#the catch is shes a self insert and not even a prisoner with a cool mystery to solve so i feel like itd be boring to other people -_-

[good-beans]

I keep seeing more and more ocgram stuff and become increasingly tempted to post about my own but ough

[fanfiction-funtime]

Self insert oc: Alexander Vodka

AKA: Eis Cay'zar

Author of fate

A writer from Schneznaya who was driven from his home for his anti-Tsaritsa paper.

_____________________

Physical description:

A chubby fellow in a 1950's style noir trenchcoat and hat, some would even say he looks like he jumped right out of a noir comic book and into reality. He has brown hair and green eyes, a cowboy mustache, and a pointed beard like some kind of comic book supervillain genius.

He often acts confidently and even a bit egotistical when in places he's recognized and famous in, however in newer places he often seems distant and shys away from almost all contact.

Noone knows where his vision is, but they know he has one because of the cold aura that surrounds him.

At night he'll often trade his outfit for one more reminiscent of demons or vampires.

_____________________

Abilities:

Weapon type: Catalyst

Basic attack-truth: uses his catalyst to shoot a short burst of up to 3 ice shards, can attack in fast succession.

"Truth hurts, especially in bursts"

Charged attack-Bifrost: Alexander quickly makes an ice clone behind the enemy and fires 6 shots, this can increase to 3 clones if charged enough(times: 1 for 1 second, 2 for 2 seconds, and 3 for 2.5 seconds)

"I hate crowds, best company has always been myself"

Elemental ability-ice wall: creates an aura of sheer cold around himself that will damage enemies the more they stay in it, and apply the normal sheer cold to them. Does not affect party.

"My therapist said I put up walls because of trauma, but I couldn't hear them through the wall I had just built"

Elemental burst-a story to be told: Alexander takes out his book and opens to a random page, then randomly summons ice sculptures of one of 8 beings:

"Aster": this summon looks like the flatwoods monster, it surrounds the party in a swirl of ice blades that deal 2X damage as the character for 10 seconds.

"Who needs brawn, when you got brain"

"Ultimate foe": a demonic, pointy being of shadow. Will independently deal 25000 damage to three random foes.

"Meet my penultimate friend"

"Beethoven": a sculpture reminiscent of a ww1 zombie general, calls down a barrage of ice bombs that deal 5000 damage to enemies hit for 7 seconds.

"Good scifi doesn't predict, it prevents"

"Sorrows Joy": an angelic, faceless, robot like humanoid that spawns 25 angel shaped traps that freeze enemies around the character.

"With any luck, you're the only real one I've made"

"Death rider and the magic prince": two statues, one of a mummy like Schneznayan mystic of ancient barbarian times and the other an elven cavalry knight from the myths of mondstadt. The knight gives the party a 45% boost to speed and attack while moving, and the Schneznayan gives +10% damage bonus to elemental skills and +55% damage bonus to Catalyst.

"Feel the wrath of honor long passed"

"Zero point and Lion queen": a knightly man of spiked armor and a golden ottoman warrior woman whose golden chain completely obscures her head. Your enemies become inflicted with pyro and you are surrounded by thorn bushes that deal continuous damage of 1000 for 10 seconds.

"Walk down the way on a moonlit day"

The traveler: a child in a red straight jacket, his binds become undone after 4 seconds at which point all enemies take 10,000 X Alexander's level of damage.

"I uh,wont have to pay any copyrights will I?"

"Giota": a child in pyjamas who looks ready to sleep, this summon is very rare. It fully restores all party members and gives a 200% boost to both defense and damage of your characters.

"This fella's been with me since I was a kid"

"If it is a soldier's duty to escape the confines of a prison, is it not every person's duty to escape reality if even for a moment? A wise man said that, pray that I may one day be like him."

Passive-part the wasteland: Alexander is immune to sheer elements, and Grant's 50% resistance when in the party to all members.

_____________________

Story

Abandoning a dream

As a kid, Alexander was always put down when he said he wanted to write fiction, "there's no money in it" they all said.

He couldn't get into any art schools without support so he focused his mind elsewhere, a place he could hopefully use his writing to do just as much good: the first newspaper in Schneznaya.

Horrible truth

He didn't start as a trouble maker, but the more he sought out the truth the more he couldn't stand back and watch. He published numerous papers about the Tsarista's wrongdoings and the crimes of the fatui, how they would harass merchants in other nations, the unfair taxes many shipping businesses had to keep quiet about, all the way up to the war crimes the Tsarista had done in direct contradiction to her own laws.

Sadly, not many believed him even with evidence, but some got his message.

Those who fight

One day Alexander was approached by a man who claimed to have formed a resistance against the fatui. Alexander had inspired many people to disrupt the organization, and have even begun working with those outside Schneznaya.

With their help he didn't just publish some crimes, he published them all, he even got information that turned the general public against the fatui even if just a little.

In a way h had achieved his dream of helping others with his writing, even if it wasn't how he wanted.

Stop the presses

When the Tsarista started her big move of taking gnosis, she brought the hammer down on dissent like a boulder on a ten year old's wrist. One day a squad of thirty fatui stormed Alexander's home and business to silence him, and while they shut down his business they couldn't catch him.

Alexander fled into the wastelands of ice and snow and wasn't seen for several weeks.

Deus ex Vodka

One day Alexander showed up in Inazuma, a nation that had been oppressed for some time now and had recently reached it's height, yet no resistance had formed.

That was until Alexander came along.

Alexander published numerous books, spreading them throughout Inazuma. All of them spoke of freedom, of bravery, of rising up to achieve your ambitions.

And with those stories he inspired countless to take up arms, and in turn inspired countless to join the resistance.

And with mere fiction he had brought about hope,

And with mere fiction he shall do it again, in every form, and in every nation.

Vision: cold hearted

While wondering the waste Alexander fell down and looked to the skies.

He did not ask celestia why, he did not grieve or blame that he did not do more, instead Alexander did something he hadn't done in a long time:

He imagined.

And after he imagined he took out his notebook and wrote. In the freezing cold for seventeen days he wrote stories of hope and freedom.

For seventeen days the cold did not so much as cause him to flinch as he wrote tales of bravery.

For seventeen days Alexander Vodka lived how he wanted to live.

And at the end, he lied down to die.

Then a light shown, and when he opened his eyes to look he saw that the storm parted around him, and in his hand was an ice blue gem.

But Alexander was too paranoid from years of abuse from his peers as a child to wear it loosely, and far to extra to just get a lock. So instead Alexander shouted to celestia "if I shall have this Vision for my art, then it shall not kill me no matter what I do!"

He then shoved the vision into his heart and fell down.

Before he could bleed out however, a woman appeared.

"Hey Tsari, how ya doin." Alexander said as blood poured out his mouth.

"You dramatic fool," the Tsarista sighed as she put a hand on his chest, "you have my element, do you know how bad it'll look for me if you die by shoving your vision into your heart?"

"Why do you care? We hate eachother, in case you forgot."

The archon sighed, "you're just rebelling against what you see as unjust, just as I am. To be honest I feel a sort of rivalry with you, so it'd be a shame if you just died. Also," she painfully shoved the vision all the way in, painfully, "if your going to die it better be because of me, got it?"

Then Alexander sat up, and the god was gone. Along with the hole in his chest.

"Rival of a god eh?" He sat up, putting his gat back on his head, "I like the sound of that."

_____________________

How is this an insert?

Well his story can't be the exact same as mine, so I took my life and goals and made predictions, then fictionalized those predictions and expanded.

His appearance is pretty close to how I'll likely look based on my current appearance, and his dramatic attitude is exactly how I wanna act.

Him being shy in new places with strangers is me exactly as I am now really, however I do believe I'd act confidently if I were famous so he does as well.

Him being Catalyst is because I'm not athletic at all, and I figured a dps Catalyst would be cool. His main ability and resistance/immunity to sheer cold is based on how I wrap up in warm blankets when it's cold, and his ultimate is made up of characters I've made.

_____________________

Tagging: @genshin-obsessed, @golden-wingseos, @storytravelled, and @love-psxlm

[extreme-technicality]

bro pls tell me all ur ninjago thoughts i still know next to nothin abt the show but i love reading random rants so lay it on me

Djgkvkdh ur too good to me tysm ;w;

I actually really wanna talk about Rin and her parents, cuz I feel like they’d be really really important for Rumi. If you haven’t caught up on my most recent rants, those three are the family Rumi saves at the end of s9 who I’ve named and decided will be Rumi’s Average Family. As much as the Emperor and Empress of ninjago cared for Rumi, they just. Were NOT what she NEEDED as a grieving kid.

But here is a new family!! One that has literally everything she missed about her parents and their life before the great devourer fucked everything seven ways from Sunday!! Literally they’re just Some People trying to live their lives as best they can. Rin, I’m not gonna lie, is pretty much a self-insert character. She’s opinionated and outspoken, and she literally BEGS the ninja to let her keep Rumi in her room at the start of the Rumi Lives AU instead of taking her to jail. I feel like it wouldn’t make sense for her to be such a strong personality without parents who Also have strong personalities though, which is why I want to be careful about their characters. I’d like to think that one of them is a paramedic or an EMT, someone who’s trained to keep a cool head in an emergency, and the other - WAIT SHIT ONE OF THEM IS A THERAPIST AND GETS RUMI HER OWN THERAPIST!!! And then the Therapist Parent hooks the NINJA up with therapists, and Garmadon and it’s like fuckin Oprah in here. YOU get a therapist!! YOU get a therapist!! YOU get a therapist!!!!

Idk I just. After Rumi gets out of prison, and once she’s living on the lam with Garmadon and Ultra Violet (her gf), I feel like she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from going back to check up on Rin and her parents, these very very ordinary people who showed her basic human kindness for no goddamn REASON. I like to think that the first time she finds them post-s9, she doesn’t even let them know she’s there - just watched through the windows for a little bit, making sure they’re safe, they’re happy, they’re adjusting to their new home. Rin probably adopts SO many animals - all the rats of Ninjago City have names and personalities, according to her, and she knows them all by heart.

Eventually, Rumi pokes her head in every now and again, tho she can’t really do it blatantly. She’s a wanted criminal, after all, and every upstanding Ninjago citizen has a duty to turn her in to the authorities. So she chills with Rin in her room, making friends with her rats, answering questions in either the most honest way possible or with the most bullshit answers possible, there’s no in between. Of course, her parents know the entire time - it’s an inner-city apartment, do you have ANY idea how thin those walls are? But they’ve got a soft spot for this girl who saved their lives, and she’s clearly not hurting Rin, actually she’s not hurting anyone…she walks the evil walk, but she doesn’t really talk the evil talk anymore.

As tempted as I am to make Rumi go from “hehehehehe I’m going to make you suffer >:}” to “am juste. normbal”, it would be boring and unsexy to dull her down like that. Not to mention, is it even POSSIBLE for her to get to where she might’ve been if her parents hadn’t died? She’s not Rin, she didn’t have a Rumi of her own to save her from that, and she can’t pretend otherwise. I think, maybe, she tries for a while - she starts leaving Garmadon and UV for days at a time, crashing with Rin and her parents, maybe considering college? But then they talk about officially adopting Rumi and she just can’t, being adopted again brings up entirely too many emotions and none of them are good, so she runs.

She doesn’t see that cozy little flat again for a long time. She also doesn’t forget about that cozy little flat.

I haven’t plotted everything out yet, and actually most of this is stuff I JUST came up with, so I really don’t know what she does in the interim, but once she’s established a routine with the ninja and is, yknow, mentally and emotionally stable…well, have this:

Jay yawns and rubs his eyes as he walks into the monastery’s game room. “Morning, Rumi,” he says as he catches sight of her on the couch.

“Sup, sparks,” she answers, not looking up from her phone.

Jay is almost to the kitchen before the rest of the scene registers.

“…hey, Harumi?”

She doesn’t say anything, just grunts with a vaguely-questioning note.

“Watcha got there?”

“A smoothie.” She still doesn’t look up.

“Uh huh. Who’s the kid, then?”

“I’m not a kid,” the kid answers automatically. She also has a smoothie next to her on the couch, though where Rumi is slowly slurping hers while watching something on her phone, this little girl has abandoned hers entirely in favor of playing Prime Empire. Her hair is short, choppy and dark where Rumi’s is pale and evenly trimmed. She can’t be more than ten years old.

“Oh, that’s Rin. I’m babysitting.”

“You’re-! Oh, whatever, it’s too early for this,” Jay groans, turning back to the kitchen.

“Jay, it is twelve thirty in the afternoon,” Rumi snaps, finally looking up.

“Exactly! Too. Early.”

[coralstories]

An Unexpected Arrival: Chapter 7

Word count: 1266

It’s another “main character shows up in Mirkwood and has to figure out how to survive”, but this time with my OC Aurelia Castillo and she freaks out first. Have fun laughing at her!

A/N: the bolded text is a different language, text in italics are thoughts

Warnings: none really, Lia has a moment of panic

The morning after her breakdown, she and Tauriel went to see Thranduil. They told him all about their efforts to find a way home for Aurelia, but they had no luck so far. Aurelia also explained more about her powers. She stressed that she could not bring someone back from the dead. Then, Thranduil had a question for her. 

“You have made it clear that you will listen to no commands from me since I am not your king,” he began. “However, if I ask you to assist the healers in some cases, would you?”

“Of course,” Aurelia said immediately. 

Thranduil was surprised at her easy agreement. Something of his surprise must have shown on his face because Aurelia smiled. 

“I’m a healer,” she said. “It’s my duty to help whoever I can. Besides, I offered to do odd jobs around here from the first day. You didn’t take me up on it, which gave me time to try to figure out a way home. Since I’m not getting anywhere, I’m not going to be mad if I have something to distract me.”

Thranduil nodded. 

“I will have you report to the head healer this afternoon.”

“Thank you, King Thranduil,” Aurelia said, tilting her head. 

Thranduil chuckled. “You continue to surprise me, child.”

Aurelia smiled. She was not offended at being called a child because she could hear the endearing note in the elven king’s voice. After that, Aurelia recovered her bright and cheery personality. The only difference was that she began to fuss over Emlithor, which he secretly enjoyed. She also started to befriend Lúthon. The elf whose life she had saved continued to bring her presents and gifts whenever he saw her. He deflected Aurelia’s protests, always claiming that he owed her a debt he could never repay. Sometimes it was a simple flower crown.

“Lúthon, my room is already full of flowers!” 

“All the better to suit your own bright and beautiful self. Besides, without your light, I would not be here.” 

“What?”

Other times it was a dress that he had ordered custom-made for her.

“Lúthon, you know I make my own clothes here, right? You didn’t have to go troubling one of the seamstresses!” 

“Ah, yes, but you deserve to have something made for you, something fit for royalty. You are, after all, a life-giver, in more ways than one.” 

“You’re ridiculous.”

Aurelia kept her promise to Thranduil and visited the healers at least four times a week. Even if there were only minor injuries, Aurelia helped keep the place tidy. She changed the bedsheets, washed rags, and restocked supplies. She never inserted herself into a situation unless asked, which the healers appreciated. When one of them commented on it, Aurelia shrugged and replied, “You all are very capable. Unless you ask for my help, I really don’t think you need it.”

Most nights, she and Tauriel continued to study the library’s endless book collection. Tauriel began training her with a weapon and they threw ideas back and forth during practice. Unfortunately, they did not see any real results. Aurelia, while having long given up hope, did not stop her efforts. Either she would find something soon and go home, or she would find something years from now after having lived a nice life in Mirkwood. She still ventured into the forest with Emlithor and Tauriel on occasion. But they were quick excursions, meant only to give her room to breathe. 

She met with Thranduil once more to give him an update on her status. That night, Aurelia was perusing some of the old books before bed. One passage in a particular volume caught her eye. When she realized what she was reading, she went back and read it again. Eyes widening, she read it a third time, and read the paragraphs before and after it. Her heart rate quickened. She leaped from her bed and ran through the halls back to the throne room, hoping Thranduil was still there. The guards at the door greeted her cordially. Aurelia had become a familiar face throughout the palace. She surprised them by barreling right through them. 

“Thranduil, I think—!” she started, then stopped short. 

Thranduil was standing, or rather, prowling around the pedestal beneath the throne. As he took another step, she saw what, or rather who, he was circling in such a menacing manner. It was Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain.

Of course, Aurelia recognized him immediately. Richard Armitage was rather attractive, and he had recited Thorin’s full title more than once. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she realized what was happening. The book slipped from her grasp. She glanced back to Thranduil and saw cold anger on his face. It was much more intense than when she had first been dragged into the throne room. She stumbled backward, into one of the guards.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly. “I didn’t realize—“

“Get her out of here,” Thranduil snapped to the guard.

The guard put a hand on her back, and she held his arm as she turned with him to the door. She glanced back at Thorin with wide eyes and saw his angry expression clouded by curiosity. Aurelia allowed the guard to lead her back into the main hallway, shell-shocked. A realization was dawning on her.

“Have you never seen a dwarf before, my lady?” the guard asked.

Aurelia patted his arm. She recovered her smile and looked up at him. 

“Not in person!” she exclaimed. “His hair and beard are wonderful, don’t you think?”

The elf guard made a face. “No,” he said. 

“I figured you’d say that!” Aurelia said, laughing. “It’s pretty dirty right now, but I think it’s pretty cool. I mean, it works on some people.”

Aurelia ran back to her room and threw the book down on the bed. She sat against the door and clutched her head between her knees, her mind whirling. 

She had assumed that she had arrived after the Battle of the Five Armies, or even after the Return of the King. It seems she was wrong. Now, Thorin and his Company were here, ready to cause turmoil, albeit unintentionally. She didn’t want Tauriel, or any of them, to go through that pain. She knew what would happen, and she looked ahead with dread to the Battle. She knew who would—

Her head shot up. She knew who would be killed, which meant she knew who she could save. She stared open-mouthed at the floor. The epiphany hit her like a lightning bolt: she was here for a reason. She had a purpose. After all, it was her duty to heal whoever she could. She stood up quickly, only to be knocked over by the door opening. 

“Ow!” she exclaimed, catching herself on the bed frame. 

“Oh! Aurelia, I’m sorry!” Tauriel exclaimed. “What were you doing in front of the door?”

Aurelia knew how to take an opportunity when it was presented to her. She turned around and smiled at Tauriel.

“Well, actually,” she said. “I wanted to go see those dwarves. They’re in the dungeons, right? I’ve never seen a dwarf in real life before!”

“We’re not supposed to visit them, Aurelia,” Tauriel said. “They’re prisoners for a reason.”

“And what reason is that? Besides, you’re Captain of the Guard right? Don’t you have to check up on the prisoners at some point?”

Tauriel stared at Aurelia. She brandished her best innocent smile, a hopeful expression in her eyes. Tauriel sighed.

“This is true. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to bring you along.”

“Yes!”

[inomana]

Okay listen up losers I'm about to prove a fucking point.

So my presentation will be about proving season 3 Shiro is a clone and why DreamWorks made it too easy. I rewatched a crapton on episodes to make this, I need to sleep. 

If you guys didn’t notice the first thing Clone Shiro, umm wait imma call him Kuro Kuro looks at is his hand and a Galra symbol.

And that in and of itself is a big clue because there’s already a lot of meaning behind that since season 2. In which, Hunk and that team discussed how the arm can be used against them.

Memory is key! How could Galra have Shiro’s memories? The arm! Like Hunk said, if it could create memories than it’s pretty safe to say it can record them too.

Linking that with the shot of the Galra emblem is a huge deal in symbolism. Trust me I’m an English major, I deal with this shit all the time.

(I’m writing this on my laptop and phone at the same time, godspeed)

Speaking of symbolism, Ulaz made an appearance when Kuro was dazed

(Is that even Ulaz? I can’t tell I’m bad with faces)

This does two things. Reaffirm Kuro’s undying trust with his arm, and make a connection with Galra as a comrade. Lemme explain;

During Shiro’s ‘I can suddenly remember shit’ scene in season 2? He die-hard believes the memories are his and not a [insert dream here] from Galra, by showing him Ulaz they are trying to recreate that same feeling.

By showing him a Galra (regardless of being evil or not) you’re connecting the dots with trust.

That could be a good reason why the Galra decided to give Shiro a weaponized arm in the first place. Why would they power him up for shits and giggles? Haggard herself even said this:

(Bitch, no thanks.) They wouldn’t have given him a cool fighting arm just so he could be cooler in the arena. That’s fucking idiotic to arm a prisoner. (sorry)

This wouldn’t even be the first time Haggard had some evil version of Shiro

Remember this scene from season 1? Cuz I sure fucking do.

Speaking of that arm, why would they take it in the first place? Listen, it’s already pretty fishy they gave him a super arm but why would they take it at all? Dare I say, D N A ?

This leads me back to this scene here:

Why would Kuro hurt himself? A French term can explain this, ‘L’appel du vide’ translation: The call of the void. Basically, your brain is telling you to self-destruct in order to take control of a situation.  Now we already discussed how the Galra controls his brain sort of so that’s that.

Now I know what you’re saying: Oh! But that’s so he could close the wound!!

Listen, man, I did training with an Army doctor on quick fixes for medical emergencies. Now I’m not saying I’m an expert cuz I’m not, but if Kuro did that do it to heal himself up it wasn’t done correctly. Or at least done accurately…. Especially with an unknown power. This might be wrong, it was a brief training,  so don’t take this part too seriously.

Adding to this point:

If you’ve ever seen anyone wake up from a long coma, and I mean  l o n g  coma, they don’t have full feeling in their muscles and tend to fall because they do not have full control of their limbs. I’m assuming by the hair this hasn’t been up and about for enough time to get that effect.

Speaking of hair, yes guys, Kuro’s hair is WAY too long to be Shiro.

(Lmao, Shiro/Kuro w/ long hair; hit or miss??)

Kuro’s hair shows that he hasn’t cut it in at least 1 ½ years. There might not be much context of how long he was missing but I’m sure as hell it’s couldn’t be more than a few months since Keith was searching through the Glara rubble.

<Man, all these analytical essays are finally paying off>

This scene here:

Is a big clue. For real why would the Black Lion do that? Send him into more danger? That’s not right.

Well, guess what, she didn’t.

Remeber this gem? I sure fucking do.

She sent him with someone he trusts, Matt. This really makes sense cuz mATT JUST HASN’T SHOWED UP BUT IS OBVIOUSLY REALLY IMPORTANT *cough* sorry, I don’t know what came over me….

Not only does Shiro trust him but so does Pidge, and I know those two never really had a connection but they kinda all share a state of thought while forming Voltron…

So the Black Lion theoretically has seen Pidge’s thoughts and stuff. Theoretically Black has two reasons why to trust Matt.

The Black Lion has so many reasons to send Shiro to Matt and not some Galra base.

This can also help understand why the Black Lion didn’t trust Kuro.

From what I’ve seen (or remember seeing at 4 AM, I haven’t slept in 45ish hours guys, help) all of you guys think that Black knows that’s not Shiro from the Connection they have but that might not be it!

Kuro thinks he’s Shiro, he has the same memories, the same body, the same scar on the face! So the Connection can still be there, what he doesn’t have is Matt with him.

Which wouldn’t make sense because Black sent him there, so it’s ridiculous cuz “hey I sent you to be with your buddy? Why didn’t you bring him along to see his sister who has been searching for him like crazy???”

That could be why the Black Lion found Kuro and trusted that was the OG but then changed its mind and was like ‘no thanks’ when she saw Matt wasnt with him.

I mean look how….happy?? She looks when they find him!

Why would that change after the fact? The Connection had to be there in order to sense him in the first place. It just makes sense.

Also look at the symbolism here again:

Kuro is in a Galra ship, it’s so subtle you might not even catch it (unless you’re used to over analyzing everything in order to fit 3 more pages into a term paper like me)

Instead of animating Kuro getting physically off the fighter they show them apart, separated from Black. They show him in enemy weaponry.  

As an enemy kinda…

(I’m getting too into this…)

This is Kuro while he’s being cloned

This is Kuro after he’s ‘escaping’

Sounds like the plan was a success, but all that happened was Kuro getting away? I don’t know about you but prisoners stay locked up, unless they aren’t.

They even say Kuro’s is approved for Operation Kuron!

Also from that scene:

Kuro was given that codename ‘Subject Y0XT39′

But Shiro already had a codename, and it wasnt that.

Its ‘Prisoner 117-9875′

Subject and Prisoner are two different things and two different codes.

Kuron is already a huge fucking clue. I donno know if you seen this yet but,

Shiro’s name is literally White and the opposite is Black or Kuro which sounds a lot like Kuron

If you think that’s just a coincidence then try this:

Just try telling me this isn’t legit?

To add just a bit more, Kuro and Keith clashed a lot while both trying to lead Voltron.

He also made it so Keith looked like a weak leader, which he was not once he got more use to the role.

Appearance wise, Kuro is different from Shiro in a low key way. First off both haircuts he has where different from Shiro’s. They’re all horrible but that’s a different story.

His cloths is different too, it shows more skin. The sleeve shows his arm and he took off his glove. Symbolically this means he trying to be more open, more free, more approachable.

This would make it easier to give the wrong feeling of trust to the team, which is the plan Kuro was given

*searching through my notes* okay did I miss anything…? Ah Yes!!

When Shiro first meets those two freedom fighters the transmission radio picks of two things; something less important about Lotor and Voltron.

Which one was ignored and which one was heard?

Yes guys, Kuro didn’t even pay attention to Lotor cuz that’s not what he was told to do. He was told to find out about Voltron which, he did.

Also with those freedom fighters, we learn this:

It wouldn’t have been easy to escape injured and tired. When he escaped the first time it was with the help of Ulaz. They didn’t even try keeping him there, he wasn’t restrained and didn’t have any guards. The only thing trying to stop him were those androids they know Kuro/Shiro could easily defeat.

And last thing.

And I think this is the most important thing.

He didn’t finish that sentence.

He didn’t say he wasn’t a traitor.

He didn’t have too.

This concludes my presentation on ‘Proving That’s not Shiro but Kuro the Clone’

Thank you for your time.

For my next presentation, I will talk about why we should save Kuro and love him indefinitely

Help Me Out?

[osang171819]

A Quarter Canvas

By Rosario Patino-Yap

 Borja St., Caritan Sur:

The last of the moving van left.  I had spent the morning running around the bungalow that had been home to Harold and me. I wandered through the house to see if anything precious was left behind.  No, nothing was forgotten.  Except for the potted mums that lined the curving pathway.  They were newly-watered and weeded.  Looking up the heavens in colorful blooms.  

My “sunny side up” house echoed in silence.  The sunshine yellow house earned that monicker because of my penchant for the color.   Inside, no single bric-a-brac that had filled up every nook and cranny was left.   The miniature windmill replica Harold bought in Bangui, Ilocos Sur, the rattan hammock that had hung in the verandah, the butaca that had soothed my aching body and soul – all were spirited away in the giant snails called “Aloha Moves It.”  

Outside the house, the children played “tumbang preso” and “sha-tong.  Summer was when children played these indigenous games of tag.   Every now and then, the patpat flew in the air and the children scampered to catch this thin sliver of stick.  The morning air was punctuated by gleeful shrieks from the children. So carefree and dead to the cares of the world.   The reality reared its ugly head when an ambulant peddler hollered “taho” in the distance.  While the neighborhood maglalako shouted off her paninda for the day.

“Ano ba Totoy?  Kay aga-aga magtatambay ka na naman dine sa tindahan ko?” Manang Luning’s voice boomed inside her sari-sari store.  She was asking for the nth time why Totoy loitered early in front of her store.  “Hala, dun ka sa DOTA.net magtambay,” she shooed away the teenager.  Like swatting a fly off of one’s food.

“Naku naman, Aling Luning, hindi po wi-fi area itong tindahan nyo,” Totoy retorted. He sheepishly lumbered away from the store.

A dog barked at an unseen cat.  The hum of a washing machine had started a neighbor’s day.   A balmy air blew and the clothes that hung from the clothesline flapped about madly. They made snapping sounds.    In my mind, I had hung clothes out to dry in that clothesline, too.  I had carefully slipped shirts into plastic hangers.  I had clipped pants onto the line so they dangled there like rows of people doing headstands.  They evoked images of torsos, their arms and heads chopped off by some unseen hands.  

I stood near the window for a while listening to these familiar sounds.   It seemed a cacophony of loved and hated realities of Borja Street.    As I stood in the window, I knew my co-teacher Nica was getting ready for work.  Armed with her shoulder bag and a luggage that carried her instructional materials, she waited for the tricycle.   Nearby, Bryan was displaying wares in his e-bookstore.   It promised another busy day for him.

Rousing myself from the reverie, I dusted off the dust and cobwebs that clung to my skinny jeans and tattered halter top. How did these silky threads reach me? I wondered. Tracing the source of the cobwebs, I stood transfixed for a moment at the intricate web.  An industrious spider might have spun from one window grill to another when we were not looking.   I suddenly noticed the errant tears on my cheeks - and hastily wiped them.  

My feet led me to the master’s bedroom - just my OC self doing her work.   I unlocked the built-in drawer I seldom opened.  I cannot even recall what was in it.  I took out a set of keys and tried each one of them.   I finally inserted one and the lock clicked open.   The air of many years escaped the moment I opened the drawer.   It was strange how the years can seep into thing.  It called to mind sepia pictures taken by a photographer who had to cover himself together with the huge camera.  

  A silent gasp escaped from my parched throat. There, hidden in the back panels of the drawer, forgotten and tucked for what seemed to be ages, was Samuel’s painting. It was a “thank you” present he gave me.    Weathered and old, the canvas smelled musty.  

I took the painting out of the drawer.  I gingerly touched it, fearful by doing so it might crumble or smudge off.   It seemed cool and soft to my touch.  I turned it around.   I squinted to read the scrawled note on the edge.  

“Dear Ma’am Rhodora, you were the powder keg that sparked my interest to achieve and have a life.  Till we meet again. Your best student Samuel”

How long has it been since the painting was given me?

 Primero High School  

           The acacia-lined campus was abuzz. Everywhere, academic discussion and multiple intelligence tasks filled up every classroom of the landmark high school. I sauntered proudly to my room in the Special Program in the Arts building.  It seemed another ordinary day for me.  I looked forward to some colorful exchange of ideas with my budding artists and grandmasters.

           “Mune kamu ta balay na artista yra” greeted me in the stairwell.   It welcomed everyone to the abode of the SPA students.  A peep into the rooms was like a show window of aspiring dancers, singers, painters, writers and media practitioners.  It had always seemed like a preparation for the annual arts festival. Or of the local Pavvurulun.

            “Yeah!!!! SPA rocks!!!” Samuel slurred as he strutted inside my classroom during recess.  Bloodshot eyes, fleeting eye contact, tottering steps- tell tale signs of something bad.  His arm had wounds which were probably self-inflicted as he was wont to do.   I worried at the ease of how he sneaked in.  After all, “The Terminator” was known for his hawk-like vigilance at the gate.  

Seeing me as I enter the classroom, Sandra my student, intercepted me.

“Teacher, iba po ang amoy ni Samuel,” she muttered under her breath.  But it was loud enough for me to hear.   He was telling me that Samuel reeked of liquor.  Even without this information, I knew Samuel was drunk.

As if on cue, Samuel noticed my presence.  With pleading eyes and a plaintiff wail, he whimpered, “Teacher, may I just talk to Giselle? Di po nya kasi sinasagot ang mga text ko.”   He informed me of their usual lovers’ spat.  Gisele had refused to answer his text messages again.  

He staggered towards Giselle’s seat but he tripped on his shoelaces.  Just as soon, he vomited.

“Oh no!” Giselle screamed in embarrassment. Her scream was like a clarion call for chaos. The class turned into a bedlam.  Everyone tried to avoid his outstretched flailing arms.  And the gooey puddle of his lunch.  Some ran to the back of the room.  A few climbed my table.  Others rushed out to call the guards.  All the while, I stood in the middle of the surging tide.

 Samuel was plastered on the floor.  The room hushed into silence.  Then, like a torrent of rain, his tears came unbidden.  The silent and shameless tears that he seemed to have kept at bay fell.  It stained and wetted his immaculate uniform.  He was curled like a baby inside his mother’s womb and he sobbed inconsolably.

 Trying to put some semblance of order inside my classroom, I pulled him up.  All 65 kilos of him was forcibly pulled by my small hands.  The force - or lack of it, I did not notice- sobered him.  He looked lost and embarrassed all of a sudden.  He turned to look at the faces of classmates who gawked at the spectacle.  

“I am sorry.  Oh I am so sorry,” he repeated.

A whistle was sounded. The class was a Red Sea that parted to let the rushing “Terminator” in. Two others were in tow.

“Teacher Rhodora, are you okay?” he asked while he surveyed the situation.  The ruckus had reached the guard house and the guidance services.  Poor Samuel, he reminded me of a prisoner walking towards the guillotine.  His shadowed face cast me a forlorn look.

“Honey, are we set?” my husband Harold’s voice brought me back from that day. Back to the present where I now sit and listened.    I smiled sheepishly for being caught unaware then I replied,” Yup, just about.”

I reached for his hand and I stood up.   As if hearing his voiceless question, I added, “It’s just that I wanted to double check the house before we left.  Then here, I remember the painting given by a former student,” I added.

Harold, noticing the cubism painting in my hands, reached out and brought it into the light.  He examined the painting of a mysterious lady with a poignant sad look on her eye.   An empty rattan crib before her.  The painting seemed to echo my disillusionment of trying to conceive for the longest time.  It seemed a dirge to my failed attempts at motherhood.  Bittersweet and the pain unfathomed.  A silent scream that I have quieted.

“Dear Ma’am Rhodora, you were the powder keg that sparked my interest to achieve and have a life.  Till we meet again. Your best student Samuel” Harold read.  He stood silent for a few moments.  Lost, too, in the message that the painting whispered.  

“How long has it been since he was advised by the school to transfer?” he asked.

   Again, nostalgia beckoned me.  A wave that rushed back to shore after straying in the ocean.   The memories came back unbidden after five years.  

 After thorough investigation and several “call parents,” Samuel was advised to leave the school.  He violated rules and regulations.  His classmates were somber on the day he said goodbye.  I had a fleeting remembrance of him when he first came to my freshmen class. All innocence and raw Ben-Cab talent.  I knew then that with proper tutelage and constant practice, he would be a grandmaster. But where had all the innocence and that raw talent gone?  What happened in between, I sadly pondered.

 I recalled the week after he transferred school.  I had my classroom all by myself.  The periodic exams were set for the next day hence classrooms had been thoroughly cleaned. Classes were shortened for the purpose. The smell of newly-applied floor wax hung heavy in the air.  The armchairs were one seat apart.   All systems go for the exams.

  I sat to enjoy my late lunch of lechon carajay, eggplant omelet and tomatoes laced with boneless CK bagoong.  An iced cold soda perspired beside my Tupperware.  And the chewy yema I made the night before promised sweet heaven.  That sumptuous feast of deep fried pork and fish sauce plus the caramel could lull one to sleep on that balmy afternoon.  

The birds chirped on the ancient acacia trees that dotted the campus.  The lilting melody of the ice cream vendo machine could be heard in the distance.  The orbit fan hummed and it joined their symphony.  Ah, one of life’s simple pleasures, I sighed.  

Suddenly, I heard a soft- it not, timid- knock on the door.  Samuel stood outside it.   He entered the room carrying a big package wrapped in newspaper.  He looked his usual old self – immaculate but different school uniform, polished black leather shoes, sun browned face and Gatsbied hair.   He walked his cocky walk and a shy smile crept on his lips.   I saw a glimpse of the freshman that he was three years before.  He came near me and off-handedly gave me the package.

“What is this?” I asked in surprise.  I reached for my soda to wash down the last of the carajay.

“It’s a gift, teacher.  Open it,” he replied.

“Oh you shouldn’t have bothered.”  I felt uneasy for what looked like an extravagant gift. But I fumbled to unwrap the gift.  I looked at him.  He gazed out of the windows –avoiding my gaze.  I waited for him to say something.   I knew he had much to say.

“I thank you for never giving up on me, Teacher Rhods” he went on after what seemed like forever. “I realized now that I needed your criticism and your pieces of advice. You kept on at me, despite the others giving up.  That had kept me grounded.  It put some sense into my muddled head.”  He smiled shyly when he said this.

“Oh, that’s what teachers are for,” I replied.  I might have sounded flippant to him.  Disbelief on the sudden change probably showed in my face because a cloud flitted on his black eyes.  But he regained his ground and continued.

“Maybe, God wisely designed the human body so that man can never kick his own self nor pat his own back. Through my rebellious period, you were my parola.”  

I tried to swallow the air that blocked my throat.  Emotions rendered my tongue immobile.  To be compared to a lighthouse echoed in my head.  I tried to say a wisecrack or a sensible advice.  Nothing came handy.

“Oh by the way teacher, I drew that painting for you. A keepsake.”  With those words, he walked away as quickly and as silently as he entered.  

   “Earth to Rhodora.  Paging my dear Rhodora.   Whoever saw my sweet Rhodora, please direct her to where I stand.”

The voice of my husband reverberated in the silent room. His voice and his smiling face jolted me from my reverie - the second time that day. I noticed that I have been revisiting the past.   I laughed so happily that he couldn’t help but join me in my laughter.

“Tell me honey,” I asked Harold, “What did my student mean when he said I was a powder keg?”

 Kissing my hand and holding me in his arms, Harold answered, “Maybe because you had stepped on stage in his darkest moment and had led him out of the dark, then you stepped down and watched him move forward. But your single act of gesture has become the ember that will keep him on the right track wherever life leads him.”

That made sense.

“And maybe, just maybe,” he said sotto voce, and with a twinkle in his eyes,” because you never seemed to grow old, a fresh red rose ever since.  The guidance you showed had ignited his passion to live.  And hopefully, his passion for the visual arts because he seemed to have lots of promise.”

A wistful sigh escaped from me.    In the distance, a bus sounded its horn.  A neighbor’s dog barked at the playing children.  Manang Luning’s voice competed with the local radio station.  The din sounded so familiar that it brought back memories of happy years spent in my “sunny side up.”  I don’t know when I started thinking of it as my “sunny side up” home but it always warmed my heart.

The memories came back so vividly.  A movie reel that had gone backwards.   I could hear the sounds and see the pictures again.   It brought to my mind the nights when there were power outages.   Everyone was outside his house and just sat under the moonlit night.  The mosquitoes were swatted as everyone swapped local tales and rumors. The balut vendor would pass by and offer his pampalakas ng tuhod  na balut or penoy as aphrodisiacs for the men.  The ubiquitous barbecue stood laden with barbecue, hotdog, isaw, betamax, and iud.  I saw the children playing hide and seek or san pedro till fatigue and sleep beckoned them.  Online games, tablets, and  X-box were unknown then.

It replayed scenes during summers where the popular halo-halo stands dissipated the sweltering heat.  If not swarming these ice havens, the children used to have a grand time climbing up the fruits trees. They would help themselves to Lolo Ifan’s mangga, duhat and kallupit.  The old folks would do their siesta under the trees or played tong-its.

Again in my de javued mind, I recall Nino, Julius, and Jessem playing ungoy-unggoyan while Chloe and her sister Jiya straddled their trainer bikes. Everyone seemed unmindful of the unending investigation of the SAF incident, or the milk tea poisoning or the corruption of government officials

   But it was time to move into our new home a block away from the old one.   It was time to savor the good life after a couple of years eking out a living.   It was time to quit renting the “sunny side up.” And it was time to leave the painting to the new lessee of the house - Samuel’s long lost father.  

 Sometimes, life is serendipitous. Who would have thought that the man who wanted to rent the “sunny side up” was his father?   Again, I looked back on that meeting with Samuel’s father.   Seeing him again who accompanied his father earlier that week - pieced together the puzzle.

“My wife and I parted ways.  Looking back, the blow was hard for Samuel to understand,” he broached.

“So he rebelled,” I said softly. My heart aching for those children caught in the crossfire of dysfunctional marriages.   It was sad how more and more families throw in the towel and quit the fight for family.  

  Talking to him for some time that day opened the door. It answered the questions that crossed my mind when his son stopped painting and quit being top student.  It filled the gaps of those times when nobody responded to my “call parents”- those letters that requested parents’ meeting.

Samuel that day, a picture of his old self, reassured me,” I am okay now, Ma’am. Life may not be fair but it is still life I would like to live.”

In my mind, I watched them walk away together.  A father and a son trying to be family despite being a far cry from the ideal.

 We had spent our days and nights in this house.  I had slept on my butaca, its rocking motion soothing me on those turbulent nights when I had to come to terms with my miscarriages.  The motion was like my mind, moving from today to yesterday and back. But the present has a clearer purpose now.

 With light steps and a radiant smile brought about by knowing I had helped a poor child get his acts together despite his dysfunctional family, I hooked my arm onto Harold’s arm.  We walked out of the old house and headed east to where our new “ube-ice cream colored” house awaited us.  In the distance, I saw the sun diffusing its yellow light on the world.  I looked up and welcomed it.

[isolationshepherd-blog]

June 20th 2148

For a few months now I have been the recipient of strange items left for me in Go-Sci or at Prison Station. I wasn’t sure what they were at first. They seemed like shapeless lumps of scrap metal, bent and twisted at odd angles. Whoever is making them has got better at it over the weeks though because recently they’ve become more recognisable. They’re small sculptures, about four inches high, and I think they’re supposed to be me.  A couple of weeks ago the sculpture had a tiny Councillor’s pin attached to it right where mine usually is and the creator had made miniature boots out of scraps of leather. I didn’t know what to make of it all. The clumsiness of the early creations made them seem benign and unthreatening. As time has passed and they’ve got more detailed they’ve become more sinister to me.

They never come with a note or any explanation as to what they are for or why they are being sent to me. They are always brought by a messenger whenever I’m not scheduled to be on duty on that particular station, with a verbal instruction that they are to be given only to me. I have never managed to catch the person who is delivering them and according to the people who have taken delivery of a sculpture on more than one occasion it is not always the same messenger.

I’ve questioned a few people about them. Abby laughed in my face when I suggested she was behind them, and said that if she were going to waste time making effigies of me she’d make them big enough to throw a punch at for times when I’d really annoyed her. I expect they would get a lot of use! Her comment did get me thinking, though. I’ve read about ancient religions and I know about a practice called Voodoo where dolls are made of people and pins stuck in them in order to inflict physical harm on the person. If that is the case then Abby would go right back to the top of my suspect list! Of course, the suggestion that you can affect how another person feels by inserting pins into a crude rendering of their body is ridiculous, and more to the point I’m in peak physical condition at the moment. I’ve never felt better than I do right now. What I think about this practise, however, doesn’t matter. It’s the intention of the person sending them that is important.  

Last week, events took another turn. I walked into Go-Sci to find Abby and Sinclair with their heads bent together over a desk, giggling like a pair of schoolchildren. When they saw me, they split apart and went back to their respective work stations. I looked at what they had been laughing over and it was another sculpture, only this time there were two people. One was clearly meant to be me and the other was an unidentifiable female. The two sculptures were in an embrace. I turned to Abby and Sinclair.

“What the hell is this?”

They both turned back to look at me, trying to maintain poker faces, but failing.

“Your mystery benefactor has struck again,” said Sinclair. “You missed the messenger by minutes.”

“Did you recognise who brought it?”

Sinclair shook his head. “It was no one I’ve seen before.”

“Abby? You must know more people on here than anyone.”

“Even if I did, I can’t break patient confidentiality, Kane, you know that.”

“So, you did recognise him?”

“I’m not saying that.”

She crossed her arms defiantly, her mouth set in a thin tight line.

“I’m not asking for his medical history!”

Her lips curved slightly upwards in amusement but she remained firm. I didn’t think she knew who it was; she was just enjoying messing with me.

I turned the sculpture over and over, as though some hidden clue would reveal itself to me if I looked closely enough. The two figures were locked in a warm embrace, arms wrapped tightly around each other, heads resting on the other’s shoulder. They weren’t kissing, or doing anything else untoward, so that was something to be grateful for at least.

“How many of these have you had now?” Abby held her hand out and I passed her the sculpture.

“I’m not exactly sure, ten, eleven maybe. There’s been one a week for about the last three months.”

Abby examined the sculpture in the same way I had.

“What do you think it means?” I asked her.

She smiled. “For an intelligent man, you’re remarkably dense sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

She traced the outline of the figures, her fingers sliding over my body, caressing the shape of me. My blood warmed a little.

She looked me in the eye. “You have an admirer, Kane.”

“What?” I took the figures back, looked at them again. “No!”

Abby nodded. “You do. Look at it. It’s a love token. Some poor, deluded woman has a crush on you.”

I found that as hard to believe as Abby clearly did. I thought about the women in my life. My mom, Cece, Abby, Councillor Muir, Diana Sydney. It couldn’t be any of them, and I barely talk to anyone else, not if I can help it. Who could it be? Abby must be wrong.

I shook my head. “I can’t see it.”

“Neither can I,” said Abby, “but not everyone knows you as well as we do.” She turned to Sinclair. “It’s possible someone out there might think Councillor Kane is attractive?”

Sinclair nodded. “He has a dark mysteriousness about him.”

“He does. Some women find that a turn-on.”

They were enjoying mocking me far too much so I ended the conversation and left the room.

That was a week ago, and today I had a breakthrough. I was supposed to be in Go-Sci attending a meeting to discuss a new Ark maintenance schedule but a problem had come up on Prison Station. One of my guards had gone too far with a prisoner he was interrogating, leaving the boy with a broken arm and two black eyes. I had to head over to the Skybox to deal with the situation. It so happened, then, that I was in the station reception just as a messenger arrived with a package for Councillor Kane.

I intercepted him immediately and asked him to come to the interrogation room with me. I was prepared to arrest him if he didn’t comply but he was intimidated enough to do as I asked without question.

“Who instructed you to deliver this package?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“You must know who told you. Where did you pick it up from?”

I won’t bother repeating the whole interrogation here. It took a few minutes of questioning to get the truth out of him. It turns out that there’s an underground postal service of sorts. A kind of dead drop system where packages are left with a note of the recipient together with payment of one kind or another. The payment is picked up by one person and the package by another. No one involved knows anyone else in the chain. This was disappointing news as I was hoping to be able to identify the sender today. Still, I have a place to start now. I know what day the package is always left and I know where. All I have to do now is stake out the location and catch the culprit red-handed. What I’ll do with them after that, I have no idea.

 June 23rd 2148

Last night I dreamt of the ground again. It was empty, as always; barren, desolate, spoiled. Yet standing here, watching the Earth pass beneath me, it still seems so vibrant, like it hasn’t changed since the Blue Marble photo taken by Apollo 17 nearly 170 years ago. I’ve looked through photos of Earth taken from the original thirteen stations over the years and from this viewpoint, only 400km away, they show the reality of a planet changed by its people. Lakes shrinking each year until they are at one with the surrounding desert. Huge areas of verdant forest reduced to bare earth. All documented, decade after decade, in the photos from space. Humans were hell-bent on destroying the Earth long before the war to end all wars finally wiped everyone out. Everyone except for the so-called lucky few already on the Ark stations. Back then the densely-populated areas of the planet were lit up at night, the richest countries defined by these clusters of artificial light, so bright they must have blocked out the view of the stars. No wonder people became so self-centred, disconnected as they were from their place in the universe.

Now when I look down there are no lights except for the flares of erupting volcanoes and the red-green streaks of the aurora dancing beneath. In the absence of human life, the planet’s scars are healing over, the forests flourishing. I don’t know what kind of trees they are, how healthy they must be, but they’re there, living, growing.

I was born 55 years after the nuclear apocalypse, the third generation never to have set foot on Earth. There will be three more at least after me. My life is dedicated to ensuring the survival of what is left of the human race, so that those future people can get back to the ground and live full lives again, and that’s all I want. If I could go to Earth tomorrow I would do it. Sometimes in my dreams I am standing in a forest of tall trees, breathing the fresh air; it’s rain-cooled and tastes sweet, and green. When you know you can never have something you always want it more. I know I’ll never go to the ground, never taste the air or feel the earth beneath my feet, but if I can’t have that for me then I’ll do everything I can to make sure our ancestors do get to feel those things.

There are times, though, when I look at that blue marble, and think about how it is renewing itself without our intervention, that I wonder if going back to Earth is the right thing to do. We teach the kids how to survive, and how to look after the planet, but people are people. Do they ever really change? When we finally make it to the ground, how long will it be before we’re back to our old ways? There’s a deep human need to conquer and control, and I suspect that will never go away.

 June 25th 2148

Two more days until I can find out who is sending the figures. Wondering about this has preoccupied me more than I thought it could. Every woman I meet I’m suspicious of. I had occasion to spend time with Raven Reyes today and I noticed she wears a necklace fashioned out of copper and other scrap material. It’s more delicate and sophisticated than the figures I’ve been receiving but maybe that’s part of the game. Maybe the figures are deliberately crude to throw me off the scent. Why would someone like her be interested in me? She’s half my age. She caught me staring at her today. Unfortunately, the necklace rests quite low on her chest, and I think she got the wrong idea. She glared at me, a look so withering it was worthy of Abby. I doubt she’s the sender.

I bumped into former Chancellor Sydney earlier as well. Literally bumped into her. I rounded a corner without looking where I was going, too busy thinking about Reyes, and we collided shoulder to shoulder. I mumbled a “sorry” and she said, “don’t be sorry” and raised an eyebrow, glancing back at me as she went past. I didn’t know what to make of that, but she’s one of the most direct people I know. If she had feelings for me, I’d be flat on my back by now trying to fight her off!

 June 27th 2148

The mystery has been revealed! I was up very early this morning and in place for the surveillance before 5am. I wasn’t expecting the sender to bring the package to the dead drop until mid-morning but I didn’t want to take any chances and miss my opportunity to catch them. The dead drop was a locker in an ante room leading from the kitchen. I was able to position myself in a storeroom that had a glass window looking into the room. I had to remain standing the whole time which was excruciating. My legs went numb, I got cramp and I needed to pee badly but I didn’t dare move. For some reason, finding out the identity of my secret admirer had become more important than any mission I’ve undertaken in the past few months. I needed to know who it was, not for any romantic reason, but because I wanted to put this whole business to bed, nip whatever fantasy this person was nurturing in the bud before it got even further out of hand.

I must admit part of me thought it was another prank, that my admirer would turn out to be John Murphy or one of the other delinquents I run into from time to time. It was exactly the kind of thing they would get a kick out of.

After six long hours of waiting, and at the point when I thought I couldn’t continue any longer without resting my legs for a moment (I’d already given in and peed in a bottle I found in the storeroom), someone came into the room. I couldn’t see them clearly at first as they had their back to me when they approached the locker. It was definitely a female, young by the way she walked with an easy, loose-limbed grace. She was blonde and I felt a stab of familiarity but I couldn’t place it. There was something about the way she held herself that I recognised. I waited until she’d placed an object in the locker, and as she turned to leave I opened the door and stepped in front of her. She jumped and her eyes grew wide, her mouth dropping open in a silent oh. I knew who she was now.

“McIntyre!”

She stared at me, shock still etched on her face.

“What have you put in that locker? Open it, please.”

She didn’t move, just stood there, head down, cheeks reddening. I noticed a key in her hand and I took it and opened the locker with it. Inside was another sculpture, the two figures holding hands, looking ahead towards some imagined future or heaven knows what. Now that the person responsible for all the sculptures was standing in front of me, face red, eyes wide, I didn’t know what to do. Harper has been interning in Go-Sci for the last few months. She has discipline issues and Sinclair took her on as a favour to her mother. She’s always there in the background. I have barely taken any notice of her. I’m not even sure what she does. Data inputting or something. She’s a child, younger than Reyes. Young enough to be my daughter.

“Have you been sending these sculptures to me?”

She nodded, finally looking up at me.

“Why? Is this some kind of joke?”

She bit her lip, as though she was thinking how best to approach this. She lowered her eyes.

“I thought you might like them.” She glanced up then, looking at me through thick lashes. “Do you like them?”

“They’re crudely fashioned but they have a charm, I suppose.”

She stepped closer to me. “They’re all you, you know that, right?”

I stepped back; her proximity was making me feel uncomfortable. “I suspected that was the case. That’s why I’m here. I don’t approve of you mocking me in this way.”

She looked indignant. “I’m not mocking you! They’re… I was inspired by you. I wanted to make them. For you.”

“Well, they’re inappropriate, and they stop now. Do you understand?”

She turned those big eyes on me again. If she thinks something like that will work on me then she doesn’t know me at all.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure about what?”

“That you want me to stop?” Before I knew what was happening she’d closed the gap between us, her hand was on my chest, her body pressed up against mine. Abby may think I’m clueless when it comes to matters of the heart but even I knew this was not a good situation to be in. I pushed her away, took a few steps towards the door.

“Look. It was pointed out to me that maybe you have er, feelings for me, and I can see now that perhaps that is the case.”

Her eyes lit up. “You’ve been talking about me? Who with? Who said that?”

“It doesn’t matter who said it and we were taking about the sender, not you specifically. If it’s true. Well. It can’t happen. You have to, er, stop thinking like that.”

“I can’t just turn my feelings on and off, you know.”

“No. Well. You have to try.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

I thought she would be humiliated at being rejected but she was growing bolder. The longer the conversation was going on, the more confident she seemed to be getting. I had to stop this before it got worse.

“I’m old enough to be your father.”

“I know. I like the older man. An older man knows what he’s doing.”

This was not going well. Everything I said she twisted to suit her needs. I wished there was someone else with me, someone like Abby; she’d know how to handle this.

“Well, you have to stop this. I’m not interested. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, feigning a nonchalance. “It’s your loss.”

I handed her the sculpture. “I suggest you find someone your own age. Someone more appropriate.”

She took it reluctantly. “Maybe one day, you’ll see.”

I shook my head. “No, I won’t. Now. I don’t want to make anything of this, even though you’ve broken a number of rules using this dead drop system. If you promise to stop sending the sculptures, I’ll say no more about it.”

I pointed to the door, trying to usher her out of the room without touching her or moving within ten feet of her. She took the hint, looking back at me with a sly smile as she went. “If you ever need me, I’ll be there for you.” And then she left.

Looking back, I’m not sure I handled that as well as I could have. I was too lenient on her for one thing. The dead drop system is a serious abuse of the law and I could have had her locked up in the Skybox along with the messengers I rounded up earlier this week. I didn’t want to draw attention to the whole business, however. I’m concerned that by letting her off with a warning, she’ll be encouraged to invent some deeper meaning to my actions. Time will tell, I suppose. I just hope there isn’t another sculpture waiting for me next week.

[dracox-serdriel]

Supergirl Meta: Mon-El (again)

I originally posted ananalysis (Supergirl: Mon-El) for Supergirl, but I want to expand on it to address two major arguments against Mon-El. The first is that he’s a “magical unicorn” or Mary-Sue character, and the second is that he’s an annoying, abusive frat-boy.

(I also want to write about the relationship between Kara and Mon-El (aka Karamel) in relation to where Season 2 is going, but due to length, that will be a separate post.)

Under the cut for spoilers of all episodes of Supergirl through 02x15 Exodus and for length.

Argument #1: Mon-El is a Mary-Sue

A Mary-Sue/Magical Unicorn character is a character who is added to an existing narrative that reads too good to be true. There are a number of articles out there that identify Mon-El as one such character, and to illustrate, here’s an excerpt from one of them:

I once read a 400,000 word Buffy and Angel and Highlander and X-Files crossover with a self-insert lead character who magically woos Buffy and is super rich and best friends with everyone and super good at fighting and stuff and it was more believable then the nonsense Supergirl has delivered unto its audience with Mon-El.

-- Excerpt from article “Supergirl has a Mon-El Problem”

This article is particularly good because it lists a bunch of things that Mon-El has done that make him out to be one an unrealistic character insert. I thought I’d use it as a place to start a counter-argument. (To see the full list, check out the source.)

1. Magically appeared just after the heroine inexplicably dumps the guy she’s been crushing on for a year for no reason.

Kara doesn’t pursue a romantic relationship with James for a lot of different reasons. There we so many, in fact, that I made an entirely separate post for it: Supergirl: Kara/James Meta.

As to why the Kryptonian pod crash landed now, thirty-seven years after it departed Daxam... that’s still a bit of a mystery right now. Maybe we’ll find out why in 02x16 Star-crossed.

2. Immediately integrated with all the characters.

Untrue. Mon-El had considerable conflict with Alex, who calls him a coward (02x06 Changing) and tells him she doesn’t believe in him at all. He doesn’t have much of a relationship with J’onn or James. The only friends he has seem to be Winn (who helps assess his abilities) and Kara, though he seems to make acquaintances easily while “living at the alien bar” (02x07 The Darkest Places).

Mon-El has spent remarkably little time with J’onn. I say this because J’onn also lost his entire race and wound up stranded on this planet. J’onn could’ve also been a solid ally in a number of situations, such as dealing with a fifth dimensional being in 02x13 Mr. & Mrs. Mxyzptlk and handling Jeremiah’s return in 02x14 Homecoming. These are both times when Mon-El could’ve gone to J’onn with his concerns (about Kara not taking Mxy as a serious threat, about Jeremiah possibly being compromised). J’onn is the leader of the DEO, and he cares about the Danvers sisters. So why hasn’t he gone to J’onn?

Whatever the reasons, Mon-El and J’onn aren’t exactly fast friends, though it’s clear Mon-El respects him (as he gives up to save J’onn’s life in 02x07 The Darkest Place).

For the most part, Guardian/James seems to tolerate Mon-El, as does Alex, though he seems to be growing on her (though his issues with Jeremiah in 02x14 Homecoming might have ruined that progress entirely, only time will tell).

In short, he has friends in Kara and Winn, but everyone else? Ehh, not really.

3. Proven to be the “cool” one that teaches everyone to drink and has zero issue with gay people.

I think it’s quite apparent that 02x04 Survivors that Winn is more than capable of drinking on his own, as he beats Mon-El during every drinking game we see on screen. The only person he “teaches” to drink (if you can call it that) was Kara, who he dares/makes a deal with her to drink something that would be poisonous to humans but harmless to Kryptonians/Daxamites (02x06 Changing).

He might be “cool” with zero-issues with gay people, but he’s also from a hedonistic planet, which might be why he indulges in alcohol/lives at the alien bar (02x07 The Darkest Places).

Also, this overlooks his constant slip-ups with the English. For example, calling Kara’s mother “a babe,” (meaning, beautiful woman) admitting his own confusion over the phrase “chillax for five,” and saying “awe and some” as if it were two separate words (02x04 Survivors). And that’s only in one episode. No matter how extroverted/socially inclined he might be, he doesn’t just magically fit in this world upon arrival.

Part of being “cool” is making everything seem easy, making it appear as if stuff doesn’t matter to you. If you geek out over something (for example, characters in a superhero shows), you tend to lose “cool credit.” But the fact remains that his desire to drink/socialize in a bar scene is related to how he handle’s grief and inner turmoil. He covers his feelings by drinking after seeing Supergirl and J’onn super-sucked by Parasite (02x06 Changing). He likewise wants to forget about the somber thoughts of his lost planet by indulging in fun and games and/or drinking (02x04 Survivors). 

He’s got a cool exterior, but he’s a giant spazz.

4. Been revealed to be super strong and super fast and generally a badass.

Okay, yes, Mon-El is super-strong and fast. But he’s also a giant spazz. Consider the outcome of... well, every single fight he has had so far:

Mon-El vs. Supergirl. His coma wake up gave him an element of surprise that enabled him to “win” this particular fight and escape the DEO, though arguable, it’s beginners luck (02x03 Welcome to Earth).

Mon-El vs. Supergirl, take two. Supergirl kicks his ass and says, “Stay down Daxamite!” He no longer has the element of surprise. He loses. Big time (02x03 Welcome to Earth).

Mon-El accidentally injures two people in a bar. Not really a fight, but this counts as a loss because he doesn’t know what he’s doing and doesn’t mean to do it (02x04 Survivors).

Mon-El attempts to intervene on Supergirl’s behalf during Lena Luthor’s ball, and in turn he gets blasted across the room with an alien gun, leaving him down for the count for the rest of the episode (02x05 Crossfire).

Mon-El faces off against Parasite. While he does save one child by catching a car, he spends the rest of the fight getting his ass kicked by Parasite until Guardian shows up and saves him (02x06 Changing).

Mon-El is attacked and abducted by Cadmus (02x06 Changing).

Mon-El manages a sneaky escape from his Cadmus prison, only to be duped into staying behind to “save J’onn” (02x07 The Darkest Place).

Mon-El nearly dies and admits he’s terrified (02x07 The Darkest Place).

Mon-El, thinking he sees J’onn, follows Hank Henshaw out of the Alien Bar and gets his ass kicked by Cyborg Superman (02x08 Medusa).

Mon-El attempts to step in to help Kara defend the captured humans on Maaldoria and gets hit in the face/knocked to the ground for his trouble (02x09 Supergirl Lives).

With the help of the other humans, they overcome their captors on Maaldoria, who are focusing their firepower on Supergirl, and he takes over one of the guns to help them all escape -- which he seems decent with, until it gets shot from his hands (02x09 Supergirl Lives).

He faces off against the faux-live-wires and nearly gets electrocuted--but redirects the energy elsewhere (02x10 We Can Be Heroes).

Mon-El tries to take down Livewire’s captor, but instead gets captured (02x10 We Can Be Heroes). He does okay when Supergirl shows up... but only with an assist from Guardian.

Mon-El loses every fight against Mxy... very, very badly. (02x13 Mr. & Mrs. Mxyzptlk)

So, yes, he’s powerful, but let’s be honest, as a superhero he kind of sucks. To date, he’s saved one child (02x06 Changing) and has lost nearly every single fight he has been in. The only exceptions are his very first fight (element of surprise) during his escape from the DEO, and during the successful escape on Maaldoria.

Every other time, he has either lost, required someone (Guardian, Supergirl) else to save them, or required assistance to achieve anything. 

He’s got superpowers, but he’s still a giant spazz.

5. Is secretly the prince of an entire world.

Okay, this is probably true, but Daxam is gone. Being the prince of a dead planet doesn’t really count for much. He can’t go home. There’s no home to go to.

6. Fallen madly in love with the titular character.

Conceded. He did. I have no argument against this at all.

7. Had titular character return those feelings even though she is incapable of giving one reason why she likes him besides "he tries hard" and is attractive.

Besides J’onn, Mon-El is the only character who can truly relate to Kara in terms of losing his planet (after having grown up there). J’onn has been a parental figure, not a love interest, and her relationship with Mon-El has been evolving since he woke up: enemies, reluctant acquaintances, mentor/mentoree, friends... and so on.

Kara and Mon-El have also had a number of conversations that even she and Clark could never have had, such as talking about certain planets they visited and the kinds of dancing they had on their home worlds.

She’s got lots of reason to connect with him and to reciprocate his feelings. Thought I’m sure the fact that he tries and is attractive are part of that.

8. Immediately determined a long lost father was evil while everyone around him went FULL stupid and walked right into evil dad's trap.

Part of being prince of a dead planet would be a basic conditioning for life at court, which (assuming it’s anything like the monarchies of earth) means constant suspicious of everyone around them.

Not to mention the fact that Jeremiah Danvers, before being modified, wouldn’t have a hope to win in a fight against J’onn. So it’s not like no precautions were taken...

9. Saved the day because he was calm and collected and persistent about evil dad while the ladies were too weepy to notice the obvious bad guy in their midst.

Actually, no he didn’t. The only time he’s saved the day was on Maaldoria, when the Dominator let him and the others go when he put himself between the escaping humans/Supergirl. During 02x14 Homecoming, Mon-El was with Alex and Kara searching for the “bomb” Jeremiah had guided them to... If anyone saved the day, it was Winn, who hid a tracker on Jeremiah so they could pursue him into the woods. And even that didn’t really work out.

IN SUMMARY... Basically, Mon-El isn’t a very successful Superhero. He hasn’t integrated with everyone on the team/show. He’s not a magical unicorn. He is, in fact, a giant spazz still adapting to this world.

Argument #2: Mon-El is an annoying, abusive frat-boy

I can’t speak to the annoying bit, as that is a matter of opinion, but I can speak to the “frat boy” comment that came from Kara herself.

PART ONE: FRAT BOY Everyone deals with grief and misery in their own way. Some people brood. Other people try to bury themselves in work or to forget it with drinking/carousing/anything that can do to make themselves forget.

It’s pretty clear that Mon-El favors the latter.

MON-EL: Yeah, I know it's a long shot, but any chance there was a response to that signal I sent to Daxam? I mean, I can't be the only one left, right?

ALEX: I'm sorry, but, no. 

(long pause)

MON-EL: Right, uh... Anyway, enough of those... Those dreary thoughts, right? So, what do you guys do for fun around here? Do you drink or dance or... Oh, hey, do they play Garata here?

ALEX: What's Garata?

KARA: It's like soccer, with dragons.

WINN: No, not that. Uh, we have PlayStation.

MON-EL: Great. So, when do we get out of here and do that... That thing you just said?

-- Episode 02x04 Survivors

His first reaction to learning his planet is gone (and, indeed, there was no response to his distress signal, which cements this idea) is to “go out and have fun.” While this might seem like evidence of him being a “frat boy,” a lot of people handle grief/pain/sorrow like this. For those of us who handle it in other ways (such as brooding/throwing themselves into work), this seems impossible. How can you go out and have fun when you’re feeling so horrible? How can you laugh and smile when you’ve lost everything?

Nevertheless, it is a common copping mechanism, and just as valid as any other someone might use to pull themselves up after a tremendous loss.

Chances are, Mon-El earned his reputation of “frat boy of the universe” from this particularly coping strategy. It also implies that he was deeply unhappy with his life as it was on Daxam. That might be because he opposed institutions like slavery but had no means by which to end them (even though he was going to be king and therefore would be - in theory - the most powerful person on the planet, it’s likely that his true power was limited by factions--including major factions that supported slavery).

We also know that on Daxam, marriages are arranged from birth.

“On Daxam, we had arranged marriages, chosen for you at birth. You reach a certain age, boom. You're latched to that person.”

-- Mon-El in episode 02x07 The Darkest Place

This suggests that Mon-El, even as the Prince of Daxam, had no choice when it came to who he spent the rest of his life with, which is pretty restrictive compared even with the monarchies of earth. He can have all the power of a monarchy, but he had no choice in any of the major life-choices anyone on earth might have.

However, while Mon-El says their marriages are arranged, there are a number of things that imply that there is some wiggle room on this notion.

MON-EL: I've come to challenge you, Mxyzptlk.

MXYZPTLK: A Daxamite duel? I never had one of those before. For Kara's hand?

MON-EL: Yes.

MXYZPTLK: To the death?

MON-EL: Yes.

MXYZPTLK: I accept.

MON-EL: Good.

-- Episode 02x13 Mr. & Mrs. Mxyzptlk

Daxamite duels for someone’s hand are known my Mxy, which suggests that not everyone on Daxam had such strict arrange marriages. It’s likely something that those in the Royal Court had, but those outside of royalty didn’t have to deal with. It’s likely that a lot of his personal choices (who to marry, how to behave) were dictated entirely by his position.

He also says that his parents “weren’t exactly role models” (02x04 Survivors) and his father “wasn’t a good man” (02x14 Homecoming). He specifically mentions that he disagreed with certain things happening on Daxam, too.

JO: Slaving is a big business on Maaldoria.

MON-EL: Wait, this is Maaldoria?

KARA: You know where we are?

MON-EL: The locals call it Slavers' Moon. The royal family on Daxam used to buy their slaves here.

KARA: I forgot they had slavery on Daxam.

MON-EL: There were a lot of things there I didn't agree with.

-- Episode 02x09 Supergirl Lives

So while Mon-El hasn’t come out and said it directly, it’s been heavily implied that he was very unhappy on Daxam, despite whatever power a planetary prince might wield.

In fact, when he does comment on things on Daxam, he says very little in terms of who he was or how he lived. The sole exception was a backhanded comment he made after an argument with Kara:

“Things were a lot easier on Daxam, when I objectified women and didn't care about anyone.”

-- Mon-El in episode 02x13 Mr. & Mrs. Mxyzptlk

I’m guessing he didn’t care about anyone because caring for people was dangerous - it gave people leverage over him. I have to guess because we know precious little about his life on Daxam.

We have further evidence that Mon-El tends to drown his sorrows when he faces off against something overwhelming when he sees what Parasite has done to Kara and J’onn.

ALEX: Thirsty?

MON-EL: Not particularly. I've just found that drinking is the fastest way to get drunk, so...

ALEX: This city could really use a hero right about now.

MON-EL: Fighting rampaging creatures isn't on my resume.

ALEX: Oh, that's right... but beating people up for money is though, right?

MON-EL: Hey, here's an idea. Why don't you go believe in somebody else, Alex? Thanks.

ALEX: I don't believe in you, Mon-El. I suspect you're a coward, and that you would run at the first sign of danger... My sister, she's the one who believes in you. That's why she's so upset with you all the time. She thinks you have potential. To make a difference, like she does. To be hero.

MON-EL: I don't know how.

ALEX: You can start by standing up. Like the rest of us.

-- Episode 02x06 Changing

Mon-El eventually ends up working at the Alien Bar (02x09 Supergirl Lives), a place where he supposedly spends most of his time (02x07 The Darkest Place), after the Medusa virus is unleashed there. He spends a lot of time drinking and socializing, but it’s less about him being a frat boy and more about him struggling. He covers his sorrow with glibness and comedy. He drinks his pain away. He’d rather drink himself under the table than face off against Parasite.

He runs and hides when he’s overwhelmed. That doesn’t make him a bad person or a “frat boy,” it means he’s in pain and trying to cope.

PART TWO: HE DOESN’T LISTEN One of the “annoying” issues with Mon-El is that he frequently doesn’t listen to those around him, especially Kara. While this is true, he has been learning from his mistakes. For example, when he accidentally harmed two humans in a bar:

MON-EL: It's not Winn's fault. Hey, I... I tricked him...

KARA: Winn will be fine. And those guys you hurt will recover. But you shouldn't have been out there.

MON-EL: Hank told me I needed to stay here because it wasn't safe. But he didn't mean for me. He meant it wasn't safe for humans. From me.

KARA: After I first got to Earth, I went to my junior prom. And Scott Klein asked me to dance. I stepped on his foot and I broke three of his toes. It's just gonna take some time to get used to having these abilities and... And living in the world.

-- Episode 02x04 Survivors

Mon-El immediately takes responsibility for his actions and does his best to protect Winn from any fall out. He hadn’t realized that other people were the ones in danger - he thought he was the only one in danger. Once he recognized this, he says, “I promise that I will do as I'm told from now on” (02x04 Survivors).

During their unintended jaunt into Maaldoria, Mon-El constantly suggests that they save themselves, yet he follows Kara’s lead, down to walking into the lion’s den and surrendering to capture when he could’ve continued to hid with Jo (02x09 Supergirl Lives).

When facing Faux-Livewires for the first time, he “leaves his post” to help Kara fight them off, leading to a cop and Guardian being injured (02x10 We Can Be Heroes). However, at the end of this episode, when Supergirl instructs him and Guardian to take down the Faux-Livewires while she saves the original, he doesn’t question her or leave his post (02x10 We Can Be Heroes). This suggests he can and does listen to Kara - and, more importantly, that he learns from him mistakes.

Of course, in 02x13 Mr. & Mrs. Mxyzptlk, he doesn’t react well to Mxy’s sudden appearance. He withholds what little he knows about fifth dimensional beings, suggests that they kill Mxy, and challenges him to a duel. Given that we didn’t see much of him in 02x11 The Martian Chronicles or in 02x12 Luthors, the audience can easily conclude that Mon-El has not, in fact, learned from his mistakes with Faux-Livewires in 02x10 We Can Be Heroes.

However, when it comes to Mxy, Mon-El is more aware of how dangerous the imp is. He also has to deal with a cultural norm established on Daxam - that is, that fighting a duel for someone’s hand is an acceptable norm.

While Mon-El is repeating his mistakes/not listening to Kara, Kara is likewise not listening to him. Last time it was far more “Mon-El is wrong and should’ve listened to Kara,” but this time, both of them are wrong. This is something Kara admits, just not to Mon-El:

J’ONN: Where is Mxyzptlk now?

KARA: I don't know. He snapped away. I thought he was just after me, but he almost killed those guys. He's a lot more dangerous than I thought.

J’ONN: Agreed.

-- Mon-El in episode  02x13 Mr. & Mrs. Mxyzptlk

Mon-El had already said that imps were “dangerous, very dangerous” and that Daxam had a “a zero tolerance policy,” even though they “knew how to party.” J’onn described their abilities - down to moving an entire mountain range - and Kara doesn’t seem to worry about it.

Mon-El tries, twice, to get Kara to take Mxy as a serious threat. Both times she says she’ll handle it and shuts him down with little indication that she has heard Mon-El’s warnings. Yes, it was stupid of Mon-El to go off and try to handle Mxy on his own terms, but part of this was his reaction to Kara’s dismissing his warnings. He should’ve gone to J’onn with his concerns; instead, he runs off and essentially loses the DEO’s only weapon against fifth dimensional beings in the fray.

However, he does apologize for what he’s done and admits to his own jealousy.

Furthermore, he follows Kara’s lead on the bomb situation despite his suspicions of Jeremiah, joining her and Alex on the mission to recover “the bomb,” which he does not believe exists (02x14 Homecoming). He’s right there with them, backing them up, even though he thinks they should be wary of Jeremiah.  This shows that his lessons from faux-Livewire and Mxy have both left a lasting impression. He’s new to the superhero thing, so it’s important to listen to those with more experience. Even when he thinks he knows better--and even when (as it turns out) he’s right.

So, no, he doesn’t always “listen,” but he has learned from those mistakes and has shown recently that he can - and will - listen to others despite his own perceptions/concerns.

PART THREE: HE’S ABUSIVE I’m not following this logic. Every time that Kara has rejected Mon-El (which, BTW is A LOT), he has always respectfully walked away from the situation. Consider the following:

Admitting he protected her in faux-Livewire attack because he has feelings for her (02x10 We Can Be Heroes)

When Kara tells him she would never be with him because “It's... It's the way you are,” he tells her he’s going over there and leaves the very, very uncomfortable situation (02x11 The Martian Chronicles)

He supports her judgement of Lena after her rejection, even though he has already given up on changing her mind (02x12 Luthors).

When he can’t persuade Kara not to marry Mxy and he discovers that she also won’t be his (superhero) partner anymore, he leaves once she insists he does so by opening the door (02x13 Mr. & Mrs. Mxyzptlk).

When Kara asks him not to leave yet, he says that he understand that she thinks they’re not a good match and he respects it -- thus, he is prepared to leave the apartment and no longer poke at this painful subject (02x13 Mr. & Mrs. Mxyzptlk).

It would be so easy for anyone to lose their temper in these situations and say something ugly, but instead he verbally accepts what she’s said and does his best to leave on as friendly of terms as he can.

So why do people read him as abusive? He has only made a choice few comments to Kara that are admittedly quite mean:

KARA: You are so selfish.

MON-EL: Okay.

(Mon-El attempts to leave but turns back when Kara speaks)

KARA: I don't know what else I should have expected from a...

MON-EL: From what? From a Daxamite? KARA: I didn't say that. MON-EL: Yeah, but you were going to, Kara. Okay, I may have your powers but I don't have this... This innate desire to go leaping into trouble. But that doesn't make me a bad person, all right? KARA: It kind of does. MON-EL: No, it doesn't. You're no saint, Kara Zor-El! KARA: Excuse me? MON-EL: You fly around, rescuing people, like you're just pure of heart. But that is crap. Because you love that attention. You love people loving you. You are not selfless. KARA: And you are no hero. I thought you could be, but I was wrong.

-- Episode 02x06 Changing, emphasis mine

Of the things he says to her, this is the worst. Namely, she’s not a saint. She loves the attention of being a superhero.

You know, as far as insults go, I’ve heard better. Add that to the fact that she has insulted his (deceased) planet/race quite a lot, and I’d say he’s given her a ridiculous amount of respect, given her attitude towards Daxam. Heck, even when he remarks about Krypton, the worst he says is “self-righteous” (in regards to the glyph on her chest - 02x03 Welcome to Earth) and a “planet of snobs” in jest (02x04 Survivors).

Yes, he does argue with Kara. He argues with her the entire time on Maaldoria, saying they should go back. Yet he willingly goes into the lion’s den despite his reservations, follows her plan, and even submits to capture (02x09 Supergirl Lives). He also argues with her on how she handles Mxy as well as how she apparently gives Mxy a free pass on his behavior, yet she acts like Mon-El is to blame because he didn’t tell her about getting the trickster to say his name backwards is key to making him leave (02x13 Mr. & Mrs. Mxyzptlk).

Arguing with someone isn’t the same thing as abuse, and the arguments between Kara and Mon-El aren’t abusive at all. They disagree. They squabble. With respect.

So, no, not abusive, either.