#in real life as it is here…those lines blur and are ultimately meaningless in the face of force of the love itself

[lunar-years]

Reblogging to shout out a few of the many amazing tags on this poll which i think deserve to be seen—

@goodmorninglovelies42

@eluvion

@jamietxrtt

I agree with all of this so so much and especially what all of you are saying about how the lines between platonic and romantic love are so often blurred and that reality is simply much more complex than a tumblr poll can address. He loves her period is RIGHT. And at least for me I think i also can’t separate these confessions from the intent I see behind them which is like, love without expectation. I don’t think Jamie is confessing he loves her in s2 thinking they’re going to actually get back together or to even propose that happening in any way. It’s more that he just wants her to know what she means to him (whether it be platonic or romantic or a bit of BothAnd) and that he’s thankful for her role in his life. At the end of the day he loves her, that love is something special, and it’s something he wants to be forever, I think. It doesn’t matter so much what form that takes, whether it means friendship or a relationship or what have you. After all, Jamie does know that isn’t only his choice to make. Most of all he just wants her to always be a part of his life and i think that’s what so beautiful about the two of them. <3

*the confessions I'm referring to are the funeral scene in s2 and the finale scene with Roy in s3

[seijorhi]

Nothing Fucks with My Baby

The (not so) long awaited Hitman AU 👀

Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

TW Blood, minor violence, referenced/implied murder, stalking, implied kidnapping

Iwaizumi has one rule. No kids.

They could be the damn antichrist for all he cares, if they’re underage, they’re off limits. Anyone else is fair game - kind old ladies, rich corrupt businessmen, housewives, politicians. He doesn’t give a shit so long as he gets paid, and paid well.

You were fair game.

He never cares why. Iwa has better things to do than listen to meaningless justifications and vendettas. They make no difference either way - he’s being paid to kill, so he’ll kill, ruthlessly and without prejudice. All he wants is a name, a picture and whether or not they want brains splattered on pavement or something a little more refined. An address doesn’t go astray, but he’ll work with what he’s got, it’s the reason he can charge a fucking premium.

But you… you weren’t what he expected. He’s used to filth. Liars, cheaters, bottom of the barrel trash. Every once in a while some poor idiot gets caught up in something they don’t understand and ultimately pay the price for it, but good people don’t often end up in files splayed across Iwaizumi’s desk. He’s not used to innocence, and as far as he’s concerned, you’re as close as they come.

He supposes that things might have been different if they’d wanted you dead quickly. 

Publicly. 

But they didn’t want that. They wanted you to disappear without a fucking trace. It wasn’t a kindness - it just meant more work for him. It meant that instead of staring down the barrel of a sniper rifle perched in the window of an empty apartment across the street from yours, he’d have to get his hands dirty.

If you want somebody to blame, sweetheart, why don’t you start with them?

In hindsight, he probably didn’t need to go inside the little coffee joint you worked at. He could lie to himself and say that it was an excuse to get closer to you, to see if you had friends at your work who might try and get in the way, but the simple truth was that he’d been up since four in the fucking morning, and he might just have shot somebody out of sheer irritation if he didn’t get a hit of caffeine and soon. 

Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

And it wasn’t like you were going to recognise him. Three days in, and as far as Iwa can tell, you don’t have the slightest idea that you were being watched, much less that the pair of eyes watching belonged to a cold hearted killer. 

People tend to be a little more scared when they sense he’s coming - there’s a kind of innate fear that seeps from every pore as they scurry about trying to hide, trying to put off the inevitable - but you, you’re just blissfully oblivious, flitting around with those wide doe eyes like you haven’t got a damn care in the world. 

He honestly doesn’t know whether he wants to envy or pity you for that sweet naivety. 

Currently though, he’s more concerned with whether or not you can make a half decent cup of coffee. 

“I asked for an extra hot latte.”

Or he would be, if the asshole with slicked back hair and an expensive suit hadn’t cut him off just as he was about to step up to the counter to shove the coffee you’d just made him back in your face. He watches your eyes widen for a split second before you smile - apologetic and demure before you can even open your mouth.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it not hot enough?” 

The moment the words leave your lips, you all but flinch. Both you and he know that despite the fact you mean them sincerely (which kind of surprises him, considering that if your situations were reversed he wouldn’t have been nearly so generous) they’re a mistake.

The asshole sneers down at you like you’re nothing more than scum on his shoes. “If it was fucking hot enough, I wouldn’t be wasting my time complaining, now would I?”

Even before he found himself dabbling in his current line of work, Iwaizumi never considered himself much of a knight in shining armour. The world’s a shitty place, it’s not his job to go around fixing things and softening blows. He’s not a cold, emotionless bastard, as most people assume, he just has better things to do than run around playing a damn bleeding heart and sticking his neck out for strangers. It’s not his problem and as far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t owe anybody shit.

Impassive olive eyes watch as you try and backtrack, apologising again, offering to make him a new drink, explaining that the reason the coffee wasn’t as hot as he wanted was because you were trying not to scorch the milk- for naught.

You in your naive little world don’t seem to realise that the asshole doesn’t actually give a shit about the coffee. He wants a power trip, and you’ve given him the perfect excuse. He wants to yell and scream and stamp his feet and take all of his repressed anger and feelings of inadequacy out on you so that he can feel like a big man. He wants to see you whimper and cry and bow down before him.

It’s pathetic, but Iwa’s content to watch it play out, drumming his fingers against the wallet in his hand, more irritated with the delay in getting his own coffee than the outburst itself-

Until the asshole reaches for his latte. 

Iwa’s good at reading people, predicting their movements before they’re even made. It’s a necessary skill in his profession, one that’s saved his skin more times than he can count. He sees the little vein in the asshole’s temple throb, his jaw tighten, and the moment his hand twitches towards the still steaming cup of coffee, Iwa knows that he fully intends on throwing it at you.

He moves quicker than a man of his size has any right to, an iron grip wrapping around the asshole’s wrist, squeezing. He glares, sneering down at the man who all of a sudden doesn’t seem quite so angry, much less imposing. 

“Get out,” he hisses.

It’s not a request.

But the asshole either has a death wish or he’s trying to salvage what’s left of his fragile ego, because his beady eyes narrow and he opens his mouth - no doubt to spew more vitriolic bullshit.

Iwa twists.

Not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough that it sends the man to his knees, whimpering like a kicked puppy, desperate to relieve the pressure on his wrist. 

“I said,” he begins, his voice colder than ice, “get out.”

Yet he doesn’t spare the asshole another glance, not even as he releases his grip and the man skitters away like he’s been burned. The cafe is deathly silent, and without even glancing around, Iwa knows that they’ve managed to draw the attention of most if not all of its patrons.

And for once, he doesn’t give a single fuck.

Iwa’s eyes, his attention, all of it is focused entirely on you - on the wide eyed, stunned look on your pretty face. It’s a violent outburst, not nearly close to what he’s truly capable of, but in the quiet little cafe on a dreary Tuesday morning, glaringly out of place.

Will you burst into tears, he wonders. Ignore it, brush it aside and pretend it never happened? Stutter out more apologies for causing a fuss, for making a simple mistake? He somehow doubts you’ll be the type to scold him for it. No, you’re far too meek for that.

You surprise him, smiling slowly instead, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm.

It’s a far cry from the contrite air you’d graced the asshole with earlier. It’s hesitant, nervous, but it’s very much real, and Iwa finds it difficult to stop the corners of his own lips from twitching upwards in response.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

He inclines his head a fraction. “Don’t worry about it.”

You don’t charge him for the coffee, even when he practically shoves the bills across the counter into your hands.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shyly parrot back at him, and he almost fucking snorts when there’s a warmed chocolate chip muffin waiting with his coffee when it’s ready.

He’s being paid forty grand to make sure you’re dead by the end of the week, and you’re here giving him free muffins. Oikawa would see the humour in that. Of course, Oikawa would have absolutely no qualms in charming the absolute hell out of you seconds before he pulled the trigger. Realistically, he shouldn’t either. It’s his job, nothing personal.

To say he enjoys killing is probably a stretch, but he takes pride in it. Iwa’s good at what he does. It’s simple. Easy - so long as he follows his own rules.

This shouldn’t be any different. You’re cute, he supposes, in an odd sort of way. Innocent.

Endearing.

It shouldn’t have an effect on him. 

It doesn’t, but-

He could have killed you two days ago. He’d be willing to bet good money that he could’ve walked right to your apartment, knocked on your door, made up some bullshit excuse on the spot and you would have smiled and invited him right inside. 

And it’s not like you’d stand a chance of being able to fight him off.

Over the past few days there have been at least twelve different moments that Iwaizumi could have stepped in and snuffed that pretty little life of yours out without making a fuss and it would have been easy.

But he hadn’t.

There’s a difference between surveillance and stalking - it’s a fine line, a blurred one maybe, but it’s there all the same. After yet another night spent camped out watching you move about your apartment - cooking dinner for yourself, zoning out on the couch and fiddling with your phone while the tv plays in the background before finally curling up in bed in the early hours of the morning - Iwa comes to the realisation that he’s crossed it. 

He wonders why it doesn’t bother him like it should.

The next day, he goes back to your little coffee shop. There’s no muffin this time, but your face brightens when he walks through the door and when he goes to pick up his coffee there’s a tiny, bite sized cookie sitting atop the lid.

“Don’t tell my boss,” you whisper, darting a glance back over your shoulder even as another pretty little smile graces your features.

Something unexpectedly warm and pleasant sings through his blood, and this time Iwa allows his own lips to twitch into the faintest hint of a grin in response.

You really are a truly awful judge of character.

Maybe that’s your downfall, that beautiful, naive innocence you just bleed. It’s a wonder that nobody’s come along to take advantage of you, especially when you are so very ripe for the taking. 

Well, nobody until him, he supposes. 

Iwa doesn’t know for certain why the men who want you dead do, he doesn’t particularly care either, but he does know that whatever their reasons are, it’s not enough.

Neither is forty thousand dollars.

It takes time, more than he’d like, to find the root of it all. It’s messy and he has to call in a few favours from old friends, but Iwa is nothing if not thorough.

He’s never particularly enjoyed killing, but there’s a certain satisfaction he gets from watching the light leave their desperate, pleading eyes knowing that he’s finally done his job. When he comes home, his shirt flecked with blood, his hands still dripping with it and coaxes your stricken, tear stained face up into a lingering kiss, Iwa feels content.

They wanted you to disappear entirely, he made sure that you did. 

[ununniliad]

LNH20 Comics Presents #22: "The Return of Captain Killfile"

She fell

and she fell

and with a rude THUMP! she fell back into the world.

She scrambled to her feet. Disorientation. A sudden confusing sense of place.

Cold, but not the cold of space, a natural, wintery chill. Dark - night. Greenery, trees, bits of snow - nearby, a fence. Quiet here, but the quick rushing-river nose of traffic nearby, the clouds glowing softly. A city. Not a battle.

Last memory. Fighting. People she loved. ...fighting the people she loved. Because... because she had been Hildy, but now she was Captain Killfile, and they were trying to stop her from saving the world...

And then the wind kicked up and a copy of the Cleveland Plain Dealer hit her in the face.

She flailed around, electric crackling coming out of her gauntlets, and eventually managed to rip the paper off her face and examine it. What the-- Cleveland!? What was she doing in the second-most boring city in the nation[*]!?

[* In fact, the 2010 census shows Cleveland as the fourth-most boring city in the United States, with the current frontrunner being West Lafayette, Indiana! - Ed.(UE)]

She stared at the lines of ink, fragments of thought, memory, emotion bouncing into each other, forming new patterns before splitting and recombining. New city transit plan... tax breaks for people... protest against new law... rogue net.heroes... mmm. Something about that last one felt... off...

And only then, in her haze, did she paid attention to the date. February 20th... 2019?

Out of the fog, the memories rose up. The confrontation with her old team, now her enemies - the Saviors of the Net. Activating the great machine that would begin the process of healing. Sig.Lad, her mentor, her hero, the one who held her back and told her no until she had to leave, raising that damn sword, the Sword of .Sig, Excalibur, and pulling them away into a space where time blurred and softened... waking up and feeling the energies draining away, and draining away with them...

It had been twenty years. 

Well, shit.

How had it ended? Had her machine worked? Had she taken away the corrupting power of the net.humans - and had humanity managed to heal themselves?

She looked at the crumpled newspaper. Rogue net.heroes... But the printed words swam before her eyes. No. She had to see for herself. 

Captain Killfile... no, she told herself. Let's put that name aside. Right now, I am just myself; I am just Brunhilda.

Brunhilda seemed to still be wearing the gaudy gold-and-blue costume, from... before. When she'd taken over the airwaves, when she'd announced her plan to the world, standing in front of the camera and waiting. It'd been a bit spiteful; Sig.Lad had sent it to her a few months before as part of some weird attempt at reconnecting. That guy never knew how to do things in a normal way, just a net.hero way. That was part of...

Mmmm. Her mind was wandering, the fog still curling around it. She turned the hood and cape inside out, exposing the dark blue lining, and pulled the hood down over her face. Much less gaudy, pretty warm, and it'd let her see what 2019 was like without detection. Hopefully.

She slipped into the streets, keeping to the shadows, not hiding herself from passers-by but giving them more than a moment to pay attention to her presence. Subtle, like a ghost. Or like someone who lived in the world of ghosts, fighting them, death to a meaningless half-life...

Like Ghost Exterminator, the mysterious masked enigma of the 1950s. He (people thought it was a he, but nobody knew for sure) wandered thru the streets of San Francisco, stopping to help those in need. He didn't have any net.human powers, just skills, insight, and determination. Nobody knew why the name, either, but the big theory was that he was trying to rid himself of the ghosts who haunted him by helping others.

There had been more Ghost Exterminators in the decades since. It was an identity taken up by those who didn't want to operate under an identity of their own, living ghosts who fought the invisible specters that made society shudder and brought them into the light. Like she had. She'd seen what was wrong with the world that everybody else was too distracted or self-satisfied to realize, and fixed it.

Right?

Suddenly, action - damn, she'd left herself open in her distraction. Some kind of bright light next to her, and a loud voice-- "Greetings, Cleve.LAN.d!"

She rolled to the side and reached for her sword-- and it wasn't there. Falling back on net.hero instincts already, tch.

It was a giant TV, on the side of some kind of sports stadium. On it was a woman, a decade older than her, in a gaudy blue-and-gold mask and hood, with a megalomaniacal expression on her face. "I certainly hope you've missed me! But let me reintroduce myself!" She threw her arms out, flinging her gold-sequined cape to the sides. "I am... CAPTAIN KILLFILE!"

Brunhilda blinked. "...the heck you say," she murmured.

The fake!? took a step back, gesturing grandoisely at an enormous, complicated machine, all neon lights and chrome. "I have rebuilt my patented Kill-O-Ray, and am ready to unleash its awesome force!"

"That's not what it was called," snarled Brunhilda, her back going up. Some kind of awful parody, what was this?

"The fine government of this fair city has an hour to deliver ten million dollars in unmarked bills to the observation deck of the Terminal Tower - or I'll activate my device, and allow the dreaded Killfile to sweep over the land once more!" She pushed her face back into the camera, grinning with devilish glee. "Yes, you don't want that, do you? You may complain about your net.heroes, but ohhhhh, how you hated them going away! Ha ha!"

It felt like Brunhilda had been kicked in the stomach. What. No. Okay. No. Calm down. Fuck. Ugh. No. She pushed the storm of screaming thoughts out of her head and tried to concentrate on the screen.

"That's right!" shouted the masked face. "This is... THE RETURN OF CAPTAIN KILLFILE!"

"ugh shut uuuuup," she muttered, listening. Terminal Tower. Observation deck.

"And in case you doubt me..." The faux Captain stepped to the side, revealing a table with a shiny apple on a plate painted like a bullseye. Brunhilda noticed the glass lenses sliding along the machine's surface, passing past each other, clicking into place. They hummed, and the lights in the room seemed to darken, especially around the apple, which seemed to-- not disappear, nothing as sudden as that, but become less noticeable, more like the background, layer by layer, until it was completely gone.

Damn. That was absolutely real Killfile Energy. Sometime in the last twenty years, someone else had gotten up to her level - insult to injury.

"One hour, ladies, gents and honored guests! The clock starts--" Her hand hovered over a huge digital readout, pushed a big red button on it, and it started counting down. "Now!" The image disappeared, the screen turning an all-over blue with a big 'VIDEO' on it.

Brunhilda breathed in. Captain Killfile breathed out. All right. All right. Calm down. Breathe.

This was why she came out in Cleveland, twenty years later. To be shown this, to... stop this? To... understand? Ugh. But she didn't understand. Not yet. Why didn't... hated? Maybe it was a lie. Maybe it had made life better and this clown was like one of those politicians who talked about how much better things were with the new trade agreement even as it ground people into dust.

Or maybe she'd ground people into dust, thoughtlessly, caring only about herself-- no, calm down Hildy, you're okay, said the voice in her head that sounded just like Sig.Lad and ugh didn't that sting now. But she listened, and it said: See what's going on, take the time to understand, and see if you can help.

Okay.

Her Killfile Gauntlets were on the fritz, and she didn't have much time to tinker, but she knew just how to set up a killfile that would absorb energy weapons and shield her from detection, not to mention keep any externally-imposed killfiles from being placed on her. As for non-energy weapons, well, she'd just have to fall back on her fight training.

Now. Where was the Terminal Tower? Well, when you weren't sure where to find someone to fight, follow the police cars.

It turned out to be only a few minutes' walk. There was a big plaza around it with a bunch of expensive-looking restaurants and stores, now evacuated as the police set up a cordon. She kept back half a block, staying in the shadows to maximize the stealth effect of her killfile. How would she get in? Sure, she wasn't especially visible, but someone with that level of killfile technology would have ways of seeing thru it...

"Hi!"

"GAH!" She leapt in the air, spinning around and landing in a defense position, ready to strike at... a ten-year-old? What? Not only that, but a ten-year-old standing in an alleyway, wearing something that looked like miniaturized night vision goggles, but with googly eyes glued on them. He was looking right at her...

Then she recognized him. This kid wasn't just a kid, he was Kid Enthusiastic, an immortal who was actually older than her. (Not a lot older, but still.) He'd occasionally worked with the Saviors, but had never wanted to join - he had his own stuff going on. But it looked like he had a team now; there were a bunch of figures in colorful spandex behind him in the alley. Looked like teenagers, actually. Kinda familiar, but they must've been born after she disappeared...

"Who are you?" said the Kid. Damn, she was still zoning out. Okay, focus. "I thought I knew all the net.heroes operating in this area!"

"I'm, uh..." Captain Killfile was out, and she sure as heck wasn't going back to Kid Killfile. She flicked a switch on her gauntlet, appearing in the teenagers' vision like a spectre manifesting. "Ghost Exterminator."

"Ohhhhh!" Kid E clapped his hands with his famed energy. "One of them, gotcha gotcha. Well, I'm Kid Enthusiastic, and these are.." He gestured to the teens, who stepped out of the alley and posed! "The Ultimate Saviors!"

"Saviors?" Waaaaait a minute... she squinted. "As in... the Saviors of the Net?" There were five of them, all wearing masks, but their facial structures were clear as daylight, and... oh boy. Oh boy. 

"Yeah, that's right! Apparently W.H.A.T.E.V.E.R. wanted to clone them and have their own set of mind-controlled net.heroes! So we all busted out, together!" He spun around and pointed at them. "Ultimate Saviors, roll call!"

"Super Scary Dazzle Bird!" A young man in his late teens stepped out at Kid Enthusiastic's call. His costume was part black and part holographic sparklies, with long wings drooping off of the arms, and held a long fighting staff in a defensive pose. His eyes twitched back and forth, making sure that despite Kid E's loudness, no one was looking towards them. Brunhilda knew from the color choices alone that this must be the clone of Chromium Age Very-Scary-Disturbed-Creature Man.

"Robot Girl!" A girl whose skin glimmered chrome, with cat ears and a feline muzzle, wearing a green belly-shirt and shorts with a bright red belt, gloves and boots. She swept her long silver hair out of her face as it fluttered in the cold February wind and gave Brunhilda a level gaze, sizing her up. The outfit was terrible for this weather, but it didn't matter - this was the clone of MechaKat, who could nanobiologically turn flesh to titanium alloy. And if they had her, they probably also had...

"Action Lad!" A boy in a red wraparound jacket with silver trim and silver pants and wearing a transparent red visor, with a friendly but focused expression, and his hand on a sword hilt at his belt. Yep, that was him but younger - Sig.Lad, her old mentor, her new-old foe. She kept her face steady as the feelings whirled. Could this night get any more tuned to probe her insecurities?

"Kid Kindle!" This one was even younger - thirteen, maybe fourteen, with red hair that flickered with little tongues of fire as she watched, wearing a white robe with flames flickering along the bottom and a long scarf around his mouth. His eyes were excited, taking in the new visitor, and it was hard to keep her face steady, because boy did she ever know those eyes and that fire, boy did she know that boy - Flamebroiled Lad, avatar of the cosmic entity of intense emotion, the Flamebroiled Force. Her nemesis, her archrival, that stupid jerk who kept hogging the other Nintendo controller. Her brrrrr... o. Her bro.

And with a sudden shuddering shock that made the February evening feel balmy by comparison, she realized who the last clone would be--

"Kid Killswitch!" And there she came, in shining white armor with a bright red "power off" symbol on the chest, that familiar face, those familiar eyes, intelligent and curious and driven and broken, no, not that, said the voice in her head, but eyes that had known both pain and joy, like and unlike her own - the clone of Captain Killfile.

Brunhilda tried to release the churning whirlwind of emotions into some form that could be understood by men, but all that came out of her mouth was a murmured "...I'm too young to be my own mom..."

"...a?" Kid Enthusiastic tilted his head to the side, looking up at her curiously.

She shook her head, took a deep breath, and put away every feeling she didn't have time for right now. An incredibly useful skill from the life-or-death battle days. "That is, uh... Saviors, huh? So how are they ultimate?"

"Because they're the best and I love them!" Kid Enthusiastic spun around and posed, holding his arms wide as he showed off his team.

"Right yeah." Mecha-- er, Robot Girl stepped forward. "And apparently the lady what messed up the original Saviors is back and serious, so it's our job to stop her since they can't. Got a problem with that?"

Brunhilda couldn't help but smile. Well, well, the kids are all right. "Nope. Was just thinking the same thing."

"I don't know if I'd say it's our job," said Action Lad, stepping forward non-confrontationally into Robot Girl's confrontation space, "that seems to be basic survival."

Kid E nodded! "We've been laying low while we try'n contact the LNH. It's hard - W.H.A.T.E.V.E.R. has facial recognition technology they use on all the security cam footage they can grab, and they can grab nearly all of it. So we've been keeping under wraps."

"But we still have to get out there and save people!" Kid Kindle's hair burst briefly into full flame, and he grinned in enthusiasm. Great, another one taking after his mentor. "We can't just stay in a safehouse and send emails!"

"So we wear facial-recognition-defeating face paint when we're undercover, and go on missions without it, since it's going to be obvious either way that the team of five teenage net.heroes that appeared out of nowhere are the same five teenage net.humans that disappeared from not-so-protective custody." Super Scary Dazzle Bird (what a name!) looked off towards the Terminal Tower. "Speaking of which, if you're coming with us, we'd better get going. The clock is still ticking."

The LNH must be the Something Net.Heroes, and Whatever... Net.villans? Government agency? Something else? Bad guys, or so Kid Enthusiastic thought, and she had to admit, cloning her old team in order to have some kind of controlled force didn't seem like an especially ethical thing. Had they taken over during the Killfile, when there weren't any net.heroes to stop them?

Brunhilda released her anxious feelings again, though this time it was harder. "Right. Time to team up and beat the bad guy." Just like the old days, only now, the bad guy was her...

No, the bad guy was a cheap copy who had no idea what she'd actually been trying to do. And she could at least take responsibility for her imitators, and deal with whatever else she'd unleashed later.

Heh. W.H.A.T.E.V.E.R. else.

Kid Killswitch hadn't said anything. She was still looking at Brunhilda. But she nodded and followed along with everyone else.

Brunhilda took a battery from Super Scary Dazzle Bird and wired it into her gauntlets, extending the killfile to cover all of them. They snuck past the cops, Robot Girl and Action Lad keeping their eyes on the perimeter in case someone caught a glimpse.

There were a couple of muscly dudes in gold-and-blue suits standing next to the entrance. Kid Kindle reached out, a lance of emotional fire shooting out and hitting one of them in the back; nostalgia and guilt flared in Brunhilda's chest at the display of power.

The goon straightened up from his slumped position and pushed the other one roughly. "Hey, wake up! I don't wanna lose my paycheck because of you!"

Another blast of energizing anger, and the other goon pushed back. "Shut up! You're the one who said this was gonna be an easy job, and now there's ten thousand cops out there and we're probably gonna be left holding the bag!"

"You shut up! God, I should never have dated you!" The one goon slapped the other goon, and the other goon slapped back, and they grabbed each other and started rolling on the ground, passionately making out, and Brunhilda and the Ultimate Saviors snuck inside.

Down a small, lightless corridor, and down to the elevator. Robot Girl leaned in, removing the panel and sticking her fingers in among the wires. She stretched out her hand and a screen appeared showing datastreams zipping back and forth; Kid Killswitch and Super Scary Dazzle Bird leaned in to analyze it. Action Lad and Kid Kindle spread out, keeping watch.

Kid E bounced in place, watching his charges figure out the puzzle. Brunhilda leaned back on the wall next to him, watching them as well, especially the one who was-and-wasn't her. "They have a heck of a lot of personality, for people who came out of a vat not long ago."

Kid E nodded enthusiastically! "They're not just regular clones, they're biotropic duplicates! W.H.A.T.E.V.E.R. stole the device that Sig.Lad used to copy people's power signatures and used it to template them as they were growing? They even lured a Salamander[*] in to possess Kid Kindle! But we stole the device back and now Action Lad's using it!"

[* Also known as Ifrits, Salamanders are the fiery elemental offspring of the Flamebroiled Force which possessed and empowered Flamebroiled Lad! - Ed.(UE)]

"Ahhh." Brunhilda ran the tip of her tongue over her lip. "So... their personalities are clones too?"

"Sort of." Kid E wiggled his hand. "They're definitely their own people, tho - I knew the originals, and these guys aren't making the same choices they would've."

"Mmmm..." Brunhilda breathed in deep, let it out. "That's good, that's real good..."

"All right." Super Scary Dazzle Bird stood up and turned to them, all business. (God, that name. Not that it was any sillier than Chromium Age Very-Scary-Disturbed-Creature Man.) "We've hacked the elevator so that it'll take us to the top without triggering alarm system notifications. But to do that, it has to go slow - it'll take us fifteen minutes to get up there."

"We only have, like, twenty minutes left before the deadline!" Kid Kindle brought his fists against his chest, eyes wide in passion and fear. "What if she actually brings back the Killfile!?"

"She won't." Brunhilda straightened up, squaring her shoulders. "As you can probably tell, I have, uh, some experience with killfile tech." She gestured at the ceiling. "That machine she's got is advanced, but there's no way it could project a subject-based killfile broad enough to cover Ohio, let alone the world." You'd need a much bigger power source, and the one she'd used... wasn't available. As far as she knew.

"Could still do some damage, though," remarked Kid Killswitch, looking up at her. 

Aw, baby's first words... Brunhilda regretted the sarcastic thought immediately. "Oh yeah, and how. Killfiles can mess with all sorts of important shit. She could take Cleveland down hard, and her next blackmail scheme would seem all the more real."

"So we'd better hurry." MechaKat closed her hand, the screen disappeared, and the door of the elevator opened. They all shuffled in, and silently, it began to rise. In the background, a jazzy instrumental version of "Mad World" started playing.

"Right," said Action Lad. "Ultimate Saviors... waiting mode!!"

Brunhilda watched as all five of them sat down and immediately pulled Magic: The Gathering decks out of somewhere in their costumes, shuffling up with practiced speed. "Turn one, mountain, lighting bolt Action Lad." "Why me!?" "Because we don't have time for one of your weird blue shapeshifter decks!" "Awww..."

Kid Enthusiastic leaned back against the wall next to her. "So~"

"...so?"

"Feels like you've got some more questions in you! And we've got time."

The side of Brunhilda's mouth turned down at his easy poke at her boundaries... but it wasn't like she didn't have a thousand and one questions, bubbling and burning in her belly, about this new world she'd found herself one of the creators of. And the most burning of them all... "Well... you were around back then, right? What was the Killfile like?"

"Oh man. It mega sucked," Kid Enthusiastic chirped. "I mean, life was kind of normal, but the kind of normal where you're working a crappy job and it's gray and depressing outside, you know?"

"...oh." It felt like cold water had been thrown in her face. The boxes that she'd put her feelings in earlier burst open, flooding her system with complicated griefs.

"Like," continued Kid E, not noticing her face's fall, "there were so many bad guys and even though they couldn't build Kill-O-Rays or send robot goons at you, they could still just keep making things worse all the time." He hummed, looking off into the distance in appreciation. "Even though things really suck right now, people are really fighting, too. Back then, it seemed like hardly any of us could fight - or could even see there was anything worth fighting!"

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. That was... that was...

Brunhilda Ampulle had been just another kid kicking around the foster care system, just kind of existing, and then she looked up and someone had reached out a hand and she'd taken it. And she'd become a net.hero because that hand had belonged to a net hero.

But that was only why she'd started doing it. She'd kept doing it because she could just reach out and help people, right in front of her. And she'd done that for a while and she wasn't just existing, she was living, and she was... getting better, most days.

And eventually she'd gotten better enough to where she could lift her head up, and look out at the world... and see that, actually, there were a lot more awful things going on out there, outside her city and her team, than she had realized. Things she couldn't just reach out and affect. Things none of the net.heroes seemed to be able to affect, even the stupidly powerful ones who Kept Watch Over The World. But those net.heroes kept going, kept getting into big splashy fights over things that seemed so small, and those faraway troubles just kept getting better, just kept getting closer. And then...

Look, people died all the time, she knew that, you fought guys with guns and that happened. But this hadn't been in a fight, and it hadn't been someone who signed up for it, and... it was so unnecessary, so meaningless, and Alice wasn't even... She was nice and kind and good and people like that weren't even supposed to...

Well. So she left. She left, and one of her little theoretical ideas turned into a big not-so-theoretical idea, and... and she became one of those troubles, and...

"It wasn't all bad, tho."

"--oh!?" Brunhilda jerked out of her reverie, hardly even caring that the Ultimate Saviors had all looked up at her half-squeaked exclamation. She settled back, and they returned to their game.

"Yeah, like..." Kid Enthusiastic rubbed his chin, teasing out a complex emotion. "I feel like... After  the Killfile, people appreciated us more. No, like, not just us, the whole... the whole idea." He put his hands out, squeezing something invisible. "Even when the government was trying to control us and there were a lot of people pushing against us, there were so many people who, it seemed like... had woken up after decades, maybe their whole lives, and realized that actually fighting evil is good?"

"I..." She closed her mouth, a little puff of breath escaping out her nose. That answer was... frustrating. Not exactly the positive impact she'd wanted from her efforts - "people suffered so much that they realized they had to give a shit".

...on the other hand... maybe that was the best outcome she could've hoped for...

She rested her head against the wall of the elevator and listened to the soft rumbling as it moved. Even before Alice... did it, Brunhilda had realized that there was something wrong with the world. A huge, low-level grossness, an apathy, spreading over it. She remembered seeing cartoons about Saving the Planet, and thinking they were lame, and then realizing that no, this was a real problem that kept getting worse as people kept laughing at it. She heard how stupid that woman who spilled coffee on herself was, and came to understand that the "joke" was that someone would want to get money and apology from a trillion-dollar corporation that just kept growing and growing and taking and taking, and how foolish and lazy that was. She saw that bombs were being lobbed every day straight into schools full of little kids who weren't white and weren't Christian and the generals shrugged and said "oops, accident" and it just kept going on in the background and everyone was grumbling about it but no one was shouting, no one really and truly cared and...

And it had to be someone's fault. It hadn't always been like this, someone had caused this, but who was powerful enough to change the entire world like that?

And she looked around herself and realized: It was us. The net.heroes, the net.villains. They were powerful and everyone looked up to them, the celebrities and heroes of the world. 

And the more she looked for it, the more she saw it. Their, our, weird self-obsession, our attachment to their own battles, and especially, the way that, whenever we tried to confront wars and environmental damage and real suffering, it never produced a solution that stuck. Even the Saviors, even Sig.Lad, only ever put band-aids on the problems.

And then... Look, sometimes you stretched out your hand to someone and they were in too bad of a place to take it. She knew that, she'd always known that, but when... When you got someone out of a burning building, especially when you sat and talked with them, and they turned out to be really cool, and nice, and maybe were going to join your game group, and said "I'll be okay", they weren't... Alice wasn't just supposed to... if you saved their life they didn't have the right to...

With effort she pulled herself out of that loop and glanced at Kid Enthusiastic. He gave her a cheery smile, then turned away, seeming to sense that she was done talking for now. She wouldn't have chalked him up for that kind of social awareness, but it was already clear he had a lot going on under the facade...

The music kept playing, a weird, jazzy loop, and as she watched the teen she had once been play, she slipped back into her memories...

So she'd taken a leave of absence from the Saviors.

...so she'd had an enormous screaming crying argument with the Saviors and left. And after she'd parked herself in a cheap hotel and cried everything out, she had made some plans.

She'd used the Saviors' wages she'd saved up and the modest royalties from her patents to buy a workshop in Clearwater Hill, one of Net.ropolis's poorest neighborhoods. And she set about working in the solution. The Killfile Device.

She'd been thinking of it as something she could present to the smart, reasonable heroes, talk it over and use it as a tool to scrape the worst bits out of net.humanity before it was too late. A decision she wouldn't have to make alone.

But... a few months in, people had noticed she wasn't with the Saviors anymore. Action Bimonthly, a mid-level magazine about net.hero goings-on, contacted her for an interview. And she was so excited, she could tell people - no, not all the details, but what she'd noticed, her goals, and get the message out, and there would be like-minded people who would come to her and they could work together...

And the interview came out and... nobody seemed to notice? Nobody came out of the woodwork to join in her cause? She didn't hear anything? 

No, it had been worse than that, because she had certainly heard things when she read the letters to the editor in Action. How people like her were making a fuss, distracting from the real issues, making the people who were actually trying to fix things look bad.

So she didn't take any more interviews after that. She just worked. She had already started and she couldn't stop now and she didn't think about what would happen when she was done.

But there was one thing she couldn't figure out, one thing she'd been hoping to get help with from somebody - a power source.

And a little voice was whispering in her head. Quietly at first, and she pushed it away and kept working, but louder and louder as she went deeper and deeper into single-minded focus. The net.heroes caused this problem. The net.heroes had the power.

Killfile Energy filtered, separated. She could separate the power from those who had it, use their own wasted might that had tried and failed so many times to save the world, to finally save it once and for all.

She built a power-channeling device. Just to test the idea. And if she found someone who wanted to help and had the power she could use it for that, right?

And the day came when every part of the device was done and there weren't any more tweaks left to make, and there weren't any more tests to be run, and she had to stop and face the prospect of actually using it.

By this time, the obsessive thoughts were a constant background pounding. She had to show them. She had to stop them. Before it was too late. It was almost too late. Something awful was going to rush up at any second, some net.hero with too much power was going to make a mistake, and smash the world flat, and it would be her fault. But it was okay. She had the machine, and she could use it and fix things, save the world... 

And she knew how she could get the power.

She knew how to bring net.heroes running. Net.heroes with the power to feel her machine. And part of her knew just which heroes it would end up being. Part of her begged her not to. She broke down into crying fits, finally telling herself that she would just talk to them first, that they'd have to hear her out when she had this power at her back.

She cleaned herself up. She put on that costume. She activated her stealth killfiles. She walked straight into the big national news studio with no one seeing, put every living soul who could stop her in a half-hour killfile bubble, put the cameras on her and sent out her message. 

This time she wasn't able to hold it back like she did in the interview. She told the world what was wrong with it and why; how the net.heroes had gone too far, and not knowing or understanding, had betrayed the rest of humanity. She announced her plan to clear them away and let the world heal. And she told them where to find her. Then she turned her killfiles back on and walked away.

And of course when she got to the workshop the Saviors were there already and of course they would have seen her coming in and of course there was no time to talk, right, it wasn't that she was striking the first blow because she knew in her heart that if she said what she meant she would be rejected again, of course not of course not

Even though Sig.Lad was already trying to reach out as she pushed them back with a killfile shell, even though Lurking Girl broke her solitude to ask why, even though she could see the bitter sadness in MechaKat's eyes

And the only one strong enough to break thru her shells burst in, as she knew he would, knocking her back against the machine, Felix, her stupid little brother fighting her again, she'd never told him she thought of him like that, he was yelling at her about how she was betraying them all, and she yelled at him about how he didn't understand because he only cared about fake shit like anime and being a hero

And she pulled the lever

And the killfile activated, splitting him in two, Felix Landers and the Flamebroiled Force, never to be reunited, discarding the one and sending the other into the machine, straight thru her

All the rage, all the fear, all the resentment, all the secret impossible buried hope, channeled straight thru her body and mind and into her machine and she felt it unfold, the dampening blanket enfolding the world

And in the distance, a glint of metal, Sig.Lad raised his sword, and somehow she could see his eyes, great and sad and knowing it was over, and summoning his own death, because the wielder of Excalibur could only have one end, opening the gate to the fairy world to sleep forever, and time slowing down and slipping away

and she'd been right some net.hero with too much power made a mistake and smashed the world flat and it was her that's what she was that's what she'd done it was her fault she wasn't a hero she'd never been a hero that's why Captain Killfile was the worst net.villain ever

"Hey... are you okay?"

Brunhilda jerked back to reality. Without realizing it, she'd slumped to the ground, legs folded up against her. Kid Enthusiastic and the Ultimate Saviors were gathered around her, looking down with concern and/or worry. Her head and face were tingling, and she reached up with a shaking hand to touch her face... yes, it was covered in tears.

"I..." She swallowed thickly, trying to find words, but all that came to mind was... the Killfile wasn't set with an ending date. It could have lasted for centuries. Somehow, the Saviors had stopped that but... it could have been so much worse and it was all her fault...

Wait, something was wrong, other than everything...

"The music stopped," she said.

Everyone's head turned. With a click, the doors began to open...

Kid Killswitch grabbed Brunhilda's wrist, grabbed the loose wire and touched it to the battery. The stealth killfile spread out to cover them.

The doors slid open. The guards stationed on either side of the elevator peered inside. Everyone held their breath...

The guards looked at each other, shrugged, and settled back in place. The door slowly closed. Everyone breathed out.

Robot Girl leaned in and slapped her hand on the button panel. "Keeping the door closed, keeping us in place."

"Right. Everybody, put your fingers in your ears and go la-la-la," said Kid Killswitch.

"...why!?" said Super Scary Dazzle Bird, throwing his hands in the air. "This isn't the kind of--"

"Just do it, nerd!" Kid Killswitch rolled her eyes. 

Kid Kindle turned. "Kid E, what do you--"

"La la la la-- were we not supposed to yet?"

Super Scary Dazzle Bird sighed. "Okay, okay, fine... la la la la..."

"I gotta keep my hand here," said Robot Girl, "but I'll turn off my audio inputs, okay?"

"Sure yeah whatever." Kid Killswitch waited until everyone was la-la-la-ing, and turned to Brunhilda. "Okay. Get up, Captain Killfile."

"I..." She took in a shuddering breath, let it out. Too late to deny it and she didn't have the composure anyway. She didn't even feel as shocked as she should. "How?"

Kid Killswitch rolled her eyes again. "We know who we're supposed to be. You think I don't know that face from splashing cold water on it at three in the morning, wondering when I would start feeling the urge to Go Bad?"

"...fuck..." The guilt stabbed right back into her brain. "sorry."

"Look--" Kid Killswitch shook her head and made a pushing-it-away motion. "Don't worry about it. I don't think there's anybody who didn't get their parents' anxieties. Maybe Kid E. Anyway, that's not what I wanted to say and we don't have much time." She ran her hand thru her hair, looking off to the side. "I read that interview. I wanted to know who you were and why you did it and I dug that up and... it made sense."

Brunhilda blinked, a bit of the haze of grief and guilt lifting, replaced by intrigued confusion. "...seriously?" She actually found a copy after twenty years? How-- wait, it made sense?

"Yeah. Like, I dunno if I agree with you twenty years on, but like, you were clearly not crazy, you clearly had a good goal in mind, you were clearly tryin'a help." She grinned that same always-a-bit-smug grin. "After I read it I didn't have quite as many nightmares."

"...wow." The huge weight hanging on Brunhilda's nerves and bones started to rise off a bit. "Y'know, you're the first one who's ever said that?"

"Not surprised. Controversial shit, and you were shooting it into the void. You didn't have anybody to talk over ideas with, did ya?"

"I mean..." She sighed. "The Saviors, but..."

"Yeah. They didn't get it." She looked over her shoulder, at everyone going 'la la la'. "It's different with these nerds. They support my stupid ideas, even if they give me shit for them. And I support theirs, even if they're morons half the time."

"Yeah..." Brunhilda was... jealous and happy at the same time. Today was just a smorgasbord of new emotions, huh. "You don't have to be like me."

"Hey, look." Kid Killswitch stuck her finger in Brunhilda's face. Jeez, she couldn't have been this rude, right? "My point is? I want to be like you."

"...kid." Brunhilda squinted in disbelief. "Thanks for being nice to the crazy lady, but. I just broke down crying because I fucked up the world so bad."

"EXACTLY, crazy lady!" Kid Killswitch gesticulated passionately. "You fucked up and you know it and now you're gonna try and fix it, right?"

"..." Flashes of what she'd done - the blanket, formed from her own resentment and pain wrapping around the world. "I don't think I can..." But under that pain... that purpose. To be the hand that reached out. "But... fuck it. Whatever I can do, I'll do." She breathed out, and a little more of that awful weight floated away. "That's who I am now. Someone who makes up for the Killfile."

"Right." Kid Killswitch nodded firmly. "That's who I want to be. Someone who makes mistakes and makes up for it and keeps going." She looked Brunhilda in the eye. "A hero."

Brunhilda sucked in her breath. "Damn. How are you this smart when you just came out of a tube?"

Kid Killswitch giggled, with that bit of familiar bubbly snottiness. She'd missed feeling that way. "I got it from you, bozo. I literally have your brain."

"Right." Brunhilda shook herself out, ran her hands thru her hair. "Well... thanks."

Kid Killswitch snerked. "Don't thank me, I'm being selfish. The others get to be clones of heroes, why shouldn't I?" She reached out a hand. "C'mon. Get up... Ghost Exterminator."

Brunhilda grinned and took the hand, pulling herself up. She still didn't feel like a good person, exactly. But hell. She didn't have to be, to be a hero.

Kid Killswitch tapped Kid E on the shoulder, and they got the others to stop la-la-la-ing while Brunhilda smoothed herself out. Super Scary Dazzle Bird fluffed out his cape irritably. "So what was that about?"

"Simple. Remember when Kid E told us about secret weaknesses, like Captain Minority being vulnerable to artificial vanilla flavor?" Kid Killswitch gestured to Brunhilda. "Well, Ghosty here just got hit with her secret weakness, and I figured out what it was and helped her out."

"'Cause you're so smart," grinned Kid Kindle, and held out his fist.

"'Cause I'm so smart!" grinned Kid Killswitch, and bumped it.

"And you didn't wanna expose the secret to everybody!" Kid Enthusiastic pumped his fists. "Good job!"

"Yeah, nice, there's problems," said Robot Girl, hand still on the panel. "The mayor gave in and there's a chopper that's gonna set down on the roof in like two minutes with the money."

"I mean, better for her to get away with the money than for people to get hurt," said Action Lad.

"Yeah," said Brunhilda, cracking her knuckles. "But even better to kick her ass."

"Just tell me when," said Robot Girl.

"Everybody!" called out Kid Enthusiastic gleefully, even though they were all literally right there. "Cool team pose!"

"Come on," groused Kid Killswitch, but she was grinning. She and Kid Kindle lined up on one side of Kid Enthusiastic, Super Scary Dazzle Bird and Action Lad on the other, forming a V. Brunhilda got over on the left side of the door, mirroring Robot Girl on the left. All seven of them got into action stances, and Robot Girl took her hand off the door.

With a ding, the door opened. One of the goons was kneeling down, whistling, examining the mechanism. She looked up, still whistling...

And Robot Girl's metal fist plowed into her chin, knocking her back and away.

The other goon straightened up, going for the ray gun at her side. "Ey, it's some kinda ghost!"

"More like a Ghost Exterminator!" Brunhilda's gauntleted knuckles impacted the goon's stomach. The banter was comforting.

"Oofda!" She went down too, and Super Scary Dazzle Bird and Kid Killswitch grabbed the dropped ray guns. The seven net.heroes ran down the hall and Action Lad kicked the door in.

The fake Captain Killfile was gloating at the cameras, as her goons moved her machine onto a dolly. "Thank you for your service, Cleveland! You've got a lovely city here - hope it stays that way, haha!"

Kid Killswitch lifted the ray gun she'd grabbed, aimed, fired it at the impostor... only for the beam to fade into nothing before it hit her!

"Shit!" said Brunhilda. "She's got a personal defense killfile!"

"Ha-hah!" the impostor crowed, turning to face them, pumping her fist in glee. "We have guests! Blacklisters, activate the Killfile Killfile!" 

One of the goons hit a switch on the big machine, and Brunhilda felt a soft wave of dampening energy roll over the room - dropping the Killfile that kept them hidden.

"Looks like we're doing this the hard way, guys!" Kid Enthusiastic leapt into the fray, and the team followed in his wake of morale.

She turned to the camera and gave it a wink. "Now the whole city will see the true might of the legendary-- Captain Killfile!!"

Of course she had to keep saying that, grumbled Brunhilda. And now "killfile" didn't sound like a word anymore.

Robot Girl lashed out with metal claws, slicing ray guns in two. "You have a team name for your minions? That's way too retro, lady."

"I dunno, though." Action Lad took the hilt from the scabbard he wore, and pulled out an enormous pen with a sword-like hilt and a glowing blue tip. He inscribed a name in the air, writing "Linguini Lass" with liquid light, in loopy, flowing cursive. "I'd say it's so retro it's cool again." He pulled the pen away, and the looping script flowed into his body, outlining him in neon blue. His limbs stretched out, noodle-like, to entangle the goons.

Kid Kindle shot empowering energy into the bodies of his teammates. "Yeah! I'm glad we got a net.villain with some style!"

Robot Girl knocked two goons' heads together and sighed. "Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say."

Brunhilda scooted sideways in the fray. "Hey," she murmured to Kid Killswitch, "I got an idea."

"I'm listening..."

Super Scary Dazzle Bird was attempting more shots at the impostor, reasoning that if the Killfile Killfile had killfiled their killfile, then her own killfile must also be killfiled. (And now "killfile" *really* didn't look like a word anymore.) Unfortunately, said impostor had made it over to the Kill-O-Ray, which seemed to be protected by a non-killfile-based forcefield, and was flipping switches and cackling.

Brunhilda stepped directly in front of the cameras. She summoned all the performative net.hero drama she was capable of, and pointed dramatically at the impostor with her right hand, bare now, her index finger aligned perfectly with her target. "Stop right there! I know you're not the real Captain Killfile!"

The impostor's body stiffened, and she spun around, her manic grin a bit stiffer and less real than it had been a moment ago. "Hah!" She straightened, tossing her arm so that her sparkly cape billowed dramatically. "And why would you make such a foolish proclamation? Some kind of net.hero trickery?"

"No." The heavy weight of grief and guilt was laying against Brunhilda's chest. But she knew, now. She'd let guilt fester in her, guilt over not being the one to fix the world all by herself, and it had lead to a lot of terrible things. You were supposed to share the weight of the world, because it belonged to everybody; you weren't supposed to hold it up alone until it crushed you and everybody else in the process. She didn't need to be the one to solve everything. She just needed to let out the knowledge, the feelings, she was holding inside - spread them to the world, as far as she could, and let everyone know the truth.

"It's because..." Brunhilda pulled down her hood, and looked up at the impostor. "Because my name is Brunhilda Ampulle. And I..." She looked directly into the camera. "I was Captain Killfile."

Everything was quiet for a moment.

"...wait, what!?" shouted Kid Kindle, before dodging yet another kick by a Blacklister.

"You..." the impostor's eyes narrowed. She ripped the gaudy cape and hood off, tossing it on the floor. From her belt she pulled a metal tube and hit a button on it, and out popped a blade of searing gray-white nothingness that hurt the eyes to look at - coherent Killfile Energy. "It's YOUR FAULT!"

Action Lad undropped his jaw. "G-- C-- Ghost Exterminator, catch!" He tossed his pen-sword thru the air.

Brunhilda caught it as it came down, just in time to block the impostor's blade. "Yeah, it was. All my fault." She danced back, parried, thrusted. "What's your story?"

"Jessica Blackstone, heiress to the scientific traditions of Patricia Blackstone!" Jessica dodged the thrust, going in with big, wild slashes - not as wild as they seemed, though, and Brunhilda had to twist and counter with expert timing. "I was eleven when the Killfile went up! My mother had been an expert in the field of killfile weapons research! Courted by governments, showered in grant money, treated like a queen! And I, her princess! We had money and wealth! And then it all went away!" 

"Gotcha. This is a revenge story." Brunhilda's attention was focused. She didn't think about the plan going off in the background, just on the woman in front of her. Keep her talking. Keep her fighting. "So what happened?"

"Hah, as if you didn't know!" The two blades, energy and narrative, locked against each other, and the two fighters were face to face. Jessica shouted in Brunhilda's face, little flecks of spittle flying - ew. "With the great Killfile up, killfile technology lost much of its power, for it's difficult to put a killfile over a killfile! My mother knew that problem could be cracked, but the powers that were did not care! We lost our prestige, our wealth! I had to go to public school!"

"...right. And then?" Brunhilda pushed back and fell into a defensive position, her back to the machine. She's ranting now, let it happen, no matter how dumb it is. 

"And then the Killfile fell, and I dedicated my life to cracking the problem! I became the world's preeminent specialist in Killfile Energy! And I swore I would use the position to take back the wealth and power that you had denied me!" She was far too angry at Brunhilda to attack her now, glaring, yelling, wanting her to hear every word. "I'm greater than you ever were! Stronger! Smarter!"

Kid Killswitch stepped forward, on Brunhilda's left. "Hey, bitch," she called to what's-her-name. "If you're so smart, do you know what happens when you bring together two rapidly fluctuating opposite-polarity killfiles?"

"...yeah," said Jessica, looking at Kid Killswitch like she was an idiot for asking. "You create a standing watchlist wave that destroys... destroys any killfiles--"

She jumped towards them but it was too late. Kid Killswitch lifted the right-hand gauntlet that Brunhilda had given her, the one she'd spent the fight rewiring to the opposite polarity and setting to fluctuate. Brunhilda lifted her left-hand gauntlet, still radiating Killfile Energy, and slammed them together.

A sphere of un-energy burst from the point of contact, knocking them apart, knocking back the impostor, knocking down the Blacklisters and the Ultimate Saviors. The room shone, dazzling and bright, everything standing out against everything else. The Kill-O-Ray sparked and smoked, and with a pop! an apple reappeared.

Everything was quiet for a few moments. Then Kid Killswitch pulled herself up in front of the cameras. "Hey, folks... hope you enjoyed. City is safe, Captain Killfile is no more, and..." She thumped her chest. "You can call me Captain Killfile now." She clicked off the camera and sighed. "That feels good."

Kid Enthusiastic hopped up next, running across the room. "OMG good job!" He pulled out a glob of green goo and used it to stick Jessica's hands together and stick her to a pillar.

"...hey..." Jessica muttered, woozily.

He tossed another glob of goo between his hands, watching Brunhilda as she pulled herself up. "Don't suppose I need to stick you in place for the cops too~"

Brunhilda shook her head. "Think you probably guessed that I'm not gonna be fighting heroes anytime soon."

He giggled, but his eyes were a bit more serious, looking her up and down. "Yeah... I don't think you are." He put the goo away. "But what are you gonna be doing?"

"Better question, what are we gonna be doing," said Super Scary Dazzle Bird, dusting off his cape. "What happened to keeping a low profile?"

"That's net.heroing," said Action Lad. "This was gonna be big one way or another. Can I have that back?" He nodded to the pen-sword.

"Oh, sure." Brunhilda handed it back.

"Wait wait wait wait wait," said Kid Kindle, popping up. "Are we just gonna ignore that she just confessed to being Captain Killfile?" He turned to Kid Kill-- nope, she was Captain Killfile now. "Why do you want the name?"

Captain Killfille grinned. "Right of conquest. Claiming my heritage. And maybe I just wanna shock the norms."

Brunhilda grinned. "Hey, I'm not using it."

Action Lad grinned. "I guess this really was... the return of Captain Killfile."

Robot Girl covered her face. "Why."

Action Lad shrugged exaggeratedly~ "I've decided to lean into dad jokes."

"Seriously, tho," said Kid Enthusiastic, bouncing in place. "What's your plans? You're pretty clearly messed up, twenty years out of time by the look of it-- you gotta tell me how that happened-- and you probably don't have anywhere to go."

Brunhilda rubbed her face. "Yeah, you're right. And I gotta.." She closed her eyes, and felt the pain suddenly well up again, felt a tear threatening to form in the corner of her eye. The weight wasn't gone just 'cause she'd done one thing. But it didn't hurt quite as much.

"Actually..." She rubbed her eyes. "I think I was wrong, before. I think I definitely need to be taken into custody." She looked over the six of them. "But the 2019 cops sound like they suck. So how about y'all taking me in until you can remand me to that net.hero team you've been trying to contact?"

"...oh, good idea," said Action Lad, doing his post-battle stretches.

"I suppose that's the safest option," harrumphed Super Scary Dazzle Bird, crossing his arms.

Robot Girl rolled her eyes. "I guess--"

"WAIT WAIT WAIT." Kid Kindle skidded in front of Brunhilda, waving his hands at the rest of them. "You're really saying that we literally take in the biggest bad guy of all time!? Right after-- ALL THAT!?"

Captain Killfile stepped forward. "Dude." She looked put her hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye. "I trust her."

"..." He siiiiiiiighed dramatically, flopping his head back and rolling his eyes. "Fiiiiiiine. I guess somebody's gotta keep an eye on her."

"Welp, that's settled!" Kid E clapped his hands. "Now... let's scram already, the cops will be here soon!"

"Right!" The Ultimate Saviors clattered down the hallway, but Kid Enthusiastic took Brunhilda's arm before she could follow.

"By the way," he said. "Hildy. If it's okay to call you that."

"Heh... you can call me anything you want, now, I guess," she said. "What is it?"

"Just wanted to let you know. Felix?" He smiled big up at her. "He's the leader of the LNH!"

One more burst of cold surprise for the evening. "...ah heck." She'd have to face him, eventually. She'd have to apologize... She could feel the tears welling up again, and quickly rubbed her eyes. He'd survived. He... her brother was okay. "Always... always knew he'd make somethin' of himself."

"Yeah." He smiled up at her, and took her hand. "Let's go, Ghost Exterminator."

And they walked off into the chill winter night.

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Nildungsroman

by Dan H

Saturday, 27 September 2008

Dan finally identifies something that has been bugging him.~

I've always had a problem with Modern Fantasy. Not in the sense of "published within the last five years" (although there is also that) but in the sense of "set in the real world, only with magic and shit, which most people don't know about". Possibly that's Urban Fantasy.

This whole thing struck me while I was reading Cassandra Cla(i)re's City of Bones, which funnily enough seems to have a lot of traits in common with a certain other modern fantasy series that the author may or may not have heard of, and which I may or may not have said a few things about in the past, so these comments are slightly biased towards those two august tales, but I'll also be talking about other elements of the Geek Canon, including Buffy, Tolkein and Star Wars.

As ever, contains spoilers.

The Hero's Journey: Ur Doin It Rong

For what it's worth, I'm not actually a big fan of Joseph Campbell. I think the observation that lots of different myths have lots of things in common rates somewhere between "dog bites man" and "Bishop of Rome Espouses Nicene Creed" on the duh-o-meter. On the other hand, the Hero With A Thousand Faces One Of Which Is Luke Skywalker does nicely identify a basic structure which can, at the very least, make sure that a mythically-slanted story doesn't suck donkey balls.

Very broadly, the Hero's Journey has three stages: the departure, the initiation, and the return. The hero starts out as Joe Ordinary (or possibly as Joe Destiny), then goes off into the Crazy World of Magic Shit, then comes back a better and more complete man. Along the way he has to get eaten by a whale and meet a goddess, but that's basically the deal (any inaccuracies can be attributed to my not actually having read The Hero With A Thousand Faces and thus getting most of my information from Wikipedia).

Star Wars, as you probably already know, was based very, very, very (very, very, very) closely on the classic Campbellian journey (right down to including the trash compactor scene pretty much entirely to tick the "hero goes underground and bad shit happens" box). Early season Buffy actually holds fairly closely to the model as well, both in terms of its overall arc (at least in seasons 1-5) and the structure of individual episodes. An episode of Buffy usually opens with our heroine facing a Typical Teenage Problem, then getting drawn into a supernatural event which allowed her, at the end, to resolve her Real Life problem as well as lay the smackdown on some vampires. As I've argued before on Ferretbrain, I think Buffy lost its way around the point it stopped bringing everything back to the real world.

And that, in a roundabout way, is what I think is wrong with Modern Fantasy. If you blinked you might have missed it, so I'll say it again more explicitly. A lot of Modern Fantasy seems to be at least loosely based on the Hero's Journey, and while it does the departure and the initiation really well, it seems to write the whole "return" bit off as a waste of time. Modern heroes leave their home and family, descend into the underworld, and bloody well stay there.

Now I admit, part of this is going to be structure. In a TV series about fighting vampires (for example), you'll always get to the point where you can't view "going out to fight some vampires" as anything but routine, and you can only escalate so far before you have to play the "real life is the greatest battle" card or the "fighting the very essence evil itself" card (neither of which worked). On the other hand, part of it seems to be an issue with people actually missing the point of the Hero's Journey. I'm going to talk about both these phenomena, because I like to hear myself talk.

Sunnydalization: Myth Invades Reality

If, like me, you wasted your entire undergraduacy watching Buffy videos, and can quote pretty much the entire seven series end to end, including the "grr-arg" bits with the mutant enemy logo, you'll probably remember the bit in Prophecy Girl where Willow finds two dead bodies in the student lounge in Sunnydale High and, despite having seen at least a corpse a week for the past series, gets totally freaked out. When challenged about it, she says:

"I'm not okay. I knew those guys. I go to that room every day. And when I walked in there, it... it wasn't our world anymore. They made it theirs.

And at that point, Buffy changed subtly but irrevocably. Prior to that scene, Sunnydale was the real world, and the Hellmouth was the place where the monsters were. Every week, Buffy would battle the legions of hell, and every week she would come out and go to class and we would see exactly what she was fighting to protect. We'd see Jonathan and Cordelia and Harmony and the rest, all going on with their totally normal lives, totally unaware that little Miss Summers had been saving their collective assi.

After that moment, though, it all changed. Things got bigger and scarier, and the Demons didn't go back into their box. Buffy may have defeated the Master at the end of Season 1, but she failed to defeat the Hellmouth, and as the seasons progressed the line between the "reality" of Sunnydale and the Underworld of the Hellmouth became more and more blurred. In season three we are told that the mayor "built this town for demons to feed on" and by the end of season seven the two are so inextricably linked that the final closing of the Hellmouth actually destroys the town.

As I said above, I ultimately think this is an inevitable effect in a long running series. The first time a vampire attacks somebody on school grounds it's scary. The twelfth you just start to wonder why the school is still open. The Sunnydale body count became something of a running joke ("if we train hard, keep focus, and don't have so many mysterious deaths, Sunnydale is gonna rule") but while it was funny it also began to undermine the point of the show. What started out as a nice little town threatened by a supernatural enemy became itself a seat of magical corruption. By the end of series seven there is literally nobody normal left in Sunnydale, they've all evacuated because of the effects of the Hellmouth (even the more sympathetic demons get out of town).

What this means is that, by the end of the series, Buffy has literally nothing left worth fighting for, except possibly Joss Whedon's ropey feminist doctrine. The later series of Buffy fall flat because, as Sunnydale itself becomes a place of evil, the Slayer loses all contact with the real world.

Mugglism: The Family Romance

Ultimately, though, I can forgive Buffy for its structural flaws. What I have more trouble with is the peculiar tendency in a lot of Modern/Urban Fantasy to treat the Fantasy World as just flat-out better than reality.

The chronic offender in this case is, of course, the Wizarding World of the Harry Potter series. Harry is rescued from the dull, dreary (and psychotically abusive) Dursleys, the "biggest load of Muggles" Hagrid has ever seen. He is then taken away into the wonderful Wizarding world where everything is fabulous and magical. He then discovers that he is a figure of the utmost importance in said world, and people either treat him with awe or loathing, both of which he finds equally affirming, while the infallibly wise guardian of his new world assures him that he really is all that and a bag of chips. Meanwhile the author informs us in interviews that everything in the Wizarding world is indeed superior to everything in the real world.

Oh, and just to forestall the inevitable "but the Wizarding world is really dangerous" apologia, there are two things to say about that. Firstly, until Rowling writes a scene that actually reminds me of the Holocaust, instead of just vaguely alluding to people making Nazi salutes, real life has Rowling licked when it comes to being dark, man. Secondly, horrors of actual, non-school-based wars aside, "like the real world but nastier" is yet another way of saying "like the real world but better". I'm going to hark right back to my third ever Ferretbrain article here and say that one of the things that really impressed me about Pan's Labyrinth was the fact that the really scary thing in it was not the Faun, or the Labyrinth, or the dude with the eyes in his hands, but the brutal mass-murdering fascist.

Anyway, where was I. Oh yes. The "fantasy is better than reality" style of Urban Fantasy usually winds up being a version of the (Freudian, and therefore almost certainly no longer reputable) idea of the Family Romance. The belief, common in young children, that their parents aren't their real parents, and they're actually something different and special. Of course most of us then grow up and realise that our parents are pretty okay people, and that being a Magical Princess probably wouldn't be that great, and actually there's some pretty radical stuff in the real world which we could be getting on with (like writing for webzines or playing World of Warcraft).

A mythical journey in which the Hero leaves the real world and then never comes back is always going to seem, to me (and therefore to anybody who matters), to be fundamentally juvenile. 

Pan's Labyrinth would have been completely meaningless if Ofelia did not ultimately end up confronting Vidal (albeit hopelessly), and the Lord of the Rings loses a lot of its impact if the Hobbits don't go back to the shire. Harry Potter may save the Wizarding World, but muggles like me have no reason to care about that. Stories like the Potter series work absolutely fine, as long as you're still labouring under the illusions that you're a beautiful unique snowflake, and the only people that matter are you and the few others you're willing to accept as equally special. The moment you - not to put too fine a point on it - grow the fuck up, and realise that everybody else (yes even the teachers at your school, yes even your parents, yes even the kids who are mean to you) are real people with their own lives and ideals, you have to let go of the belief that your secret world is the most important one.

I've not yet finished City of Bones, much less the whole "Mortal Instruments" series, but it's shaping up to go the same way as potter: a long story about somebody totally failing to grow up.

In Conclusion: Why Americans Damned Well Should Be Afraid of Dragons

Roleplayers in the audience will probably know that White Wolf Game Studio used to publish, as part of their risibly-entitled World of Darkness line a game called Changeling the Dreaming. It was a game about, like, the loss of innocence and the death of dreams, man. Players took on the role of Changelings, fairy spirits in human bodies, who were slowly losing their beautiful-unique-snowflakeness under the crushing "Banality" of the modern world.

As games went, it was alright, it fetishised childhood in a slightly iffy way, but otherwise was decent Guns and Wizards Urban Fantasy fare. What bugged me about it, though, was the way it essentially divided everything in the world into "Banal" (soul destroying and imagination crushing) and "Glamorous" (drawing on the power of the Dreaming, the wellspring of human imagination). In particular, what bugged me about it was that it assumed that "imagination" was associated purely with the trappings of medieval fantasy. An artist who paints grim cityscapes and urban decay is Banal, an artist who paints forests full of dancing elves is Glamorous. 

Who Wants to be a Millionaire is Banal wish-fulfillment tapping into people's desire to get something for nothing. The hundred or so fairy stories about farmer's sons who get fantastically rich because of a stroke of good fortune are totally inspiring and bring out the best in humanity.

In her article Why are Americans Afraid of Dragons? Ursula le Guin observes (perhaps correctly) that the Fantasy genre is looked down upon in America, and that this is perhaps indicative of a society too obsessed with industry, productivity and profit, and distrustful of the imagination. Fiction in general, and fantasy in particular, encourages the reader to stop thinking about how they can best make a million bucks before they're forty and start thinking about any one of the million other things they could be doing. As Le Guin puts it:

"Fantasy is true, of course. It isn't factual, but it is true. Children know that. Adults know it too, and that is precisely why many of them are afraid of fantasy. They know that its truth challenges, even threatens, all that is false, all that is phony, unnecessary, and trivial... They are afraid of dragons, because they are afraid of freedom."

Of course the important thing to remember about this particular essay is that Le Guin is using "dragons" and "fantasy" as a shorthand for "fiction in general", and you could the mistrust of Fantasy in the twentieth century with the mistrust of the novel in the nineteenth. A lot of fantasy readers (and, by extension, some fantasy writers) go further. Like Changeling they come to view "elves and dragons and shit" as being synonymous with imagination, and to view imagination as the only virtue required in humanity, instead of as part of a healthy, well rounded personality.

Sensible proponents of Fantasy argue that it is perfectly okay to like dragons and wizards, and that the presence of fantasy elements does not make a story frivolous. Less sensible proponents of fantasy seem to want to argue that it is perfectly okay to like nothing except dragons and wizards, and that fantasy elements make a story more meaningful by their mere inclusion. This is particularly common in fandom and geekdom, where people are massively more inclined to focus on the details of a particular setting (elves, vampires, wizards) than on the actual contents of the narrative (destruction of rural England, coming-of-age in small town America, why suicide is totally heroic).

Obviously, I don't want a return to the nineteenth century, I don't want a world where nobody reads fiction, or where it isn't considered perfectly okay to pick up the odd bit of Laurel K Hamilton if you feel like something light and pulpy, but I am deeply concerned about a Fantasy genre that is coming to view fantasy as an end in itself. That's fine if you're aspiring to nothing more than light holiday reading, but a lot of fantasy (even, or perhaps I should say especially children's fantasy) takes itself very seriously, and it's ludicrous to try to deal with "real" issues in something that's totally divorced from the real world. You can't show us the reality of war in a world where everybody acts like an overgrown five-year-old and people only die when the author is trying to make a point.

Fantasy is not factual, and because it is not factual it must remain true, and the truth is that the real world matters, and that real people are amazing, and a Hero who doesn't return is no hero at all.

Themes: 

J.K. Rowling, Books, TV & Movies, Sci-fi / Fantasy, Whedonverse

~

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Arthur B

 at 15:31 on 2008-09-27I'm reminded a little, in fact, of Terry Gilliam's 

Tideland

, which kind-of repudiates the fantasy-as-an-end-in-itself stance he took in some of his earlier films: in that one you have plenty of people who use fantasy as a means of escaping from the world around them, with the result that their lives are completely stagnant and horrible, and you've got the protagonist who uses fantasy to endure the world around her whilst still progressing through it, so she comes out the other end more-or-less unscathed and with a potential adoptive mum to boot.

You've glossed over an aspect of the Hero's Journey a little, which is that when the Hero returns to the everyday world he isn't just a fuller and more complete man, he actually enriches the everyday world by the fact that he's gone on this journey in the first place. 

Lord of the Rings

 is an exceptionally good example of this; not only are the Hobbits better people for having gone to fight Sauron, but when they get back they solve the Shire's problems and then (for the most part) become its primary movers and shakers for the next generation. Arguably, part of the problem with the way Buffy developed was that whilst Buffy's own real life problems were often solved by her adventures, she didn't so much enrich the community by her adventures so much as prolong the death throes of the status quo: things gradually get worse, and worse, and worse in Sunnydale until it all goes to shit. Harry Potter's magical studies not only have no beneficial effects for his community in the mundane world, he's actually legally prevented from letting that happen.

I think the problem with Hero's Journey type narratives in fantasy set in the modern day is that "it's the modern day, but with vampires" seems far too close to the real world, if you see what I mean. Back in the day it was sufficient for the hero to walk a long long long way away and people could accept that "oh, OK, way over there is the land of magic and adventure". The problem with the likes of Buffy and Potter is that the land of magic and adventure is 

right on their doorstep

, and this actually makes the return to the real world slightly problematic; because the vampires and werewolves and death eaters are in such close proximity (physically and in terms of always getting in each other's face), you'd expect the hero to be concerned about them all the time. The reason 

Narnia

 does the Hero's Journey so well is precisely because Narnia is a mythic otherworld which it's non-trivial to get to, and I would argue that that's a requirement for any mythic otherworld in a Hero's Journey-based story: if you can get to the Hellmouth by walking down the street then that's not so much a Hero's Journey as a Hero's Morning Jog.

I suspect the answer is to use a different myth for modern-day fantasy. 

Supernatural

 seems to get a lot of mileage (no pun intended) out of the old Lone Ranger/Fugitive "Eternal Wanderer" story (which has the advantage that it's a lot easier to adapt to television, because you can spin it out for as long as you damn well like, whereas the Hero's Journey pretty much demands an end point).

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Andy G

 at 20:52 on 2008-10-05Great article! That really put the finger on something that had been bugging me, except actually I hadn't realised it had been bugging me until I read the article. I was just wondering how you think Star Wars would fit into the pattern of the Hero's return, as you'd given that as an example of one closely written to the pattern, but it doesn't seem as clear-cut an example as the LotR or others where the magical world/magical powers are left behind?

Possibly a stupid question as you have clearly read a lot of stuff ABOUT fantasy (where on earth do you find it? I mean I do like to read fantasy, but I can barely ever find anything interesting written about it - except on Ferretbrain, of course) but have you read On Fairy Stories by Tolkien? It covers a lot of the themes from above, and it's one of my favourite essays with some really well-made points.

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Arthur B

 at 21:15 on 2008-10-05As far as I can tell, the supposed precise mapping of 

Star Wars

 to the Hero's Journey is a bit ropey, and came about mainly because John Campbell was all "Hey, 

Star Wars

 fits the Hero's Journey perfectly" and George Lucas said "Oh... really? I mean, yes. Yes it does."

So working out where all the various bits and pieces fit in is sometimes tricky, but I think the Hero's Return is very much there, although it's pretty much described in a single scene - it's the bit at the end where they're all getting their medals and all the rebel forces cheer them. Having ventured into the depths of the Death Star's chasm and faced the dark lord, Luke emerges victorious and the community (said community being the rebellion) is enriched for it. That's all you really need for the Hero's Return - tenuous, I know, but so's the entire Hero's Journey idea to begin with.

(The end of Return of the Jedi is interesting in this light, actually - the community is having a big party, but Luke isn't really part of it - he's off at the edge, burning his father's body and communing with ghosts, his experiences finally alienating him from his community because he's endured so many things that have no parallel in the common experience of the war - hundreds of people can claim they were involved in the attack on Death Star II, for example, but only Luke actually saw Darth Vader's true face.)

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Dan H

 at 16:29 on 2008-10-06

Possibly a stupid question as you have clearly read a lot of stuff ABOUT fantasy (where on earth do you find it? I mean I do like to read fantasy, but I can barely ever find anything interesting written about it - except on Ferretbrain, of course) but have you read On Fairy Stories by Tolkien? It covers a lot of the themes from above, and it's one of my favourite essays with some really well-made points.

I've not read it actually (I'm far less well read than I pretend to be, I just shout my opinions loudly and hope people assume I've done some research).

As for Star Wars, the "real world" if you want to call it that in the SW saga is (IMO) the Rebellion, the big deal is that while Luke goes off and learns from Jedi Masters and confronts Darth Vader, it's the regular guys in the guns-and-bombs shooting war that he comes back to. Our Esteemed Editor also points out that Luke's return to Han and Leia is a quite literal return to family at the end of the series.

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Sister Magpie

 at 20:38 on 2008-10-30Great article! I've been catching up and had just read your review where you asked why someone would have to add fantasy to New York City to find a sense of wonder--quoting that paragraph that's a beautiful image strangely undermined by the addition of werewolves, fairies, vampires and mermaids. (Central Park, Chinatown, the Hudson River are all far more interesting.)

I've always liked "our world, but with magic" in terms of books starting in our world rather than a totally different secondary world, but I totally agree with this--because as you say, setting something in our world and adding magic doesn't have to mean that our world is the world that sucks or can't hold it's own. A sense of home is always present in LOTR and that makes the Shire stand up as just as wonderful as any magical place.

It reminds me of the book Hatchet that I had to read a couple years ago for a thing I was doing on YA books. I have only ever read that book, but there are several in the series. It's not fantasy, it's about a boy who survives a plane crash and must survive alone in the Canadian wilderness. But in the end he's rescued and there's other books, some of which follow a "what if?" scenario where he never leaves the woods. What struck me about the synopses of the later books was that the main character pretty much wound up going off to live in the forest. He didn't like civilization any more and preferred his solitary life. 

The idea seemed to be that the author enjoyed the more "real" life experience of fighting for your survival, hunting your own food etc. But I thought it made the whole series a failure by not realizing that the point of a Vision Quest is to find out how you can help your community. Deciding to be a hermit--a fine choice in other contexts--is here just selfish and avoiding the responsibilities of being an adult in the community.

It's just important to make the distinction between this really being a flaw in Urban fantasy and it being just something urban fantasists can use it for.

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Dan H

 at 15:25 on 2008-11-17Hiya, sorry it took me so long to reply (this just in, doing NaNo is 

hard

). Thought I'd clarify one particular point:

It's just important to make the distinction between this really being a flaw in Urban fantasy and it being just something urban fantasists can use it for.

Oh absolutely. By "a flaw in Urban Fantasy" I basically meant it in the specific, subjective sense (as in "this is something I consider to be a flaw in the works of urban fantasy which I have personally read") not a fundamental weakness of the genre.

I find it particularly infuriating since so much Urban Fantasy is either targeted at children or "young adults" and if there's one thing that young adults *don't* need to be told, it's that being an adult is for losers.

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Sonia Mitchell

 at 01:52 on 2009-06-25Once again I know this is old, but I hadn't read any Campbell when you wrote this. I'm rehashing now I've read enough of 

Hero With a Thousand Faces

 to comment. Not all of it, I have to add (psychology texts bore me) but a fair amount (I'm also cribbing the exact terms from 

here

 because it's been a few months since I touched the book).

And while I agree with the points you make, Dan, I don't think HWATF backs them up. It's not a check-list of ingredients for a story, but a variety of factors of which some (not all) can be found in a given hero's journey. Refusing to return 

is

 a valid stage of the journey, even if it makes for an unsatisfying narrative. I agree that it marks Harry out as an immature hero, just as I think it does Achilles and the Sandman and the Pevensies (who never intended to return home in TLTW&TW). For most of us there does come that point where we stop thinking Dorothy's mad for wanting to go back to Kansas (we grow the fuck up, as you so rightly say), but nevertheless according to Campbell heroes who don't return are still heroes. 

Suicide 

can

 be 'totally heroic' in the classical model Campbell's following, which isn't using heroes as role models. Working in the chivalric model, which I think maybe you are, naturally it isn't. And Harry Potter seems to strongly invite one to take the chivalric viewpoint, right up to telling us how 'gallant' Harry is for protecting a(n extremely competent) woman with an unforgivable curse. If nothing else, the cosmetic details (suits of armour, portraits of damsels, Arthurian treasures and constant references to Merlin) are knightly not classical, and invite one to take a certain perspective (there might be an article in this, actually...). 

As far as I can tell, the supposed precise mapping of Star Wars to the Hero's Journey is a bit ropey, and came about mainly because John Campbell was all "Hey, Star Wars fits the Hero's Journey perfectly" and George Lucas said "Oh... really? I mean, yes. Yes it does."

Which I'd say is the right way to do things - treating. HWATF as a tool for analysis rather than an instruction manual on how to write fiction. I think consciously ticking off the elements of the hero's journey would make for a rather boring (not to mention contradictory) story, since the natural temptation would be to take them far too literally. I'll take tenuous any day :-)

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http://ruderetum.blogspot.com/

 at 16:20 on 2009-09-10Great article and it immediately reminded me of Guy Gavriel Kay's Fionavar trapesty, which is a bit narnian in its basic plot, has some slight elements of urban fantasy and I thin generally is a surprisingly awesome take on what seems on the surfce to be an awfully cliched fantasy world. Commenting on heroic suicides, I think this one has one brilliantly haunting example and a few others might qualify as well.

But really made me recollec this is the development of Dave, who is kind of an average guy compared to the rest of the cast and doesn't get any cool pwers or even the girl or anything. But in a very awesome ending, without any sense of needless fanfare, you know that he'll return back to the real world and things will be okay.

I won't explain more because I'd hate to spoil it for any one and I guess it would be a bit tedious.

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[wr8tur]

RACOON RUN (Day 1 First Meeting AU)

The bright green light beckons to her, inviting her to move forward, to cross the four-way intersection. She presses onward, eager to get home, to succumb to the comforts of her bed, close her eyes, let the day fade, and have the night take her completely.

Sleep. It’s what she desperately needs after spending hours negotiating the terms of her deal with Toshimura Tech.

It’s all very exhausting now, dealing with people who think so lowly of her because of her surname. At least before, before her brother’s insanity took the lives of thousands, they’d hidden their contempt. But now, they’re so willing to openly disparage and belittle any one with the name Luthor.

She doesn’t need to wonder why they’re still willing to deal with in spite of their apparent hatred.

Money makes for marvelous motivation.

So people come, propose their deals, continually buy Luthor merchandise, so her stocks maintain and never plummet, all thanks to their genius bloodline.

But unlike the Luthors before her, she doesn’t care about the glory, the prestige, the wealth, or the power. She ultimately doesn’t even care about what they’re saying or how they feel about her family. They are but faceless strangers who spout their opinions as though they mattered when in reality they’re unwarranted, unwanted, and ultimately meaningless.

It’s not like she committed the crimes herself so she doesn’t harbor guilt. There’s no real reason to be obligated and absolutely no desire to pay for what her family took.

So why does the youngest Luthor continue on this path?

Because the Luthor in her craves to subjugate, to see those who feel as though they walk amongst the clouds, those who believe themselves superior, those who feel they are beyond reproach quiver in fear and look upon her with a mixture of defeat and awe as they realize that Lena Luthor is damn good at what she does.

She relishes in the feeling of her victory, revels in their defeat, committing to memory how her heart races, how adrenaline fuels her, how charging warms her veins from her spine to the tips of her fingers.

Depending on who her partner is because she has had some rather euphoric entanglements, it’s almost better than sex.

A blur, golden and blue with a hint of red, crosses the street.

Luckily she’s an adept driver with quick reflexes so her foot finds the brake pedal easily and the tires screech, the brakes howl, as the car skids along the road.

She stares at the obstacle. Before her is a gorgeous woman, of blonde of hair, statuesque build, wearing a blue blazer, navy jeans, and an apple red collared button up shirt, sky blue eyes wide with panic looking like much like a deer caught in headlights stands unmoving.

Lena isn’t in the business of helping others.

But there’s just something about the woman not just her obvious attractive looks because she’s encountered her fair share of beautiful women in her line of work, models and actresses and the like, that prompts the businesswoman to step out of her car and offer her aid.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” the stranger begins. “There were raccoons!” she exclaims suddenly and receives a raised brow.

Lena grasps the door of her car, perfectly manicured nails displayed, as she leans gently, openly observing the stranger she almost ran over. She tilts her head and allows her curiosity to get the better of her, allowing herself to engage the other young woman openly.

“You were running away from raccoons?” Lena doesn’t bother to hide her amusement.

“Yes!” the blonde explains as she holds her hand up where a black ball of fur situates safely in her palm. “I was walking and I heard crying, so I checked out what it was. There were these raccoons, huddled together around a box!” she continued, frantic and breathless and utterly so worried. “They were going to eat her so I fought them off and took her and I was running but they were chasing me and then I crossed the street.” Lena didn’t think it was possible but the stranger’s eyes widened even more. “I never jaywalk but I felt the situation called for a little law breaking,” the woman, breathless by now, explains. “I’m sorry if I got in your way! It’s just I had to save her.”

“It’s quite alright.” Lena can hardly find herself to be angry with such a beautiful and good Samaritan. “And how are you both doing?” it occurs to Lena then, that this conversation might be better had somewhere off the road.

“I’m fine but she’s bleeding horribly.” the woman looks at the injured ball of fur in her hand.

“Hop in,” Lena gestures to the empty passenger seat.

“Oh uh…” the businesswoman can hardly believe it but the woman’s panic visibly spreads on her features.

“I promise I’m not some sleazy stranger who’s going to drug you before I have my way with you.” she teases, hoping it’ll ease the woman’s nerves. “I’d rather you be fully conscious and aware for that.” perhaps it’s taking things too far, but Lena isn’t one to half ass anything.

“It’s not that!” and Lena waits for the blushing blonde’s excuse. “Well, I couldn’t possibly trouble you any more.”

The youngest Luthor regards the woman, observes her, and sees that she’s radiating with honesty and regret that’s so pure and tangible that it practically lingers in the air. It’s so unlike what Lena encounters. She’s too used to backstabbing and greed and lies and deceit and underhandedness and the darkness of man’s heart but now she finds a light so bright it’s nearly blinding.

A smile forms, genuine and warm and inviting.

“You should put aside your modesty,” the businesswoman advises in a gentle manner she never believed she could possess. “I don’t think the puppy should wait any longer for proper medical attention.” her reasoning is sound so the blonde nods, jumps into the car, completely throwing her previous reticence out the door.

It takes a while but after Lena makes a call to her assistant, they manage to find an emergency animal clinic near the outskirts of the city.

As soon as she parks the car, the woman rushes inside, leaving Lena to grip onto the steering wheel. She’s served her purpose, brought the package both safely to the intended destination, so now she’s wondering why she’s leaving her car and walking toward the building to follow after the stranger and the stray.

Just as she opens the door, she’s met yet again with bright blue eyes and golden hair.

“You’re still here.” the blonde visibly brightens and Lena can’t remember a time when her presence ever had such an effect on anyone. “I thought you’d left.” the stranger seems to realize the negative implications of her statement. “Not that I’d blame you! I mean, you already did enough driving us here after I almost made you run me over.” Lena finds her hand reaching, fingers moving to tuck a stray hair behind the stranger’s ear. It’s completely involuntary and Lena can’t think of the last time she acted without calculating her movements with precision. “You don’t have to stay.” the stranger says, calmer than before, but the look in her eyes tells the young Luthor she doesn’t want her to go.

“I’m not one to leave during a crisis.” Lena finds herself willing to stay.

“She was missing a leg, that’s probably why they threw her away.” the blonde murmurs as she looks behind the doors, where the injured creature is currently being attended to. “I did a piece on puppy mills a few months ago,” the stranger informs. “They throw away the ones they can’t sell.”

“Not all life is precious.” Lena can’t help the words flow from her mouth.

“Isn’t that a bit harsh?” the blonde queries, not biting or acerbic in any way, seeming completely unfazed by the raven haired stranger’s nihilism.

“Perhaps, but it’s my truth.” it’s a harsh lesson she learned early on.

“Why are you here then?” her tone is cautious and curious, eyes filled with gentleness that allow Lena to know she isn’t being judged. “I don’t want to sound rude or anything,” she pushes on and the businesswoman waits patiently for her to clarify her earlier query. “But you seem like a busy woman what with the fancy car, the assistant, and your suit…” her cheeks are tinged pink as she her eyes trail over the businesswoman’s attire and Lena realizes that attraction is probably reciprocated. “But you’re waiting here with me…” their eyes meet and bright blues peer into hers, not with expectation, but with genuine concern like she absolutely cares about what Lena has to say.

“If I maybe be honest,” Lena can’t remember the last instance when she was completely truthful. “I find myself wanting to stay for you.” she doesn’t bother masking her intentions because today’s events prove one should live in the moment.

“Me?” it’s apparent the stranger doesn’t want seem to believe she’s worth Lena’s attention as she fidgets in her seat, completely flustered.

“Well, mostly you.” she clarifies. “And a little for her.” she gestures toward the door. Lena isn’t met with skepticism so she ventures on. “See, animals are different.” Lena answers, letting her know she isn’t offended. “They react according to their nature while humans, most humans,” because the stranger is clearly unlike anyone Lena’s encountered, “Well we pretend we’re civilized but in the end we lie and cheat, ultimately answering our baser instinct we struggle to mask.”

“And what would that be?”

“We covet.” she sounds much like she’s told the stranger one of her most guarded secrets and Lena supposes she has. She’s never had the opportunity to share her insights. “Humans are instinctively greedy.

“You don’t think animals are the same?” the blonde’s forehead creases adorably.

“Most take only what they need while humans take everything they want.” Lena shakes her head, offers a bitter smile. “My apologies, I should be lifting your spirits, not dampening them.”

“You’re perfect.” Kara’s eyes bulge, shocked at her own forwardness, while Lena merely smirks. “I mean you’re fine,” she shakes off her nerves. “I mean it’s fine.” Kara’s mentally kicking herself but those green eyes just renders her speechless, they captivate her full attention and apparently turn her brain to mush. “I like hearing what you have to say.” the blonde assures. “I’m so used to people sidestepping my questions but you, you answer them so honestly.” she appreciates the sentiment greatly. “I’m sorry too, for asking so many questions, reporter’s habit I’m afraid.” Lena’s hand itches by her side as she finds herself wanting to comfort this stranger.

“But how ever will we get to know each other if we don’t ask questions?” and she finds herself almost desperate to know this woman who doesn’t seem to have an inkling as to who she is. “So long as it’s all off the record.”

“Of course.” the blonde promises as she raises her pinky toward the businesswoman.

“I can’t say I remember the last time I was made to pinky promise.” Lena says as she lifts her own hand and links their pinkies together, receiving a blinding smile from the blonde whose eyes are also twinkling in delight.

“Well, I take my pinky promises very seriously.” the stranger remarks resolutely.

“I don’t doubt that.” it doesn’t escape her that neither of them had moved to disentangle their appendages. “So I suppose this means you aren’t in the habit of making pinky promises to complete strangers?”

“You’re my first.” she peers deeply into the Luthor’s eyes.

The businesswoman’s response is cut short by the ringing of a cellphone. She looks at the blonde’s blazer where the sound was emanating from and watches as the stranger seems to realize she’d been staring like the emerald pools hold all the answers to life’s questions.

The blonde fishes her cell with her freehand, seeing as the other is still linked onto Lena’s, looking at the caller ID before glancing up at Lena.

She can easily see how torn the stranger is between her and whoever is calling. Lena gives the blonde a nod, detaching their link before stepping aside, moving toward the chairs in the lobby to give the stranger space to take her call. The blonde smiles apologetically before answering her phone and Lena takes a seat in the lobby, trying not to listen to the phone call.

She can’t help how her eyes remained glued to the woman whose name she has yet to learn.

The stranger fidgets, allowing the businesswoman to discern she feels guilty. Lena notes how the blonde’s shoulders relax, perhaps she’d offered compensation for whatever grievance she’d caused and has now been forgiven.

It’s clear that whomever is on the other end of the phone is important to the blonde and the youngest Luthor can’t help but be curious. The stranger refocuses her attention toward Lena after hanging up on the phone. She sits beside the businesswoman, smiling, but it’s clear that the tension hasn’t completely left her body.

“Boyfriend?” Lena asks because she’s direct and doesn’t see the point in torturing herself over it.

“No boyfriend.” she responds with an emphatic shaking of the blonde’s head. “No romantic entanglements whatsoever at the moment.” the businesswoman smirks as the blonde blushes, clearly they both know she’s announcing her availability a little bit too eagerly. “That was my sister.” she’s all too quick to assuage Lena. “We were supposed to have dinner tonight but you distracted me.”

“I hardly think I deserve all the credit.” she gestures her head toward the doors and Kara nods.

“Well you and the puppy.” bright blues follow her gaze. A crease begins to form as worry takes over her features completely. “Think she’s okay in there?” Lena reaches out, boldly taking the stranger’s hand in her own.

“I’m sure they are doing the best they can.” she doesn’t want to give the stranger false hope because even though they haven’t really met, Lena doesn’t think she can bare to see the brightness fade from her captivating blue depths. She links their fingers together, offers soft reassuring squeeze that seems to relieve a little of the blonde’s worries.  “And you know, we must not forget the raccoons you were running from.” she looks thoughtfully. “I’ve never known raccoons to give chase.”

“I probably shouldn’t have kicked them but I didn’t know how else to save the puggy.” she shrugs. “Lex, my older sister,” Lena can feel her heart caught in her throat upon hearing the name. “Oh she hates it when I call her that.” the blonde shakes her head, no doubt mentally chastising herself for her error. “Alex, always worries about me.”

“Oh?” Lena can’t help the crackling in her tone.

“She thinks I’m reckless.” the youngest Luthor listens and can’t help bit think there’s truth to Alex’s words seeing as the blonde seems to be prepared to share her entire life story to a complete stranger. “I’d like to think I’m just a little impulsive.” she asserts. “But over all I consider myself responsible and independent given that I have my own job, my own apartment, I vote, and pay my taxes.”

“You sound like an upstanding citizen.” Lena continues to tease.

“Well, I wasn’t lying when I said it was my first time jay walking.” the blonde responds appreciatively, knowing that the businesswoman isn’t just asking questions to get to know her but is also hoping to ease her worried mind.

“You mean you’re not always rescuing puppies from being eaten by rabid rodents?” she receives a playful shove in return for her teasing.

“I’m having a lot of firsts tonight.” the reporter discloses.

“You’re not the only one.” Lena assures because it’s important for the woman to know that she too isn’t in the habit of helping strangers. “You know, I think our first reaction speaks a lot about the kind of person we are.”

“And what kind of person do you think I am?” the blonde looks upon her, doe eyed and innocent.

“You’re obviously very helpful.” not many people would risk rabies just to help a half dead pup in a box. “Compassionate.” she peers deep into those bright blue depths. “Exceedingly kind.” Lena compliments. “Astonishingly beautiful on the inside and the out.” she’s rewarded by a shy smile accompanied with burning reddened cheeks.

“Now who’s being exceedingly kind?”

“I’m only being honesty.” Lena asserts. “It’s very rare that but I find myself trusting you so easily.” her upbringing taught her not to trust so easily because all people want is to take advantage.

“Well, I would never betray a pink swear.”

“Of course not.” because this stranger before her is so obviously open and trusting. She’s everything Lena is not, everything Lena long thought gone from this world. “You have a big heart.” Lena finds herself turning away. “You should be careful who you give it to.” because there’s darkness in her heart, one that could easily temper the blonde’s light.

The stranger’s response is cut off when the doors open, revealing the vet standing with a kind smile on his face, and suddenly she can feel it easier to breathe.

“She’s doing fine.” he assures. “She’s resting.”

“May I see her?” Lena looks at doctor pointedly, because her assistant called ahead to let the hospital know so they could ready the accommodations of Lena Luthor and an injured puppy. “I know it’s late but…”

 “You’re certainly welcome to.” he leads the way after giving Lena a reassuring nod.

They stand by the operating table, watching as the fragile puppy breathes easier, the blood cleaned off her fur, looking much more relaxed despite being wrapped in bandages. Much to her surprise, she reaches out before the blonde can. Her hand makes contact with the puppy’s head as she gently begins to run her fingers through her soft fur.

It’s hard to imagine that this pitiful creature could warm her heart, but she finds herself succumbing to the puppy’s charms, to the way the pug practically melts into her hand when she scratches just behind her ear.

The blonde reporter reaches out to pet the puppy as well. When her fingers brush against Lena’s, a small blush stains her cheeks.

Their eyes lock and they smile.

For the first time since the death of birth mother, Lena finds herself hopeful. She looks forward for tomorrow and what the future holds for herself, the kind hearted stranger, and the recovering pug puppy.

XXXX

They walk toward the entrance of the apartment building, shoulders brushing against one another due to their close proximity.

 “I just realized my apartment doesn’t allow pets.” the blonde recalls as they stand directly outside the entrance of her building. “I mean, I’m sure it’s going to be a while until she’s released but I suppose I should start finding her a home soon.” her brows furrow as she lists all the people she knows that are dog enthusiasts.

“I could take her.” Lena finds herself saying. “But,”

“But?” she waits, looking as though her entire life depends on Lena’s words.

“I will need help in her care.”

“I could help!” she’s quick to offer her aid. “I’ll walk her, feed her, I’ll even help potty train her and buy her food, and toys, and oh she’ll look so cute in a dress! I mean, if you’ll let me.” she tries to reign in her excitement but she’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet and all Lena can do is sport a smile that threatens to cut her fact in half.

“You almost died saving her I hardly think it appropriate to separate you two.”

“So I have visitation rights?” her head cocks to the side and Lena can’t help but think that she’s welcoming two puppies into her life.

“You make it sound like we’re some divorced couple sharing custody over our child.”

“Don’t we have to get married before we get divorced?” the blonde riposte’s congenially.

“A proposal already?” Lena teases, unable to help her playful mood. “We haven’t even been on a date yet.” she shakes her head humorously. “Hell, I don’t even know your name.” the businesswoman can’t remember the last time she’d held a conversation with someone whose name she didn’t know, someone who didn’t know who she was.

“I’m Kara.” she extends her hand. “Kara Danvers.”

“It was certainly a pleasure meeting you, Kara,” she takes Kara’s hand into her own, memorizing how warm it feels against her skin, how the simple contact sends tingles down her spine. “And our daughter who we have yet named.”

“Oh right…” expressive blue eyes bulge upon realizing they haven’t named the puppy yet. “What would you like to name her?”

“Since you gave her a second life,” she doesn’t think she deserves the honor of bestowing a name to something so precious. “I’ll leave the naming up to you.” the right and privilege belongs only to Kara and Kara alone.

“I think I’d like to call her Cerberus.” she answers almost automatically.

“Cerberus?” the woman doesn’t cease to surprise. She’d expected some kind of fluffy name to the puppy. “The hound of Hades and guardian of Persephone.”

“I’ve always been fond of Greek Mythology.” Kara confesses. “And I just read this book, The Dark Wife,” for some reason, she doesn’t feel silly telling the stranger all this. “It’s…” she’s kindly interrupted by the raven haired businesswoman.

“A lovely retelling on the lore of Persephone and Hades.” Lena compliments.

“You’ve read it.” Kara finds herself in awe. “Well I just think it’s appropriate for you and I.” and it’s easy to see where the blonde is coming from because Lena is the alluring and mysterious Hades while Kara is the bright and hopeful Persephone so of course Lena finds herself nodding in agreement.

“I’m glad to have met Cerberus and you as well, Kara Danvers.” they continue to stare into each other’s eyes, not searching for anything, but finding comfort in looking into one another’s soul.

“I suppose I, we’ll see you tomorrow for a visit?”

“Of course.” she reluctantly disentangles her hand from Kara’s as she fishes the reporter’s phone from her blazer pocket. As expected, the trusting blonde’s phone is not encrypted. “Call me.” she displays the screen and the blonde’s face turns red as her mouth begins to hang open as she reads the contact name that the businesswoman assigned herself.

“Is…” she gathers her feelings. “May I know my Future Wife’s name?”

And Lena bites her lip, looking down and momentarily breaking eye contact, before regaining the confidence to face Kara head on.

“It seems untoward to ask, given that we’ve only met and haven’t been on a date yet, but may I kiss you, Kara Danvers?” she says her name like she’s committing it to memory as she steps into Kara’s personal space, leaving enough room and opportunity for Kara to back away should she choose so.

“I mean, I think it’s perfectly fine, given that we do share custody of a living breathing creature.” Kara reasons as she finds herself leaning closer.

It’s Lena who ultimately brings their lips together. It’s meant to be a peck, neither wanting to take advantage of the kindness and trust that’s being shared, but as soon as their lips touched, their passions surged and electricity coursed through their veins.

They kissed as though they weren’t sharing their first kiss, both hoping it certainly wouldn’t be their last.

“Lena,” she whispers against Kara’s welcoming lips. “Lena Luthor.”

It dawns on Kara, then, why Lena asked for a kiss first. The youngest Luthor probably thought she would run upon discovering who she really is.

Lena Luthor, daughter of the deceased yet still renowned merciless mogul Lionel Luthor who was notorious for shutting down plants and displacing the livelihood of thousands of his workers. Lena Luthor, the younger sister of the imprisoned Neo Nazi head Lex Luthor responsible for the deaths of hundreds of minorities. Lena Luthor who is now the head of L Corp.

But all Kara sees is a beautiful woman with the most striking green eyes she’d ever beheld and a heart that’s guarded but still willing to love.

So Kara Danvers finds herself smiling because Lena being a Luthor doesn’t change anything. She presses their lips together once more, determined to show she doesn’t care about the businesswoman’s surname. As soon as they meld, Kara can taste the relief on Lena’s mouth just like Lena can feel her sincerity in her kisses.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lena Luthor.” her thumb trails along Lena’s bottom lip, cleaning her smudged lipstick from the sides of her mouth.

Lena Luthor stands, watching as Kara Danvers enters her apartment. She runs her tongue down her bottom lip, reveling in the taste of the blonde reporter, the proof that what transpired had been real. Lena turns, heading toward her car.

She slips inside and is about to start her vehicle until her phone buzzes in the cup holder.

A message from an unknown number.

She opens it hastily and isn’t the least bit disappointed when she reads Kara’s introduction. Lena saves her number, dutifully following Kara’s request as she types in Kara Danver’s contact name as Future Wife with hearts and all sorts of lovesick emoji’s around.

She screencaps the contact page, sending it to Kara, who immediately sends her an emoji blowing a heart.

Lena Luthor laughs, loud and carefree, knowing her life will never be the same.

All thanks to a stranger who was running from raccoons.