back, he intends to spend time with his sister, and slowly reacquaint himself with life in town. He doesn’t need to wait around for a soulmark to determine how his life will play out.

won’t you wear my watermark by bottomlinsons

Words: 90k

A slow burn Regency AU featuring secrets, seduction and, our favourite, soulmarks.

Pour Your Heart Out by hrrytomlinson

Words: 92k

Louis is his soulmate. Or at least Harry thinks he is. Louis feels the same as Louis. But there are a lot of people named Louis in the world and this Louis might not be the Louis. It’s besides the point though, because Harry knows he can’t allow himself to get close to any boys. He just can’t and he’s told himself this multiple times. He has to simply stay away from Louis Tomlinson. But he can’t. Harry Styles can never stay away from Louis Tomlinson. It’s physically impossible for him to.

loving you's a bloodsport by rosesau

Words: 106k

harry is a bratty prince, louis is a guard who works in his palace, and niall is the only one who's got his life in control.

All In and Out by lackadaisy

Words: 117k

A world in which Liam is a psychic, Harry is a little broken, Niall is a romantic, Louis is a famous footballer, and Zayn likes to take risks. Oh, and soulmates are very much real.

Perfect by happilylarry

Words: 117k

Soulmates had only been in the history books for the past few hundred years, so people were still trying to get the hang of it. From what he’s read, back then, if you met your soulmate, that was that. You either chose to be with them and be happy, or be with the one you truly loved and suffer.

Sort of poetic, you know, if he believed in that shit

too good to be true by tatu28

Words: 153k

the one where louis doesn't sleep, harry doesn't function and all they need is each other.

Nameless Night by green_feelings

Words: 155k

Or, a fic about differences that make no difference at all: Harry and Louis are soulmates. In every way possible. Featuring Niall as a role model, and Liam and Zayn as a different kind of role models.

Deuxsphere by sweetlullabies

Words: 156k

Harry’s first year at uni is guaranteed to be a breeze as long as he stays focused, steers clear of flying footballs, and completely avoids boys who are in bands.

there’s no fair in farewell by we_are_the_same

Words: 218k

When Harry and Louis, two Cupids who have been bringing people together for decades, are tasked with making Soulmates Liam and Zayn fall in love, it proves to be much harder than expected. But maybe, just maybe, that isn’t such a bad thing after all.

Hiding Place by alivingfire

Words: 365k

Or, the canon compliant Harry and Louis love story from the very beginning, where the only difference is that the love between them is literally written on their skin, and there’s only so much they can hide.

♡ updated: 6.5.21

♡ credit to the owner of the manip

♡ past themed recs here

[pass-the-bechdel]

Supergirl season three full review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

100% (twenty-three of twenty-three).

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines?

57.23%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

All but one (it was that crappy crossover episode). All but four have casts over 50%.

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

Zero.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Forty-four. Twenty who appeared in more than one episode, five who appeared in at least half the episodes, and two who appeared in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Thirty-four. Ten who appeared in more than one episode, four who appeared in at least half the episodes, and one who appeared in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

Not bad; a handful of episodes included some sincere effort to make quality statements about social issues, but they were pretty clunky about it and not always successful; certainly never impressive enough to increase the content rating (average rating of 3).

General Season Quality:

Middling. It was full of useless plot threads and wasted time, and much of the content had no real function; consequently, the central story arc lacked stakes, emotional resonance, and heart. That said, most of the episodes are basically solid viewing, and there was infinitely less rage-inducing content than there was in season two. That’s a weak win, but still a win.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

Hey, remember Morgan Edge? He was in four episodes at the beginning of the season, served no real narrative function despite his prominent treatment within those recurrences, and then Lena had him arrested using the most obviously-coerced confession in history? Sure, he was guilty, but he confessed under duress while being actively threatened with death by drone, the evidence of both the tape itself and of the testimony of the many eyewitnesses to the attack would have had him bouncing out of jail like that. The ridiculousness of that plot ‘resolution’ was even worse than the meaninglessness of Edge’s character in the first place. Remember when, briefly, they pretended that Morgan Edge was important?

Edge is a prime example of the fatal flaw in this entire season: pointless plot threads that went nowhere, meant nothing, furthered no characterisation for regular characters, and had no impact on the central arc of the season. Story-wise, the season lurched all over the place, and while it wasn’t without its good elements, ultimately it achieved very little. Sure, the season ended with a number of apparent changes for most of the major characters’ lives (though, conspicuously, not Kara’s) - Alex is now head of the DEO, J’onn is doing...something else, hopefully not something that removes him from the show, Winn has apparently gone to the future, traded out for our new friend ‘Brainy’ (a change I will be happy for if it sticks), and James has publicly revealed himself as Guardian - but the thing is, these changes are mostly last-minute, not things that the season was building toward all along. These changes are mostly not the result of character arcs, they’re just things that are happening now as set-up for next season. This season itself? Not much happened.

We wasted quite a lot of time with Mon-El, AGAIN, which is especially disappointing because it’s the largest time-and-attention-suck of the season, and it is completely irrelevant to everything; at least when we were wasting time with Mon-El last season, it was because he was the centrepiece of the (awful) plot. This time around, he’s just there to draaagg out the fallout from his departure, so that instead of getting over the relationship within the six months between the end of last season and the beginning of this one, Kara can continue to pine ridiculously and then get caught up in ~complicated feelings~ when Mon-El reappears, back from the future and bringing his new wife with him. That’s the closest thing Kara gets to a personal arc this season, actually; having ~complicated feelings~ about Mon-El. So, her story isn’t really about herself, it’s about whatever Mon-El is doing (again!), and then after wasting the entire season on that sorry excuse for a story, they amicably split in the end and he goes back to the future and that’s...it? I sincerely hope that’s it, and that he won’t be appearing again as a regular on the show, but it’s also a super disappointing waste of time. They didn’t have to bring Mon-El back at all, not for some drawn-out version of ‘closure’ for Kara, and not for any of the other nothing that his presence achieved in the meantime. Honestly, having characters show up FROM THE FUTURE and then not doing anything useful or important with it is so weird. We coulda dropped Brainy here and sent Winn away in a short-arc subplot, it’d have been neater and less time consuming, and we wouldn’t have troubled with all the Mon-El and Imra crap. As much as Mon-El kept carrying on about how he would never disrespect Imra, the story itself disrespects her by giving her no other meaningful narrative function than to be a barrier between Mon-El and Kara (which, as the story plays out...didn’t matter anyway). The whole thing amounts to a lot of bluster with no real impact; we end the season with Mon-El gone and Kara having to move on, and that’s EXACTLY HOW WE ENDED LAST TIME.

Meanwhile, back at the actual central arc for the season, shit was still whack, y’all. I wondered what they were gonna do with it after they went and had Reign show up so early in the piece (I thought maybe they were gonna build over the course of the season with Samantha progressively losing more control, but, that woulda required narrative pacing and story building to be in play, and the creators weren’t into that kind of crap this season), and what they went for was a completely pointless side-distraction with two other, lesser world-killers, who appeared out of nowhere, fooled around for a few episodes, and then died, ne’er to trouble the story again. Reign absorbing their powers didn’t have any effect (particularly egregious since the Legion was so worried about Pestilence, only to declare their work done once she was gone because apparently, Reign wasn’t gonna go around using that particular world-killer power anyway, because...reasons), they might as well have never included other world-killers at all, the only reason they were there was so that the plot could tread water for a while after revealing its Big Gun at mid-season and having nowhere left to go. Selena and her fellow witches, likewise, proved utterly pointless, just another distraction that wound up easily dispatched, and meanwhile Reign was killed/separated from Samantha only to return again and then be pretty easily defeated anyway with a combination of shoddy time travel and the last-minute addition of a convenient...magic fountain. Yeah. Even the oft-repeated notion they hammered about saving Samantha by recalling her to herself, using her connection with Ruby, etc, turned out to be a total smokescreen - Samantha and Ruby both proved to be total plot devices rather than characters in their own right, foisted on the pre-existing characters to generate artificial emotional stakes with a friendship that burst forth fully-formed in the space of two episodes, and giving Alex a child to focus her maternal instincts on for a while. Presumably, we’ll now never see them again. 

Oh, and did I mention that Kara finds out that her mother and a whole chunk of Krypton actually survived, but they totally underplay it and she has essentially no emotional reaction to this development at all? Since this seemingly life-altering revelation also has no impact on character or story, they might as well not have bothered, I mean, Kara is more hung up on losing her asshole boyfriend from last season than she is on discovering that a whole piece of her world (friends/family included) is actually still around, so. Who needs logical characterisation, anyway? For all that Kara complains about feeling out of balance living two lives, she also spends almost no time living as Kara Danvers instead of Supergirl in this season (especially the second half); remember when her job as a reporter used to matter to character or story, like, at all? Remember when actually being seen to balance things was a source of narrative conflict and development? Now, if she had discovered that surviving part of Krypton near the BEGINNING of the season instead of in the fourth-last episode, maybe she could have spent the season having, I dunno, a sort of character arc about dealing with it? Selena and the relevant mythology on the world-killers and the ways to kill them/make them/whatever could have all been introduced in earlier parts of the season so that they could BUILD THE FUCKING NARRATIVE instead of just throwing in convenient new plot devices and information at the last second? Maybe the whole story could have been improved by making it actually about the character the series is named after, and analysing her still-developing relationship with her identity and its duality? It’s such a fucking obvious character arc I want to punch something. How, HOW was this not what the whole season was about? How did we end up futzing around with Mon-El and pointless future-visitors and extra antagonists who didn’t matter to the season or its characters at all?

If you forgot that they also had some time-wasting with some fanatical cult crap on Earth that mostly just served to provide Kara with yet another character to drop explainers about things instead of having her learn stuff in some kind of plot-related fashion, I could understand; it was pretty forgettable. Alex and Maggie broke up, which was rather sudden and wasteful, really, but at least it was tied to Alex’s realisation that she wants to have children and that constituted one of the only solid character threads of this messy, wishy-washy season (though it also often kept Alex distracted in other parts of the story and not having those all-important sisterly interactions with Kara which formed the backbone of the show in the first season, so, boo for that). J’onn had his dad around for a while, and that was legitimately pretty good stuff (y’all know I’m weak for Martians), though I really hope it has some strong narrative fallout in season four because otherwise it seems like a plot designed to torture J’onn emotionally, as if his story isn’t already tragic enough. They also wasted James less this season? Unfortunately, they wasted Lena more, and I’m especially suspicious of the way they not only strangled the amount of story she spent with Kara as a friend, they also threw in this awkwardly-executed situation with Lena actively disliking Supergirl and turning Kara’s secret into something which jeopardises their future relationship. Their interactions last season were so strong, and the effort to put space between them in this season feels overt (giving Lena a romance with James and a new/old best friend in Samantha contributes to this); I can’t help but wonder if the Powers That Be were upset that they’d accidentally made a female relationship with more chemistry than the canon-lesbian couple (and at the same time as they were badly failing at giving Kara a believable hetero love interest, no less) and decided that breaking up one of their best character partnerships was preferable to anyone reading the hero of the story as anything other than straight. They’ve made so many hugely questionable decisions about Kara’s personal life at this point, no BTS fuckery would surprise me. Remember season one, when the plot had a shape and the characters generally did things for understandable reasons? Those were the days. We’re closer to getting back to them now than we were after the disaster that was last season, but I’m still not banking on the show ever regaining the focused quality which made the first season work so well. To do that, they have to start telling stories about Kara again, at minimum. That would be a start.