I'm calling it early - I doubt anyone will beat The Right Reverend Mariann Edgar Budde
(I sure hope I've addressed her correctly)
For the most stunning act of bravery, class, integrity, and speaking truth to power that has graced the USA in far too long.
Not a single shake in her voice as she spoke directly to one of the most vengeful, spiteful, and (unfortunately) powerful people on the planet, while also receiving glares of hate and outrage from the despicable VP and his wife.
It's not the first time she's stood up for what is right in defiance of trump's actions, but while many may speak out on it, there have been scarcely any with the backbone to follow through on the opportunity to do it to his face, and especially on live television. She had her moment, and she didn't waste it.
May she be the inspiration we all take forward with us into the turbulent times ahead.
Ahmed Al Ahmad reportedly owns and runs a fruit shop.
When shooters opened fire on a Chanukkah event (reports right now say 12 were killed, 29 were hospitalized), Ahmed, a 43yo unarmed father of two, disarmed one of the shooters.
It is reported that he was shot in the attack and is himself hospitalized.
I hope you'll join me in hoping for his quick and total recovery.
This is what heroism looks like.
This is what we should valorize, celebrate, and commemorate.
I fear that much of Australian society, in which Judenhass is increasingly normalized, will instead valorize the shooters.
"He's a hero. One hundred percent a hero. Once we saw on social media, he's one hundred percent a hero," the man's cousin, Mustafa al-Ahmad,
I hope that Ahmed Al Ahmad is not targeted for having stood up to hatred in the most visceral way possible.
May I request a Phainon x Tb! reader angst/fluff where despite him not being able to be apart of the next cycle since reader became the new Deliverer and him sacrificing himself, he was able to get a glimpse/observe from outside and get to see our progress of trying to be a good deliverer for him, encouraging themself quietly that they're doing this not only for Amphoreus, but also for him, mainly him. And he also gets to see them telling others in that cycle about him going through 33 million cycles just so that he wouldn't be forgotten entirely. He was able to see their dedication and could sense that reader must've missed him so much by how they keep looking around in hopes that he'd be there (knowing that he won't but not knowing that he's actually watching them from outside observation) and etc.
After that, he finally lets his body crumble with a faint smile.
“You Did It, Little Star”
Summary: After Phainon sacrifices himself and you inherit the Coreflame as the new Deliverer, you carry his legacy into the next cycle — fighting not just for Amphoreus, but for him. Unbeknownst to you, he lingers outside the cycle, watching your struggles and triumphs, hearing you tell others of the thirty-three million cycles he endured so he would never be forgotten. Though you keep looking for him, never knowing he’s there, he sees your dedication and love in every step. At last, when he’s certain you’ll continue without him, he lets himself fade with a faint smile.
Tags: Phainon x Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Legacy, Self-Sacrifice, Memory, Cycle/Recurrence, Silent Devotion, Hope In Despair, Heroism, Posthumous Bond.
Warnings: Major Character Death, Grief And Loss, Mentions Of War And Violence, Themes Of Self-Sacrifice, Bittersweet Ending, Implied Psychological Toll From Repeated Cycles, Mild War-Related Trauma.
The first day without him is the hardest.
Not because of the danger. Not because the Coreflame feels heavier in your chest now that it answers to your name.
But because of the silence.
It’s the kind of silence you can’t fill. Even when the Chrysos Heirs greet you, even when Okhema’s streets hum with life, even when the Legion drums beat in rally — it’s still there. The place where his voice used to be. Where he’d tell you to breathe before a fight, or slip in a joke when you were on the edge of breaking. That place is empty now.
You keep walking anyway. You have to.
Somewhere beyond the cycles, beyond even the architecture of reality, a man watches you. His blond-white hair drifts in an unseen wind, his body little more than a silhouette of burning motes. His edges fray — fading into the endless dark — but his eyes, bright as the horizon, stay fixed on you.
He can’t speak. He can’t touch. The rules here — wherever here is — won’t let him.
But he can watch. And so he does.
You tell yourself you’re doing this for Amphoreus. That’s what a Deliverer should say. That’s what people expect to hear.
But deep down, you know it’s not the truth.
You’re doing this for him.
The Coreflame he left behind burns differently in you. Not quite the blaze you remember, but enough to carry the memory of his warmth. Every swing of your greatsword is a vow. Every victory, no matter how small, is an offering to his name.
When the others ask about the last Deliverer, you tell them the truth — or as much of it as they can bear.
“He went through thirty-three million cycles,” you say one night, when the firelight has burned low and the rookies are too tired to hide their fear. “Thirty-three million… trying to find a perfect ending. He never stopped. Even when it broke him. Even when it broke everything.”
Their eyes widen. You don’t tell them what thirty-three million cycles really means — how much loss, how much dying, how much starting over. You don’t tell them how many times he must have had to watch friends fall, or how often he must have had to kill to save.
But you tell them enough. Enough so they’ll remember.
Somewhere far outside the cycle, Phainon feels the weight of your words.
He closes his eyes. Breathes it in.
Days blur into battles.
Battles blur into months.
You learn to be quick with your sword and quicker with your decisions. You learn to read the land, anticipate Titan movements, and ration your strength for when it matters most. You learn to comfort your squad after losses, even when you’re the one who wants to scream.
You don’t learn to stop looking over your shoulder.
Every time you turn, you already know there will be no white hair in the crowd. No cyan gaze locking with yours across the courtyard. No quiet hand on your shoulder before you step onto the field.
Still, you look. Because maybe — maybe — he’ll be there.
From beyond, he sees this.
The way you hesitate, scanning the crowd after every mission. The way your eyes dart when you hear a voice almost like his. The way you stop mid-step sometimes, like you’re certain he’s right behind you.
It’s not cruelty that keeps him silent. It’s mercy.
If he showed himself, you’d never move forward.
And he… he wants you to move forward more than anything.
The seasons shift in Okhema. The Legion holds its lines. The Titans press harder.
You grow harder, too. Not colder — never colder — but sharper.
One evening, you stand on the city’s outer wall, watching the horizon bleed into dusk.
The younger fighters drift away, muttering about dinner. You stay. You let the Coreflame’s heat anchor you against the wind.
“I hope I’m doing this right,” you murmur to no one. “I hope… you’d be proud.”
You don’t hear it, but beyond the veil, Phainon answers anyway.
‘You’re doing more than I ever did.’
Time moves differently for him now. Or maybe it’s stopped moving altogether. He’s not sure.
He measures the days by your triumphs, the nights by your grief. He sees the way you lead, not by barking orders, but by stepping into the danger first. He sees how you protect those under your care like each one is the last light in the dark.
He sees the moments you’re alone, when you think no one’s watching — when your shoulders slump and you let yourself miss him, just for a breath.
Those are the moments he wishes he could step forward the most.
Months turn into a year. The prophecy shifts — they call you the nameless new monarch now. You reject it, just like he did. You tell them you don’t believe in destiny, only in what you can make with your own hands.
At the next victory feast, someone asks again about the one who came before you.
“His name was Phainon,” you say, and the way you say it makes the whole room quiet. “Some called him the Deliverer. Others, the Nameless Hero. But to me… he was the one who showed me how to keep going when the world was burning.”
You tell them of his laugh, of his patience, of the way he fought like the dawn itself was at stake every time. You tell them of the thirty-three million cycles, and you make them promise — every single one of them — not to forget.
Somewhere outside, Phainon’s fading body flares just a little brighter.
Not much time left now. But enough to hold onto this moment.
Eventually, the day comes when you lead your forces into the biggest push since the Siege of Okhema. The air smells of iron and ozone. The Coreflame hums in your chest like it knows the stakes.
You take the field, and for a moment — just a breath — you swear you feel him.
Not a touch. Not a voice. Just… him. Like sunlight on your back.
You don’t turn. You don’t look around this time.
Instead, you grip your sword and whisper, “This is for you.”
Beyond the horizon of the cycle, Phainon watches your charge. Watches you fight like the promise of dawn is clenched in your hands. Watches you lead not because prophecy said you should, but because he showed you; you could.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets himself smile.
The battle is over by the time the last light leaves him.
His body is already unspooling into drifting motes, the Coreflame’s glow dispersing into the void.
He doesn’t resist.
He’s seen enough to know you’ll keep going. Enough to know you’re not just carrying his legacy — you’ve made it your own. Enough to know you’ll tell the world his name until the cycles themselves crumble.
Phainon’s last thought is simple, and it’s yours:
‘You did it, little star’
The motes scatter. The void is quiet.
And you, somewhere deep in the heart of the next morning, raise your sword to the sun.
Here’s the thing you have to understand about the Arrowverse. It is deeply flawed, most of its shows are full of contrived soap opera bullshit and comic book absurdity, the vfx is mostly crap, and the writing in most of the shows is far from the best thing you might be spending your time on.
But every single show had these moments that were so strong, and actors that absolutely sold those moments. It was those moments I stayed for.
They also pushed the boundaries on diversity as most of Hollywood lagged behind, with trans, gay, bi, Muslim, black, Hispanic and more groups represented—including a woman of color coming out as asexual in Legends of Tomorrow! (Just before it was cancelled 😡)
They pushed concepts of heroism that, despite their deeply flawed execution, were simply not really being shown elsewhere at the time. Putting the emphasis on the heart as the mark of a hero, on their compassion and love and ability to inspire hope instead of their capacity for violence.
The Arrowverse was also the only other successful live action interconnected universe on that scale than the MCU and that should count for something.
And on a purely personal level?
They were there for me as a consistent source of joy through the worst moments of my life.
And yet, the Arrowverse is a perfect example of the Acceptable Punching Bag. People laugh at you for loving it unironically. You get trained to stay on the defensive about it.
As often happens, now that it’s over some people are reconsidering some of it, but mostly it’s still something for which the when you bring up enjoying it the likelihood of someone immediately talking about how bad it is is not small.
