#mutants versus oppression

[caelonaut]

X-Men versus Oppression

So I began to think about the whole thing of mutants as an analogy for oppression and realized that in some ways it makes a whole lot more sense than I thought. The reason the systems of oppression are out to get them is not just to scapegoat them. It is because they represent not only power, but the democratization of power. Mutants can appear anywhere and they are a LOT more likely to appear among the oppressed majority than in the very small numbers of the elites. And when someone oppressed gets the power to strike back? Things get ugly real quick. And once mutations become more common? It gets even uglier.

This is why the elites are so desperate to exterminate the mutants. The current situation is their BEST chance for getting rid of them. With every passing generation the mutants become more common and the chance of them appearing in large enough numbers to overwhelm the elite systems increases. It won't even take that long from either an evolutionary or historical point of view.

Fortunately the elites have a very effective weapon. Tell the regular humans that the mutants are their enemies and intend to replace them, and fear and hate will do a great deal of work. Not to mention that it will be reciprocated by many of the mutants. At that point it becomes self sustaining. And thus the oppressed groups are once again set to infighting instead of looking at their actual enemies. Which is also vital in another way: it keeps regular humans and mutants from interbreeding and that way become united by blood, and worse yet allowing the mutations to spread even faster.

As a side note, this also explains the oddity of 'regular metahumans are okay but mutants aren't.' Someone like Spider-Man or the Hulk may be powerful individually but every metahuman like this occurs only due to a statistical fluke. They cannot reliably be reproduced (or reproduce), whereas the mutants will quickly become more numerous and eventually commonplace. Metahumans may still become individually inconvenient but the problem is no bigger than it is to either convert them to your cause or to kill them. The same can't be said of mutants and thus they have to be eradicated.

While a lot can be said about the Krakoa plot and its oddities, one thing about it at least is clear: this is a doomsday scenario for the old elites. Whatever else Krakoa is, it represents a point of safety for mutants and allows them time to spread and settle their roots in the rest of humanity. And once they have done that and every human family either knows a mutant or has a mutant in it, the old elites are done. And they know it.

[racefortheironthrone]

Apologies if you've been asked this before, but given it's in its final issues, what's your take on X-Men Red in general and the Genesis War arc in specific? And where do you see Arrako going from here?

I think it's absolutely brilliant, one of the best runs of the Krakoan Era (a period with some truly stiff competition), and one of the books that really ran furthest with the sci-fi ideas about mutant culture and mutant "weirdness" that Hickman introduced in HOXPOX. The Genesis War itself is a fascinating combination of ancient mysticism, cultural conflict and change, resistance and oppression, appropriation versus acculturation, corruption, and more.

I hope that Arrako will continue after the end of the Krakoan Era, and I hope it will be approached with the subtlety and nuance that Ewing has always shown, rather than the Arrako defaulting to the Klingons of galactic mutantdom.

[spectralpixelsredone]

The Inhuman Dominion

The Inhuman Dominion is a formidable mutant rights organization in Remnant, standing as a fervent advocate for those whose Semblances, Quirks, or extraordinary abilities render them inhuman in appearance or societal outcasts. Sharing ideological kinship with the White Fang, the Dominion carves a distinct path, representing not just Faunus but a broader spectrum of “mutants”—individuals whose powers set them apart from Remnant’s human majority. Born from a crucible of marginalization and radical dissent, the Dominion is smaller than the White Fang but no less intricate, defined by diverse membership, a decentralized structure, and a relentless drive for recognition and equality. Its complex relationship with the White Fang—as benefactors, allies, and occasional rivals—underscores its pivotal role in the struggle against systemic oppression.

Overview

The Inhuman Dominion emerged roughly 70 years ago, during a period of heightened tension following the Great War, when Remnant’s societies grappled with integrating those marked by extraordinary abilities. Unlike the White Fang, which focuses on Faunus rights, the Dominion champions mutants—individuals whose Semblances manifest in visibly inhuman ways (e.g., animalistic traits, elemental forms) or whose Quirks (a term used by fringe communities for non-Semblance powers) provoke fear and exclusion. These mutants, often shunned even by Faunus communities, found no voice in existing movements, leading to the Dominion’s formation as a radical alternative.

The organization operates with a fluid, almost anarchic structure, eschewing the rigid hierarchy of groups like the White Fang. Its members range from disillusioned scholars and rogue Huntsmen to street-level agitators and exiled prodigies, united by a shared sense of alienation. The Dominion’s ideology blends righteous anger with pragmatic militancy, advocating for mutant equality through protests, sabotage, and, when necessary, violence. Its slogan, “We Are Not Monsters,” encapsulates its dual mission: to reclaim mutant identity and demand a place in Remnant’s societies.

Despite its smaller size, the Dominion wields outsized influence through strategic alliances, particularly with the White Fang. As benefactors, it provides resources and tactical expertise to Faunus causes; as allies, it coordinates joint operations against common enemies like the Schnee Dust Company. However, tensions arise from differing priorities—Faunus rights versus mutant inclusion—and competition for recruits and influence, making the Dominion a wildcard in Remnant’s fight for equality.

History

The Inhuman Dominion traces its roots to the post-Great War era, when Remnant’s kingdoms sought to regulate Semblances and suppress non-standard abilities deemed threatening. Mutants, often mistaken for Grimm-tainted or cursed, faced institutional discrimination—forced registrations, labor exploitation, or exile. A splinter group of mutant scholars and activists, disillusioned with the White Fang’s Faunus-centric focus, founded the Dominion to address these unique grievances. Early actions included protests in Vale and sabotage of Atlas’s Semblance-monitoring programs, earning both admiration and infamy.

A schism 50 years ago saw the Dominion’s radical wing push for open warfare against human institutions, alienating moderates. Under the leadership of figures like Beast (a pseudonymous mutant with a chimeric Semblance), the Dominion reformed, adopting a decentralized model to evade suppression. Key events include the destruction of an Atlas mutant detention facility and joint operations with the White Fang against Schnee Dust Company mines, cementing its reputation as a force to be reckoned with. Today, it operates as a network of cells, balancing advocacy with militancy in its quest for mutant liberation.

Structure and Membership

The Inhuman Dominion’s structure is deliberately amorphous, designed to withstand crackdowns. It lacks a central headquarters, operating through scattered cells across Remnant’s kingdoms and Menagerie. Communication occurs via encrypted channels on the OutcastNET, a mutant-run dark web, ensuring resilience against infiltration. Membership is diverse, including:

Mutant Outcasts: Individuals with grotesque or powerful Semblances/Quirks, often exiled from their communities.

Rogue Huntsmen: Trained warriors who defected after facing discrimination for their abilities.

Intellectuals: Scholars and strategists who craft the Dominion’s propaganda and long-term goals.

Youth Radicals: Young mutants drawn to the group’s fiery rhetoric and promise of empowerment.

Leadership is collective, with figures like Beast serving as charismatic coordinators rather than dictators. Cells operate independently, engaging in local actions (e.g., freeing imprisoned mutants, disrupting anti-mutant policies) but rally for major operations under Dominion-wide calls to action.

Ideology and Tactics

The Dominion’s ideology centers on mutant liberation, rejecting Remnant’s human-centric norms. It demands equal treatment, the abolition of Semblance registries, and recognition of mutants as a distinct cultural group. Unlike the White Fang’s focus on integration, the Dominion flirts with separatism, envisioning mutant enclaves where they can live free from persecution. This tension—integration versus autonomy—fuels internal debates and shapes its tactics:

Advocacy: Public campaigns to humanize mutants, often through art or storytelling.

Sabotage: Targeted attacks on institutions like Atlas’s research labs or Schnee mines.

Violence: Selective strikes against anti-mutant figures, avoiding indiscriminate terrorism.

Mobilization: Coordinating smaller mutant groups for uprisings, amplifying its impact.

Connections to the White Fang

The Inhuman Dominion’s relationship with the White Fang is multifaceted, marked by mutual support, strategic collaboration, and occasional friction. Below are the major connections:

Benefactors

The Dominion provides the White Fang with resources, including Dust supplies (often stolen from Schnee operations), weapons, and tactical expertise in guerrilla warfare. For example, Dominion cells trained White Fang operatives in Vale to bypass Atlas security systems.

Financial support flows through OutcastNET, with Dominion-affiliated mutant groups funneling profits from small-time crime to White Fang coffers, particularly during Sienna Khan’s militant era.

In return, the White Fang shares intelligence on human institutions, such as Huntsmen deployments or corporate vulnerabilities, aiding Dominion operations.

Allies

The two groups coordinate joint operations against shared enemies, notably the Schnee Dust Company. A notable instance was a raid 10 years ago on a Schnee mine in Mantle, where Dominion mutants used elemental Semblances to collapse tunnels while White Fang fighters secured the perimeter.

In Menagerie, the Dominion maintains a small presence, supporting Ghira Belladonna’s early advocacy but aligning more closely with the White Fang’s militant factions under Sienna and Adam Taurus.

During the Fall of Beacon, Dominion cells provided distractions in Vale, drawing Huntsmen away from White Fang assaults, though this strained relations with moderates like Blake Belladonna.

Shared Ideology

Both groups advocate for marginalized communities (Faunus for the White Fang, mutants for the Dominion), uniting against human supremacy and corporate exploitation.

The Dominion’s “We Are Not Monsters” echoes the White Fang’s reclamation of Faunus identity, fostering solidarity in public rhetoric.

Their shared history of post-Great War marginalization reinforces ideological kinship, as both draw on a legacy of resistance against human oppression.

Points of Divergence

The Dominion’s broader focus on mutants (including non-Faunus) creates tension, as White Fang purists view it as diluting Faunus-specific struggles. Adam Taurus criticized the Dominion for recruiting human mutants, accusing them of “betraying the cause.”

The Dominion’s flirtation with separatism contrasts with the White Fang’s integrationist roots under Ghira, leading to strategic disagreements. The Dominion’s push for mutant enclaves clashes with the White Fang’s demand for Faunus inclusion in human spaces.

Competition for recruits occasionally strains relations, as young Faunus with mutant-like Semblances (e.g., Blake’s shadow clones) are courted by both groups.

Rivalry and Tensions

During the White Fang’s radicalization under Adam, the Dominion distanced itself from indiscriminate terrorism, fearing it would alienate potential mutant allies. This led to a temporary rift, with Dominion cells refusing to support Adam’s Haven Academy attack.

In Menagerie, the Dominion’s support for White Fang militants clashed with the Menagerie Guard’s loyalty to Ghira, creating local friction. Dominion agitators were arrested by Saber Rodentia for inciting unrest during Ghira’s speeches.

The Dominion’s decentralized structure frustrates White Fang leaders who prefer centralized control, complicating joint operations.

Vulnerabilities and Challenges

The Dominion’s decentralized structure makes it resilient but vulnerable to fragmentation. Major operations require central coordination, exposing leaders like Beast to Huntsmen or kingdom forces. Internal debates over separatism versus integration risk schisms, especially as younger members lean toward White Fang-style militancy. The Dominion’s reliance on White Fang support and OutcastNET funding ties its fate to external allies, making it susceptible to their collapse. Its mutant-only focus limits human alliances, echoing critiques of the White Fang’s ethno-activism and hindering broader populist appeal.

Cultural and Symbolic Significance

The Inhuman Dominion stands as a beacon for Remnant’s most marginalized, reclaiming the label of “mutant” as a badge of pride. Its art, music, and propaganda—spread via OutcastNET—celebrate mutant diversity, from glowing eyes to scaled skin. In Menagerie, it inspires Faunus youth with mutant traits, bridging Faunus and mutant identities. However, its insularity risks alienating human sympathizers, reinforcing a divide that mirrors the White Fang’s challenges. The Dominion’s vision of mutant enclaves, while empowering, raises questions about reciprocity—would humans be welcome in these spaces, or does it replicate the exclusion it fights?

Conclusion

The Inhuman Dominion is a complex, ideologically charged force in Remnant’s struggle for equality, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the White Fang as both ally and rival. Its advocacy for mutants fills a gap left by Faunus-centric movements, but its militancy and insularity limit its transformative potential. As benefactors, it bolsters the White Fang with resources and expertise; as allies, it amplifies their fight against human oppression; yet as rivals, it challenges their priorities and competes for influence. Like the White Fang, the Dominion must grapple with questions of reciprocity, representation, and coalition-building to achieve lasting change, lest it remain a fiery but fragmented voice in Remnant’s chorus of dissent.

[brw]

i just dislike how the faces of mutantkind in versus events r always cisgender heterosexual white always look like humans & not disabled, n if they are it's erased or ignored entirely. it just really lessens any narrative of them being minorities & struggling in the world if those are the characters delivering the lines like "you did nothing while our children were burning" n yes there's nuance but fact is most of these writers r non minorities n it shows that they use mutants as a way of being tourists of what it's like being a minority n not like. any actual understanding of what it's like. they only understand oppression as big things like Genocide Plot Number 1000 n not anything else. it's frustrating n it makes xmen comics increasingly more frustrating to read bc what is the excuse anymore. you hire diverse talent for your anthology titles! Give more permanent larger jobs!

[jostenneil]

wanting to read xmen stuff versus so much of it being shaped by that claremont dude who thought it was praxis to have one of his characters use the n-slur three times to prove that mutants are also oppressed 

[tiffany-chiba]

task #1

@c23tasks​

how old were they when they first learned about the existence of mutants? did they find out during the pre-presidential address of 1983? what did they glean from it all?

Tiffany was born knowing about mutants. She was born thinking she would be one, and she would follow in her parents’ footsteps and become an integral member of the Xavier Institute. She’s experienced bitterness at her humanness, and then shame, and envy. She’s always known, and she’s always known she wasn’t one of them.

The pre-presidential address is one of her earliest memories. She was only about six years old, and she remembers the hubbub around the Institute in the following days. Her parents partook in a lot of conversations held behind cupped hands or closed doors. There was a lot of privacy, and nobody told her much because she was just a child. Sometimes, though, Tiffany thinks that’s the point when her parents really began to resent her. The revealing of mutants drove a very distinct wedge of ‘us versus them’ into the Chiba family dynamic.

more below the cut - - -

have they ever had an encounter with a mutant?

Tiffany grew up knowing nothing but mutants, all politely waiting for her own mutation to develop and slowing losing interest as that seemed decreasingly likely. She no longer has a close relationship with any mutants, though she sees her parents on rare necessary occasions. These days, encounters with mutants are confusing for her. In a way she feels more kinship with them, but she also feels intensely rejected by them.

how do they feel about the last 30+ years of mutant history? notably, the presidential address of 1983 and the essex house?

Due to her parents’ status, Tiffany was well educated in mutant history. She has a lot of pride in their community, for how they’ve dealt with so much oppression and loathing. I covered the presidential address a bit in the first question, but in continuation of that she mostly remembers it as a frightening thing. A very final thing that cannot be taken back. It marked a huge shift, and in a way it had nothing to do with her as a human, but in a way it had everything to do with her. It was the humans that outed the existence of mutants, and that meant she represented something very different to the mutant community after the address.

Knowing nothing about what really goes on at Essex House, Tiffany thinks it seems nice enough. It’s comparable to the Xavier Institute as far as she can tell, and she was mostly happy growing up there. It’s good to have safe places for mutants to stay, but she does think that ultimately there should be an integrated society where places like that aren’t necessary because humans and mutants can live in harmony.

how do they really feel about mutants?

It’s Complicated™. Some days she is deeply envious and wishes she was one of them. Tiffany spent many long, fretful days glaring at objects and willing them to move, or running as fast as she could to see if it was faster than human, or punching walls to try and break through them.

Some days she is resentful because of the way she’s been rejected by them. Ultimately she considers the Xavier Institute her home; it’s where she was born. It’s where her parents live. And she was made unwelcome there because she wasn’t special enough. If mutants shouldn’t be treated poorly because of the way they were born, then why is it fair for her own parents to treat her poorly because of the way she was born?

Some days she feels angry on their behalf because of the way they are treated by the general public. One of the few things that gets her riled up is hearing anti-mutant sentiments; except, her parents always told her that it’s not her fight and it’s not her business to defend them.

So mostly, Tiffany feels that mutants are her family that doesn’t want her.

[dgcatanisiri]

A few things to say on the Venom movie. A cut for spoilers.

While my overall impression of There Will Be Carnage was favorable, there was one thing that bothered me, and it was the fact that Venom demanded an apology from Eddie, but... Eddie deserved one from Venom as well.

Like, they were going at it from the metaphor of “Eddie is keeping Venom from being himself, it’s a metaphor of repression of homosexuality and people around a queer person keeping them from being out and open,” so I get it, but... In this instance, what Eddie was repressing was Venom’s murder urges and desire to go out, run around, while there’s still an active FBI investigation surrounding the events of the first movie that, if the government decided to capture him and do studies, they WOULD get locked up in a lab somewhere and vivisected. It’s not repression in the name of repression, it’s failure to remain safe will see you dead.

Y’know, it’s like the criticism of the X-Men as a metaphor for actual oppressed groups because of how mutants have these super powers that can be used to harm others. It doesn’t quite work.

If I squint, I can see it trying to handle the “open and honest versus assimilation” discussion, but that doesn’t really work when one party is an eight foot bara slime monster who wants to eat brains.

It doesn’t help that the “break up” scene honestly felt a touch on the abusive side - on VENOM’S part. Like Venom is the one who strikes Eddie (yes he immediately apologizes, but it’s still one “partner” physically impacting another, and it just seems very much like Venom as the aggressor), and Venom is the one who goes through with destroying Eddie’s things, and while Eddie threatened the same, he didn’t actually go through with it, while Venom did (with both the TV and Eddie’s bike) plus there IS the existing element of the damage that Venom has done to Eddie’s place that Eddie just seems to not bother to fix because Venom will keep doing it.

Like, again, overall, I did enjoy the movie, but the handling of the break up scene honestly did frame VENOM as being in the wrong, and yet it’s Venom who is treated as the one who needs to be apologized to, that Eddie didn’t deserve an apology at all.

I didn’t hate it, but there’s a part of me that felt like I should give the movie a trigger warning to a couple of my friends because of this, and that’s the kind of thing that probably should have gotten another pass or two before the final cut.

[angelsaxis]

a lot of white women who are authors can't understand to any meaningful degree what it's like to have a concerted social and state effort made against your life and the lives of your friends and family to have you killed for being inherently inferior, or even a threat to society. They don't know what it's like to have to interact with people that truly and deeply hate your guts and want you dead because of false senses of superiority--hell, a lot of white women partook and continues to partake in those kinds of systems.

So they write what are essentially genocide stories: non-witches versus witches, magic users or mutants versus non users/mutants, and they throw in "yeah, this entire society things they're inherently disgusting and what's them dead" almost for funsies and for some neat drama, because then what they do is say "but here's this one hunter (normally male) who absolutely wants the main MC and her kind dead. but he also thinks the MC is hot". And they don't realize that this happens irl--that men in oppressor classes do find women in oppressed classes attractive. What they also don't realize is that this very rarely ever leads to a painful but thorough change of heart where the man realizes that the people he's trying to murder are, in fact, people. Instead what happens is sexual violence, becuase men in the oppressor class can have their cake and eat it too-and then get a new cake. There's nowhere that I can think of where sleeping with/raping a woman of an oppressed class was actually taboo, since it counts as a form of domination as long as you don't fall in love with them.

It also fundamentally misunderstands how racialized/class based hatred works. If you've spent decades learning to hate people for an innate trait, its going to take decades to unlearn it all. Nobody whos been committing atrocious acts of violence against someone is going to suddenly turn around and say "actually i was wrong all of these people are all good and ive burned my biases"

But this conversion fantasy is really popular with enemies-to-lovers writers, especially the one who think that romantic and sexual love will undo oppression, and that's why they think to name a witch hunter/witch relationship or anything else as mere enemies and not "someone who wants to commit genocide and the potential victim of that genocide"

white women love that trope. they slap it on every fantasy concept they can think of because they dont understand how that kind of oppression works. Thats why so many of them also love slave/slave owner AUs and stories. To them, all this is just a gritty difference of opinion and not literal life or death. They'll jump on stories of the heroine falling for a bigot but wont jump on stories of said heroine killing that and other bigots. That world just doesn't exist for them. I think a lot of white women are projecting but this post is long enough. im just tired of seeing this shit everywhere.

[hotforhandman]

Are the Villains “right”?

Okay, so I was scrolling through the bnha spoilers tag whilst procrastinating work and I’m really not living for the vibes there. My biggest issues fall into two main camps: “this arc is going to be the end of the League”, and “Villain stans are hypocrites with no reading comprehension for condemning the Heroes’ behaviour”, and I believe both of these statements can be addressed simultaneously, whilst also giving me a convenient excuse to not write. So without further ado,

Part 1: Themes

Right from the very beginning of the series, literally the first line, one thing is made blatantly clear: This series is not going to be about good guys and bad guys. “All men are not created equal” is not a line that implicates an inherent divide between good and evil, unless you’re an actual eugenicist. And pretty much every important character is designed to criticise a different aspect of the established system.

Izuku: The Quirkless are worthless. Not explicitly, but... everyone knows it. 

Bakugou: If you have a good Quirk, you are praised and treated as special, and as a consequence you’re never expected to learn and grow as a person. 

Shoto: Dedicating your entire life to becoming strong to the detriment of your own health is the best way to climb to the top. 

All Might: You don’t have to worry about anything. A Hero will save you. 

Shinsou: If you have a Villain’s Quirk, you’re going to be a Villain, no matter the quality of your personality. 

Kirishima: If you’re not flashy, there’s no point even trying.

Hawks: Similar to Shoto, if you show natural promise then it’s acceptable to groom you as a weapon. 

I’m sure there are others that I’ve missed. Each of these characters’ individual developments have been focused around them overcoming these ingrained ideas and growing and succeeding despite them - with the exception, perhaps, of Hawks. So if several of the major Hero characters are designed to illustrate and criticise the established system, what about the villains? I guess if the Heroes are stories about people succeeding despite what the world tells them, then the Villains are stories about what happens when they don’t. 

Spinner: Mutants are second-class citizens and should be treated as such. 

Toga: If your Quirk is considered to be bad or gross, then you should be punished for wanting to use it. 

Twice: The world won’t make space for your special needs. 

Magne: If you don’t fit the mould of what people want you to be, you won’t be respected.

And Shigaraki: It’s not our responsibility to help you. If you weren’t saved, that must mean you’re not worth saving. 

The one thing that both the Heroes and the Villains have in common is that they are tools to show the audience the flaws in BNHA’s society. It’s canon that Quirks appeared suddenly, and though by the time BNHA is set in, society has tried to adapt to fit it and is making some progress towards being functional, it’s clear that it has a long, long way to go, because it’s failing so many people. (Draw some parallels to real life, hm?). BNHA’s overarching themes of individual worth not being more important than collective good and how rules and structure created in good will can result in a lot of pain and abuse are, first and foremost, exemplified in the characters themselves. I like to tell people who find Shigaraki’s motivations vague and uncompelling that Shigaraki doesn’t need to have a point, he is the point, and this is exactly the reason why. 

I also believe that this is primarily why for Horikoshi to end the League here would be, frankly, terrible writing. We have engaged with the LOV more than pretty much any other Shonen villain group I can think of, almost any villain group at all. We’ve seen them develop as much as we’ve seen the heroes develop, especially in Shigaraki’s case, and to have Shigaraki only be their ‘first-year villain’ or whatever would be disrespectful, wasteful, and thematically inappropriate. To have a more classic, pre-developed villain whose villainy seems to stem from some inherent evil characteristic like AfO or Overhaul would ultimately defeat the story of how the worst villains are created by flaws in the system, not born. 

Part 2: Fan Response

Sometimes I can’t believe I still have to reiterate this to people, but it is possible to stan a character whilst simultaneously recognising that they are flawed, often critically so. When did we move from adoring villains to saying if you like this character you must be an inherently bad person because of this list of bad things they did? 

The thing is that the vast majority of ‘opinions’ on fan blogs are... poorly thought out and shallow, to put it lightly. When it’s 2am and I’m answering an ask about my opinions on x plot point, it’s not gonna be well thought out and thoroughly researched. I’m probably a bit tipsy, kind of tired, and just typing out whatever my initial response is. And really, if I reblog a bit of art with the caption ‘Shigaraki did nothing wrong’, do you really think I’m being serious? A lot of what we say is hyperbolic and meant to either be funny or to evoke an emotion, not because we actually believe it. 

That being said, the League in particular, I believe, resonates with a lot of people in the current political climate. A group of outcasts with characteristics considered undesirable by the wider population coming together and genuinely caring about one another whilst they aim to completely eradicate the system that hurt them? As an angry, marginalised leftist in a society that seems increasingly determined to wipe my chances at a good life out without blinking an eye, hell yeah that resonates with me. Being able to crumble the cripplingly complex and morally vile system I live in to dust and starting over is one hell of an appealing power fantasy. Does that mean I think murder is okay? Obviously not. It’s a fantasy. If there’s one place where I can live out those fantasies without consequences, it’s here. In fiction. And so it seems really stupid to me to be confronted with the idea that if I like a fictional violent radical I’m accused of condoning murder and kidnapping. 

Part 3: Are the Heroes right?

So a lot of the posts I saw that aggravated me were framed like 'how can the villain stans think Miruko and Gran Torino's behaviour is worse than Shigaraki's?', but like... who was saying that?

I feel like certain people's views of the heroes versus villains debate falls under the same fallacies as a lot of political arguments- that is to say, if I'm criticising one side, I must be defending the other. Which is... just blatantly untrue. When we say that the heroes' consistent dehumanisation of a man who is, first and foremost, a victim of significant grooming and abuse throughout his life, is gross and cruel, and that this attitude is mirrored in an awful lot of the hero-villain interactions implying a certain level of empathetic alienation and lack of accountability, we're not saying they shouldn't be trying to take Shigaraki down. Of course they should, he's going to decimate hundreds of thousands of innocent lives. But, like, does that mean they're exempt from all criticism? Should we be excusing the cruel and dismissive attitudes of the heroes and ignoring the behaviours of their side that lead to further 'villainisation' of marginalised people just because they're responsible for saving lives? No. Because once again, one of the key themes of BNHA is that neither side is perfect, and neither side is right.

Mass murder is wrong. So is systemic cruelty towards the oppressed. You don't have to approve of one to criticise the other. So next time you see one of those posts and jump to the conclusion that villain stans have no reading comprehension, pls remember these points.

Anyway, that's my little rant. Sorry.

Tl;dr, villain stans aren't stupid or glorifying murder, we're just capable of criticising more than one type of bad behaviour.

[supersaiyadaddy]

Dystopia Reading Recommendations by my friend Victoria H:

 

All Good Children by Catherine Austin

The American government has developed a treatment to cure teenage delinquency which is bad news for 17 year old Maxwell, graffiti artist and angry, young man. This novel is a chilling look into the future of social control using pharmaceuticals.

Angel Fall by Susan Ee

One of the few books on this list I haven’t read, but book sellers and readers alike love this series. I’m looking forward to reading how 17 year old Penryn Young survives when warrior angels attack San Francisco, beginning the apocalypse. 

Children of Eden by Joey Grace

Rowan is her parent’s second child, which in a world of strict population control, makes her not just illegal but marked for death. Another novel recommended by my bookseller best friend which has received rave reviews.

Gone series by Michael Grant

I’m honestly not a huge fan of this series, but mine is definitely a minority opinion.  One day, all the adults are simply gone with no explanation, leaving teens suddenly in charge of a world of children. A scary scenario which becomes more perilous as animals and the remaining humans begin to change, developing dangerous supernatural abilities. 

Sixteen by Julia Karr

One of the lesser known books on this list, but one of my favourites as unlike so many other dystopias the setting isn’t also the plot. Nina is nervous about her fast approaching sixteenth birthday when she’ll receive a government mandated tattoo indicating she is now sexually available. After her mother is attacked, Nina discovers that everything she’s been told her about post-sixteen life is a horrible lie.

Legend series by Marie Lu

In the dystopian Republic, June is a fifteen year old military prodigy determined to capture her country’s most wanted criminal, fifteen year old Day, a survivor of the slums. Both think they know everything about their world, but both the hunter and the hunted will be profoundly changed when they learn the truth. The whole series is a must read. 

The Hive by Barry Lyga and Morgan Baden

To rein in online bullying, the government now controls who is targeted for mob justice, and what level of punishment is deserved. Teenaged Cassie has had every reason to believe in the fairness of this system, until one online joke makes her a target of a violent punishment far in excess of her crime. Fully believable and scary; I couldn’t put the book down until I reached the end.

Bumped by Megan McCafferty

A fascinating novel of what happens when fertility is limited to the teenage years, and the competition is fierce for the privilege of impregnating the smartest, healthiest and best looking girls. Melody, who scores high on all three categories, believes she’s the luckiest girl in the world until she discovers she has an identical twin sister, Harmony, who is determined to save her from a sinful future.

The Knife of Never Letting Go series by Patrick Ness 

On an alien world, a small community of human men have the ability to hear each other’s thoughts. But when soon to be 13 year old Todd discovers that the Noise of everyone’s thoughts isn’t as omnipresent as he’s been told, he’s forced to flee for his life. For there are many dark, violent secrets on this world where keeping secrets should be impossible. 

Burn Mark by Laura Powell (sequel Witch Fire)

In an England where the Inquisition never ended and witches are still burned, developing the ability to do magic during your adolescence is a curse almost no one wants. Glory is determined to embrace her gifts despite them trapping her in a life of crime. By contrast, Lucas, son of a Chief Inquisitor, feels cursed by his developing powers which are threatening everything he ever wanted. These novels contain one of the more realistic depictions of the practice of magic, and of the oppressive history of British social classes.

Divergent Series by Veronica Roth

A very well known series, but unfortunately much maligned due to the declining quality of the movie sequels. However, the books themselves, especially the first two, are a compelling portrayal of a society at war with itself.  I couldn’t help but root for Tris and Four, two young people determined not to allow violent prejudice limit how they live their lives.

They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera 

In this near future, computers predict with unfailing accuracy who will die in the next twenty-four hours. Two very different teenage boys receive the much dreaded notification, and as the hours pass for them, you will question with increasing anxiety how accurate the title of this novel is.

Scythe Trilogy by Neal Shusterman

On an Earth where humans have conquered death, Scythes are responsible for compassionately ‘gleaning’ a quota of people to keep the burgeoning population under control. Two teenagers, Citra and Rowan, are unwillingly recruited as apprentices. Soon, their own lives will be on the line as there’s a growing movement within the Scythedom to destroy the rules that limit their ability to kill.

Unwind Series by Neal Shusterman

And if you thought the world of Scythe was twisted, this dystopian series by the same author is set after an American civil war where the opposing sides reached a terrifying compromise. Abortion is now illegal, but between the ages of 13 and 18, unruly teenagers can be sent by their parents to be ‘unwound.’ A process that claims it allows the teen to live on in their donated organs inside more worthwhile citizens. Despite this bizarre premise, the author manages to create a very convincing and terrifying future.

The Amulet of Samarkand by Jonathan Stroud (first book of the Bartimaeus series)

In this alternative universe, the British Empire dominates the world because British magicians are able to summon and control powerful demons. When Nathaniel, a young apprentice magician, decides to summon a djinn to get revenge on his teacher, he’s immediately in way over his head. For Bartimaeus is a conniving and hilarious demon, who is often too smart for his own good. If we lived in a just universe, people would have lined up for these books like they did for the Harry Potter series.

Uglies series by Scott Westerfeld

A well known dystopian series that deserves all the praise it has received. Tally has been told all her life that she’s ugly, that everyone is until they turn sixteen and extensive cosmetic surgery transforms them into a Pretty. Tally has eagerly awaited this transformation all her life, until she makes a friend who doesn’t want the surgery as it does far more than just alter outside appearances. This whole series is well worth reading.

The Chrysalids by John Wyndham

A classic from the 1950s that’s still easily available for good reason. This novel is set in a post-nuclear war Labrador where any mutation from ‘the norm,’ no matter how small, is feared and hated. Suspect crops are burned, mutant animals are slaughtered, and any human who appears abnormal is sterilized and exiled to the dangerous, radioactive Fringes. David Storm believes he’s lucky because his differences and those of his friends are invisible. But the arrival of his sister Petra, whose telepathic abilities outstrip all of theirs, threatens to expose them all.   

An Introduction to Zombies:

Zombies Versus Unicorns edited by Holly Black and Justine Larbalestier

An amazing anthology of short stories about zombies or unicorns by some of the best YA authors. Funny, disturbing and moving stories of the zombie apocalypse alongside unicorn stories like none you’ve ever read before.

The Girl with All the Gifts by Mike Carey

Told from the perspective of ten year old Melanie, the titular girl, this tense thriller takes place in a world where a fungal infection has transformed much of humanity into cannibalistic hungries. This novel tackles all the hard questions of what makes someone human, but never falters from being an entertaining and scary page turner. Also, the movie adaption is as excellent as the book.

Rot and Ruin Series by Jonathan Maberry

Fourteen years after zombies first appeared, the United States has reverted to the Old West, with small towns surrounded by the rot and ruin of civilization. Benny Imura, 15, doesn’t remember what life was like before, but wants to believe there’s more to existence than living behind tall fences and locked doors. But zombies aren’t the only dangers beyond the town’s borders. This entire series is an Intelligent, compelling and believable version of a zombie apocalypse.

This is Not a Test by Courtney Summers

Barricaded in a high school in a small Canadian town, Sloane Price and five other teens try to survive a zombie outbreak, their troubled pasts, and each other. A tense, smart thriller I couldn’t put down. Warning: themes of suicide and child abuse. There’s a sequel novella, Please Remain Calm, that I haven’t read yet, but it’s available on kindle.

Peeps by Scott Westerfield

This is smart, scary book where zombies aren’t caused by a disease, but a parasite which turns people into cannibals who hate everything they used to love. Warning: the teen protagonist, Cal, has become an expert on all kinds of parasites and describes them in graphic detail. But if you have a strong enough stomach, this is one of the most unique visions of zombies from an excellent writer. There’s a sequel that’s hard to get called The Last Days that’s shamefully still on my pile of to be read.

[shattcrs]

WHO: Julio Richter ( @rictorscales )

WHAT: Julio decides to come see Shatterstar after they haven’t seen each other for two weeks. They talk about what happened at the park, and something amazing happens.

WORD COUNT: 9,333

TRIGGERS: depression, slavery ( past only ), trauma

JULIO: Tell me whose ribs you want to crawl around in. Tell me who you want to fuck you up. Jess’s words had been echoing in Rictor’s mind ever since she said them, but not because the answer eluded him. The question stuck with him because he knew the answer. And maybe --- maybe he always had. Rictor thought back to being sixteen, to going wherever Star needed him to go and being whoever Star needed him to be. He thought about that fire that burned in his gut when Star spoke to someone else in a voice that was a little too soft or touched them in a way that was too familiar. Jealousy, he’d realized when Star called Jon his brother and the feeling faded. I’ve seen the way you look at him, Tabby had said, and maybe that was when he really should’ve known. Tabby had always known him better than anyone.

Tell me who you want to fuck you up, Jess had said, and Rictor’s mind had answered the question immediately and without doubt. The words were echoed with every beat of his heart, over and over and over. Him, him, him, only ever him. How had he missed it until now? 

There were complications, of course. There were always complications where Julio Richter was concerned. Natural disasters rarely occurred without leaving damage in their wake, and he’d caused one hell of an earthquake when he’d walked through that portal and left Star alone in the dirt. He’d probably caused a thousand more with his resulting crisis, and he’d definitely cause a few more before this was over, but… Maybe this story could have something resembling a happy ending. Maybe Rictor didn’t come to his realization too late, maybe there was still time to fix things.

He’d sent a text. A brief courtesy, a i’m coming over. let’s talk? that he’d known Star would respond to because Shatterstar was the most dependable thing in Rictor’s life, the only ground that had never once trembled beneath his feet. He changed his shirt three times, going through Logan’s closet in its entirety before deciding plaid wasn’t for him, then changing his mind and changing it back again. Rictor had never felt like this before… or maybe he had. Maybe he’d always felt like this with Shatterstar. Maybe he’d just never realized it until now.

Finally, he’d settled on a shirt he’d worn a thousand times before, fingers twisting in the hem like a security blanket as he stood outside the XFI building. He had a key in his hand, and he debated the idea of using it versus the idea of knocking, stared at the wooden barrier with narrowed eyes. “This is stupid,” he muttered to himself. “You’re being stupid. Open the fucking door, Julio, you ass.” His hands remained glued to his sides despite the pep talk. 

He’d almost worked up the courage to lift the key when the door opened on its own, and Ric’s eyes widened. Familiar red hair greeted him, and for a moment, he was silent. For a moment, all he could do was stare. His heart was racing in his chest, and Ric wondered how he’d never seen it for what it was before. Finally, after realizing the silence had stretched on a beat too long, Rictor cleared his throat. “Uh,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I didn’t know if I should knock or just come in. I mean, I’ve got my key, but… I don’t know. Hi. Hey, Star. Hi.” Great speech, Ric. You’re nailing this.

STAR: This was the longest Shatterstar has ever gone without seeing his best friend. It wasn’t like they spent every minute together, but so many of their routines involved each other being part of it. After the sun would come up, Star would make pancakes for both of them. It’s one of the few recipes that he genuinely knew how to make without any flaws in the final product. He only ever did this for Julio, having them kitchen to themselves before anyone else was awake. The redhead always loved the silence in the building, only able to hear the sound of fans in the distance being used during the summer, and just the able to focus on the sound of Rictor’s tired voice. They were cherished moments before they went their spectate ways for the day or had to do some work together. After what happened in the park? Star realized quick how much  of his life was centered around Julio being there, from movie nights down to just the small things. 

They haven’t seen each other for over two weeks, which is longer than Julio said, but Shatterstar expected this. He still doesn’t know what to do with his broken heart, especially when all the love he feels for Julio is still there aching to be returned. He might have ruined everything between them by admitting his feelings while knowing that Julio has only dated women. Although they have been talking recently a little in the group chat they have for the team — which gives him some hope. Could they fix things?

There was some hope after receiving the text message that Julio was coming over to talk. When should he expect him to arrive? Star was suddenly nervous, but did he really have any reason to be? This was his the man he’s in love with, but Julio is also his best friend.

Shatterstar was home alone with Noodle, deciding to sit out the case everyone was working on today. Jamie said someone needed to stick around to make sure the puppy doesn’t eat another pair of his boots. Which was fine by the Mutant since they meant more time with his pet. He changed into a pair of his short shorts and a white crop top while sitting around watching some reruns of The Office. Noodle lost interest, falling asleep  in her owner’s lap. He had a package coming today, and forgot to check to see if it arrived yet. He stands up, carefully holding the puppy in his arms who wakes up as she realizes they’re moving across the room toward the door. 

His free hand opens the door, the wind from outside blowing his red hair into his face. It grew longer since they’ve seen each other — now a little over seven inches past his shoulders now. Shatterstar wasn’t really interested in putting it up in a ponytail ever again, not unless it was required for a mission. He doesn’t even look for the mail because Julio was standing on the other side of the door. He was speechless, feeling like his heart could best right out of his chest. Star still thinks that Julio is the most beautiful person in this universe. He doesn’t know what to expect from this conversation.

“You can come in, this will always be your home too even if you moved out.” Shatterstar frowns for a moment, and looks away to disguise that to search for the mail. The package is on the ground by the door, so he kneels down to grab the large bag, which is full of new outfits for Noodle. He tosses it inside on the floor for now, turning his attention back to his best friend with a smile again. Star was overwhelmed with emotion because it was hitting him all at once how much he missed the other Mutant. “Hello, Julio. I must confess that I have missed you very much. This is my dog, Noodle. We are very happy that you could come by to visit. Come in!” He turns around to step aside so Rictor could get comfortable, and once the door was closed behind them the puppy was set down to run around the rooms again. Star moves to the living room — turning off the television and sitting on the couch. His eyes looking over at his best friend hoping that he would join him.

JULIO: It took a moment for his eyes to catch up to his mind. His heart was beating so quickly that he couldn’t focus on anything but the pounding in his chest, couldn’t concentrate on anything but drawing the next breath of air into his lungs. For a moment, the world outside of his eyes locked onto Shatterstar’s didn’t exist at all. 

And then the moment ended, and Rictor looked away. More specifically, he looked down. Star often wore very little when relaxing at home, Ric knew. For a while, when they were with X-Force, Ric wondered if the other mutant owned a shirt. It had never really bothered him before but, today, his face felt hot and his throat went dry, and fuck, how had he never realized this before? His palms were sweaty and his chest ached, and this was what it felt like, wasn’t it? This was what it was supposed to feel like. 

Ric closed his eyes for a moment, trying to center himself with the feeling of the earth beneath his feet, the feel of its ever-present vibrations climbing up through the soles of his shoes and settling into his bones. No matter what he’d realized about himself, Shatterstar was still Shatterstar. This was still his best friend in the world, the one who’d held his hand when he recalled how he’d felt on that roof, the one he’d taught how to read a clock when they were teenagers, the one who’d jumped in front of danger for him no matter how many times Ric begged him not to. Even when nothing else in the world made sense, Shatterstar always did. Rictor might not know who he was anymore, but he still knew Shatterstar. He knew Shatterstar even when he knew no one else.

It was how he knew that, right now, Shatterstar was struggling just as much as he was. Not for the same reasons, of course. For someone who’d been raised in an oppressive battle dome, Shatterstar had always seemed so much more certain about who he was than Rictor ever had. There were days where Ric looked into the mirror to find a stranger staring back, days when that therapist’s words echoed in his mind over and over and over again like a mantra he couldn’t escape. Don’t you think you deserve a name? Don’t you think you deserve a name? Don’t you think you deserve a name? Some days, the answer to that question was a vague shrug. Others, it was a firm no, playing on repeat every time the question arose. 

(There was only one person who’d ever made him feel like the answer was yes, only one person who could call him Julio without anger burning in his chest. And maybe that should have told him who he was a long time ago. Maybe the secret to knowing Julio Richter had always been knowing Shatterstar.)

“So, uh, this is Noodle,” Rictor said, mostly to break the silence. He didn’t reach a hand out to pet the dog, didn’t know if it would be welcome or not. Perhaps he’d given up the privilege of reaching towards Star when he’d walked away from him through that portal. It didn’t seem fair to assume otherwise. “She’s cute. I mean, she is in the pictures, too. Just… I don’t know. It’s different in person.” Wasn’t everything? His heart didn’t beat this hard when he was messaging Star in a group chat, didn’t threaten to burst through his ribcage when he was teasing Jon and soaking up every shred of attention Star threw his way in the process. But now? Rictor felt like his heart was bursting at the seams, like there was an earthquake in his chest and he couldn’t control it. Shatterstar must have heard the way his heart was pounding, right? It felt like the loudest thing in the world, like a boombox pounding so loudly you could feel it shaking your bones.

He shifted when Star spoke, shrugging a shoulder. “Home’s more complicated than that.” His home wasn’t the crappy building Jamie had moved them all into, the one whose roof he’d let his toes hang off of for hours as he’d worked up the courage to take that step. It wasn’t the ranch he’d grown up on in Mexico, either. Rictor’s home had always been with Shatterstar. He understood that now, better than he ever had before.

The real issue came with saying it. Talking wasn’t Rictor’s strong suit. (Rictor wasn’t sure he had a strong suit.)

“I missed you, too, Star,” Ric admitted, following his friend passed the familiar threshold and into the building. Everything looked the same, and nothing was. The whole world had changed, and no one bothered to tell the foyer. There was something funny about that. Rictor trailed along behind Shatterstar as he made his way to the living room, settled beside him on the couch, and shut his eyes for a moment. He let himself feel the familiar vibrations that made Star who he was, let himself take comfort in the heartbeat he knew better than his own. “I’m sorry I ditched you before,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I stayed away as long as I did. I’m not good at this. You know that, right? I’ve never been…” He trailed off, shaking his head. He’d never been particularly good at being a person. Maybe he’d never been meant to be one at all. The Richter family was known for their weapons, after all. “You deserved better than that. You still do.”

STAR: The two of them have been through a lot over the years, always standing by each other’s side no matter what hardship comes their way. Shatterstar never expected someone to take him under their wing after his arrival to Earth.  He remembers being fifteen years old and surrounded by so much that was unknown. There was so much green around him that Star didn’t know that trees could be so beautiful. He saw them on the television programs back on Mojoworld, but that wasn’t the same as getting to actually see it. So when Shatterstar was fifteen years old surrounded by these tall trees and flowers poking out of the grass? He felt an emotion for the first time in his life. It wasn’t something that the redhead understood at the time, but the feeling was happiness. He never experienced it before like this, nothing expected out of him except being able to enjoy nature. Star just stood there admiring it before continuing on his journey. 

His quest to find the X-Men ended with finding a different group of Mutants first. X-Force took him in the day Shatterstar turned sixteen. This is when his life changed again — meeting a boy who would become his very best friend. His life became better just by Julio being in it. 

Here they are standing in front of each other, after spending over two weeks apart. Seeing the other Mutant again was like remembering how to breathe.  Shatterstar never cared about romantic or sexual attraction, didn’t understand it for so long until one day realizing that he has felt both of those things, but for only one man. Julio Richter was the only person Star has ever felt attracted to in every sense of the word. He loves this man so much, but doesn’t really know what to do with these feelings.

Shatterstar looks at the puppy, so content in the his arms while they’re looking at each other. “This is Noodle. She followed me home one night, and I couldn’t let her stay out in the streets by herself. I don’t know how I convinced Jamie to allow me to keep her, but long as I’m the one taking Noodle on walks and feeding her he doesn’t mind having her living with the team.” Star says happily, such a sign of joy in his words because it was always so easy to talk with Rictor. Once they moved inside of the building, it amuses him by seeing how quick the small dog was to run away — perhaps it was to find some toys to bring back to the two Mutants so they could play together. It was unsure, but Star admires the energy such a little creature has. This was their home, but the truth? Shatterstar feels like anywhere they end up would be home if Julio was there with him.

“I know that such statements are complicated.  I never knew what behaving a home felt like until I met you. Remember when we would share rooms together? Sometimes there was only one bed, but it never bothered us. We just wanted to be together. I would wake up early to work out while you would sleep in. We could do that anywhere, I just didn’t want us to be apart.” Shatterstar didn’t realize it at the time, but looking back on it? Those kind of moments are the ones that made him fall in love with his best friend that much more.

They were sitting together on the couch, and Star wonders if Julio can hear how quick his heart was beating while they’re sitting so close. His hand pushes some of his hair behind an ear, not taking his eyes off of the other Mutant. “I missed you more, Julio. It’s alright if you needed more time to think about my confession. I will admit that despite us spending those two weeks apart, those feelings of mine are still here. I hope that is alright with you if you wish to spend time together again.” Shatterstar admits, reaching out to grab Julio’s hand — hoping this was okay. “I know you are not the best at talking about how you feel, but you can tell me anything. I will always be here for you, Julio. Do not worry about me, I promise that I was okay. I just spend some time with the trees before walking home that night.” His hand squeezing at the other one that he was holding. “You’re here now.”

JULIO: Even before his powers developed, Rictor had always found comfort in nature. There was something relaxing about being out among the trees, something comforting about dirt beneath his feet and wind in his hair. He didn’t know how the genetics of mutation worked. He didn’t know if, maybe, the part of him that would one day make the ground tremble had always been inside of him and only came out when he was a teenager, didn’t know if his body had always known it belonged to the Earth or if his powers shaped based on the love he carried for her. He didn’t think it made a difference. The important thing, he thought, was that that love had always been within him. He had always loved the Earth, even before he understood her. 

He was beginning to realize it was the same with Shatterstar.

When he’d looked back on his feelings for Shatterstar after his conversations with people like Tabby and Jess, he realized that he couldn’t pinpoint any kind of change surrounding them. The feelings he had for his best friend, the ones he’d mistaken for platonic affection, they’d been there all along. Rictor hadn’t recognized them, hadn’t understood them, but they were still there. They’d been there since he was sixteen, since he joined X-Force and met the strange boy with the red hair and the sword, the one who hung off every word Cable said and flipped through the channels on the television so quickly that Rictor was tempted to quake the remote apart to stop it. There was no one moment that shifted his feelings. His feelings were always there. He had always been who he was, even when he didn’t know it. There was something comforting in that. It was like the breeze ruffling his hair, like the dirt beneath his feet. It was there. It was always there.

“Hi Noodle,” Rictor said, smiling at the dog. His voice was thick, and he didn’t know why. His emotions had never been something he understood easily. That was part of what bonded him to Star in the beginning, part of what made him latch onto the other boy so readily. Rictor was bad with feelings but, back then, Star had been worse. Star had needed Rictor to point him in the right direction, to explain the way things were meant to be. Things had shifted now. That certainty Star had when he spoke, that raw honesty in his voice with his confession in the park, Rictor didn’t know if he’d ever had that before. His emotions had always been a whirlwind of things he didn’t understand, a mixture so convoluted that he often only knew how to express it through anger. Rictor couldn’t remember a time he’d been completely certain about how he felt.

Until now. It took some exploring, took a lot of conversations with a lot of people, but Rictor knew how he felt now. He knew how he’d felt since he was sixteen, knew he’d been lying to himself for the better part of a decade now, understood that every single woman he’d climbed into bed with had been a desperate attempt to convince himself that he was who the world told him he was supposed to be. Jon’s words repeated in his head. There wasn’t something wrong with me. Terry’s words followed them. You’re exactly the way you should be. There was nothing wrong with the way Rictor felt about Shatterstar. There never had been.

There might, however, have been something wrong with the way he’d gone about it. Leaving Star alone in that park after his confession, abandoning him when he was emotionally vulnerable, that had been a dick move, even by Rictor’s standards. Star deserved better than that, had always deserved better than that. (He deserved better than Rictor too. Rictor reminded himself of that a thousand times on his way over, repeated it over and over until it stuck. Star deserved better, and if he chose to pursue better, Ric would be okay with that. He would make himself okay with that.)

Rictor looked down at his hands as Star spoke, smiling faintly at the memories. “I used to think you were nuts,” he offered, “waking up at the crack of dawn like that. I always kind of liked it, though. You were consistent. Nothing else ever was.” He’d been able to count on Star back then, better than anyone. He and Tabby bickered constantly, Terry always felt a mite too close to the X-Men to be long for their team, Sam was a leader too good to be stuck with the rejects, Bobby was a frickin’ billionaire who probably only ever hung out with them because Sam was there… Everyone on the team had seemed on a different level than Rictor except for Star. Star was the weird kid who didn’t know how clocks worked, the guy who got every metaphor wrong, the one who needed Rictor in a way no one else ever had. It had been selfish, the way Ric clung to that. It had been greedy, the way he made sure to love the only person he was sure would never leave him. 

He clung to Star because Star was his safe space, the most constant thing he had outside the ground beneath his feet. And Shatterstar’s confession had been an earthquake that knocked him off balance, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He understood that now. 

Those feelings of mine are still here. I hope that is alright with you. Ric’s heart was pounding now, beating so fast he thought the ground might shake with the force of it, but it didn’t. Everything stood still, just as it had when Shatterstar said the words in the park. There was no quaking, no trembling. There was, for perhaps the first time in Rictor’s life, peace. Like a meadow in the springtime, with new things blooming beneath the dirt.

“That’s okay with me,” he said quietly. “It’s --- It’s more than okay, actually.” Rictor closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “There was… You know, there was this researcher in Germany, who devoted his whole life to studying trees? I used to read his stuff when I was a kid. When my dad would take me to…” He trailed off, shaking his head. He didn’t want to recall his father dragging him along to arms deals, the way Rictor would sneak out of sight to sit in the dirt with a book and wait for it all to be over. “His stuff was always my favorite. He did a lot of study into what they felt, and nobody else ever really did that. Nobody else really thought about it. They feel fear, pain.” He looked down to where their hands were clasped together, throat tight as the next word came out in barely a whisper. “Love.” He shut his eyes again, heart still pounding. Could Star feel the pulse racing in his wrist? Did he know what Rictor was thinking? “I’ve been thinking a lot about… who I am. I keep waiting for somebody else to tell me, keep waiting for someone to give me the answer like when I was a kid, but I don’t think that’s happening. I think maybe I’ve known the answer for a long time now, and I just… Didn’t want to hear it. I know I don’t have to tell you how stubborn I am. You know me better than anybody, Star, and you always have. You know me better than I know me.”

Absently, Rictor rubbed his thumb against Star’s hand, taking a deep, uncertain breath. “I dated a lot of girls, you know? I had moments with just about everybody on our old teams, I told myself I loved them, but I never felt the way I was supposed to feel. The way I’d felt with other people.” He paused, swallowing before opening his eyes and bringing them up to meet Star’s. “The way I feel with you. It took me… I mean, I didn’t understand it. I still don’t know if I understand it. And I’m not --- It’s not fair for me to ask you to help me understand it, it’s not fair for me to do what I did in that park and come to you with this now, but I don’t… I’m not really sure what else to do. I love you, Star. I’m pretty sure I always have.”

STAR: There was nobody else that would capture Shatterstar’s attention in the same way that Julio has since they were teenagers. He has always been convinced that his best friend was better than anyone else who came into his life after that. It wasn’t difficult for Star to make connections with other Mutants or anyone for that matter — discovering rather quickly over his life that he has an outgoing personality. He radiates charisma, seeking to make more friends with anyone who wished to listen to his stories. Shatterstar wasn’t always easy to have a conversation with since he could get easily confused by the culture surrounding Earth, and gets his idioms mixed up. Although, somehow this didn’t seem to matter to most as they would seek out friendship with the redhead anyway. No matter how many of these bonds were created, none of them would be a greater friend than Julio is to him. He was a constant for him, always there to help him through difficult situations or just introduce him to concepts that have been missed out on — such as when Star was taught him how to read clocks. 

Of course there was aspects to the aftermath of his confession that were unfortunate, but Shatterstar didn’t want to put Julio in such an awkward position by sticking by his side. He knows that they needed that time away from  each other so the feelings could be thought about. He doesn’t think badly of his best friend for needing to take a step back, and hopes that Julio isn’t upset with himself over what happened — in his own eyes, the Mutant thinks of the other as a good man still. His heart still racing at the thought of him, but having him so close? Makes his heart want to burst through his chest and give itself to Julio properly because there could never be someone else that makes him feel so strongly.

“I feel like most thought of me that way, but I might have been taking my work out routines too far. Remember how I used to set aside three separate times during the day for my fitness? I was a little obsessed, but then I discovered so much else about this world that also deserved my attention.” Shatterstar still goes to the gym, but not nearly as often as the younger version of himself used to do. “I’m glad you liked having me around even if I annoyed you with my clicks of the remote. We were lucky Cable reprogrammed our television to stop my use of the devise that turned the channel.” Shatterstar laughs, a soft sound filling the room as he found some humor in the memory looking back on it — remembering Julio being so annoyed with him back then, but it was a fond memory now looking back on it. “We have come a long way together.” He was proud of their journey, not wanting it to have ever gone another way. 

There was still some uncertainty about what this conversation was really about, feeling as if  Julio has a point behind reflecting on their time growing up together. His hand wasn’t pushed away, which Star was going to take as a good thing, making a soft smile appear on his face while his eyes turned from looking at their hands, and back to that handsome face. What does it mean? It’s more than okay, actually.

His palm squeezes gently at the one intertwined with his own, listening with each word. Shatterstar believes in that, thinking it would be foolish of anyone to be against believing trees and plants didn’t have feelings of their own. All of the living beings on this planet do in their own way, just expressing it differently. Star does think that is quite fascinating — knowing plant life class capable of feeling love, and hoping that he doesn’t ever bring them pain. “If you ask me society should try understanding nature more. The trees and wildlife has been here long before we were born, and often get taken for granted. I do hope any trees I’ve come across only feel good emotions when I’m involved. Nature is quite beautiful. We didn’t have anything like it on Mojoworld.” Shatterstar goes silent for a moment while listening to what Julio says next, not thinking that he came here to talk about trees, but doesn’t mind if that ever was the point. Any conversation with this man makes him happy — just getting to hear his favorite voice again. “I don’t think anyone can tell you how to feel. They can help you in finding your own answer, but ultimately has to be your own voice. I know you better than anyone else, Julio. We have been friends for the longest time, and while you may be stubborn, yes, that is not all you are. I have seen you show compassion too, a whole range of emotions, and whole not everyone sees them — I have. You are extraordinary, and I will also cherish any new part of yourself that has been discovered if that’s what you’re hinting at. I have learned once that we all grow over time. You have always supported me, and I will always do that for you as well.” He smiles reassuringly, taking a deep breath while thinking about what could possibly be coming. 

 His heart continues to race.

Shatterstar feels like the world stopped turning after hearing those words. He didn’t expect this, a whirlwind of happy emotions beginning to fill his heart. Perhaps Rictor knew this since he gave his hand another squeeze before speaking up. “Y—You love me? I love you too, Julio. I mean it with all of my heart that I believe I have always felt this way about you, ever since we were those teenagers getting into all sorts of trouble. This will be new for both of us. I know you have never been with a man, but I have never been with anyone. We could take it at our own pace, learning how to do this together.  I just want to be with you if you would be comfortable to be my boyfriend.” Shatterstar is blushing now, feeling vulnerable in the best of ways. 

Does Star choose to be bold? 

The Mutant leans in to close the distance between them, pressing their lips together for his very first kiss. Which Shatterstar feels lucky that it was with someone he loves, and who loves him in return. This was a truly surprising turn of events, but kissing Julio ignited a flame in him. Nothing ever felt so right than this right here, his free hand lifting to cup the other Mutant’s cheek for a moment before pulling back for some air knowing his cheeks were a darker shade of red now. “I hope that was okay —“ It felt like his life was finally more complete, and hopes Julio felt the same way.

JULIO: What is so wrong with you, Rictor’s uncle had asked him once, that you are utterly incapable of committing to anything for more than an instant? It had felt unbelievably harsh at the time, and Rictor knew it hadn’t truly come from a place of love. Gonzalo had been one of the most committed to the Richter family business, second only to Rictor’s father in the intensity of his obsession. We’re making a name for ourselves, Julio, he’d snapped, angry and bitter in a way Rictor had seen in the mirror far too many times. Why don’t you want to be a part of this? And Rictor hadn’t had an answer for him. He hadn’t known what it was about him that he found it impossible to commit, but it hadn’t ended with his family’s business. It followed him, everywhere he went.

It was why he’d had such a hard time with teams in the past, why he’d left X-Force for Mexico and left Mexico for X-Force in an endless pattern of inability to stick to one or the other. It was why his time with the New Mutants was so short, why he bounced from team to team for most of his teenage years without ever sticking to anything. It was why he climbed up on the roof of X-Factor Investigations with every intention of shrugging the commitment of his own life. It was also why he pushed people away with everything he had, why he used bitter sarcasm like a vibe blast designed to distance himself from anyone who might want to get in close. Rictor wasn’t the type to commit, and he wasn’t the type to make friends, and Shatterstar was both. 

It had always amazed him, how easily Star got people to like him. Ric joked more than once that Star could befriend the pigeons in the park if he tried hard enough, and he knew that was something he would never be capable of. Star was an easy person to like. He was charming, he was bright-eyed, he was charismatic. Rictor was an acquired taste. More than once, he knew, people had put up with him only because he and Shatterstar often came as a package deal. You suffered one to have the other. Perhaps he should have been bothered by that, but he never was. It was understandable, after all --- Rictor would suffer his own company to enjoy Shatterstar’s, too. 

“You were committed,” he said quietly. “I always liked that.” Star had always balanced Rictor’s worst qualities with complementary opposites. Rictor couldn’t commit to anything, and Star committed to everything. Rictor couldn’t make his own family like him, and Star could befriend strangers on the street. Rictor scarcely wanted to live some days, and Star viewed the world with a bright joy that should have been impossible given his history. An optimist and a pessimist, they were. “I was probably a little too dramatic about that, anyways,” he admitted with a quiet huff, remembering the ordeal. “I shouldn’t have threatened to kill you over a remote control, probably.” It hadn’t been a real threat, of course. Rictor was just… kind of an ass, even back then. (Especially back then, maybe.) “We have, haven’t we?” His voice was quiet, and he didn’t say what he was thinking. He didn’t say that he’d never expected to make it this long, didn’t say that there was no part of him that had ever anticipated living past twenty. He thought Star might understand it, anyways. Even an optimist could have seen the unlikelihood of their survival. 

Maybe, in the end, all of that made this moment inevitable. There was that old cliche, wasn’t there, about opposites attracting? That which we lack attracts us, someone once said, and it was true. Rictor had been drawn to Shatterstar from the beginning, and maybe Star had been drawn to him too. Maybe this was always going to happen. Wasn’t it pretty to think so? 

Rictor laughed, a quiet breath of air when Shatterstar spoke. Anyone else, he thought, might have questioned his ramblings, but not Star. Star would listen to Ric talk about trees for hours and stay intrigued all the while, would let Rictor go on and on and on for as long as he needed to. He’d let him talk circles around a point before getting to it, let him ramble in metaphors and mutter in excuses. He’d never once asked Rictor for more than he could give, never once expected him to break away parts of himself. There weren’t many people he could say that about. “They were here before us,” he agreed. “It’s their world, not ours. And most people don’t even… I mean, they don’t even try to get it.” He paused, quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “that you didn’t have trees on Mojoworld. You deserved trees. You deserved trees and plants and animals and bugs and ---” And love. Star had deserved so much love. Rictor knew he wasn’t the right person to give it to him, knew that Star deserved someone better, but god, he wanted to give it all he had. He wanted to try to love something without quaking it to pieces, wanted to try committing to something without running away. He wanted to be better. Shatterstar made him want to get better. 

His throat tightened as Star spoke, as the best man he’d ever known said a multitude of kind things about him that he’d done nothing to deserve. Rictor broke Star’s heart, he did that. And still, Star was here. He was always here. He loved Rictor even on the days when it felt like there was no Rictor to love, loved him when he disappeared into his mattress and didn’t move for hours and hours. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who thinks that,” he said quietly. “I’m… Thank you. For thinking that. Thanks for believing in me.” I’ll try to deserve it.

When Star repeated the words, disbelief clouding his tone, Rictor let out a nervous, watery laugh. “Yeah,” he said quickly, lest Star get the wrong idea. “Yeah, I do. I really fucking do.” The world was standing still, and it was a good thing. He could breathe again, for what felt like the first time since he’d walked through that portal and left Star behind in the park. He could breathe again, for what was maybe the first time ever. He nodded quickly, his heart racing in his chest, face feeling warm. “I’m definitely comfortable with that. If it’s --- If you want me.” 

And then they were kissing, and the world felt right. There was no nagging discomfort clouding the back of his mind. There was no quiet unease gnawing at his gut. There was no impatience begging the moment to end. There was only Shatterstar, and his lips on Rictor’s. There was only a world that made sense for the first time in his entire life.

When it ended, he wasn’t relieved the way he always had been with the women he’d dated. He wasn’t dreading the next moment of intimacy, wasn’t craving distance. Instead, there was something more akin to disappointment in his chest, but it was outweighed by the euphoria of the moment. “That was definitely okay,” he said quietly. “Actually, that was --- That was kind of perfect.”

STAR: When did Shatterstar learn to be so charismatic? It wasn’t as if holding a conversation ever mattered growing up on Mojoworld. All that mattered was having the ability to speak at all to carry out a battle cry. He wonders sometimes how different his life would have been if anyone had taught him how to process emotions as a child. It wouldn’t have made for exciting fights in the arena if Star was putting his feelings into it. They couldn’t risk him providing them with bad ratings — no, that just wouldn’t do. Although maybe deep down there was always the ache for wanting to connect with others. Shatterstar never got to form relationships of any kind before, so coming to Earth was an opportunity to be who he should have always been.  Star never had friends before — so maybe this is all the reasoning behind wanting to befriend everyone that he meets. Which doesn’t always work, but the redhead does have the ability to make it happen most of the time. He could probably hold a conversation with just about anyone, which is sweet, but not if your friends are trying to pull you away from conversing with a stranger. 

Star wouldn’t want to trade this life for anything, being able to feel everything has made his life worth living. He could express when he was happy, upset, or angry. This wasn’t always the case, and Julio has a lot to do with making sure Shatterstar was able to express how he felt.  There was many sides to his personality, and this is when Star realized he doesn’t have to be that violent warrior all of the time.  He was allowed to be more than that — create a whole life for himself. His first decision has always been to keep his best friend close after they started getting close. Star has met many people since coming to Earth when he was fifteen, and none of them had been quite as amazing as Julio is.

“I was quite committed. I felt like working out was the most important part of the day. I still view it as being important, but not something I have to do for five hours of each day.” Shatterstar remembers doing over a thousand push ups before Rictor even woke up, able to do them with just a few of his fingers. He doesn’t mean to show off, but maybe fitness filled the void he didn’t know existed. While Star learned more about himself, he realizes there was so many other activities that could help fill his time too. He liked the way they sort of balanced each other out — like two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly. “I didn’t understand at the time that the sound of a remote clicking could be considered irritating. You know I didn’t quite understand how anyone’s emotions worked at the time, so you were right to find that frustrating. I just wanted to watch everything all at once. I’m glad they’ve made remotes silent since we were younger. I can flip much as I want and not make a sound.” Which makes a smile appear on Shatterstar’s face like that was a solution to any future problems with it. “I continue to enjoy our journey through life together. I like that we play off of each other’s fighting styles so well, nobody else understands my techniques the same way you do. It has only ever been you.” 

Shatterstar means it, thinking the fact they know the other in such a deep level is extraordinary.

There was a habit of talking a lot, sometimes it took Star some time getting to a point if there even was one. The best part of their friendship was just letting each other talk for hours if they needed to about anything. It was important since Shatterstar never once felt judged by Julio for saying what was on his mind — in return he always listened with interest for every word his best friend says to him. He always looks forward to seeing him after a long day or in the morning when Rictor wales up. This must be love, since nobody else made his heart beat faster then they walk in the room smiling at him like that. “It is not right that others don’t try to understand. I may never completely get it, but I try my best. I’m sure you are aware. You don’t need to apologize, but thank you. When I first came to Earth I ended up in this field with flowers and many trees. It was overwhelming because I’ve never seen anything so breathtaking before. I find that it’s more enjoyable to get out and enjoy nature than stay indoors all the time. Mojoworld didn’t have much except for doing what pleases Mojo. I’m not so much fan of bugs, but it is nice to have the opportunity to avoid them. I’m just happy not to be missing out on any of it anymore.” Shatterstar smiles at that, not sure if anyone deserves these things, something so simple, but you don’t know how much you would miss it until it’s gone. 

“Maybe we can go on that road trip sometime and go visit the Grand Canyon. I would very much enjoy that trip.” Would they be able to get the time off? Would Jamie just be happy to be understanding one less Mojoworlder for a few weeks? He thinks the trip sounds fun, and if Julio was still interested in the idea that they should go. It would be just the two of them, no worries except what the road ahead has prepared for them. Everything has been so serious lately, and they deserve some fun too, don’t they?

Shatterstar feels like his heart was ready to fly right out of his chest with how quick it was beating.  After what happened in the park the love felt for Julio never left, still making a home in his chest refusing to leave. Star is glad for not letting go. This was the best surprise, so unexpected, and maybe this is why  Rictor took much longer than expected to come see him again. 

He loves him too.

It was easy to get emotional, feeling the happiest that the redhead has ever been. “I love you very much, Julio. This is the best moment of my life having you love me too.” The smile on his face doesn’t go anywhere, having a feeling that this was going to be an expression shown quite often from now on. This would be new for both of them, but nothing feels more right than being able to call Rictor his. “Of course I want you. My feelings have not changed. It is official now. You’re my boyfriend. Does this mean I can hold your hand all the time? I would like to be able to hold your hand.” Shatterstar has never done this before, but there was nobody else that he would want to date.

There was some nerves since Star has never kissed someone before, but if that felt perfect for Rictor then that was enough to keep Star smiling about it. They were kind of perfect for each other weren’t they? Maybe they were destined to meet, be part of the other’s life ever since they were born, or maybe in all universes find their way to the other Mutant. “It was more then perfect. I could get used to doing that. I must confess that was my first kiss, and I’m glad that it was with you.” Star leans in again to kiss his boyfriend again, but wanting this one to last longer than the previous kiss. He loves this man, and can’t get enough of him now that they’re together.

JULIO: Was there a world, Rictor wondered, where they were different? Was there a universe out there somewhere in the vastness of the multiverse where their lives were peaceful, where they were better off? Maybe there was a place where Shatterstar had been raised by his biological parents, where he never stepped foot on Mojoworld at all. Maybe there was a universe where Rictor’s father didn’t die with a slug in his chest, where the world didn’t shake and groan with his grief. A place where Shatterstar found the X-Men instead of X-Force, a place where Cameron Hodge didn’t pick Rictor apart and break him into pieces. A place where Shatterstar learned from an early age how to express his emotions and talk about them, a place where Rictor had emotions that were more than just empty or sad. There was a multitude of possibilities, Rictor knew. There were worlds where they were better off. There had to be. 

But were they still like this?

In those worlds where Shatterstar never stepped foot on Mojoworld, in the ones where Rictor never left Mexico, did they find one another all the same? In the universes where Star was an X-Man, where Rictor never suffered Hodge, did they still watch movies once a week and share a bowl of popcorn? Was it selfish, Rictor wondered, to be glad for all the things Star had suffered in order to bring them together on Cable’s team, in order to give them the bond that helped shape him into the man he was now? Was it still selfish if he was glad for his own suffering, too? There must have been worlds where they were happy. There had to be. But this was the world where Shatterstar woke him up at four in the goddamn morning doing pushups next to his bed. This was the world where they had movie nights and stakeouts. This was the world where Star was his best friend. And that made it the best world Ric could imagine.

“You know,” Ric said, a little quieter now, “I used to be kind of jealous of you. I mean, you didn’t --- You didn’t know what was going on half the time, but you were… You’ve always had this way about you, dude. You make everything look so easy. You can be committed to waking up at the ass crack of dawn and working out for five hours a day like it’s nothing. You can make people like you without trying. You’ve got all this --- all this shit that’s happened to you, all this awful fucking shit, and you still know how to be happy. And I’m glad for that, I am, because you deserve to be happy, but I was still jealous. I was never good at any of that. I’m still not. I don’t know how to commit to shit. I sure as hell don’t know how to make people like me. And I can’t…” I can’t be happy. He knew the statement wasn’t entirely true, but there were days when it felt like it was. Rictor had been happy before, even without realizing it. He’d had moments with the X-Force where he was on top of the goddamn world. He’d had movie nights with Star where he laughed so much tears stung his eyes. He’d loved and been loved by people who always deserved better, and he still wound up on the roof of X-Factor looking for an out. “I’m really lucky you decided to be my best friend,” he said suddenly. “I think about that a lot.” Star could’ve had his pick, on X-Force, of who to follow him around. Sam never would’ve told him no. Terry would’ve loved it. Tabby always found him hilarious. Any of them would’ve been happy to let Star hang around them, but it was Ric he chose to latch on to. Ric, who was an ass even back then, who shook the world apart at the slightest irritation, who never made excuses for the shit he did because he never cared enough to try it. He’d lucked out. He still didn’t know how. “Me, too,” he said quietly, Star’s words echoing in his ears. It has only ever been you. What had he ever done to deserve that?

Ric smiled faintly as Shatterstar spoke, nodding along with it. “I always liked it,” he admitted quietly, eyes darting over to the window. “Nature, I mean. It’s… I didn’t like the quiet much, you know? Growing up, nothing was ever quiet. So many people around all the time, always yelling and fighting and talking over each other. I get uncomfortable when it’s quiet. But nature’s never quiet. It’s peaceful, but it’s loud. If you listen close enough, you can hear it. The birds, the bugs, the dirt… It’s never quiet.” Star was never quiet, either. He was always a flurry of conversation, always a rambling speech about something only Ric could pick up on. Even in fights, there was nothing silent about him. There were battle cries, there was the metal clanging of swords, there were feet against the ground. Rictor had always hated the quiet, and Shatterstar had always found ways to fill it without trying. He was good at that, good at giving Ric exactly what he needed. And right now…

Right now, all Rictor needed was this. All he wanted was the two of them on a ratty couch he’d found in a dumpster and dragged back to XFI without a word. “A road trip would be fun,” he agreed. “There’s a lot of this country I haven’t seen.” He’d never had the time, moving from one superhero team to another since he was a teenager. As a mutant, your life became about surviving. Just once, Ric wanted to see what it was like to make his about living. And this… This was what living felt like.

Living, he decided, was Shatterstar’s hand in his. It was those words that had stopped the world in its tracks kicking it off into motion again, it was the way things felt right when their lips met, it was the way he thought he must have been holding his breath his entire goddamn life because breathing never felt quite like this before. He let out a quiet, breathless laugh at Shatterstar’s question, nodding his head empathetically. “I’m definitely your boyfriend now, dude. You can hold my hand as much as you want.”

Ric was grinning when they pulled away from the kiss, happier than he’d been in a long time. And you couldn’t hang your happiness on other people, you couldn’t live for someone else and not for yourself, you couldn’t stop feeling all the awful things you felt just because someone you loved loved you back, but god, it made it easier. It made it all okay, even if only for a moment. “I could definitely get used to it, too,” Ric agreed. “Wanna take a shot at getting used to it now?” And he leaned in and pressed their lips together again. Star was right --- it was more than perfect.

[puglover21]

X-Men Dark Phoenix: An Allegory of Mental Illness

Given the classic us-versus-them narrative of the X-Men series, it is frequently discussed as an allegory of racial tolerance. Society’s demonization of the mutants parallels the oppression of minority groups, and Professor X is compared to Martin Luther King Jr. while Magneto is compared to Malcom X. However, X-Men is not merely a series about racial tolerance, and the universality of its moral messages lends itself to becoming an allegory of many other important social issues. X-Men makes great strides in speaking against bigotry, prejudice and discrimination, but above that it is also an analysis of our unique humanness, and our ability to grapple with unchangeable flaws. At the core of the X-Men series is a belief that difference, visible or invisible, should be celebrated as a gift rather than condemned as a weakness. Therefore the X-Men series, particularly the most recent Dark Phoenix film, can also be seen as an allegory of mental illness for its handling of characters’ self reflection and emotional complexity.

As the series finale to the nearly 20 year franchise, X-Men: Dark Phoenix takes on a relatively more intimate, emotional tone than its previous counterparts. Jean Grey (Phoenix) delves into the pain of her childhood past while struggling to understand and control her new powers. After accidentally killing Raven (Mystique) due to a loss of control over her new powers, Jean fears that her inability to know and control herself would inevitably hurt those she loves. Though technically physical in nature, Phoenix’s new “darkness” aptly metaphorizes the psychological instability experienced in various mental illnesses. In addition to climatic action scenes, Jean’s story arc follows her through a multitude of volatile emotions that are portrayed in such a strikingly humanizing way that it almost ironizes the film’s characterization as a “superhero movie”.

Yet, the emotive undertone of the X-Men series is exactly what sets it apart from other conventional superhero movies. It doesn’t fit the trope, and it doesn’t need to. The X-Men are not superheroes, they’re mutants, and like humans they understand what it is like to feel vulnerable, imperfect, and weak. In one of the final scenes of the film, the alien villain Vuk claims that Jean’s emotions “make her weak”, to which she replies: “No, my emotions make me strong”. Having battled emotional dysregulation, unstable self image and psychological trauma throughout the film, Jean has every reason to see her emotions as a weakness. Jean’s realization of the strength that comes in embracing her inner vulnerabilities demonstrates that mental illness, or any kind of psychological distress, is not a weakness but an opportunity to grow. What is a flaw can become a gift, and what was our weakness can be our strength. As Professor X says, there is nothing to “fix” because one is not “broken” but merely on a journey towards further self discovery and development. 

[bibliotechnician]

climax

Versus Dresden

Sorry this took so long; I initially had plans to write THE WHOLE THING OUT but decided last minute to cut it in half.If you want more, tell me.

~INSPIRATION~ X X

She can see it from the rise, a ruin on a crumbling riverbank. Volk was born here, back when it was lush and busy. She barely remembers those days, snippets of its glory only in dreams and fuzzy memories.

The city is a husk now, a few towers still standing proud against the sky and the gleam of the university across the Elbe all that remains intact. The castles and state buildings and churches gloriously shining in old pictures barely remain. It has taken twenty years, but she is here. Here, where the nightmares originate and penetrate her headspace.

Dresden. 

The name is a curse, those in Berlin and Leipzig and the countryside are afraid to even think about it, much less utter its name. They’re probably afraid that acknowledging it in any way will give it power, like an old angry god. Looking at it after hearing the sirens wail for herself a few days prior from Leipzig, the last spit of civilization in the area, she can understand the fear and paranoia that permeate the minds of mortals.

She has listened to the stories and read the reports of events that transpired here, kept meticulously by those in Berlin. No one lives here, not anymore. The crater created by the rogue warhead that decimated the entire population is visible from her position, the devastation from it fanning in all directions and telling the story better than any oral or written history. She balances out her arsenal across her body, changes the filter on her mask, and begins her way into the valley.

The trek from her vantage toward the mass tomb below is slow and calculated. Her guides have long since split ways from her, afraid of how the city will react to their presence. The crumbling walls of what used to be suburbs have scribbled and painted warnings in a multitude of colors and mediums about what to expect. 

Warnings about the voices, the visions. Warnings that don’t make sense now, but she is sure will make sense later. 

They end not too far into the city, denoting an invisible barrier where the world outside of it simply ceases to exist. A bubble where no sound penetrates, startling when she realizes she can’t hear the dosimeter at her waist clicking incessantly as it has since she entered the outskirts. The silence is oppressive, a pressure on her inner ears that incites tinnitus and roots a familiar paranoia in her head. It pushes in on her and she can almost see the ribbed walls of the tunnels she grew up knowing. Feels the familiar anxiety of being enclosed, trapped.

Given all she has heard and read of Dresden and its condition, is it playing off her fears? Something to subdue her, maybe, make her weak or more susceptible.

Susceptible to what…

She uses that hyper-vigilance of hers, acquired over her long stint in the Russian State Library, to concentrate on something other than the claustrophobic weight starting to push in from the unnatural stillness. Though she holds her faithful Tikhar at the ready and scans every avenue and every side street and every alleyway, she notes with further apprehension that there is nothing. Not even vermin mutants scurrying for cover from an intruder in their territory. That is worrisome, the thought that not even something as common as Lurkers and rats have taken residence here causing her lips to draw thin.

She looks down the crumbling road she has been following, unable to see any other living thing. The only thing left among the unsettling waves of decaying asphalt are the bodies of unfortunate Stalkers who have come before her. It seems Dresden has not yet had her fill of blood.

The toe of one of her boots nudges an arm and she kneels beside the body it’s attached to, inspecting it for a cause of death. From one angle, it looks like this one simply keeled over in the middle of the street, their equipment rusting and neglected. Certainly not killed by another opportunistic human being and without any sign of animal attack she can see. 

She pulls the body toward her, repositioning it to find the cause of death, and falters as soon as the front comes into view. The clothing and protective suit have been burned and melted in patterns vaguely resembling human hands, the skin beneath charred to the point it smears blackened grease over her gloved fingers.

She leaves it and rises again quickly, looking around slowly once more and straining every sense she can into trying to read the city. Once more, all she is met with is uneasy silence. Her metaphoric hackles raise as she steps over the dead Stalker and continues on, her hands gripping the pneumatic rifle a little bit tighter to calm her creeping nerves.

She is careful to check her entire field of vision, certain that something must live here. Something humanoid, something that apparently likes fire. She walks a little bit faster down the road, aiming for what constitutes as downtown. Usually the heart of any city, she is almost sure that she will find something there, waiting for her.

After all, though Volk remembers little of it, Dresden flows in her veins like her lifeblood. It has been calling to her and others like her, she is sure of that now.

Nothing manifests, save for an eerie feeling of eyes watching. Not from one location, but from everywhere. She looks all around her to prove that there is no one and nothing there. At least not in a tangible form. It’s likely the city itself is watching her progress, and the thought unsettles her a little more. 

A flash stops her as she comes to a broken intersection, poles knocked askew adding to the surreality of the scene that comes and goes. So brief, and yet so provocative. She can still see the image burned quickly into her eyes, hear the murmur of the sudden onslaught of sound, smell the tang of life on the air. It’s gone the next instant. Though she was sure it was there a second ago, she is also aware that it wasn’t there at all.

A memory, maybe. A replay of something that might have been there once, but isn’t anymore.

The history that lies buried in the city is revived by the prospect of one of its own among it. A facade flickering into life, perhaps as a welcome. Maybe a threat. So early in the journey makes it hard to say just yet.

She walks passed the intersection, slowly making her way deeper into the city. A change makes her pause, scuffling to a stop in the middle of the street. It’s subtle, and it takes a moment for her to pinpoint what it is. There is a faint breeze swirling over the ground, centered on her lower legs and tugging the looser portions of her pant legs. 

It isn’t so much that the wind is blowing that makes her increasingly unsettled. Wind is nothing new, even to an irradiated world. There is an ebb and pull to this one, however, not unlike something is breathing. She ignores the fight-or-flight that ignites in her chest, causing her own breath to flutter behind the respirator. It’s a learned reflex to ignore such an instinct, probably a stupid one. But every instance she has ignored it saved her rather than been her end, so a small measure of stupidity is a good thing, she reasons.

The world shifts again. The vision is a little longer than the first flash, enough she can read the small rectangular plates on the cars zooming passed her, ignoring the bumps and dips in asphalt that has been liquefied and hardened in waves. They stay long enough for the feeling of their wakes to overtake her body, a shiver of pressure changes; to hear the rumble of their engines and the creak of their shocks; to smell the acrid exhaust pouring from them. The buildings around them shimmer, an illusion of towering structures in their glory days, ghostly silhouettes of people walking the sidewalks as though nothing changed.

But things have changed, and the memory is incomplete.

The glass in the car and building windows is a bit too dark, hiding figures and shapes from view. The features on faces and bodies of citizens going about their days are blurred and indistinct. There is something there, something that might have given the figures identity long ago, but it is muddled and destroyed now. These people are all Dresden, she knows. These are no longer real, they are only recollections to be learned from.

It drifts away again, rolling from behind her and leaving only ruin. A reminder that the city had life once, or maybe a warning that it still does on some level of existence. The latter is more frightening to her. A dead city, she can handle, but one that refuses as a whole to stay dead is a terrifying prospect. It makes it unpredictable. 

She tries to argue the point that she is used to unpredictability. She conquered the unconquerable in Moscow, the Russian State Library, and more importantly, found a way to predict the supposedly unpredictable inhabitants inside. That is a feat in and of itself and of that accomplishment, she is proud. But an animal or one person is a much different idea of unpredictable than an entire city. One consciousness is not so much a hurdle against the collective of hundreds of thousands of identities all playing at once.

Dresden is just that type of unpredictable that scares her rather than makes her crave the challenge. Even if it seems calm and welcoming now, the underlying predatory nature she keeps seeing poke through its facade tells her that this is a beast with its eyes -hundreds of thousands of pairs of eyes- watching her every move. She is far out of her league here, left hoping that her birthright keeps her safe long enough to see this through.

The embankments built along the riverside are crumbling with age, falling into the dark caustic depths of the Elbe and in some places taking the road with it as well. Entire chunks of land have disappeared into the churning cauldron of the river that slices the city in two, and even through the filter of the mask, she can smell it as she comes to it, avoiding the raw edges of earth as much as possible. With no support, her weight could be enough to send her falling in with chunks of road and wall. 

Bending carefully over the edge where the wall is most stable, the water below is thick and foamy. A sludge more than a liquid colored dark green beneath an oily black. It looks almost still at first glances, but if she stares at it long enough, the ribbons of color in it are clearly flowing. 

She pointedly ignores the yawning crater across the river from her, the source of death and destruction, though she notices her Geiger clicking again through the muddled haze hanging over the city’s interim. A warning there is little safety here. A ripple catches her attention around the center of the Elbe, a raised series of humps rising from the depths to distract her from the abyss on the other side. At least there is something still alive here…

She knows she probably should feel something for the city, she should feel a tug at her heartstrings for seeing her native home like this. But truth be told, she feels nothing. 

Was it too long ago that she can’t remember it? She was four years young and in Moscow when the world came to its end, ushered into the depths of the metro system there instead of living here to apparently be blown to pieces or melted or to die barely a year later in excruciating pain. She remembers so little of Dresden, save snippets in dreams and in the faces of the night terrors that have gripped her as long as she can remember. She simply can’t dredge anything up for the doomed city she is greeted with.

She takes a step back in time to hear a mechanical sound issue from a pole behind her. It stutters at first like someone clearing their throat before whirring to life. An unmistakable cry from the melted metal amplifiers at the top of it, warbled and wobbling but still a sound that will forever haunt her nightmares. The wail of an emergency siren is hard to forget, no matter how long ago you heard it in full practice. Drills can never prepare someone for an actual emergency, and for her, she will always see the flood of panicked people and the tall buildings of Moscow framed by the blinding light of missile trails. 

That is all Volk can see now, even though she stands in the dead city of Dresden, with the entire city flickering around her with unspoken histories in time with the network of sirens crying around her. They echo off the crumbled walls and sticky waters of the river, reverberate against the supports of the defunct bridges. Around and around and around the sound goes, around and around and around the memories fly, like someone has turned on a projector and is clicking repeatedly through the slides at a pace too rapid to read what’s on each one, a patchwork of everything trying to occupy one space at once, and it drowns out even her rememberings of the end of the world.

Firestorms and mourning and rebuilding and life and firestorms and rebuilding and mourning and life. Over and over again, she has to close her eyes against it, pulling her hands from the Tikhar to rest against her head to block it out. There is a wild cacophony of sight and sound, assailing her so fast that it blocks out and overwhelms the attempts to keep up with any of her other senses.

She hunkers down as though making herself smaller might save her from the onslaught, hearing as the siren begins to wind down. Hearing as the sounds of the city’s memories start to discern themselves to fit their places in time better. Hearing as the last replay settles on the firestorm that first leveled the city to the ground, long before she was born.

The shrieking jolts her from her poor attempt to block the world out and the sight that meets her is one she knows she won’t forget. The drone of airplane engines, the crack of explosions. Shouting and screaming and crying, the flickering shadows of people running for cover either in buildings still standing or futilely trying to find a shelter. 

It lingers longer than the other visions, but it has good reason to. Such an event would leave a scar on a city. Despite her indifference to this place, the experience leaves a sort of ache in her chest.

It takes a moment after the city settles back to normal for her to realize the sobbing still persists. Changing her filter out takes all of a second before she turns around with a shuffle of her boots on the ebbed asphalt, a clack of her equipment punctuating the movement.

Hunkered in the doorway of a building not far from her is a silhouette. Something faint and barely recognizable against the backdrop of the space behind it. Some part of her brain tries to tell her that it’s a human shape, grasping for something familiar in an unfamiliar landscape such as this. The rest of it tells her that it’s wrong. She’s not sure how, simply that it is.

Cautiously, she makes her way toward it, leaving the crumbling bank of the Elbe and paying especial mind to the empty doors and windows of the ruins still standing. If this thing lives here, there could be more of them. She doesn’t like surprises much in uneasy territory, especially cities like this, and works to avoid them while still maintaining full visual of the thing in the door ahead. So far, so good…

As soon as she comes close enough to it, it stops crying and looks up at her like a startled child caught doing something wrong. The motion stops her as well, met with an elongated head and stick-like body, a pair of bright white circles where eyes should be taking up most of its face. It’s vaguely humanoid, though completely colored an unremarkable charcoal grey, save the eyes. No distinguishable features, just a stick figure like those drawn by children across concrete walls. It doesn’t feel inherently malevolent, but she still doesn’t know what to make of it and she grips the Tikhar and tenses just in case. She’s encountered nothing like this, in Moscow or even in her journey here.

She tries talking to it, but before she can croak out any words, it turns and darts into the yawning abyss of the doorway it sits in. Probably its nest.

Volk doesn’t follow it. Following something you don’t know is stupid, and there is only a margin of stupidity she allows herself to experience and use to her advantage. Although it feels friendly enough, if scared, she knows nothing about this thing. For all she knows, it could use this tactic to lure prey into a hive of its brethren and any overly-trusting Stalker is torn apart.

However, self-preservation is not the same as curiosity, and she can’t help but bend slightly to look into the building. She can barely make out the humanoid bounding up a flight of broken stairs a short ways in. The walls seem unnaturally black, a loud shuffle of movement reaching her ears as pinpricks of white light appear across them facing toward her. 

No. Those are not lights, and the realization of it causes her to move away slowly and turn to leave, feeling her hackles raise instinctively toward the presence of possibly hundreds of the creatures all knowing she is there. Though their collective intent is unknown, she doesn’t want to stick around to find out.

The impression of being watched grows almost tenfold after she discovers the hive and careful glances into other buildings proves that the one she found is not the only one. Curious white orbs appear from doors and windows, offering vortexes of them into cloudy depths beyond ruined walls. These things are everywhere, she concludes. While they seem to be harmless and more fascinated by her presence now, that wonderment could turn into something more sinister. 

A glance over her shoulder as she walks down the center of the riverside roads eases her fear of being followed or hunted by them; despite the eyes peering at her, they seem reticent to leave their hovels and the streets remain clear of them. She doesn’t have to fear these things it seems, numerous as they are, but it occurs to her that they might be a prey species. And where there is prey, there are usually predators. What big nasty thing is waiting for her? Her grip tightens on her pneumatic rifle and her awareness sharpens just a bit more. She can only hope she catches it before it catches her.

She passes one bridge, missing its center supports and therefore an entire section of it to the stew-y waters of the river. The base foundations of the missing columns stick out like eerie sentinels, memorials to a monumental effort that stood the test of time for centuries. A second bridge further down the road is in much the same condition as the first, entire sections washed away while other supports poke like spires from the mire, parts of the rugged path on top crumbling away as she walks steadily passed it. 

The city has been quiet since the siren, she notes as she approaches a third bridge, scrambling up the embankment to the road leading to it to get a better look at it. This one is mostly intact, enough someone with sure feet could navigate it across the river fairly easily. The wind whistles over the pavement, still ebbing like breath. It seems to tug more fervently at her now, pulling her toward the bridge. Or maybe that’s her paranoia talking, it’s hard to tell here.

Something feels off about the bridge the more she looks at it and she feeds into the flight of the reaction this time to turn around and move away from it. As soon as she turns her back on it, the city reacts. A whoosh of air is pulled around from behind her and blown back in the direction of the bridge. It’s accompanied by the hellish blare of what can only be every functional siren within city limits firing at once, a continuous single note that deafens her and throws her off balance, knocked off her feet by the wind. She rolls awkwardly across the broken road toward the bridge a few times, a tangle of flailing limbs and equipment, her hands trying to find purchase in the cracks beneath her amid the confusion, when it stops abruptly.

Her ears are ringing, an odd sensation in a place where foreign noise is already dampened. Her head is rattled, staying on the ground long enough to regain her bearings before pushing herself to stand. She stumbles once before finally rising upright, looking toward the bridge again. The blast has pushed her closer to it than she thought it did, almost onto it. The toes of her boots barely touch the edge of the threshold. This was a statement, a demand, an order.

Dresden wants her to go to the bridge.

Volk furrows her brow and draws her lips thin behind the respirator as she imagines what is waiting there. Is it on the other side of the river? Will the bridge collapse underfoot halfway across and let her be swallowed by the soupy river below?

“Maybe there’s a troll.” she mutters to herself, cutting the returned silence like a dull knife. 

Her voice sounds different, like she’s speaking through a heavy blanket. But the audible joke helps ease some of the tension of the unknown ahead. She takes a deep breath and lets it give her the courage to take a step onto the bridge.

Reality shifts as soon as she puts her foot down, a flickering return to the passive visions that greeted her, a modern world before the warhead hit. Even though she knows it’s not real and can’t hurt her, she still moves out of the way of a truck barreling down the road toward her. The facade is so solid, she swears she feels the rush of air as it passes her harmlessly and the rumble in the road below, breathing in the caustic exhaust even through the mask. 

She reminds herself these are just ghosts, no matter how real they appear to be. Still, she steels herself against the onslaught of oncoming traffic in this dream, feeling something of a shiver she can’t quite describe every time one passes through her. If it weren’t that she can still feel the unstable true bridge beneath her, she would move to the side or middle to lessen the discomfort of staring fake death in the face.

Placing every foot carefully to test the way the ground shifts is slow, but she is able to avoid pits and soft spots hidden by the memory. This is the longest she has experienced one; even the firestorm didn’t last this long. It gives her a chance to stop at one point to look around and admire the city in its glory days. 

It does more than just show her what it used to be. It awakens a nostalgia from the glittering towers of the city center to the cold mountain water of the Elbe, dark and cunning in its apparent calmness. There is something here, in this moment, that manages to pull at some long-lost memory of her own, a flash of watching the river zoom away, leaving one bank behind to pull at the opposite. 

A child’s laughter, echoing as though far away, a woman talking in sweet melodic tones and the smooth deeper ones of a man, both familiar to her. Nothing said is coherent but the skyline and knowing the whole world was out there…

The cold indifference melts slowly away to be replaced with an aching longing trying to bubble from her chest upward. The horror stories of the city swallowing and devouring blood for sport cannot change the feeling that this hellscape of a city is still ingrained in her bones and is in part the reason for her very existence. 

It cannot change the fact that standing here, ignoring the replay of traffic and the busyness of people, she is home.She is meant to be here.

“Ah. You have returned to me.”

It takes a moment for her to translate the words spoken to her. She has spent so long with Russians speaking Russian that her native German doesn’t immediately click. The voice is also incredibly strange, the sound of many voices overlapping and merging and layered. But it isn’t just human voices she is hearing. The syllables and annunciations are made up by all manner of just noise, albeit giving it an overall monotonous buzz. The voices in the layers made up of the memory of sounds of a bustling living city. The cars zooming passed, the low chatter of people on the streets, the lapping waves of the Elbe against the embankment walls and bridge supports below.

She turns slowly to view the newcomer and is greeted with a sight as strange as the voice it uses. Existing at the center of the bridge at halfway across is the shape of a human. Not a solid being, but more like someone cut out the shape of a generic human being from the fabric of space-time itself. In the frame of its silhouette is the world opposite the memory that envelopes this pocket of space Volk stands in, the real world of crumbling structures and clicking dosimeters. 

There is something else about a quarter of the way up the bridge from the other side, something clearly quadrupedal, large, and stocky in build. Any distinguishing features are hidden by the writhing curtain of white-hot electricity that covers it head to toe to tail. Its hulking form stomping up the road methodically is menacing at best.

“Do not mind The Collider, Blood of My Blood. It is only here to guide you.” the human silhouette tells her, though it doesn’t move in any definitive expressions she can read. The voice isn’t helping read its mood, either. “Welcome home.”

[ornathe]

Okay, so. Below is an assortment of Alternian law thoughts, which also involves some ranting and speculating in teals and teal expectations, Alternian history and culture, and no small amount of headcanons and wild extrapolating for my own amusement and enjoyment. I have a physical notebook with an absurd amount of notes on all of this, so bear with me as I attempt to voice some of the things that keep my brain going at 120 miles an hour during travel. 

Starting off - teals, legislacerators, and what exactly crime is! 

LIES AND SLANDER. EVERYTHING BELOW WAS WRITTEN AROUND 3-4AM IN ASSORTED SLEEPY DELIRIUM AND AS SUCH, JUST. Be warned that I get extremely wordy when very tired but also excessively chatty about something. Rambles may be somewhat incoherent in jumping from topic to topic, but I stand by every word. Probably. Always open for questions to muse on, though. 

So, we have some teal trolls we know a fair amount about, some we know a little about, and some we have practically nothing on, which means we’ve got several degrees here ranging from “this is based on all the actual canon stuff we know about this character” to “this is purely extrapolating based on, like, a singular bullet-point and the etymology of one of their names”. 

I’m going to start easy; with Terezi and Redglare, we actually know more about legislacerators than most other jobs in all of troll culture! Redglare, as described in Mindfang’s journal, is a legislacerator, and from the descriptions of her job hunting down Mindfang, we can see that legislacerators appear to function as kind of an all-purpose perp hunter job - they essentially work as cops assigned to specific cases and criminals, and are then put to not only investigating them and hunting them down themselves, but they’re also responsible for prosecuting that criminal and seeing them to whatever bitter end they meet in the end. Pretty much the only parts of the process the legislacerators aren’t part of are the lawmaking, the assignment of criminals to the legislacerators, and the judgment and execution, which largely seems to wrap up in one pile of merciless highblood justice. But I digress. 

I’ll come back to Terezi and Redglare in a moment, but to continue this discussion properly, we have to consider a few important things; more specifically, what counts as crime in the Alternian society, and how does their law system actually work? 

For starters, it seems obvious to start with the hemospectrum. Highbloods are afforded more leniency and privileges than midbloods, who again have a better standing than lowbloods, and across the whole spectrum, anyone higher than rust red and lower than royal fuchsia has to consider themselves part of the chain, where they’re higher than some trolls, but lower than some, and that affects how the laws and rules apply to what they do and to whom. For instance, terrorizing and even killing rustbloods doesn’t appear to have any consequences beyond that troll’s particular ire - there’s no justice for them in the system, being considered lesser beings of minimal worth, and even less so if they’re mutants or otherwise likely to be deemed a waste of perfectly good space, and the only thing that can work for them is sheer numbers in order to overwhelm with riots and revolutions. (Which the Condesce sat through just long enough to say “actually, fuck this, every adult troll capable of causing trouble will be exiled from the planet to work elsewhere”, because it turns out revolution DOES have an impact, and as we know, that’s brewing once again during the time of Hiveswap.) 

On the contrary, highbloods are afforded the utmost leisure, really only answering to each other and then only the ones higher than themselves, and if they decide to take out some lowbloods for whatever reason, or they take matters into their own hands if a low- or midblood disrespects them, this is largely seen as not just fine, but entirely reasonable. After all, why bother taking a lowblood to trial when absolutely everyone knows the highblood will win by default? But this brings up another matter - killing versus culling. Because highbloods can do what they want to lowbloods, but what about the other way, or disputes involving similar- or same-caste trolls? If everything was decided by way of “whoever has the highest blood wins”, there wouldn’t be any need for a trial system in the first place, so it stands to reason that there must be trials that don’t necessarily lead to the lowest blood being spilled for impudence. 

Tagora, in his first appearance, introduces something we haven’t seen in Homestuck proper yet - the concept of personal legislacerators representing plaintiffs, which would mean legislacerators do not only prosecute cases, but may well also handle defense of injured parties. This rounds them out as covering even more legal ground, because it implies legislacerators play just about all the active roles in a trial, though it’s entirely possible that not all trials involve defense - just because it’s possible to have a personal legislacerator doesn’t necessarily imply all trolls are entitled to one; just the ones who can pay or otherwise charm their way into getting (presumably) a tealblood to represent them in court to put pressure on whomever they’re filing against. This also implies the law system includes civil cases with trolls agaiinst trolls, rather than just criminal cases (with trolls against the system, that is, breaking specific laws). 

Tagora also shows himself as especially interested in this type of legislacerative work - contract law, civil lawsuits, traffic law, and other personal matters that litigants would find themselves requiring legal assistance with (especially if the troll they’re suing happens to be of a blood caste high enough where just throwing them to the drones wouldn’t fly). This contrasts directly with Terezi, who shows clear interest in the type of legislacerator we saw Redglare as - an investigative trollcop detective, who persecutes criminals obsessively like a predator circling their prey, taking justice into their own hands if the need arises or if getting them to a trial just wouldn’t be possible. Where Tagora is essentially a civil defense lawyer, taking on clients who seek justice for wrongs done to them personally, Terezi aims to be a prosecutor of criminal law and a detective ready to solve and present cases for the judgement of His Honorable Tyranny. 

That said, it’s also important to consider two major changes in Alternian culture that would’ve affected the law system. The first one is the previously mentioned enforced exile - with all the adult trolls scattered to the winds, this includes His Honorable Tyranny and all adult practising legislacerators, as well as most criminals who have done enough crimes against Alternian society to be worth pursuing (even Mindfang, infamous gamblignant and slaver, among other things, managed to sustain a criminal lifestyle openly for an incredibly long time, only needing one specific person to not give her up to the authorities), which means troll courts were probably changed significantly, particularly since it separates the whole court system from on-planet to off-planet, which again means that even if the planet still followed the pre-existing law system, it wouldn’t be enforced in the same way on-planet unless the troll children decided to do it just like it was before the exiling. Most likely, the adult exiled trolls followed the same system until the Vast Glub that killed them off, separate from the younger Alternian trolls, while the children changed and adapted the laws and rules and norms to their own needs and desires - I personally believe this led to a change, including a turn towards more civil cases and more vigilante justice against actual criminals.  

Teals being the lowest of the highblood classes if divided down the middle, and only just above the middle of the midbloods, this makes them as close to impartial as it gets hemospectrum-wise; higher than the many and oppressed lowbloods, but lower than the entitled highbloods, letting them see both ends more objectively than any other caste would be as able to. Presumably, this is a large reason why they, according to Mindfang’s journal, tend to make for good civil servants - they have a uniquely objective vantage point that only jades could be comparable to, and jades already have their own important duties serving the community from the brooding caverns. 

The second change in the law system comes after the time of Hiveswap, and just before we first meet the trolls in Homestuck proper. Simply put, the change comes when the rest of Alternia is eradicated as a result of Sgrub, reducing the population to twelve, messing up the possible meager remainder of the Alternian law system; exile no longer matters, Alternian society is gone, and the only trolls they have to answer to are each other. Justice, at this point, is largely narrowed down to Terezi Pyrope only, who takes on the role of legislacerator, but in the broadest possible sense - with no one else to defer to, with all the highbloods ending up dead, criminals themselves, or completely unfit to do any judging, Terezi becomes judge, jury, and executioner; no longer something that would count as vigilantism, because with only twelve trolls left and that number declining rapidly over the course of the aftermath of the game, she is the law. 

Now, though, with the Hiveswap era being the most relevant, it’s most interesting to look at the time between the beginning of the exiles and the time just before Sgrub, where the children who have never actually met adult trolls find themselves in a society where they’re expected to look up to adults and their professions, in order to be ready to suddenly enter adult Alternian society in outer space once they outgrow their adolescence - and their grasp of law may be tenous at best and incredibly vague at worst. 

We know for a fact that several of the Hiveswap teal trolls have an interest in jurisprudence, and it might at this point be entirely within reason to assume that this goes for all teals, to some degree. Tagora is the one we have seen the most clearly on this subject, given his routes in the Friendsim, and Tyzias is explicitly mentioned as extremely interested in “traditional jurisprudence” (presumably Alternian law pre-exile, which their contemporary jurisprudence would likely be based on), complete with (conspiracy) theories and thus, probably, also legal philosophy and things involving ethical and moral dilemmas that build the foundations of case law and details that separate crimes from non-crimes. Tirona is shown to be a fan of His Honorable Tyranny, and Tegiri’s bullet-points may imply that he’d be more involved in the persecution of criminals and wrong-doers. Stelsa is the only teal troll where we really do not have much to go on law-wise, but with some reaching, it’s possible to argue her as a notary, which would place her as more distantly involved with legal proceedings, primarily involving paperwork, signatures, witnessing, and other related (more bureaucratic) acts, which would also complement Tagora's contract focus nicely.

All in all, we actually know very little about Alternian society in matters that pertain to law, both pre-exile and post-exile. Yes, Redglare pursued Mindfang as a wanted criminal, but which parts of her known deeds was she pursued for? The thefts, the slavery, the murders, the mind manipulation of other trolls against their will, sexual advances with aforementioned methods to bypass consent in a way that deliberately messes with the victim's mind, leading them to wonder whether they truly consented to the advances or not? It's easy to assume all of the above and probably much more, but it's also very hard to say for certain which of her deeds were considered as crimes, since Redglare never did get to deliver her opening statement and Mindfang's journal is heavily biased. In the canon era of Homestuck, Alternian law is ever further unclear - Vriska murdering other trolls is frowned upon, but no one takes action until she begins maiming and eventually killing people in their circle of friends and associates, so it's never quite clear if the persecution of her (and, relatedly, Eridan and Gamzee once they begin their killing sprees) is because the acts were unlawful or simply a matter of personal vengeance disguised as justice, in what can only be considered vigilantism unless we find any proof she had a duty to respond to what they did. Eridan having killed a fuchsiablooded heiress would almost certainly count as a crime against Alternian society, even in a world decimated by the events of Sgrub, but he's never the one specifically persecuted; Terezi's main focus was Vriska, to the point of being so blinded by her personal bias that she even blamed Gamzee's deeds on her, and while Kanaya dished out the hurt in all three directions, Gamzee was the one she spent the most time focusing on afterwards (though that can probably be attributed to Eridan's deadness by then). 

Especially in Beforan society, we have incredibly little to go on when it comes to their justice system - if they even have one. Presumably they do, too, though their version of being sentenced to "culling" is more smothering than lethal. But Latula, despite her Alternian legacy as a prodigy legislacerator, seems to be more taken with seeming as unperturbed and unaffected by the world around her as possible - common for a Knight, but not so much for a tealblood. If anything, her Beforan sense of justice seems to lean more towards balance and equality, but it's skewed due to her need to hide herself behind a mask of disinterested radness and "girl power" that feels forced and unnatural. Just as importantly, we don't know if tealbloods were even predisposed towards civil duties and jurisprudence on Beforus; it might not have been a part of their society in their world to begin with, which again supports Latula's deviation from the Alternian norm. 

Coming back to a previously mentioned topic - what exactly are the legal differences between the different parts of the hemospectrum - I have my own theory regarding the difference between killing and culling. There seems to be little doubt that the higher end of the hemospectrum - seadwellers especially, but purplebloods as well, and to some degree indigo and cerulean bluebloods - gets away with much more. We know for a fact, with Tagora’s route in the Friendsim, that it’s entirely possible for the upper half of the hemospectrum to just sic drones on lowbloods and mutants for no other reason than that they personally feel like it, and several other lowblood routes (Skylla and Diemen, especially) show that lowbloods are shown very little mercy and would at best be laughed at if they brought their grievances to court; worst case they’d be murdered on the spot, or worse yet, given to a merciless highblood for torture and entertainment. If you’re a rustblood, bronzeblood, or goldblood, you’re more or less expected to be thankful you even get to live at all - there are certainly no perks or privileges, and the best you can hope for is to stay quiet and keep to yourself enough that no one higher up than you decides you’re not worth the space you take up on the planet. If you even get to be a mere servant for those above your station, for the short time you’re alive and off-planet (if you even survive until exile!), it’s considered pretty much the greatest honor you can get. After all, the only reason for the exile in the first place is to avoid another revolution by scattering trolls around the galaxy as soon as they’re old enough to not only formulate opinions, but act on them as a united group, and the highbloods are scattered even further so no one can hope to simply overthrow them in one rush. The Condesce herself even makes a point of staying as far away as possible, simply so no lowblood would ever be able to reach her, much less a congregation of revolutionaries. 

I’m talking myself away from the point, though - highbloods have more rights and privileges and can get away with most crimeful things, or at least, as long as the only victims are lowbloods. Where exactly that line is drawn depends on exactly how high the offender’s blood is, though; seadwellers practically have total authority, and fuchsiabloods can clearly do just about whatever they wish without having to take other trolls’ laws into account, even against violetbloods. However, while we know the hemospectrum plays a huge role in cases between highbloods and midbloods, and crimes done by lowbloods against mid- and highbloods or midbloods against highbloods, it’s completely unknown how cases between lowbloods are dealt with! With limebloods being eradicated, the three lowest castes don’t seem to be treated much differently, and are generally shunned and considered societal garbage, with barely any rights whatsoever. With this in mind, it’s more likely that rustbloods, bronzebloods, and goldbloods are given roughly the same amount of rights and justice, that is to say, not much at all. And taking the law into their own hands is only going to be overlooked as long as their victims are fellow lowbloods; midbloods and higher, after all, would be able to pursue justice through legislacerators, or simply their blood-given right to do whatever they want to their offenders. This is also presumably meant to foster a general distrust in lowbloods against each other as well as higher castes - if they can’t trust each other, they won’t band together, and will be more likely keep to themselves and sell each other out in hopes of favors from higher castes. Crude, but effective, as long as they don’t begin communicating more with each other and realizing just how many lowbloods there are who could fight their oppressors together. 

This brings me to the point I keep trying to get to: killing versus culling. 

Culling, as I understand it, is first and foremost a punishment. It may be in form of a court-ordered execution, or it may be vigilante justice done by highbloods; either way, culling is a means to achieve an end that is considered just, and not a crime. Killing, on the other hand, seems to carry heavy connotations in Alternia as well; lowbloods may be culled “for their own good” or to control the population or simply because they didn’t respect members of the castes above them or for showing signs of rebellion, but killing? Killing is, even in this violent society, something that is considered unjust. That’s when you bring in legislacerators. A highblood who kills a lower-blooded acquaintance or friend for little to no clear reason might still be seen by the larger Alternian society as a culling, as someone who had a reason (regardless of whether it’s a GOOD reason or simply what felt right to the highblood in question) to rid their world of merely another lowblood who didn’t know their place. But in smaller communities, such as the twelve Alternian trolls we follow through Sgrub, everyone knows everyone, and the death becomes personal; it becomes a killing, because to that chunk of society, that action feels unjust and unwarranted, no matter how high or low the blood. In a large-scale Alternian society, one lowblood here and there won’t be missed by many, nor even a midblood or two, but in a group where more or less the whole hemospectrum is equally represented and most everyone know one another, status means less. In that society, highbloods murdering lowbloods and midbloods is no longer an acceptable privilege; culling becomes limited to “just” murder, as punishment for what the members of that society considers to be against their greater good. This is one of the things that changes between the Hiveswap timeframe and the Homestuck timeframe, as a direct result of the removal of the rest of Alternian society and the expectations that once followed being part of that. 

Jesus, okay, I’m on about 3,300 words now, so I’ll see about reaching an end. If you’re still reading, I genuinely applaud you for your patience. Thanks for sticking with me here. 

Anyway - I think tealbloods, to varying degrees, do tend to be interested in matters relating to law, justice, and balance - it’s especially interesting to see how varied it gets in the Hiveswap trolls, and I’m really, REALLY looking forward to seeing what kind of fun new lore gibs we can pillage from them in Act 2. Like, Tagora’s route dropped traffic on us? Scuttlebuggies? Since when do they have CARS, holy fuck, when do they get their licences. Indigos would almost certainly be the ones most biased towards being car mechanics, not just because of their strength (lowbloods could just as easily do the grunt work with psionics), but a lot of mechanics pride themselves on it being almost an artform of sorts, especially building cool new rides, and we already know all the Zahhaks are suuuper predisposed towards robotics, not to mention Vikare wanting to tinker airplanes. Are their cars even mechanical in nature? Scuttlebuggy sounds like it could just as easily be derived from, I don’t know, lusii carcasses on wheels, giant insects, I don’t know. If they are mechanical, would the indigo influence have an effect on traffic law? Do they have any laws about cybercrime at all, either yes in order to punish more goldbloods (who are possibly more predisposed towards coding and the internet, like Sollux and Cirava) or no because that’s more of a goldblood thing and thus petty and unimportant in the grand scheme? Do caste predispositions and usual preferences play a role in Alternian law, skewing the priorities of what’s considered more severe crimes (lowblood things) or mere misdemeanors (highblood things)? Are trollcops basically the Sherlock Holmes of Alternia, idealized versions of a much less prevalent specific role than media/fiction makes it seem like? Is Troll Sherlock Holmes a tealblood? (I’m joking. Of course Troll Sherlock Holmes is a tealblood. Anything else at this point would be scandalous.) 

I have many questions. Hopefully, uh, somewhere in this ridiculous post there’s also some good answers, or at least things to chew on? I like thinking about these things too much. Also, the thought that sparked this entire rant in the first place was “hee hee, I hope tealbloods speak shitty troll Latin to impress each other, and also I hope they have loads of ridiculous case law things that leads to Weird Legal Conversations To Overhear like the slayer rule and eggshell skulls and clean hands (ABSOLUTELY a Tagora thing I’ll fight you this is real ass contract law shit) or calculus of negligence (Tirona, again, I’ll fight you) or one of my favorite things, the attractive nuisance, which just describes every tealblood ever”. 

Anyway. Thoughts. There are many. Please give me an excuse to come up with dumb Alternian case law for teal nerds to quote in my imaginary roleplays. I’m done for now. 

Probably. 

[phoebetonkin]

Do I think MCU will have a more cohesive story for X-Men characters that does not completely bastardize their comic book characterizations? Yes. Do I think MCU’s connections to the American government will limit the overall story because the government is literally a villain in X-Men? Also, yes. Because it’s very different when the government is trying to control a handful of superheroes versus when the government is literally trying to register, capture, and/or kill thousands of civilians because they are mutants. 

And that’s an integral part of the X-Men story. X-Men is not X-Men without its allegories or without the oppression the characters face both by being mutants and outside of being mutants (i.e. Magneto being a Holocaust survivor).

[creatingthiscollection]

Commentary:

marxisforbros:

“There’s a cure?!” asked the girl that kills everything she touches.

“Hey shut up we’re perf” replied the girl that makes clouds.

—————

mudkiphat:

For real though. Storm has stopped an entire tsunami before. “Makes clouds my ass” she can conjure lightning and tornadoes and is revered as a god in her tribe. She literally changes atmospheric pressure and that’s how she flies.

—————

helioscentrifuge:

I think you missed the part where the GIRL WHO KILLS EVERYTHING SHE TOUCHES wants to NOT KILL EVERYTHING SHE TOUCHES

—————

lyricwritesprose:

I gotta say, though, this is a place where the X-men are being a good metaphor for oppressed minorities. Specifically, in this case, the disabled community.

“Yay, there’s a cure!” says the girl with depression. “Cure for what?? I’m not sick,” says the person with autism.

“Yay, there’s a cure!” I say, with my fibromyalgia and random bad pain days. “Yes, because it’s easier to talk about eliminating us than talk about teaching sign language in school,” says the Deaf person. “‘Cure’ is violent rhetoric.”

The problem is, of course, that a vast number of things have been aggregated under the label of “disability,” and many of them don’t even resemble each other. Depression sucks in an objective fashion, whereas autism is just a way of being (which, like many ways of being, may suck at some times, and generally sucks worse when not accommodated). Similar deal with chronic pain versus the Deaf community. These things really should not be grouped together, but they are. And since they are grouped so haphazardly, they will often be at cross-purposes.

It is ridiculous, in the X-men universe, to classify all “mutants” as one group. You have ridiculously powerful people with little downside, you have powerful people with a major downside, you have people with very limited powers but few drawbacks, you have people with limited powers and massive drawbacks, and that’s not even getting into other divisions, like whether you look like a baseline human all the time, part of the time, or none of the time. “Realistically,” if you can apply that word to a fantasy universe, Storm and Rogue belong to completely different minorities which should require completely different approaches. But society has grouped them under one umbrella, or forced them to group themselves for self-protection, and thus you have conversations like the one above.

So it’s actually not a bad take. Mind you, the X-men have had bad takes, and will do so again, and I’m skeptical about whether “powers” of any kind even work for a metaphor about minority representation—but this particular vignette has something useful to say.