#and it’s becoming clearer that her arc this season just served to turn her into the referential demon lady fantasy

[scriptmyworld]

you have a man who you heavily imply in the first season, and explicitly say in the next, is abusive, manipulative, and evil. and you have the woman who’s been buried under her family’s legacy her whole life, who you show us has come from a cold, unforgiving, unaccepting home. a woman who’s never been able to make a choice for herself in her life. who’s entire emotional arc was about reconnecting with her sisters. who is brave, who is loyal, and who is way more giving than she would let anyone know.

and you pair them together???? like some sick twisted love story???? you make her his obedient servant?????

lilith’s arc this season makes so little sense to me and it makes her look stupid. there was literally no reason to untether her from her family like this. you could’ve even had her learn more and then dip!! actually make a decision for herself!!! but instead she’s once again at the whim of another power and you’re framing it like it’s her freedom. this plot genuinely made me ill.

[blues-valentine]

it’s still a bit frustrating readings pws claim to this day that portwell “was meant to be endgame” because it’s like they don’t understand those characters and the underlying premise of “their romance”. there was not romantic undertones to them on season 1 and their romance on season 2 was doomed before it even started. pls media literacy i beg.

I believe one of the main reasons PW/Rinis cling so hard to the whole “real endgames” thing is because they are so used to teen shows staying with the “core 4 ships” formula so they refuse to acknowledge the writers changed things because Rina ended up being more dynamic.

This amazing channel did a really thought out explanation about how PW was doomed from the start. Check it out. It has one of my favorite analysis about the show, especially Rina.

But let’s discuss for a moment:

As you said, there weren’t romantic undertones between Gina and EJ on Season 1. They had a common goal. She wanted Nini out of the role of Gabriella and EJ was jealous of Ricky being around Nini. Gina didn’t care about EJ getting the role of Troy. She was actively advocating for Ricky to keep it. The homecoming situation was a plan Gina came up with thinking Nini would be there and get that frustrated she’d quit the show — she was wrong so she took it out on EJ. And instead of the episode ending in some common ground between Gina and EJ, it ends with Gina leaving with Ricky and connecting with him over feeling like outsiders — which kick starts their whole journey. After that, she stopped pursuing her plan with EJ or seeing him all together. They had a whole conversation about Ricky. And later, another argument used to implicate PW was romantic. The plane ticket. That situation wasn’t about Gina. It was about EJ doing good things and becoming a better person and he was inspired to do so by Nini initially. I won’t say that Season 1 doesn’t end with the potential to turn this dynamic into a romantic one — and they did. But it wasn’t aimed as a endgame build up, and that’s made even clearer once you know the existence of that 206 opening night flashback taking place.

EJ starts Season 2 claiming he feels older than the rest of the group. Already making a point that EJ is moving towards a different life stage. His arc started with college applications and the first hint that he might have a crush on Gina comes suddenly on 205 [conveniently after Gina and Ricky had a fallout]. And the narrative never really says why he liked Gina in the first place. And I feel like in a way it was a distraction for him. I’d say it was easier to see why Gina would develop feelings for EJ. This is why I said pairing those two together felt like a plot device for Gina/Rina than it was to serve EJ’s own arc. He was there when she needed it and one thing about Gina, she craves the attention she lacks from her family unit. Gina liked EJ because “he showed up” and I feel he represented a band aid to her feelings. Just like Gina was to him.

The famous sofa scene, the one PWs claim is the epitome of understanding and connection. But as the person from the video says, it never really showed them being connected to each other — it does the opposite. Gina downright says she doesn’t understand him or what he is dealing with but it’s allowing him to dump his problems on her. She sympathized with him but cannot empathize with him. That scene only showcases how different their lives are about to be and how Gina isn’t at the stage EJ is at yet but at that point in time, it felt like they were the only people willing to listen and be there. And having Gina downright say “I don’t know” to EJ’s issues was straight up a parallel to Gina saying “I know” when Ricky open up to her.

And people claiming the miscommunication issues came out from nowhere are really not paying attention. The only reason Gina and EJ got together was because of Ashlyn’s initiative to clear their misunderstanding. If it wasn’t for her, they would have ended with that in mind. And it showed from the get go EJ assumed and let it awake his insecurities instead of speaking.

Another interesting thing the video points out, that I also noticed right away is how Season 2 is framed as a before and after. Divided by 206, which is the flashback episode but also the moment Gina decides to cut off her friendship with Ricky. It’s not a coincidence 205 sets PW up and 206 makes the argument there’s clearly unspoken issues between Ricky and Gina. But mostly, it sets the “I never do things right the first time, Ricky” thing in motion. I said it back in 206 that this quote had a deeper meaning. And after 206, the narrative insists on letting the audience know EJ could be Gina’s first date, first boyfriend and first kiss. They were spoon feeding you the narrative. EJ was going to be the first, just not the last. 209 is a Rina coded episode and I also pointed it out back when it premiered (X). The episode points out Gina was not over Ricky. It has Jack advising Gina to “care less” in her next relationship. An advice that she takes into consideration. And we also got Jack telling her to pick the safest seat on the plane (planes, a metaphor that has been used for Gina’s feelings about Ricky). Gina ended up this episode already with the mindset that she was going to go forward with a more carefree attitude because safest choice (EJ) = less potential pain. @curtsies-from-princess-ashlyn makes a great analysis on how 209 is an episode divided between Ricky and Gina plus their paralleled/individual arcs (X).

The Season 2 finale ties all of this together with second chance, which I said it was a Rina coded song and here’s this lovely analysis (X). Ricky and Nini having the verses about new beginnings because both of them had moved on from their relationship vs Gina and EJ having the verses about shutting down emotionally with Gina saying she’s safer on the run and EJ saying he isn’t sure about what he wants. Neither Gina and EJ started their relationship in the best mindset.

Now, Season 3 premiere, they bring back the “never do things right the first time” analogy again by hitting you with Gina’s “summer of firsts” = “first boyfriend” “first summer camp” and “firsts” continues being a theme all season. Then, we have Gina sub-conditionally saying a person could interfiere in her relationship with EJ, which is a way to say, Gina is not over Ricky. Like, it was so obvious and it was insane people were still holding onto the idea the season would culminate in a love confession with them.

A lot of Gina’s relationship with EJ started by the fact she was compromising her ambition to fit into a role that was more likable for others. She said this to Nini at the end of Season 2. And you can also tell by the way Gina interacted with EJ. It felt like Gina was trying her best to fit into the role of girlfriend, because she didn’t want her first relationship to fail. And this was noticiable with Sofia’s acting choices. And the fact she later confirmed this was an intentional choice means that there’s awareness there.

I’ve said before, Gina and EJ’s relationship was going to fail for a lot of reasons. Their different stages, the fact Gina was not really herself, the fact she still had unresolved issues with Ricky. Gina needed to date EJ to experience her first relationship and even out the dynamic between Ricky and Gina. Gina was pinning on Season 2, then it was turn for Ricky on Season 3, so they could meet in the middle when they were ready. In fact, Season 2 was the season that made me confirm they were serious about Rina because that level of detail isn’t given to non-endgames.

[astarryon]

Another Lifetime: Shouldn’t Have Gotten Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Description of war and battle injuries, mentions of blood, gunshots, language, etc.

Summary: Bucky doesn’t like talking about her, but Dr. Raynor isn’t an easy person to argue with. And now that it’s summer –– now that he’s living through the months they’d shared together all over again, only without her by his side –– fighting the memories becomes all the more difficult.

A/N: Listen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into me but ever since tfatws started I have been INSPIRED! Hoping to update this fic sem regularly, but we’ll see where the new school term takes us. As always, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes has never been overly fond of the summer.

One aspect was the fact that he could remember what it was like to be a miserable kid living in a cramped Brooklyn apartment with no air conditioning and three baby sisters who never stopped whining about the heat. Of all the jumbled, foggy memories bouncing around the confines of his skull, that one is clearer than most. And though he still finds it difficult to picture the faces of his little sisters –– can’t hardly remember arcs of their noses, much less the colors of each of their eyes –– a nostalgic, brotherly feeling washes over him all the same.

There’s also the little detail that he’d received his draft notice in the summer months. That Bucky remembers perfectly, one of the few memories strong enough to remain unmuddied by all those years of shitbag scientists rooting around his head and picking his brain apart. The heat that year had been sweltering, and once his mother found him in her kitchen with that damned letter clutched between his fingers, he felt it burn right through the strings of his heart. 

The first week of July delivered the news. The last saw him shipping out to bootcamp. 

He guessed he didn’t mind the sunshine. That part had always been nice, and it helped to calm him on occasion these days, to remember that the golden rays licking comforting heat up his skin were the same ones which had shone down on him back in the 40s, before and during the war.

Before Hydra had condemned him to seventy long years of dark and cold.

To that end, logic said the season he really should hate was winter, but he’d never felt any ill will toward the colder months, and found now, in the present, that he’d only grown fonder of them. When the rain came down from the sky in sheets, or when snow fell so thick it resembled white, puffy clouds blanketing the ground, he took walks. Partly because no other soul would be idiotic enough to trudge through a borderline natural disaster at three in the morning, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with prying eyes and conspicuously pointing fingers, and partly because experiencing said natural disasters in solitude did wonders for the soul.

Steve thought it was strange. Hated that Bucky did it, kept insisting that he at least take a goddamn jacket, there isn’t any actual proof he can’t get pneumonia. But Bucky always shook his head and declined, rolling his eyes and muttering beneath his breath about how apparently the tables have fucking turned.

But, no. The winter, the rain, the cold –– none of that could ever draw half as much ire from him as did the gentle beginnings of June, the scorching heat of July, the fading light of August. Because those weren’t the things which served as reminders from before.

Reminders of her.

“James. Did you hear me?”

Bucky blinks hard, freeing his gaze from the wall calendar tacked up and viewable just over his doctor’s shoulder. Glancing down, he sees the familiar green of the velvet armchair –– one of three options for patients to choose from in her office, and Bucky’s personal favorite on account of the way its textures did something to sooth him as he gripped its arm anxiously with his flesh hand –– and the worn, fraying knees of his black jeans against it. He doesn’t bother meeting his therapist’s gaze. He already knows which of her expressions he’ll find her leveling at him, if he does.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, sucking his teeth. He hopes his voice isn’t quite as strained as it sounds –– though, judging by the way Dr. Raynor clucks her tongue as her fingers twitch toward her pen, it definitely is. “Guess I’m a little scattered today.”

The sardonic hum Raynor gives in response as she knowingly tilts her head nearly makes him open his mouth to finish the silent argument she’d started, but Bucky knows better than that. The moment he starts up, she’ll feign innocence and inquire as to why he feels the need to defend himself when no verbal accusation has been made. God damn, it would be just his luck to end up with the one government assigned therapist actually capable at her job.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Dr. Raynor offers. “And the two days before, if memory serves me right.”

Bucky shakes his head and tsks, tapping a metal finger against his temple. “Not a funny joke, doc. Remember the audience you’re dealing with here.”

“‘Deflecting.’”

The word drops from Raynor’s mouth with a simpleness that puzzles him.

“‘Scuse me?” he prompts when she only goes on to stare at him owlishly.

“Oh, that’s what I’d be writing in my notebook,” she explains simply, folding her hands together in her lap and leaning back in her chair. “If we were using it right now, that is.”

Again, Bucky rolls his eyes, and has to make an active attempt not to cross his arms like a forlorn child. The threat in her words is easily recognizable, not that she’d really bothered trying to conceal it. She knows that damn notebook irritates him more than any other aspect of their current arrangement, and he knows she’s not bluffing. If he doesn’t start talking, Raynor starts writing –– and if Raynor starts writing, he gets tailed by government watchdogs to ensure there are no imminent incidents lurking in the near future.

He sighs dejectedly and meets her gaze. “What was it you asked me?”

“What it is about the month of June that makes you so uncomfortable.”

Bucky blinks, red alarm bells shrieking in his head. Fuck, he can’t help but think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Caught red handed.

“June’s fine,” he tries, but even to his own ears the assurance sounds weak. To think, he’d once been the most prolific tool of espionage around –– now he can hardly deliver a lie with a straight face. “Don’t have any feelings toward it one way or the other.”

“Strike two,” Raynor quips, glancing one again toward her pen.

Fuck!

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Bucky sits a little straighter in his seat, searching for any semblance of comfort to be found while already knowing he was bound to come up short. Damn it all. She wasn’t going to let him out of this one.

“Alright, hold your horses,” he sighs, waving a halting hand. Raynor’s expression doesn’t shift. She simply continues peering at him with her dark eyes, waiting patiently for his next few words to come. “Why do you assume I’ve got a problem with June?”

“Because you didn’t start staring at that calendar until it switched over from May,” Raynor supplies. “Like I mentioned, today isn’t the only day you’ve been scattered. Seems like something we should consider talking about.”

“No,” Bucky answers quickly. Too quickly. Shit. If she thought he’d been deflecting before, he didn’t even want to know the words running through her mind in regards to his behavior now. “I mean–– well, no. I don’t think it’s that important.”

Raynor arches a brow. “Funny,” she tells him, “the way your eyes keep drifting back to the word ‘June’ tells me otherwise.”

He sighs, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Caught between a rock and an even bigger, weightier rock. The universe really wasn’t one to take his side often.

Bucky knows there really isn’t any choice here. Either he does what Raynor asks and elaborates on his suspicious behavior, or he risks facing the repercussions of those notes she’ll be jotting down in her notebook. Which of the two evils is more definitively the lesser, he can’t rightly say, but he knows which of the consequences he’d prefer to suffer through. And they’re certainly not the ones which see him robbed of the ability to walk freely down the street without a detail of armed babysitters.

So he figures that, maybe for once, being honest can’t be the worst decision to make.

“A few years ago, back before the blip,” Bucky tries, “I spent a summer in Wakanda.”

“Housed by the royal family,” Raynor nods, tone soft. “We’ve spoken about that before. You said you found it peaceful there. That you liked it.”

He did, and still does. On the nights when his mind isn’t quiet enough to let him find sleep but his heart feels light enough to forego the slideshow of horrors he’d been made to suffer throughout the years, Bucky’s thoughts often return to the bliss which life in Wakanda had offered him. He’d remember the farm he kept there, the little children who would come to sing and play and dance in trees to keep him company in the afternoons. He’d remember Princess Shuri –– Just Shuri, James, come now –– and the kindness she’d displayed in deactivating the deeper, most concerning parts of his programming. The day she’d told him it was done, turned off, that he’d never be forced to revert back to the Soldier against his will again, he’d rushed her and caught her up in a bearhug so relieved and forceful that her Dora Milaje detail had actually pointed their spears at him. He’d remember the tranquility of it all, the simpleness.

The peace.

There’s no hope of him being able to return to that place any time soon, much as he’d like to, but the memories sit resolutely concrete in his mind. The first of a new set which he’d never have to worry about being stolen away from him by the currents of an electric shock.

“It’s a nice place,” Bucky affirms, sighing wistfully at the thoughts swirling up in his head. “I bring it up because back then, that summer… I started remembering a few things. From before.”

Raynor keeps her face smooth and composed, but Bucky notices the twitch in her cheek that says she’s got a question. “When you say before,” she asks, voice gentle, “do you mean your time as the Winter Soldier?”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. Ironically, things would be easier, were that the case. He might not be so miserable in the present, seeing the month of June start all over again. The melancholy might not be so strong. “No, not then. I mean from before. From the 40s, during the war. I don’t know if it was Wakanda’s heat that did it, or that my programming was officially deactivated. But one night I went to sleep in my hut like normal, and then the next morning I woke up, and… and I remembered.”

Raynor clasps her hand together in her lap, the pen, the notebook, the hesitation all forgotten. Bucky sees it in her expression, the shock at the fact that he’s speaking, that she’s actually making progress in getting him to talk about things so painful he often wonders if they aren’t better left in the past. He’s still trying to figure that one out. Miserable as he’s been for the first four days of June, he figures nothing good or relieving or positive can come from retelling this particular tale. It’s all behind him now, and there isn’t anything to be done to change the ending in any significant way.

But… but he figures he owes it to her. As painful as the memories are, they can’t be anything in comparison to what she must have gone through in the aftermath of it all.

Slowly, Raynor crosses one ankle over the other. “What was it that you remembered, James?”

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling as deep a breath as he can pull. He lets it loose after counting to six, then opens his eyes again and crosses his arms over his chest. “It started back in June of 1944. I got shot.”

––

June 1st, 1944

It was damn lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

A funny thought, really. One which brings a sarcastic, bitter smile to your lips as you bend your neck to get a closer look at your handiwork. Wasn’t it just two nights ago that you’d been laying in your cot, staring up at the moon through the flap of your tent and counting all the reasons it wasn't fair that the bliss of unconsciousness evaded you? Wasn’t it three that you’d considered sneaking into the med tent and downing a few of the sleeping pills meant for the soldiers? You hadn’t, of course –– god only knew the sort of trouble you’d get in if it came to pass that you were caught –– but the consideration had been there all the same.

“Fuckin’ shit!”

The foul language, mixed with the rough jerk of the body beneath your dexterous hands, was enough to steal your attention back from your jaded inner monologue. Nearly two years back, when you’d first signed on to work as a field nurse, the pained outburst would have sent you flinching. Now, the swearing isn’t anything new, and thankfully for the soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up, it was no longer anywhere near enough to give you pause.

“You better hold still unless you want this to scar even worse than it's already going to,” you tell him matter of factly, gently tugging the thread the rest of the way through your current stitch.

The soldier –– Matthews? Moore? You can hardly remember the name he’d gasped at you in pain, but you’re sure it started with an ‘M’ –– rakes his dirty hands over his even dirtier face, brown eyes squeezing themselves shut as his fingers quake with agony. “Sorry,” he rasps, skin paling. “Just… Jesus, shit hurts so bad!”

You cluck your tongue, guilt racking your heart as you push the needle through his skin once more. “Shouldn’t have gotten shot then, genius,” you murmur, shaking your head disapprovingly.

It works. For a moment the soldier’s face twists in disbelief, and in the next, a shuddering, wheezing gasp of laughter expels itself from his throat. The sight is bleak, but it’s enough to twist your heart with warmth as you once again pull the thread through the stitch. You’d learned in the first few months of working as a nurse on the frontlines that the last thing these men wanted or needed was to be coddled along over their injuries, especially by a woman. Vulnerability was more averse to them now than ever before.

Personally, you don’t much understand it –– but your work isn’t, and has never been, about yourself. 

“Look, why don’t you tell me something,” you start, glancing up to… Morrison’s…? face in apology before sticking him with the needle yet again. He jerks, but not quite so violently this time. Another one down. Only about a thousand more to go tonight. “How’d all this happen? I thought you boys weren’t meant to scope the new territory until tomorrow afternoon. Y’know, in the daylight? When you can actually see whether or not someone in the distance is pointing a gun at you?”

“Unit leader was gettin’ jumpy,” the soldier coughs out, groaning against the pain. Guilt stabs your heart like a knife. You’d have given him something for the pain if you had it, something to numb the wound. But shipments of med supplies were behind, and it would be at least a week before you got your hands on anything like that again. “Said going at night would be better, that we could get the drop on them before they even knew we were coming.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Never mind the fact that their soldiers know the land better than ours do.”

So, the unit leader had jumped the gun. You’d figured as much, when two of your nurses had run into your tent with messy hair and sleep addled expressions, panicking about the oncoming slew of injured soldiers who needed immediate medical attention. That had been two hours, six patients, and about one hundred and ninety seven stitches ago.

Again. It was lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

The soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up opened his mouth to speak –– whether to snark along with you at the poor choice made by the unit’s leadership or to blindly defend his superior’s decision, you couldn’t be altogether sure –– but before he could even fix his mouth to properly shape the words, a sudden roar of someone else’s agony effectively cut him off.

Steadying your hands, you carefully turn to peer over your shoulder, searching for the source of the commotion. All night, you’d been surrounded by a cacophony of screaming soldiers, but that yell of pain is one you’re certain hasn’t yet met your ears. And, as you watch the flap of the med tent swing back before admitting entry to three people –– one of your nurses and two soldiers, one leaning bodily against the other –– you discover that your assumption is correct.

“We got a bad one,” the nurse –– Sally, curly haired, nearing twenty four and a bit more capable than the other girls when met with the sight of blood –– shouts. Her eyes scan the tent, searching and searching until her gaze finally lands on you. She pauses only a moment to turn and direct the uninjured soldier to drag the one he’s supporting over to an empty cot before barrelling in your direction. “Gunshot wound to the abdomen. I haven’t really had the chance to get a good look at it, but he’s–– well, to be frank, that man has lost a shit ton of blood.”

A gutshot. Poor guy would either go through a sickening amount of pain just to die, or he’d survive, and end up having to endure even more pain. Either way, in light of your depleted supply of painkillers, ‘excruciating’ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Oh, damn it all.

“Take over here for me,” you command, gesturing with your chin to the needle perched between your fingers. Sally’s already moving to pluck it from your hand before you’ve even finished speaking. “He’s got about fifteen to go before we even think about sending him back to his tent. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

“You don’t think I know better?” Sally remarks drily, but you don’t have the time to come up with a witty comeback. You’re already on your feet and rushing toward the soldier writhing in pain across the tent, reflexively grabbing a collection of gauze, thread, tweezers, and rubbing alcohol along the way.

This isn’t going to be much fun for either of you.

The first thing you do is excuse the uninjured soldier, the one who’d carried him in. For one, there isn’t any need to keep him witness, and for another, you work better when an addition of unnecessary eyes aren’t tracking your every move. Besides. You doubt the poor soul laying on your med cot is at all interested in one of his peers –– one not sick or out of his mind due to his own pain, that is –– see him in this state. So, you simply thank the young man for his assistance and shoo him back in the direction from which he’d come, waiting until he’s passed the tent’s entrance before turning your full, undivided attention to your newest patient.

He’s got his eyes screwed shut tight in pain. You can hardly blame him. Of all the wounds to suffer through, a gutshot has the potential to win least desirable. It’s easy enough to see why, as the young man’s handsome features carve themselves into an expression of despair. A slick sheen of sweat coats his pale forehead, dampening his dark hair and sticking it to his skin. He’s biting down so hard on his bottom lip in effort to swallow his screams that you’re genuinely shocked he hasn’t drawn blood.

Though, part of you wonders if there’s even enough blood left in his body for his lip to bleed. Deep scarlet blooms stain his green shirt, so thoroughly soaked through that the fabric has turned almost black. Swathes of red cover his torso, his pants, the pale skin of his arms. It’s everywhere, already leaking onto the white sheets of the cot.

Sally wasn’t kidding. He really has lost a shit ton of blood.

“Hey there, soldier,” you start up, setting your collection of medical supplies down before taking a closer look at his torso. Shirt sticking to his skin the way it is, you aren’t going to be able to get much done until it’s out of the way. And, given that this man is certainly in no state to shrug it off himself, you’ve got no choice but to cut it. Lucky that you’d thought to grab a pair of scissors too, you suppose. “Don’t suppose you might be able to help a girl out by telling her what year it is?”

His jaw works for a few moments, teeth grinding together so forcefully the sound is audible. You think he might be gearing up to let loose another scream before he shakes his head a single time. “I got–– got shot,” he wheezes, whole body shaking, “not concussed. Don’t–– ah, don’t really… get how the year’s relevant.”

You exhale a bemused scoff through your nose, considering your response as your scissors work their way through the bloody fabric concealing his wound. You’re working as gently as you can, and so far it seems to be doing the trick. The soldier hasn’t flinched once since you started, though it’s hard to tell if that’s more due to the fact that he hadn’t noticed any difference one way or the other, or if it’s because he’s dedicating what strength he has left to keeping his head screwed onto his shoulders.

“Fair point,” you reply, still carefully cutting through his shirt. “How about a name, then? Little more relevant to the conversation, I’d say.”

It takes a few moments of silence for him to respond –– almost as if he’s trying to remember that he’s got a name –– but eventually, it comes.

“James,” he tells you, the single syllable leaving his mouth in a pained grunt.

You nod, cutting away the last of the fabric. “Nice to meet you, James,” you tell him, carefully peeling the tatters of his ruined shirt from his abdomen. “You just hold tight a little longer for me, alright? We’ll fix you up good as new.”

It isn’t a pretty sight, what you find beneath. Under all that red is a nasty wound, jagged and swollen at the edges, punched into the flesh just beneath the southmost edge of his ribcage. Thankfully, no bones have been hit –– a shattered rib would be immediately evident, both in the pitch of his screams and the deformed shape of his chest –– but the wound is more than a little inflated. There’s a puffiness to it that you can’t comprehend, a stiffness to its perimeter that doesn’t click in your mind, until––

Until you see the small, dark center, and suddenly it does.

You swear beneath your breath, a filthy, ugly word that you’d picked up a few weeks back from one of your patients. You don’t even know what it means, not really, but speaking it feels cathartic enough that you don’t altogether care.

Oh, sweet, holy hell.

James cracks an eye open, muttering, “Darlin’, you rea–– you really gotta work on your bedside manner.”

“Alright, listen to me, James,” you tell him, forgoing a witty response. You don’t have the time, not considering what you’re now dealing with, and you figure James will appreciate your working hands more than he’ll appreciate your shitty attempts at banter. “There’s… there’s something I need to do for you, before I can start patching you up. Now, normally I could give you something for the pain, but we’re out of the anesthetic I need. So this isn’t gonna… it’s not gonna feel very good.”

James looses a labored sigh, oddly calm for the clear anguish marring his face. “Shit, well good news,” he mutters, swallowing thickly, “it already doesn’t.”

His lashes flutter in a telltale manner, one which lets you know he’s getting closer to the brink and you’re running short on time. It’s easy enough, not to give in to the panic this incites in your chest. You’ve been doing this job a long time now, know that what James needs is your calm, your level-headedness. Those things have a higher chance of keeping him alive, of seeing to it that he comes out of this on the other side. Scarred up, maybe, and without the ability to breathe as deep as he once could, but still alive.

You shake your head, grabbing the tweezers from where you’d set them down before planting your forearm against an uninjured section of James’ bare chest for leverage. “Alright, big breaths, James. You scream as loud as you want or need to, but just… try and stay as still as you can, okay? I won’t be able to stop until it’s done.”

The only answer he gives in response is a shaky nod, the thick black fringe of his lashes brushing his cheekbones as his lips begin to move at a speed with which your eyes can hardly track. A prayer, you figure, or a plea for a quick end. Whichever it is, it helps him to relax just the tiniest bit more, slightly smooths out the lines of pain and suffering etched into his face.

Until you start digging with the tweezers, that is.

Then it’s all white hot screams of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper beneath his cries, words drowned out by the sheer volume of the howls ripping out of his throat. But you don’t stop working, don’t withdraw the tweezers from his bloody wound. You hadn’t been joking when you told him starting meant you couldn’t stop until you finished. Abandoning the task now meant leaving James to bleed out in a matter of seconds. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. You’re doing good, though, alright? You’re doing amazing. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment for the tweezers’ edges to find the metal bullet lodged in his skin. At first, all you can feel is a mess of flesh and muscle, shredded and frayed from the impact of the gunshot. For a few short seconds, you wonder if your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you, if it would have been more wise to search for an exit wound on his back than to simply jump straight in without taking the time to stop and think.

But your worries are unfounded –– proven two seconds later when your tweezers make contact with the tiny, foreign object threatening James’ life. Carefully, you maneuver the tweezers into the correct position to properly take hold of the bullet. Then, with one last whispered apology, you slowly and carefully begin to pull.

James’ legs buck hard against the cot, arms straining at his sides where he’s got both his hands fisted into the sheets in an attempt to hold on for dear life. His teeth chatter against each other, knocking and clacking as he tries to get ahold of the screams pouring freely from him, and that thin sheen of sweat coating his skin has turned into a full on tidal wave.

But his torso doesn’t move –– not a single inch.

“We’re almost done,” you assure him, keeping your hand steady as you continue gently easing the bullet up, and up, and up. You can just make out the silver edges of it now, slick with blood and dented. It won’t be long now, before it’s out and you can start working on staunching the blood leaking from his body. Maybe you can lift his spirits with a joke or two then, a witty comment to ease some of the pain. Maybe––

The bullet slips from the tweezers, catching you off guard and jerking your hand to the left. It’s only by a centimeter, not a huge distance, but given that you’ve got edges of metal inserted into this man’s wound, to him, it makes all the difference in the world.

James throws his head back and screams, loud enough that you can instantly hear his vocal cords go raw beneath the strain of the volume. A single word leaves his lips; it sounds like Ma, only it’s warped, strangled. Much as you detest the fact, you know the sound well. A soldier crying out for his mother while under the thrall of delirium and pain isn’t exactly a rarity around these parts.

Guilt twists your heart with the razor sharpness of a cruel knife.

“Stop,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “P-please–– please stop!”

“I can’t,” you tell him, already repositioning your tweezers and going back in. Luckily, the bullet is much closer to the surface of his wound now. It only takes a second before you find another grip on it, instantly deciding to forego gentleness in favor of speed. “But the good news is––” With a slight bend of your wrist and a soft, wet pop, the bullet comes loose from his wound. “––we’re done with the shitty part.”

James’ eyes, glassy with pain and pupils blown wide, fall first to the bullet you hold up for his perusal, set against a backdrop of lowlight and your blood covered hand, before wandering their way up to your face. It’s then that you notice his irises are water blue and clear as crystal. You’re not sure why, but their color fascinates you.

“I wanna keep that,” he mutters weakly.

Then, his lashes flutter rapidly and his head lolls to the side, his lungs expelling a great, big breath before shuddering to a halt.

Your heart lurches at the sight. For one, awful moment, you think you’ve just put the poor man through all of that pain and agony only to end up somehow killing him in the process –– never mind the fact that this isn’t the first time you’ve extracted a bullet from a soldier’s abdomen, and certainly isn’t likely to be the last. But then his chest starts up moving again, at a much less worrisome pace. It’s slow, and his breaths are shallow, but they’re still breaths.

Unconscious –– not dead.

The realization is enough to make you send a mental note of thanks to whichever being was kind enough to have shown James mercy.

You allow yourself the shortest of moments to bask in the relief –– that you’d successfully extracted the bullet, that James hadn’t died during or after your attempts to do so, that you aren’t now left to set in motion the process of another condolence letter being shipped across seas to his family.

And once it passes, once you’ve inhaled and exhaled and wiped your hands on a cloth, you grab a cloth and press it to James’ wound, setting to work on stopping his bleeding –– but not before wrapping the bullet you’d just dislodged from his body in a pad of gauze and tucking it into the breast pocket of your uniform.

––

Chapter Two: Someone Good

[dyketectivecomics]

Randy’s Ultimate Birds of Prey Review (first thoughts)

I want to preface this by waxing just a little poetic here, because I can. The true spirit of the Birds of Prey has been and will always be in the way women love and support one another. As friends, as teammates, as sisters-in-arms against whatever the world throws at them. And while not every comic, not every story, will be Completely Outstanding or without fault, I can say with certainty that when given to competent writers and loving artists, to diligent crews and hard-working casts, that that spirit is seen and felt just as strongly.

First we’ll be tackling the comics, separating them mostly by run (with Dixon to start, the Simone’s turn at the line to follow, then 2010, New52, and BatBoP). Then we’ll discuss the two separate forays into live-action that the Birds have taken (BoP02, and BoP20 respectively) And to finish it all off, we’ll take a prospective look at HQatBoP, given that (at the time of this posting) it has only one issue, and more than enough untapped potential. To keep myself focused and keep things hopefully brief, we’ll be discussing each run’s Line-Up, Writing and Art, and finally overall Plot/Character Development. I will also try to keep things as spoiler-free as possible, but it’s also been a decade since some of this stuff was written, so... YKNOW Spoiler Caution Advised.

Without Further Ado, Let’s Fly~ 

The Dixon Era:

The Line-Up 

As the Definitive Starting Point for the team, this era is marked most notably by the sole members, Dinah and Babs, and their numerous memorable one-off adventures. They are joined on a few occasions by other heroes. Or, while working separately from one another, will team-up with others as they lead their individual lives. The core of this budding ‘team’ remains as a duo for the majority of this part of the run, however.

The Talent

Dixon and his writing is not without faults, of course, as any given international mission could fall prey to stereotypical archetypes and pitfalls. For the most part, Dixon’s writing remains among some of the most entertaining I’ve found, comparatively speaking. With a knack for wisecracks and poignant thoughts alike, I find myself looking forward to more of his work, with a great sense of cautious optimism.

The art, in this same vein, can be also be hit or miss at times, just as much as exploitative panels/questionable dialogue make their inevitable way in. I cannot recall anything outright offensive or demeaning, but one should approach with measured expectations.

The Development

Easy to follow along, but with plenty of twists and turns to keep me interested in the direction any given mystery would lead our duo. The banter and camaraderie that’s slowly and surely built up between Dinah and Babs had me falling ever more in love with their dynamic and with their bond as they grew to not only work well with one another, but into becoming fast friends. The focus is in the development of these characters and this new season of life they find themselves in, rather than grand-sweeping, or long-running plots. But with fun enough jaunts and adventures regardless, I already find myself looking forward to rereading these issues in the near-future.

It is important to note, that in the interim between these two general eras i have marked, that there are numerous Other Writers that took their own cracks during this particular run of BoP, both preceding and superseding Simone. As she and Dixon have the longer-running pens, and that they have the most notable influence in the fandom consciousness, is the biggest reason for why i’ve named these sections as such.

Simone’s Turn:

The Line-Up

A Turning Point for not only the run itself, but the group dynamics as well! This era is marked by the permanent reintroduction of Huntress onto the team, Lady Blackhawk being another quick to follow, and the team’s subsequent rotating cast expanding to many heroines beyond as well. Simone’s writing doesn’t miss a beat in the banter, however, and takes the team from Dixon just as steadily as runners pass a baton.

The Talent

Again, the writing itself usually never misses a beat, and the art, as memory serves, carried very well alongside it, something most usually without offense and downright enjoyable in some places to pour over. While there were certainly some moments and dialogue that gave me pause, for the greater majority of this run, one can expect entertainment, nonetheless.

The Development

While the preceding run had focused moreso on interesting stories and one-off adventures, here is where longer-running plot threads began to take root, and more complicated games and chases between heroes and villains were given room to unfold. Most notably as the Calculator takes more and evermore dramatic actions against Oracle and her team. Not without its fair share of delightful rough patches as team dynamics shift right alongside the cast rotations, anyone who appreciates a long game and character development is likely to come away satisfied from this run, even as it draws to brief close... Which brings me to...

BoP (2010):

The Line-Up

Picking up not too long where the previous run ended, Oracle brings her team (Black Canary, Huntress and Lady Blackhawk) back together with a couple new faces (Hawk and Dove) to wrap up a few loose threads, and, hopefully, begin something anew.

The Talent

As before, Simone doesn’t usually miss a beat with this team, even while taking account the changed dynamics and time apart the group has spent. Dialogue and plot threading is just as tight as ever.

Unfortunate, however, is the fact that the art in the run ended up with more misses than hits for me, mostly in the first half of the run and most often in the sense of objectifying and oversexualizing our heroines in fashion that is disappointing, but unsurprising coming from the comics industry.

The Development

The plot takes a bit of a beating, rushed in some places as Flashpoint and the New 52 reboot loom heavily on the horizon, but Simone and the team superseding her take those changes in stride, delivering a story that may or may not satisfy everyone’s tastes. For those who were left wanting from the way the first run ended, it’s important to note that the threat of the Bird’s longer running nemesis, the Calculator, comes to a much more satisfying and final end after his temporary defeat in the Oracle: The Cure miniseries. While not entirely necessary, I would highly suggest reading that mini, and the issues of Batgirl (2009) which include Babs, to get a clearer sense of the arc that Barbara and this villain have taken. While this run is not a perfect ending, per se, it provides an ending nonetheless, and an entertaining adventure to cap off the series that once again perfectly encapsulates what camaraderie and sisterhood is all about for this team.

The New 52:

The Line-Up

With a fresh new universe and timeline to make one’s mark in, this team is kick-started alone by Dinah Drake-Lance, though Barbara (as Batgirl) is later to follow. For the first part of the run, Dinah is joined by a new character Starling, (whose mannerism and role on the team most closely resemble of fusion of previous members Huntress and Blackhawk) Katana, and Poison Ivy (acting a role of anti-villain, mostly). For the latter half of the run, following Ivy’s betrayal and Katana’s desire to strike out on her own, the team is joined by Condor (a meta whose backstory and powers are explored as the series progresses) and Strix (a former Talon who brings extra and endearing muscle to the team).

With many members carrying secrets or ulterior motives, tension often runs high among these birds. Those who enjoy drama or a little more disarray in a team, may find themelves entertained by the turns these ladies will take on one another. Most certainly a break from the norm previously established, and from those to come.

The Talent

The writing for this run is filled with many quick quips and snaps, each character developing a distinct voice and personality. While the New 52 is often a point of contention among DC fans, anyone wishing for something fresh or different from pre52 characterization of these characters may find themselves delightfully surprised.

Art-wise expect similar fare as the 2010 run, as some costume design choices are questionable at best. The action itself is entertaining, though, with some interesting opportunity for unique visuals as more metahumans and meta dangers are brought along.

The Development

What sets this run apart from the others, certainly has to do in the dynamics that are laid out over the series. Every character has their own motives or secrets to hide, creating a delicious tension that helps keep a reader guessing just how this team will inevitably break apart. Story arcs themselves are usually pretty well-paced, though with such heavy focus usually on whatever threat immediately faces the team, moments of character development and interpersonal development can be lackluster at best, nonexistent at worst. And while that was certainly frustrating, I personally found myself intrigued enough by any given on-going plot to nearly forgive it... Nearly.

BatBoP:

The Line-Up

In the Wake of Rebirth, the Birds find themselves once again starting anew, with Batgirl (Babs) and Canary (Dinah) forming what each believes to be a brief alliance. With the Huntress crossing their path, eventually the trio recognizes how well they work together, and these three remain once more as the core members for the majority of this run.

They are joined for a brief time by Gus Yale, taking on the Oracle identity to provide technical back-up. Even more brief is a memorable team-up which included Gotham heroine and villainess alike for the Manslaughter story arc.

The Talent

While exposition is often written with a flair of humor, and many interesting one-liners can be found, overall that humor can grow tedious, and the dialogue itself often came across as either very stilted or simply unrealistic. Many characters can fall very flat, while others feel like shadows of their pre52 selves. Whether the writers intended to make these characters their own or to emulate previous characterizations, I could care less about, as the pacing and plotting itself leaves such a poor taste in my mouth.

This run’s saving grace, however, is most certainly in the character design and the artwork. Given practical costumes, colorful palettes, and powerful posing, visually it’s a breath of fresh air.

The Development

Quick and simple story-arcs is the name of the game here, but unlike during Dixon’s era, these one-off adventures are all too often infantilizing and condescending towards its audience. The development of this trio’s friendship also feels extremely rushed, the camaraderie and kinship unearned compared to the toil and work put in during previous runs. With a completed long-running story arc set from the beginning issues and brought to a neatly-wrapped conclusion by the end, one can walk away satisfied that a story has been brought to completion. However, with no true middle act in the issues between, this remains one of the weakest of Birds runs for me, as the plot borrows much too heavily from pre52 (what with the return of the Calculator as a main villain), while also neglecting to produce too many original ideas of real note.

BoP02:

The Line-Up

In usual fashion for TV, we mainly follow a trio of gals, this time consisting of Barbara Gordon (as Oracle), Helena Kyle (as the Huntress) and Dinah Lance. Rounding out the supporting cast is Alfred Pennyworth as a confidant to the team, and Detective Jesse Reese, Huntress’ ally within the police. The main antagonist for this series is none other than Harley Quinn, who is introduced first to the audience as Helena’s therapist.

The Talent

It takes a team to pull off any performance art, but that especially rings true for television. While the writing and acting can be a tad hammy in many places, even by early 00s standards, there’s a clear level of love and care taken by the actors and crew alike. Outfits and costuming is fairly typical, fashionable for the time, even, and the same can be said for the soundtrack as well (which rings with an air of nostalgia, as someone who listened to plenty of pop/rock tracks of this time period well throughout my child & teenagehood).

I’ve often described this series to friends and fans alike as a ‘so bad, but good’ kind of show. Which isn’t entirely fair. Rather, it’s a guilty pleasure, because it’s perfectly imperfect. It’s got the heart and the soul and a lot of vision that falls just a little short at times. But it can be a pleasure to view all the same. I do not begrudge anyone who chooses not to view it, however, as in many ways it feels like a spiritual predecessor to what would eventually become the CW/Arrowverse. And we’ll dive more into that just below...

The Development

In an odd enough twist for the time, as by 2002 Huntress (Bertinelli, that is) had only joined Canary on a few missions in the comics, the show runners have replaced Bertinelli with the other known Huntress, Helena Wayne (or known here, rather, as Helena Kyle). Made stranger still, is forgoing the use of Dinah’s character as Black Canary and replacing her Canary Cry with psychic meta-abilities instead, simultaneously transforming her into a runaway and aging her down to her mid-teens, further differentiating her from her fellow cast members (as Kyle is portrayed as early 20s, & Babs’ as early 30s). This dynamic is a very dramatic flip compared to the comics, but (but!) not entirely an unwelcome one, for me. 

While giving Babs the chance to act more as a leader and den-mother alike to these two budding heroes. Kyle, in similar fashion, taking on an elder-sibling/mentor role to Dinah’s naiveté. Dina’s portrayal of Babs has certainly set a standard for those who may follow, as she captures so much of the dual love and sternness the character carries. Kyle’s character takes a simple, but satisfying arc as she learns to trust those around her, despite her past and what she believes to be her nature. And finally Dinah just starting to come into her powers and her identity, one could see further development for her character, had the series progressed beyond the first, and only season.

Alas, with one lone season, we shall never know what may have been. I can say, however, that the slow build up of Harley as the main threat facing New Gotham, and their swift, but hard-won defeat of her, was wonderfully satisfying. And with enough of one-off and self-contained episodes in between, it makes for an interesting, but quick and relatively painless binge.

BoP20:

The Line-Up

In another case of Adaptation Deviation, taking center stage for this story is none other than the Clown Princess of Crime, Harley Quinn. In this tale that our protagonist narrates, we’ve also got BoP staples Dinah and Helena (Bertinelli this time) returning, and former guest ‘Birds’ Renee and Cassandra to round out the protagonist team. The Black Mask, Roman Sionis, and serial killer, Victor Zsasz, serve as the primary villains.

The Talent

WHERE to even BEGIN. If television takes a team, movies take an entire goddamn VILLAGE to pull off, and to pull of WELL. For all intents and purposes, BoP(atFEoOHQ) is an absolutely goddamn DELIGHT for the senses. The sheer amount of COLOR, choreography and every moment acting as villains and heroes alike are at the TOP of their game. The soundtrack is something that I’ve been listening to for well over two months at this time of posting (& likely will continue to listen to well after). There’s almost too much to be said and has already been said about the love and labor that clearly went into this film, but suffice it to say, it’s something I’ve come to appreciate even more every time I’ve had the chance to rewatch it. On viewability alone, even with a strong, and well earned R-rating, one can’t help but simply sit back and enjoy it for the ride that it is.

The Development

The plot, despite even Harley’s sometimes roundabout storytelling skills, is simple enough to follow. And with character introductions and motivations padding out the rest of the runtime, and leading up to a predictable but nevertheless astounding 3rd act team-up, fans new and old should walk away satisfied. That being said, with Harley as our protagonist and her character arc taking precedent over the others because of that, this movie does come across as more of a Harley Quinn Show with a Side of Birds. Another point of contention is the absence of Barbara Gordon, either as Batgirl OR Oracle, and the drastic change of Cassandra’s characterization. While these two points are definite drawbacks that sadden me, the overall production is damn-well near enough to make me forget. This movie, while nowhere near a Complete adaptation of any particular Birds comic, is nonetheless a fun romp, and captures enough of the essence of what Birds should be about; women uplifting other women.

HQatBoP:

The Line-Up

To tie in with the movie, this line-up follows the same five female protagonists, this time as Harley finds danger following her as she makes a prodigal return to Gotham City. With only one issue out, and hints of the Gotham mob and Joker alike to be facing our team, only time will tell just how many heroes or villains may be involved in this miniseries.

The Talent

With Harley Quinn alums, Amanda Conner and Jimmy Palmiotti spearheading this story, and with the blessing of the DC Black label, fans who enjoy the raunchier or more violent side of comics, and who enjoyed the Harley series, will find a fantastic start in return to form in this comic. It might be a little too soon to tell, but from what I have read from this duo already, I have nothing but hight hopes for how they’ll flesh out this story.

The Development

An interesting start and lots of exposition to ease new readers into place, this comic seems to be a good bridge for those unfamiliar with any previous Harley work (though they do sample heavily from their old runs), or those who may be coming solely with knowledge from the movie. Once again, Harley will be taking the center stage in this series, but already with Helena and Cassandra joining her fight, and Renee making an antagonist entrance at the end of the first issue, this series feels full of promise. Certainly not quite like any Birds series that’s been published before, but hopefully the herald of something more to come.

---

While I firmly believe each comic run has their merits, I would be remiss not to recommend the original run (and the 2010 follow-up) above all else. It is the definitive run, after all, and with over 100 issues to pour over, plus one-offs and miniseries from the same era abounding, anyone looking to get into Birds will find themselves with plenty to parse through, and plenty to enjoy, when reading.

While I certainly have more to say about these runs and even more so about these characters, as I close out my reading for the first time on Birds of Prey, I can only hope for more adventures for this team in the future.

[constantlyirksome]

With Lucifer’s Fourth Season, The Devils in the Lack of Detail, (Spoiler Review.)

As a diehard DeckerStar fan, the end of Lucifer season three was as devastating to me as anybody, and the thought of never knowing if Chloe would ever accept Lucifer with his devil face hounded me. Did she run away in fear? Did she go in for a make-out on his crispy face? When the news hit that Lucifer was coming to Netflix I like all the other fans let out a sigh of relief. After episode one, I immediately take that relieved sigh back!

Spoil

The opening, Lucifer doing Radiohead’s Creep, alone in his nightclub every night for months, getting more and more disheveled with time was a brilliant way to lay out Lucifers angst on the table, along with some context on how long Chloe fled the country from, which is what she did. Now as an avid fan and a shipper this might seem like madness, but Linda went practically catatonic when she saw the Devil Face, Chloe earned some thinking time, she had the devils tongue in her mouth that’s cause for retrospection. We got no solid relief the whole episode as she avoided Luci’s prodding gaze and questions, insisting she was fine. But she wasn’t, and the end of episode’s twist, that she was plotting Lucifer’s descent back to hell with a priest hit like a semi-trailer to the stomach.

How dare she! I cried, but again, context is important, she had just figured out she knew the devil, she has a kid she needs to protect but it was still a dick move. After this, however not a lot interesting happens for a while. Now arguably on a streaming platform where people are likely to devour the whole season in a weekend, which I did, so not every episode needs a huge climax like a regular weekly serial. However, the points between this betrayal, Lucifer finding out and swiftly dealing with the problem, and the arrival of Eve are muddied. The murder of the week format has lost some of its charms, even with zany crimes and scenes, like the set of a survivor type reality show, do little to jazz up some very uninteresting murders. I found throughout the ten episodes I was able to follow and enjoy maybe three of the cases, the other’s were either convoluted or very dull. The nudist colony murder was a very good opportunity to get a close look on the peach fuzz on Tom Eliss’ butt. The cases that bring Lucifer’s fall (second fall) from grace, where he begins to punish and beat the murderers he catches for a while serve only as plot devices and little else.

So ultimately there was very little connecting the major plot points, the priest goes to jail randomly, Eve shows up with little investigation into how she escaped heaven, Lucifer is into two women, then the priest shows back up but he’s a demon now.

Now a lot of these individual pieces of narrative worked on their own. Lucifer’s obsession with self hatred and punishment, visually represented by his ever-changing devil form, was thematically sound, torn between the man he was in the garden of Eden, to who he is now solving crimes.

All of this comes to a head when he comes to the cheery realization, “I hate myself!” He’s skirted around his self-hatred, his guilt and resentment as his identity is wrapped up in everyone else’s sins, with Linda in therapy and it’s an incredibly interesting plot line to tug at, that Tom Ellis has risen to really well. What could be considered over the top at the shows conception now works in his favor.

The two women in his life, Chloe and Eve, basically revolve around him and do little else which is a shame, because they are both incredible women. Chloe’s character has been built up in the past, a strong intelligent single mother with some compelling backstory. She prided herself on her ability to rationalize, to do the right thing, but her story is so woven into Lucifer’s now that their romantic intentions are clearer now. She spends a lot of time being a badass, solving crime but she also spends a lot of time crying about Lucifer, the literal devil.

Eve is similarly linked to Luci in totally different ways. She is a thrilling character, imbued with the personality and backstory of the first sinner, but also the first human woman, filled with compassion, spirit, and curiosity. Actress Inbar Lavi brings so much zeal and childlike innocence it’s impossible not to love her. She does bring out the worst in Lucifer, loving him as the tempter from the garden, strong and unyielding in his punishment of evil. So despite her bubbly innocence her biggest character developments either revolve around pleasing and keeping Lucifer in her life, or trying to rebel against her husband, Adam. I truly hope, if there is a season five, she comes back; maybe we can get some more backstory or footage from Eden.

All the other supporting players actually had a lot to do, and a lot of growing to do as well. Barring Dan. I don’t remember fully why he is so salty, it’s linked to Charlotte’s death in season three, but he does nothing but mope. Ella, also affected heavily by Charlotte’s passing, questions her faith, but there is no evidence of that journey, no real work is done before she moves back to her faith, apart from a totally random, gratuitous tonsil hockey session with Dan. Seriously where did that come from, and why the creators thought it was necessary.

Linda, Mazikeen and Amenadiel had the most complete, satisfying arcs throughout the season’s length. Linda becomes pregnant with Amenadiel’s baby, which is a fascinating turn of events. What will the baby be like? Would it have wings, or be celestial, or have laser vision. It also begs the question, if Amenadiel could impregnate a woman on his first try, how is there not a little baby Lucifer anti-Christ running around? Their struggle in coming to grips with what it will mean to be parents. Amenadiel's newfound love and respect for humanity has him excited to raise a baby away from heaven. Leading to one of the most impressive pieces of plot, when he tries out being a father figure to a young black man who’s had a rough relationship with the law. He learns both how hard it is being there for a son, but also about real-world politics, in this case police brutality against black people in America. It was a surprisingly insightful moment for a typically camp show. Would it be better to raise their son, Charlie, on earth, or in the silver city?

Side note, Lucifer and Amenadiel's sister coming down to steal the baby when the plan was to raise him on Earth, only to give up after moderate resistance, was another wasted opportunity, though it did plant the seed in Amenadiel's head to take the baby.

Mazikeen slowly becomes more human this season (ironic considering her initial stance on Lucifer hanging out with Chloe), through her friendship with Linda (the best relationship/dynamic on the show next to Maze/Trixie) and her job as a bounty hunter. With Lucifer Linda and Trixie, she built a sort of pseudo-family, but she still lacked a romantic connection, which has her unfulfilled apparently. I didn’t like this either. Her last minute fling with Eve wasn’t thought out, and it was just a ploy by Eve to win back a man who didn’t care so it sort of felt like a big screw you to Maze, who like a lot of the others had little else to do this year.

Although Lucifer’s character arc was tight, was a step towards real growth, and a realistic way to delay gratification for his and Chloe’s relationship it came at the expense of any larger story arc or side plots for some of the other characters who deserved a little more after coming back from cancelation.  The end shots, Lucifer sitting on a madly impractical throne does lead to the exciting possibility of exploring more of hell, and baby Charlie brings with him the opportunity to explore the silver city. However, after being canceled once already having as big a cliffhanger as last season seems risky, and if the show doesn’t get a season five fans might go mad thinking about it, even if the fourth season was a little messy.

[douxreviews]

Constantine - Series Review

I come not to praise Constantine, but to bury him.

Well, okay. A little of both.

In a fairly short amount of time from when this is posted, season four of DC's Legends of Tomorrow will premiere, featuring Matt Ryan as a regular cast member playing our favorite bisexual petty dabbler in the mystic arts; John Constantine. This makes it a great time to mention two things. First, if you weren't aware, Doux Reviews has a regular reviewer of Legends of Tomorrow who's both insightful and terribly sexy, so you should definitely check that out. Second, Constantine's one and only season as an independent property is ripe for a fresh look, now that we know we have more trenchcoated goodness coming our way.

So, let's take a look at Constantine's thirteen episode run, in light of what we've learned about the character since, shall we?

The series is now available on demand, so let's go episode by episode, while we count down to his next appearance.

'Non Est Asylum':

Re-watching this episode – and for the record, I re-watched it three times while trying to sort out how I felt about it – two things become very clear. Almost everything in the episode is brilliant, and they absolutely should have thrown away all but the last two minutes and started from scratch there, even if it meant only getting twelve episodes on air.

The issue, as most of you who care will remember, comes down to studio interference. 'Non Est Asylum' exists to establish two characters, John Constantine, and Liv. Liv is the daughter of a friend of John's who mysteriously died recently, has a mysterious magical cabin which is not at all like the TARDIS as owned by John Dee, will serve as the show's home set, and has all sorts of mysterious hints about why he abandoned his daughter and what his story was. All of this is clearly meant to set up Liv's character arc as 'female Neo who fights demons instead of robots'. That's her character brief, and it couldn't be clearer that it was meant to carry the season.

But at some point the studio clearly insisted that they cut Liv's character and replace her with a different type of female lead that they thought would fit the vibe of the show they wanted better. This isn't an inherently terrible thing and is totally within the studio's rights. The exact same thing happened with Big Bang Theory, and if you've ever watched the abandoned pilot of that show with Not-Penny, you know that it was a change for the better. But they absolutely needed to cut this episode loose as a result of that decision, because the scars of Liv's removal really, really show.

You can identify without effort the one single scene that was changed. In the original plan, John has Chas drive Liv past the place she scryed about earlier to see that something terrible had indeed happened there. Obviously this was meant to affirm her commitment to helping people despite her fear of the magical world. Instead, they inserted a scene to follow it wherein other characters discuss how she was so scared by the realization that she left the area, moved to the other side of the country, and would never be mentioned again. Good thing that she left the keys to her dad's cabin, so we still have a home base, huh? It's a sloppy edit that leaves the whole episode feeling wasted, and they absolutely should have scrapped the whole thing, starting the new pilot with John's encounter in the alleyway where he ignites his hands, because that's an amazingly strong image, segueing into the introduction of Zed drawing that same image, which should have, and would have, been a strong intro to her character if it didn't feel so much like a back pedal away from Liv.

It's all a shame, because like I said, the rest of the episode has a lot of wonderful stuff. The dialogue is absolutely cracking, specifically lines like, 'Where do you come from, John?' 'Oh, the sordid passions of my parents.' The effects are beyond first rate, specifically all the flashes to skulls and zombie/demon makeup, which is really tricky to not overdo and they stuck the landing every time here. And finally, the performances, even Liv's, are better than you should usually expect from a pilot. Anyone who thinks that Matt Ryan is just playing himself as John Constantine would do well to watch his portrayal of the electricity demon dressed up in John's body to taunt John. He's playing two entirely different characters arguing with one another, one of which is in what could easily have turned into Halloween makeup, and he completely crushes it.

Other thoughts about this episode; it was a mistake to rush that much information about Astra in right at the beginning of the series in what was already a pretty full episode. Ritchie was a fun character, but they really shouldn't have introduced both him and Chas in the same episode because that reads as a bit of a wasted opportunity for later. And speaking of Chas, now that we know that John is bisexual, do we suppose that he and Chas have had sex? Clearly, the answer at this point appears to be yes, but we'll keep checking in on that point as the season progresses.

'The Darkness Beneath':

Jesus Christ, yes. This. This is what the show should have been directly out of the gate. Just look at how much less we know about Zed than we did about Liv, and yet how much fuller and richer a character Zed is simply by virtue of the fact that we aren't being force fed studio notes back story about her for the entire episode. Ditto for John Constantine. This, apart from being set in the US instead of England, is exactly the sort of situation he'd have been mixed up in in the pages of Hellblazer, and the show was rarely stronger because of it. The absence of Harold Perrineau helps as well, since all he really accomplished in the pilot was to loom menacingly and say, 'I'll be important later.'

If they'd had the balls to completely throw out the pilot and start with John Constantine in the alley with his fists on fire segueing directly into this episode, we would currently be enjoying the premiere of season five of this show. I have absolutely no doubt about that.

'The Devil's Vinyl':

Satan cuts a demo. Reviews are mixed. I suspect that this is the version of the show that the network wanted to have; basically The X-Files with demons for aliens and a warlock/psychic combo for FBI agents. It's not terrible, as monster of the week episodes go, and it provides a good intro for Papa Midnite, but you can't help but feel like the show is rushing to introduce as much Hellblazer back catalog as they can to make up for the pilot episode misstep.

And Chas brought John orange juice because he was worried about his blood sugar. They didn't just have sex in the past, they're currently still at it. John even called him 'Daddy.' Can Chas show up on Legends? Because I am shipping them so hard right now.

'A Feast of Friends':

For thirty-eight minutes of screentime, we get a pretty standard demon of the week wrapped up in a not particularly subtle addiction metaphor. Good enough television, but nothing groundbreaking. But then John walks his old friend Gary into a theater, fully aware that he was leading him to his slaughter just because he couldn't think of another way to win, and we get our first real glimpse in this series of John Constantine: Hellblazer. The interesting thing about Constantine in the comics is that he is always a man who fully expects every single thing he encounters to be the shittiest possible version of itself, and is rarely disappointed. But contrary to how that sort of character is usually portrayed in fiction, that knowledge neither makes him bitter and cynical, nor longing for hope. It makes him pragmatic. And pragmatic is scary and interesting, because it's rarely seen as a virtue and never portrayed as aspirational. Except in Hellblazer.

I hate to keep focusing on sexuality, but it would be fascinating to know what Matt Ryan thought about John's sexuality while filming this series, because we keep encountering moments like John's kiss to Gary's forehead which display an extraordinary level of comfort with male on male physicality while at the same time not glamorizing it or making it feel exploitative. At the very least, I bet Matt Ryan is a hell of a kisser.

'Danse Vaudou':

Jim Corrigan! Dammit, I'd forgotten that they were setting up the Spectre and never got to pay it off. I know I've been saying this almost every story, but can Jim Corrigan please, please, please, show up on Legends?

This is the episode that almost broke me as far as re-watching Constantine goes. There's just so much rich potential and setup that we know is never paid off. The rising darkness that never happens, the live action realization of The Spectre that they were clearly building up to and would have been amazing, Papa Midnite who they had properly set up to be as compelling and layered a character as he had been in the comic books. It's just heartbreaking.

'Rage of Caliban':

A fairly standard Halloween filler episode, the likes of which The X-Files had been banking for most of the 90s. The title exists solely to allow me to make a poncy literary reference for the sole sake of validating my English degree, which I'm going to hold off on for the moment. But the scares are genuinely scary, the child actors aren't irritating, and the twists are pretty good.

Chas, meanwhile, has taken to arguing with Constantine like an old married couple while he's under the influence of the truth telling sword. But then he goes and raises questions by mentioning someone named Rene, so I guess the implication is that John is his rebound relationship? Yes?

'Blessed are the Damned':

Apparently there is a rule that all genre shows are required to do at least one show about snake handlers and one show about faith healing. Sensing that their run would be limited, Constantine does both at once. And, it's pretty much your standard genre show about snake handlers and faith healing, to be honest. Zed's sudden desire for faith stands out as a little out of character, but that's because it only happens for the sake of making us fall for the 'grab the feather' fakeout later on.

It is interesting to wonder what Manny thinks is going on in this episode, with the benefit of hindsight. Were he and Imogene working together? Did he pull out her feather? Or is it just a coincidence that two different angels are up to shady dealings simultaneously? Don't hold your breath for an answer on this one, I'm afraid.

'Saint of Last Resorts, Part 1':

This is the moment you can see the show figuring out what it wants to be. As an added bonus, as the scripting and themes are gelling, the cinematography is absolutely gorgeous and there are a couple of directorial flourishes that are just beautifully handled. The DP on this one was Scott Kevan. I will be looking up his CV later, because his work here is so much better than we usually get.

'Saint of Last Resorts, Part 2':

It's a little odd how completely the naming ties these two episodes into one coherent two-parter, because really they have very little to do with each other as far as plot goes beyond this one picking up where the last one left off.  But then, this one picked up the previous episode's cliffhanger from before the holiday break, so that's not so unusual.

By the end of this episode, all the pieces are in place for what the show should have become. Zed's backstory is just roughed in enough to allow for a lot of future development. We've explored why John makes the choices he does through the time honored technique of taking a different character and watching them get forced into making those same choices so that we can better understand how John got there. And Chas continues to prove that he's John's one true soulmate. I've started referring to them as Chastantine, if anyone would like to join me in shipping them.

'Quid Pro Quo':

In which we meet a really fun potentially recurring villain, the pathetic, elderly, also-ran magician Felix Faust, who you just know they would have found a way to bring back repeatedly as a sort of Mudd/Quark hybrid. Plus we finally hear Chas' backstory, in which we find out how he basically became Captain Jack with a countdown clock, which is a great idea and could have been explored in a thousand interesting ways.

Okay, I've been a little puckish about Chas and John's relationship, but this seems like the right time to address the issue like a responsible adult. I think, based on what we've seen this season, that John and Chas have definitely been physically intimate at least once in the past, but purely on a friendship basis. I think that they currently have feelings for another that transcend what we currently think of as friendship but don't really qualify as romantic love. I'd say that they'd reached a pure form of the Greek concept of Philia, but I'd hate to be that pretentious. And I'll tell you why. Because John Constantine would never, ever, think to worry about whether someone was still all right to drive after a night out. But he does for Chas.

'A Whole World Out There'':

And we're back to what's essentially a Supernatural or X-Files monster of the week episode. That's not a terrible thing, intrinsically. As they go, this would have been one of the better Supernatural or X-Files episodes. Plus, Jeremy Davies is always worth watching. It just suffers a little bit from being sandwiched between the previous week's excellent study of character relationships and the knowledge that we're only going to get two more episodes after this.

The show can hardly be blamed for it, but our time with Constantine is rapidly running out, and we don't have time to waste treading water like this. Frustrating.

'Angels and Ministers of Grace':

The evil artifact of the week is a black diamond and not one person made a skiing joke. I find that disappointing.

It's really hard to square this episode with the following week's revelation about Manny. It feels like the whole point of this installment was to humanize Manny and bring him more into Team Constantine's fold, but we learn pretty conclusively in the following episode that that is not where Manny's storyline is going, so what exactly are we supposed to make of what happens here? And what was the long term plan for Zed's brain tumor, which is clearly sitting there in the final scene wearing a tiny t-shirt that says, 'I'm going to be a significant plotline later on', and then never gets the chance to be.

Honestly, as I near the end of re-watching these, the thing that's striking me the most is how much optimism the writing room is showing; diligently moving forward with planting the seeds for long term plans, carefully setting up mysteries inside backstories, all meticulously orchestrated to come into play later on. There's a strange and tragic nobility in the amount of faith they were showing in the show's prospects for a future.

'Waiting for the Man':

This was an amazing season finale. It gelled the developing Constantine/Zed/Jim Corrigan triangle, which we already know to be doomed. We get the foreshadowing of The Spectre, who clearly has very specific wounds that we're going to presumable see inflicted on Jim as he dies and is transformed into his supernatural identity. We get the new information about Manny that completely flips the table on everything we thought we knew about the season's storyline and just begs the viewer to re-watch the season while waiting for answers in season two. Plus we get a stand alone story whose style feels like it could be straight from the pages of Hellblazer; involving ghostly goings-on colliding with the most grotesque and debased aspects of humanity.

This is a heartbreaking series finale for all those same reasons. The showrunners' optimism about the program's future remains unbowed, and no concession is made to the possibility that they might not be renewed. Instead the storyline marchs boldly on, telling a solid standalone story while delicately weaving in the seeds of events to come. If you'll pardon the mixed metaphor.

The closest the show itself comes to acknowledging its situation vis-à-vis renewal is a speech of John's early on in the episode about human life, in which he basically says 'we're here as long as we're here, and then we're gone. It can't be changed, it can't be helped, and it can go screw itself double hard, because we're not going to let fear of that matter.' Which is basically the most John Constantine sentiment ever expressed.

So, now that the charms are all o'erthrown, if I might borrow an appropriate line, what do we make of it all?

This would have been an amazing show, is the closest I can get to a concise answer. It was doing everything right, it was proceeding in good faith and making no concessions to fear, and it got screwed out of continued existence by the most banal and crushing forces. So, in a way, the show Constantine is very much a reflection of Constantine the man.

For those who don't know, or don't remember, the answer to what happened is depressingly simple. The network needed to make final decisions about renewals and cancellations by a fixed date, and Constantine hadn't aired enough of its run by that point to get the amount of positive feedback it needed to survive. It might have made the cutoff if they hadn't tripped out of the gate with the replacement of Liv for Zed, making it feel like the show was already troubled to network executive eyes from the get go. The combination of that initial wobble and the show happening to air a lot of its episodes after the cancellation decision had been made finished it. There aren't really any bad guys in the story, just a confluence of terribly unfortunate factors that no one could change. This is also, in its way, the most Constantine thing ever.

It's ironic that Constantine, the television character, has lived the opposite experience of Constantine the comics character. In the funny books, John was a random factor that occasionally cropped up in other supernaturally flavored books, most usually Swamp Thing. We didn't know much about him, but every time he randomly popped up he got more popular until they eventually gave him his own series. On the television, they jumped right to his own series, and then after that wasn't renewed began using him to pop up in other character's shows as a mysterious magician who served as a random factor in their storylines. Maybe if they'd done it the other way around his own show would have flourished earlier, I don't know. What I do know, however, is that Matt Ryan is clearly beloved, both by fans and by the people making decisions on the TV shows, because a character from a cancelled show on another network just does not get a brought back and given a second chance at life on other shows. That absolutely, categorically, never happens. The closest possible other example is Richard Belzer, and both of his shows were at least on the same network.

So, I highly recommend going back and watching these 13 episodes, because they really are for the most part damn good television. And John would absolutely want a party, not a wake. As to the overarcing plot about the rising darkness, I managed to find peace with it by telling myself that the rising darkness referred to the demon Mallus, who John was eventually able to help defeat on Legends of Tomorrow, and so it all worked out. We still won't ever know what the hell Manny wanted out of the whole situation, but if you squint at it sideways it all hangs together.

Nine out of ten trenchcoats. It's only not ten because the first half of the season is clearly finding its feet, but even so it's fantastic. Now bring on season four of Legends, wherein Chas turns up and helps John summon the Spectre to rescue Zed from the Brujaria.

I can dream, can't I?  

Oh, and 'Rage of Caliban' is a quote from Oscar Wilde's introduction to Picture of Dorian Gray. You're welcome.

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water.

[fortunatelylori]

Jon’s speech to Dany

In the comments section for my last meta I was asked a couple of questions that I thought would be interesting to address more at length, since the comment character limit is so small. If you haven’t noticed, I tend to be a very wordy writer. Anyway, thank you @yol101 for your lovely comment and for giving me the opportunity to talk about this.

Btw, if you ever want me to discuss anything in particular, please leave it in the comments or message me. I’d be happy to answer if I can. :)

 The comment is below:

Bravo again for this great analysis. Thoroughly illuminating and a joy to read. Question about the speech Jon gave about her accomplishing extraordinary things. Can that be interpreted as romantic, real admiration on his part or just a bit of ego stroking? And another question that has kept me awake for many nights: why are Jon’s hands and nails so dirty in the Drogon scene? Is that deliberate too? Why? To show us he has been personally mining dragon glass? Or did Kit just not wash his hands?

 So … I’ll start with the second question first since it’s quicker to answer:

why are Jon’s hands and nails so dirty in the Drogon scene? Is that deliberate too? Why? To show us he has been personally mining dragon glass? Or did Kit just not wash his hands?

 Well … I can’t speak to Kit’s personal hygiene but I hope he does wash his hands regularly. It’s a health hazard not to. :))))  @trinuviel mentioned in the comments that they used a hand double for the scene so I think it’s safe to assume that the dirty hand is deliberate. As to why, I believe you are correct in that it’s an indication that he is personally mining dragon glass.

Aside from that, though, it also creates an interesting juxtaposition with Dany, for those that notice this small detail. Let me explain …

Dany’s world is extremely sterile, formal and deliberately isolating. Whenever I think of Dany, I think of this image:

Or this:

She’s always high up there, somewhere apart from everyone else, looking down on the rest of the world. This is not a critique of her, btw. It’s an observation. I actually find it very sad to think about just how alone she really is.

She has no real relationships with anyone, no friends. She has people who serve her. They’re either advisors like Tyrion and Vayrs, who are with her because they see in her the best chance Westeros has or people who worship the very ground she walks on, like Missandei and Jorah. While being worshipped sounds great in theory, it’s an extremely isolating place to find yourself in. There isn’t even anyone in her entourage that calls her by her name. She’s always Your Grace or My Queen.

Maybe that’s what makes her fall so hard for Jon. She sees in him a chance at a real, grounded relationship. So if the political!jon theory is correct, that would only make the blow that much harder to bare.

In contrast, Jon is down on earth, with the rest of the people around him. All of his relationships are grounded. Even Davos, bless his heart, who is the only one who tries to enforce Jon’s title struggles with whether he should be called King Snow or King Jon. Me thinks King Jon Stark, the First of his name has quite the nice ring to it ….

Even when Jon is in positions of power, he is never completely isolated.

As Lord Commander he sits at a table above most of his brothers, but there are still people sitting next to him:

King in the North? Sansa is right there next to him

So that small visual queue actually gives us a lot of clues about the inherent differences between the King in the North and the Mother of Dragons.

Onto the other question:

Question about the speech Jon gave about her accomplishing extraordinary things. Can that be interpreted as romantic, real admiration on his part or just a bit of ego stroking?

The reason why I like to quote the lines of dialogue without the visuals that go with it is because the meaning of the words become clearer without all the visual and auditory context. Plus Jon looks really hot in this scene which I think distracts people from what he’s saying. So let’s just look at the speech without the deep voice, dark, penetrating gaze and gorgeous cascade of black curls:

I never thought that dragons would exist again. No one did. The people who follow you know you made something impossible happen. Maybe that makes them believe that you can make other impossible things happen, build a world that’s different from the shit one they’ve always known. But if you use them to melt castles and burn cities, you’re no different. You’re just more of the same.

So, is it romantic?

You know what the single most romantic thing about this speech is? The music that is playing in the background. It’s beautiful, sweeping, haunting and bitter-sweet. Just the kind of piece you would expect to hear over a romantic scene.

That being said, call me crazy but what I want in a romantic speech is someone telling the heroine how special she is because she’s smart, or strong or how she affects him. Anything that has to do with the personal qualities in that person, not the fact that she has dragons. This is about as romantic as a guy telling you you’re special because you own a Chanel bag.

Maybe that makes them believe that you can make other impossible things happen, build a world that’s different from the shit one they’ve always known.

Here, he is even questioning why people follow her. Maybe they follow her because they believe in her … maybe they’re mistaken … that sounds like the message there.  It’s telling that when he talks about building a different world, the camera cuts to Varys. Because that’s exactly why he says he’s following her.

The end of the speech is punctuated by a shot of Tyrion. Why? Because he’s been telling Dany the same thing since they landed in Westeros.

If we turn the dragons loose, tens of thousands will die in the firestorm.

Conquering Westeros would be easy for you but you’re not here to be queen of the ashes. We can take the Seven Kingdoms without turning it into a slaughter house.

So if we were to think of Jon’s speech as romantic, why shouldn’t we think of Tyrion’s as romantic as well? The truth is that the speech isn’t about romance at all but rather the basic conundrum at the heart of Dany’s arc.

She is special because she made the impossible possible by emerging from the fire with 3 dragons, people follow her because she has dragons which makes them believe she can do other impossible things but in order to do these impossible things (break the wheel), she can’t use the dragons. It’s a catch 22. It’s like the atomic bomb. It keeps the peace but it can also destroy life on Earth. And there’s nothing romantic about the atomic bomb.

Is it a bit of ego stroking?

I think Dany feels he is stroking her ego. I think she thinks he’s telling her she’s special. But Dany, and I apologize to her fans for this, isn’t very smart. But don’t take my word for it. Take hers:

Enough with the clever plans.I have 3 large dragons. I’m going to fly them to the Red Keep.

I’m sure Napoleon scoffed at “clever plans” all the time, too … Not.

What Jon actually does is ego depravation, not ego stroking. I don’t know if he does it consciously or not, but what he’s really saying is:

People think you’re special but if you burn people alive, you’re not.

Essentially he is pushing her to prove to him that she is the kind of leader that can “build a world that’s different from the shit one they’ve always known” and is not “more of the same”.

Is it real admiration?

Hmmm … this is harder to tackle because there’s nothing in the text to settle the question conclusively either way.

What we can do is ask ourselves that is it that Jon admires? Can we find someone whom he actually admires and see if we can compare them to Dany?

I would point to two people actually: Ned, of course but also Joer Mormont. And it’s the latter that comes into direct contrast to Dany in this scene.

Here, Dany is attacking and humiliating Tyrion is front of everyone, including people that are not in her inner circle (Davos and Jon). Even more than that, when they want to excuse themselves, she makes them stay so they can witness Tyrion’s public spanking.

Jon and Mormont had a similar moment in season 2, in Craster’s keep when Jon speaks out of turn and upstes Craster. While Mormont tells him to shut up, he doesn’t unleash his anger on him in front of everyone. He waits until they’re outside and talks to him privately. He is stern and obviously angry with Jon but he doesn’t humiliate him publicly.

This is just a small snippet I found that I think shows that what Jon admires in people isn’t something that is found in Dany, at least not in the scene we are talking about.

[soundonreadings]

Sound On InstaReadings Series Volume 4 with Jillian Christmas & Lauren Turner

Welcome to Sound on InstaReadings Series. Our second installment features readers Jillian Christmas & Lauren Turner and is hosted by David Ly and Cynara Geissler.

Posted here for your enjoyment are the bios of our fine readers and the text of their readings. Thanks!

Jillian Christmas is a queer, afro-caribbean writer living on the unceded territories of the Squamish, Tsleil-Waututh and Musqueam people (Vancouver, BC.) where she served for six years as Artistic Director of Versəs Festival of Words. She has won numerous Grand Poetry-Slam Championship titles and represented Toronto and Vancouver at 11 national poetry festivals, notably breaking ground as the first Canadian to perform on the final stage of the Women of the World Poetry Slam. Jillian's work has been published in a number of magazines and books, most recently Matrix New Queer Writing (issue 98), Plenitude Magazine, Room Magazine (39.1) and celebrated anthology, The Great Black North. Her debut poetry collection The Gospel of Breaking is available now from Arsenal Pulp Press.

Reading text:

(sugar plum)

mommy sat down on the porch to put her foot up. She has so much to tell me today, about the iguana and how it could make aunty run, about the good bush that washes away the bad spirits anyone might put on me. I must take some to charlotteville and bathe with it in the ocean. She tells me too many times about the fish I am already sure I do not want to eat. But I listen. mommy is ninety-nine and she has earned all of her indulgences. So she tells me again about the house she built, how no man helped her do it. When I ask about her mother, she tells me her maiden name was murray. I want to know more about her mother, my great- grandmother. I want to know what she looked like and how she smelled and what she did to stay alive. Was her hair long like mine, was her skin dark like /uncle/?

mommy doesn’t talk much about her mother. Says she liked her mother fine, but she loves her /daddy/. So I listen to her talk about my /great grandfather/ defratis. She tells me he was nice, and fair, with beautiful hair. Half guyanese and half portuguese. She tells me he had plenty money, was a rum dealer with lots of business, rum shops here and there. She tells me how he died at 30 years and how a woman who worked with him told her the story. Some jealous man put poison in his rum so he could steal up all of his business. She asks me if I understand. I do, but as always I have a tough time telling the difference between truth and myth.

Satisfied of my understanding she goes on. She tells me how she loved him. How she cried and threw herself down in the street , just a little girl of five, begging her /father/ not to go to work. She only met him this once, but she loved him her whole life.

When she rolled around and threw a fit to stop him leaving, he reached for his belt, began to unbuckle to lash her into better behaviour, but he stopped himself. Picked her up out of the road and carried her into the store. He told the young woman in there to cook some food and share with her and then he was gone.

mommy says that if her /daddy/ hadn’t died, she would’ve gone with him, travelled to portugal and all over. She says he would’ve left her some money and she wouldn’t have had to work so hard all of her life. Things would’ve been different. She would not have stayed in charlotteville, or married /my grandfather/,  (she doesn’t say much about this but I think I already know he was a heavy handed man). I listen. Eventually, in a moment of gratitude, I say that if things had been different I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t exist. That’s what I’m telling you, she replies. My gratitude melts into a kind of passive sadness, she has already measured this option, has found it acceptable. I say, but what about your children? I would’ve had different children. She doesn’t say it with malice, but a tepid resignation. I repeat BUT I WOULDN’T EXIST!

No, you wouldn’t be my child. It’s a reasonable compromise for her, a whole life, house, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren still, gambled on trust for /a man/ only met once, gambled on the kindness of her being fed, instead of beaten.

I think about the longing I have suffered in my life. How I have stretched toward people who would not have stayed even if there were no venom.

The promise of possibility is a trap that has kept me from the joys of my own life.

And what joys am I missing, in clinging to a /daddy/ who is always missing, always walking toward poison and away from food? What love do I dishonour and ignore, in searching for a face I hardly know?

Let them go to their poison /great- grandfathers/ and /daddies/ too. Let them go and leave behind children crying as they will, mourning as we do. Let them go, and let us see what wild plants grow in their absence. What medicines will spring from a line of women with lost fathers and distant /daddies/? A line of maidens and witches who carry their own names and build their own houses, and birth their own bloodlines and cook their own food.

I Miss You Much

I miss you like dark and icy waters miss the warmth of sun’s sweet kisses or lust for the hard hand of wind’s fleeting embraces I miss you like a hungry storm wet and urgent carving torrents through rough and choppy places I miss you deep and aching long and heavy and though you may not heed this truth is by the time you read this I will miss you more already my room is hot the air hangs damp and heady and I miss you I am missing you in places where other lovers’ hands become unsteady at the mention of our skin where others’ sin is weak and thin and other fingers dare not dream to touch come back to me tonight my love I promise I am ready and I miss you much my love MY GOD I miss you much

Lauren Turner is a disabled poet and essayist, who wrote the chapbook, We’re Not Going to Do Better Next Time (knife | fork | book, 2018). Her work has appeared in Grain, Arc Magazine, Poetry is Dead, Cosmonauts Avenue, The Puritan, canthius and elsewhere. She won the 2018 Short Grain Contest and was a finalist for the 2017 3Macs carte blanche Prize. She lives in Tiohtiá:ke/Montréal on the unceded land of the Kanien’kehá:ka Nation.

Reading Text:

excerpt from Stop Bringing Me Here

I want to take the violence out of my life and replace it with a swan pond.

::

There’s a reading at my alma mater. By attending, I open the nostalgic dam without meaning to, gingerly stepping back into your kitchen.

You have me against the counter, nothing perverse yet – I wanted this.

Onstage, a poet is reciting poems filled with light, weather, and nature.

I hear her animals and I think: How advantageous this woman’s life must be that she can inhabit the pastoral in her poetry. 

Do I err as a poet or as a woman? I wasn’t taught to respect either one.

::

The university reading folds open to a student bar. Presiding over the visiting writers, my former mentor won’t look at me, hasn’t since finding out I’d been involved with you. Gulping my cider like oxygen, I try to visualize sunfish winnowing water into ripples to keep back tears. I want to say: The movements of power aren’t difficult to follow. You weren’t, after all, a rodent tunnelling snow but the cat that pounced in its nest. 

::

Dear [former mentor], Confiding in you felt hazard-filled. I was terrified of blame, the assumption that I tried to capitalize on the power of an older, established man – your friend. Where could he get me?

I never wanted to be gotten anywhere, only to bring myself to the place where he wouldn’t act embarrassed of me. I thought this place existed. If only my appeal wasn’t bound up in the shame he knew to foster.

I trusted you, [former mentor], but you prefer to trust power.

::

It’s lazy to accuse young women of fucking to the top. Harder to ask why they heard a child’s loon call as love, leapt toward it. 

Wait, that metaphor is weak. Turn the child adult, their playtime sinister. 

::

Several men came whistling into my lakeside summer. I swam with them, and that season is no one’s voyeuristic wet dream, except mine.

::

You upended my life, for a time. I won’t call every fault line pain or pretend we never shared moments that sweetened our brine, making the cuts itch a little less.

Often, those memories carry more pain than your cruelty, that you added value to my life in equal measures to what you took away.

Three years left before I could write that. I’m not sure it’s true.

::

Moving on didn’t dissuade a part of me from staying entrenched in this. I imagine that’s the part you take issue with. I wonder if you, like my mentor, have recalibrated my culpability to account for your fall.

I didn’t intend to topple you from the pedestal. On TV, a statue in shackles bends like it was never worth admiring and I couldn’t want that for you.

::

Maybe it was my fault, I tell a friend, trying to hush the sadness that gnaws like the slow hunger of being disbelieved. I should’ve turned him down. Why was I flattered by his interest? Did I believe he was capable of genuine care? How could our relationship grow into anything except a power struggle?

These questions eat beyond their satiation point.

::

So what, replies society. We’ve all been young and most of us aren’t crying foul about our less savoury trysts. You consented to fucking him and he took it to mean fucking you over. You should’ve been clearer.

::

I don’t know what I want from this poem. I want to write poems where I’m not dripping across the linoleum with my cunt in your mouth. 

It’s a clean request: a plea for poems where birds could take up nest. I needed to talk to you without talking to you, but every line I try goes dead. Let’s take my quiet in handfuls, like a drunken night with too much winter 

clothing and it’s always June somewhere. 

::

Fine, have it your way: I never craved his love, only to swallow his prestige with my body, lapping up the Goldschläger cum that clung to the fine mink of his crotch. I was mature in early life and tucked my naïveté up my too-long sleeves. Isn’t that how girls grow up? By pretending we can handle the depths, flaunting our sodden selves like we chose to dive in, rather than hit water from a shove. Swimming is a reflexive motion in ducks. Also in girls.

::

No matter how softly I cauterize this life, someone asks, But what happened in his kitchen?

It’s my fault. I thought I could enter a man’s home without catching a sliver of his expectation. No, tell me exactly with your bons mots. Spell it out. And what if I can’t, what then?          He was nothing I didn’t say yes to.

::

The men are getting restless, I imagine addressing a lecture hall as I would a horse stable. As if men are no different than beasts broken over centuries, proudly trotted into poetry without fearing their hooves in my stanzas’s soft meat. When they realized I wouldn’t keep quiet, they waited around for me to slip up and write the words they could bridle me with. ::

I am terrified I built my poetry on the backs of violent men. I am terrified. I built my poetry on the backs of violent men.

I am built on the back of violence.

[takadasaiko]

Fallen Series: Reckoning

FFN II AO3

Series Summary: One-shots following Robert Svane through his journey to becoming the Revenant Bobo Del Rey. Not written in chronological order. Pre-canon through current events in SyFy's Wynonna Earp.

One Shot Summary: What happened to Bobo between the cave-in and meeting Doc outside of the mine?

Reckoning

The mine came crashing down around them. Bobo ducked down, shielding his head, but felt something hit hard. The next thing he knew was that he was flattened out on his stomach, staring into the dirt. Everything around him was still and quiet, having already settled from the cave-in. He'd lost time. That wasn't good. It gave him less of a chance to slip away.

Carefully he shifted, feeling the aches and pains that would fade shortly. The rocks on top of him moved as he commanded them and he felt the mark on his back burn deeply with the effort. A low growl escaped him as the final one moved to let him shift to his knees, finally getting a view of the mine around him.

Bobo jerked back when he came face to face with the demon he had helped Wyatt put in the ground over a hundred years before. He froze, schooling his expression as best he could, but his nose turned up as the demon took hold of his hair and tugged him back hard. He leaned in, almost as if inspecting him, and the smell of rotting flesh enough to make Bobo nauseous.

"Robert Svane," Clootie hissed and the Revenant growled lowly in response, clever mind working for his best option. The demon was down a hand, down a wife - maybe two, he didn't see the other - but power still lurked there, and as one that was brought back by his curse, that power affected him. Something inside him instinctively knew and he was drawn to it, his eyes lulled closed for a moment as he felt that power wrapping around him. Don't fight. You're already mine.

He heard the words in his head and he tried to pull away suddenly, the grip on his mowhawk holding him in place on his knees in front of the demon who had done this to him. He had to remember that. He had to remember who the enemy really was. As troublesome as Wynonna Earp was on most of her days, ending Clootie was a common goal. It always had been, and he fought to remember that as he felt that power working at his mind to loosen his resolve.

A low, throaty chuckle came from the creature that had ahold of him. "Robert Svane," he repeated, "you've changed. Outside and in."

Bobo looked up, his teeth clicking together as he forced himself to meet those unnatural eyes. "Hell does that to a man."

"Even I hadn't quite hoped to be able to take you down with the curse. Wyatt loved you dearly. It must have broken his heart to know what you'd become."

Clootie sounded positively giddy at the thought and Bobo grunted a mirthless laugh. "Jokes on you then. Wyatt never knew."

"He left you there? After everything you did for him, he left you to die alone?"

It was like a knife twisting in him, ripping at the old wound Bobo had never really recovered from. Clootie knew that though. Bobo could feel him inside his head, rummaging for something useful. He needed to get out. He needed to get away.

"No," Clootie said, the word riding out on a breath. "You're not going anywhere. You're mine."

"No," Bobo snarled, trying to pull away. He lifted a hand to drag one of the rocks in at the demon's head, but Clootie deflected it, smiling terribly at him.

"You are powerful, but even you don't know your potential. Don't you get tired of fighting, Robert? Of placing your faith in the family of a man that betrayed you so deeply?"

"I ain't got a lot of faith left, and certainly not for the Earps."

Clootie pulled him roughly, forcing him to look up again. "You can't lie to me, Robert. You are mine. The curse made sure if that."

Bobo remained silent, his teeth bared and tensed with the effort to fight him. Every inch of him seemed inclined to give to the Demon Clootie's wishes. He wouldn't give. He was his own. After everything, he needed to hold onto that at the very least.

"No you're not," Clootie whispered into his ear, replying to the unspoken thoughts, and his grip tightened. Bobo gasped out, his lungs unable to drag enough air into them and he stared up at the demon. Those gold eyes were glowing and he could feel him draining him. His energy, his power, his will. Bobo wasn't sure if he had a soul left, but if he did he was certain that Clootie had a grip on it, shredding anything left of it.

"Wyatt betrayed you. Serve me, and you'll have your revenge for it," the demon promised. "All that…. pain and suffering you've endured, and he couldn't bother to be with you when you slipped away. Serve me, and that pain and suffering won't be for nothing."

Bobo was trembling now, held up by Clootie's grip and he could feel his brand on his back burning at the touch. His entire body was on fire and he was so, so tired. He just wanted it to end once and for all. He'd learned long ago to only let people see what he wanted them to see, but Clootie knew. Clootie understood what he'd been through because he could see it in his mind. He'd been fighting, he'd been playing the game, all in hopes to bring an end to it and to somehow walk free for the curse.

But freedom was an illusion for him. It had been the moment that Wyatt had shot him. Since Wyatt had damned him.

If he'd ever held onto the friendship they'd shared, those images began to fade away. The conversations, the laughter, the devotion. They faded from his mind and were replaced with a seething rage that he usually kept in better check. A hate that burned like the fires of hell itself.

"You loved him more than you hated him. It's been your secret for so long, but it's been your your weakness too, Robert," Clootie whispered, though if it was out loud or in his mind, Bobo couldn't tell. As the rage filled him he felt his strength returning and he got his feet under him, finally released as he stood, tilting his head and looking at the demon. He'd been a fool. He could see that now, clearer than he'd ever seen anything. He'd been a fool.

Clootie smiled, the skin covering his face just a little less rotted than before, though hardly whole, and his teeth were blackened. Even so, there was power there. Intoxicating power. "Will you serve me, Robert?"

"Yes."

"Prove it. Prove to me that you've let go of everything you were. Give me something you hold dear. Someone you've sworn to protect. Waverly Earp."

Bobo drew a sharp breath, finding no urge to fight the demand. He gave a small bow, arms stretched out in a dramatic motion. "As you wish, Master."

A low chuckle escaped the demon and Bobo heard a name in his mind. Bulshar. No one had known it before. He'd only been the Demon Clootie, but now he would be so much more.

"You and I will bring a reckoning, Robert. First to Purgatory, wiping out Wyatt's line, and then beyond." He perked up, looking over towards the entrance to the mine. "But first, deal with Holliday."

"With pleasure."

Notes: While the finale was phenomenal on almost every level, as a Bobo fan I walked away Friday night very disappointed. I'm a redemption arc kind of girl, and after 2.08 I had my hopes set that the season would end with him showing up at Shorty's or something and aligning with Wynonna and the rest of her team. Alas, he ended up in the bottom of the well screaming about his master and a reckoning.

The thing is, something happened there, and not just ta change in hair style *cough*helloMartin*cough*

I'm still convinced that Bobo's been playing a long game all this time. I think he holds a pretty significant grudge against his old friend, but people are complicated, and hurt and betrayal complicates a person even more. Right up until the cave-in he was dragging his feet, seemed very entertained when the sisters started bickering and Mercedes chopped Clootie's arm off. I think he still thought he had a chance to slip away then, but the next time we see him he's all white-haired and following Clootie like a devoted little puppy. That's not Bobo. He's not a follower and he has to know that Clootie wouldn't just let him out of this after being so instrumental in putting him in the ground to begin with. Something had to have happened, and when I have questions I write fics, so here we are.

Anyone else have any thoughts about it?