Battle Scars and Broken Things

Hear me out.

Shepard is exactly what the Council expected to get from humanity as a Spectre.  And when I say that, bear in mind what the galaxy at large thinks of humanity in the original Mass Effect: humans are brash, impatient, demanding, even bullying.  Dangerous. Uncouth.  Humans don’t understand the galaxy, the delicate balance of galactic politics, the thousands of years of history, and have little interest in finding a place in the existing framework.  They are ambitious beyond reason, demanding privileges they have yet to earn, accustomed to taking what they want.  

So when humanity demands a Spectre for the second time, the Council gives them enough rope to hang themselves. And, had it not been for the Reapers, they would have succeeded.

So, yes, Shepard does well enough on Eden Prime to be given the rank of Spectre, albeit in unusual circumstances.  But that was only the first part of the test to see if the representatives of humanity really understood what they were asking for.  The second part is what happens immediately after Shepard is promoted, and it’s here that the Council’s suspicions are confirmed and humanity fucks up:

Shepard does not resign their Alliance commission.  

Look at it from the Council’s perspective.  The Council is the pre-eminent governing body in the galaxy.  Spectres are a pseudo-black-ops law enforcement body that reports directly to said Council and to said Council alone.  They exist to preserve galactic stability by any means necessary.  They are entrusted with missions of incredible sensitivity, with lives and state secrets on the line.

But Shepard remains in the Alliance.  In fact, it’s made pretty clear throughout the games that Shepard considers themselves to be an Alliance soldier first, Spectre second.  Anderson and Udina and even Hackett encourage this, not content with a Spectre who happens to be human, but wanting a Spectre outright working for humanity.

The upshot is that the Council can’t trust Shepard.  They know where Shepard’s loyalties lie, and they know that this means that they can’t trust Shepard one bit.  They can’t trust them to not go running to the Alliance brass with any bit of juicy intel that they find out.  They also can’t trust Shepard not to hand over any bleeding-edge, super-sekrit military tech to Alliance eggheads; hence Shepard has to buy their own Spectre gear.  Since Shepard is Alliance-first, they can assume Shepard’s drawing a stipend and that there’s no reason to pay them from Council funds.

Human Spectre Shepard is intended to be an object lesson to other species who hunger for a Spectre to further their political goals: someone running around with little more than a big ego, some guns and a very vague understanding of what they’re supposed to be doing and fucking things up as a result.  Shepard is grenade the Council pulls the pin on and lobs out into the field, expecting a big and damaging explosion.  Unfortunately for the Council, it all backfires horrendously when the Citadel is attacked, because Shepard either becomes a hero they can’t get rid of easily, or the Council is co-opted by humanity.

So, the Council ends up with a Spectre that isn’t loyal to them either as people or as an institution (and who doesn’t even really understand nor care what the rank means), that they can’t fully control, whom they can’t trust to keep their mouth shut about classified material (“Reapers are real! The Council’s lying everyone! No I won’t shut up about it even if you order me to!”), and whose approach to problem-solving is stereotypically human.  

It’s a disaster.  Shepard is a rogue.  And so the Council sends Shepard off on a wild goose chase, hoping that they will either metaphorically finally explode in humanity’s face, die doing something stupidly heroic, or at least stay out of the spotlight long enough for the Council to plan and do damage control, and maybe quietly assassinate one day.

And I suspect every other Spectre knows all of this.  Look at Tela Vasir and her reaction to Shepard complaining about her ties to the Shadow Broker.  The hypocrisy is absolutely breathtaking, and no doubt infuriating to someone who was always loyal to the Council. Shepard never offered such loyalty, and has no right to judge whatsoever.

Geralt of Rivia

Yennefer of Vengerberg

Princess Cirilla

Queen Calanthe

King Eist

Jaskier

Tissaia de Vries

Fringilla

Cahir

Literally everyone on the show

Happiness / 3

Mabaris are a true gift from the Maker. I’ll just leave this here while my heart explodes.

Dedicated to @makersbreathcullen who some time ago sent me the best of requests ^___^

— Need more happy Cullen in your life? There’s some here and here :)

Cassandra was surprisingly on-board for the mabari. The Inquisitor never imagined her being much of a dog person, but she congratulates the Inquisitor for having a mabari puppy imprint on them. When the dog gets big enough, she spars with the dog and has recruits practice fighting with it. The seeker sometimes reads to the dog when no one is in earshot, and the mabari happily lies beside her when she does, listening calmly. Cassandra can’t help but smile whenever the dog visits her, asking for so much as a pat on the head.

Blackwall was one of the most excited to see the mabari, grinning widely whenever he sees the dog. He spoils the dog, and build a nice doghouse for them. He takes no offense when the dog would rather sleep anywhere but inside the dog house, chuckling whenever he sees the dog lying on their back, legs up, lips flopping back. He slips the dog numerous treats, and when the truth of his identity comes out, there is no anger or dismay from the mabari. The dog just sees him looking down, and puts his head in Blackwall’s lap with a sympathetic wag of the tail, an invitation for pets. Rainier sighs and smiles, stroking the dog’s head– he still has at least one true friend. Iron Bull spoils the shit out of the dog, babying the hound. It wasn’t an uncommon sight to see Bull slipping the mabari scraps from his plate or rough-housing with him in the training yard. Sometimes when he sits in the tavern, the dog will climb into his lap. Bull’s lap barely large enough to hold him, but neither the warrior nor the dog minds. Bull just laughs and coos at the dog. “This is a good boy! This is a tamassran’s angel!” he croons lovingly. The dog thanks him with a slobbery kiss. Whenever the dog sits in his lap, it looks something like this:

not to be dramatic on main but this is the peak of my artistic career and that’s that

humidity

oh alas, you say. oh papa, whatever shall i do, it is ever so hotte and drye in california. the very air hath been sucked of all its moisturey droplets and whatnot.* one hundredy and tennith desiccated degrees!

*(yo, drought is serious. i am pretty obviously not making fun of that.)

alright. let’s check it out. here’s a random california city, right about now:

thirty-two percent. and here’s a random mid-atlantic city located somewhere in the wet fleshy crease behind a demon’s knee*:

*(confession: i do not live in dc, but several years ago i spent three weeks steaming like a tinned ham in arlington in august. none of the pants i took with me could ever keep a crease again.)

huh! funny thing! “see, dc’s actually seven degrees COOLER,” you say, because you’ve obviously never gone outside and taken a deep lungful of wet sock trash air in your life. and now for added bliss, here’s what early wednesday morning’s gonna be like for these poor clowns:

that’s right! eighty-two percent humidity! the point at which showers no longer matter, because you’re all caught in God’s grease trap! just stressed human eels miserably slip slidin’ their way through a damp melty bathwater-flavored hellscape that feels like it’s actively sous viding their top layer of skin! a hundred thousand people packed into public transit breathing air that feels like deepthroating swamp thing! and you wanna talk to me about fuckin california!

[cue science voice]: human bodies cool through evaporation, a process by which the body sweats and sweet invisible angels towel us off, whisking away our unwanted moisture into the air and literally chilling us out. (it’s also why air conditioned air feels so fucking deliciously refreshing: it’s not just being cooled, it’s being conditioned, aka, dehumidified. it’s cool dry air.) but. if the air is already made out of fucking chowder and can’t absorb shit then guess what the fuck our bodies can’t do.

Lucifer Morningstar

Oh. Okay. I definitely have thoughts on this. Please understand that I’m not criticizing your opinion; mine is different, though. And I’m mostly going to look at it from a big-picture, dramatic structure perspective.

The showrunners have always had a long-term plan for the show; I believe Lucifer returning to Hell of his own volition, not as punishment but as protector–as a sign of his own growth and acceptance of responsibility–was always part of that plan. I don’t, however, believe that’s where the show was ever intended to end. That said, S3′s abrupt cancelation rattled everyone. I truly believe that Joe and Ildy–unwilling to take a risk on getting another season–wanted S4 to result in a story that could be an ending, if it needed to be.

But only if Lucifer were a tragedy.

Which it is not. 

The basic difference between a tragedy and comedy is that the central character(s) either end(s) up in a worse place or a better one at the end of the story compared to where they started. At extremes (and looking at archetypal examples), this often translates to dead or married. Hamlet vs. As You Like It. 

Season 4 works–and the ending felt (mostly) satisfying, if painful–because, as a season, they structured it as a tragedy (all that angst wasn’t for nothing!). In it, they give us a beautiful, archetypal example of a noble or high-status protagonist (Lucifer), whose hamartia (or tragic error; here, revealing to Dromos that he never intends to return to Hell), begins a chain reaction that reverses his felicity (Chloe finally accepting him and offering her love/returning his love) to catastrophe (returning to Hell, the place he swore he’d never return).

But wait! There’s more!

And that more all boils down to S4′s ending feeling mostly satisfying but not entirely satisfying.

It’s because Lucifer has never been coded as a tragedy. So, giving us a beautifully crafted tragedy of a season goes against the overall coding of the show as a whole. Lucifer has not shied away from darkness, but it has never given me the impression it’s telling a story where death (physical, emotional, metaphorical) is the endgame. Lucifer has, at its heart, always been a story about forgiveness, hope, joy, love, found family, creation over destruction. It is a story where therapy (healing) plays an integral part; this season involved the protagonist finally taking the first step toward forgiving the person he most needs to forgive: himself. 

These are the elements of a dramatic comedy.

So, if Lucifer is a dramatic comedy, it cannot end with the protagonist separated from hope, joy, love, found family, ongoing forgiveness, or creation over destruction. In fact, narratively, S4′s ending is a fantastic example of what’s called a false climax. A false climax exists to trick the audience into thinking the story is near its end. More importantly, a false climax requires a reversal.

In the false climax of Lucifer, the writers tell us, “This is a tragedy. Lucifer has learned responsibility, and, as a result, he must now separate himself from everything he loves because that is the responsible thing to do.” Separation is often a hallmark of false climaxes. The true climax, which we’ll see in Season 5, should (will) address the deeper questions the show has been asking us since the beginning (the inciting incident, all the way back in S1), and which have recurred at pivotal points throughout the entire story: Where is God in all this? If Heaven and Hell are both flawed, what is the answer? Can Lucifer (and, consequently, we who identify with him) actually heal? And, most importantly, if someone strives, learns, grows, stumbles, and ultimately changes, does he (or she) not deserve to be in a better place at the end?

A tragedy would leave us with these questions. It would leave us with answers that say, “Nothing matters; we are who we’ve been created to be; free will doesn’t exist; choice is a lie; give up.” A comedy, I think, says, “This is the darkest hour, my love, but night is almost over. Let us hold each other in hope until morning comes.”

This is already long, but a couple more points to think about:

The show may be called Lucifer, but it has always been about partnership, equality, and the vulnerability this kind of relationship requires to be successful. That means Chloe is as much a protagonist as Lucifer. She, too, deserves to be in a better place at the end compared with where she was in the beginning (struggling single mom no one takes seriously; abandoned). She, too, has progressed from where she was and deserves to see that reflected in where she is as the show ends.

There’s no new storyline for S5. There’s the proper climax–the rightful dramatic comedy culmination of the growth and change and vulnerability the show has always been about. To get that, Lucifer must not remain in Hell, which means the question of Hell must be addressed. He must learn he has not been abandoned, that he is not alone, that people love him enough to face Hell to prove it. To get that, Chloe must finally have a partner who is honest, loving, and has no intention of leaving her–as her deepest fear is that the people she loves will always leave because fate wants her to be unhappy–her dad’s death; Lucifer returning to Hell–or they need more and she isn’t enough for them–Dan, Lucifer in S2, her mom to some degree. 

The showrunners wanted six seasons. I think this means that the Lilith (and/or Michael) storyline they were telegraphing in S4 may get dropped or repurposed. I believe they may have to condense things they might not want to have condensed or leave plot threads dangling they’d really rather have tied up. But, after S4, I have no doubt, no doubt whatsoever, that they’ll manage to give us the satisfying real climax the show, right down in the bones of its narrative structure, has promised us from the beginning. 

And that ending is the one where Lucifer and Chloe achieve true and lasting partnership, surrounded by the chosen family they’ve collected and come to love along the way. It may not be a physical, archetypal marriage because this show has always delighted in bucking those expectations–but the partnership, the family, will be real, it will be absolute, and, in that, we will achieve as an audience, the real catharsis we desire and deserve: striving matters, truth matters, love matters, and even with our flaws and weaknesses and stumbles and doubts and fears and guilt and shame, we are better together than apart. In fact, what’s weak in me is strong in you, what weak in you is strong in me, and if we work together, we’ll always overcome the dark.