Arrowverse Failed Them — The Multiverse Didn’t

I’m going to double down on my unpopular opinions.

If you’ve been here long enough, you already know: this blog does not do safe takes.

A few days ago I wrote about Overgirl — how her alternate version of Kara felt sharper, more layered, more emotionally compelling than canon Supergirl ever allowed her to be.

So today we’re taking it one step further.

Let’s talk about ships.

And yes — I am about to say something deeply controversial:

I was more emotionally invested in Dark Arrow and Overgirl than I ever was in Oliver’s or Kara’s canonical relationships.

Three episodes.

That’s all it took.

Kara’s Canon Love Life

I actually liked Kara and Mon-El. I did.

But looking back? Their ending didn’t elevate her character.

If the intention was to show that Kara doesn’t need a relationship to exist — that’s a strong narrative choice.

But then you have to give her growth in exchange.

Independence has to transform the character.

And it didn’t.

She remained fundamentally the same.

The breakup felt like sacrifice without narrative payoff.

And that’s frustrating.

Oliver’s Canon Love Life

Unpopular opinion number two: I never connected to Oliver and Felicity.

Not emotionally. Not structurally.

It always felt misaligned.

And in eight seasons of Arrow, it’s kind of astonishing that Oliver never had a relationship that felt both emotionally grounded and narratively inevitable.

Laurel didn’t fully work. Sara didn’t stabilize him. Nyssa was political. Felicity carried weight, yes — but for me, the chemistry never felt balanced.

Which makes what happened in the crossover even more baffling.

Three Episodes. That’s It.

Dark Arrow and Overgirl appear briefly.

They’re villains. They’re morally compromised. They belong to a nazist regime.

And yet — narratively — their dynamic works.

Why?

Because it’s built on emotional intensity.

He wages war across universes to save her. Not for conquest. Not for glory.

For her.

When she dies, he drops his guard. And he dies too.

It’s twisted. It’s dark. It’s dangerous.

But it’s emotionally coherent.

And the real shock?

Melissa Benoist and Stephen Amell had chemistry.

Not hypothetical chemistry.

Visible, on-screen, magnetic chemistry.

In three episodes, I felt more tension, more spark, more narrative charge than I did across years of separate canonical pairings.

And that’s not because I think Oliver and Kara would work in canon.

They wouldn’t.

They’re fundamentally incompatible in their original forms.

But that raises a bigger question:

Why did the alternate versions feel so emotionally effective, while eight and six seasons respectively struggled to give us relationships with that same spark?

The Arrowverse Comparison

In the Arrow–Flash–Supergirl trio, there was one couple that felt structurally solid:

Barry and Iris.

Iconic. Balanced. Aligned. Clark and Lois-level mythic energy.

You believed them.

Which proves the Arrowverse could build powerful relationships.

So why didn’t Oliver or Kara ever receive one that felt equally inevitable?

The Real Question

This isn’t about wanting Dark Arrow and Overgirl canonized.

It’s about narrative impact.

If a three-episode alternate-universe villain pairing can create more emotional resonance than years of main-character relationships…

That says something.

So I have to ask:

Did you truly love Oliver and Felicity? Were you fully invested in Kara and Mon-El?

Or did you ever, even for a second, look at Dark Arrow and Overgirl and think:

“…wait.”

And please — let’s leave Lena out of this one. That’s a different battlefield entirely.

Tell me honestly:

The crazy part isn’t that she grabbed his tie.

It’s that he let her.

The crazy part isn’t that she dragged him into Heaven.

It’s that he didn’t walk away.

He could have.

Heaven opens. Angels panic. Halos glitch.

And he laughs.

Not polite chuckling. Not amused smirking.

Full, delighted laughter.

Like he’s finally somewhere interesting.