#like i have no idea what particular brand of freak he is yet but he definitely named himself that

[glitterslag]

I'm on episode 1 of mindhunter and it's already so funny. Like hey my name's classic-american-character classic-american-car and I'm from nowhere in particular. I like crimes a normal amount

[theodoranowak]

Theodora can only shrug at Terry’s condolences — it’s not in her nature to complain. Or maybe it is, and she’s just locked it away like most other things that would label her unfavorable or difficult, like her mother liked to refer to her as. “It’s not so bad,” she tells them, though truthfully, it’s terribly exhausting and unfathomably droll. “Sometimes the photographers are nice.” And sometimes they’re pig-headed freaks, but nobody benefits from that particular bit of information, so she keeps it to herself as she finishes preparing the bar top with all the nail essentials.

She takes Terry’s hand gingerly in hers and begins cleaning her nails with the necessary supplies, glancing up to offer them a puzzled smile. “Why wouldn’t I really want to know?” She asks, the concept of lying to Terry about her interest in what they were doing in town somewhat silly. Though she supposes she can’t really blame anyone for second-guessing her intentions, at times; she’s a notorious people-pleaser, and would, probably, ask anyone in a position of authority about their day or their life or anything of the sort simply to be polite and make a good impression. But that’s not the case with Terry — they’re her friend. She enjoys their company, just as she enjoys their long-winded explanations when it comes to answering questions they’re passionate about. Like this one, for example.

And the birds, too.

Theodora listens intently as she finishes cleaning Terry’s first hand, inspecting their nails to decide whether or not they’d need to be filed. Concluding that they are fine as they are (and she isn’t really sure Terry would appreciate the filing down of their nails, anyway), she reaches for the cuticle stick next to her and begins working. “I thought Micah was only here for the summer?” She follows up as she works. “You think he’s thinking about staying longer?” She feels her brows furrow in concentration as she moves to shape the next cuticle. “Teaching, though, that’s exciting,” she glances up at Terry with a grin. “I bet you’ll do great. Do you think I could sit in on a lecture some time?” She asks, quite serious. “I enjoy hearing you talk about architecture. Makes me appreciate the ugly buildings more,” she jokes. 

Bird collisions. God, she learned something new every day. “That sounds—” she makes a face as she finishes shaping the first hand’s cuticles. “Glum.” She reaches for the nail polish, starts rubbing it between her hands to warm it up. “The bird collision thing, I mean. Happy to know some things are being done about it,” she adds quickly. “I had no idea it was such a big issue.” To be fair, she’s not sure most people know it’s such a big issue, except for Terry and the people Terry clearly associates with. She doesn’t feel too bad for not knowing about it, though there’s still the smallest pang of guilt for not caring enough about birds to be aware of this, because it’s who she is as a person.

When she finishes rubbing the nail polish, she opens it gently and begins applying the base coat to Terry’s index finger. “Saul didn’t have to do much convincing,” she admits. “I kinda — asked him if I could join the firm,” she smiles up at them sheepishly. “I got tired of putting up with my dad. And my brothers. And Cory Monsen, the brand new partner at Nowak, Nowak, Nowak and Monsen,” she rolls her eyes. “God forbid we added a fourth Nowak to the door. That might’ve been overkill.” She notes the bitterness in her tone and feels a little embarrassed for it — she’s trying her best not to care. And yet, sometimes, it’s very clear to her she doesn’t know how to stop caring, that her family does not care for her at all. “New York was starting to feel — big,” she admits, moving on to the next finger. “And lonely.”

The cadence of Theo’s words had a subtle, dissonant rhythm about them that caught their attention. It’s soon followed by a smile that had very little mirth, at which point Terry’s brows furrowed in concern. “None of what you said sounds very appealing,” they said, if a bit candidly, “I’m sorry to hear it.” They couldn’t pretend to understand it, this strata of wealth where every decision one made was amplified and was continuously cast against public scrutiny. But they did understand the virtues of disappearing, when aimlessness itself became logical, legs bearing the weight and letting them carry you forward, without want or agenda—one that appeared to be virtually impossible in Theo’s context. 

Terry deliberated for a moment before choosing the bourbon, now half-empty. “Sorry, I know it’s strong. I just want to get rid of the bottle,” they said, stretching out their arm to retrieve the bourbon and to fill their glasses. Once they were both half-filled, Terry rested their right arm on the countertop and waited as Theo busied themselves with further preparations. They watched her intently, finding it all a fascinating exercise, this act of yielding a part of yourself to the whims of the world, branching out. 

“Oh, do you really want to know?” They said, biting the inside of their cheek to stifle their enthusiasm. “It’s a little bit of everything. Micah, for one.” Micah, for everything. “A teaching stint, for another. I’ve sat on some architectural juries for some time now, and my credentials are fair—” Terry pursed their lips, wondering if they ought to elaborate, but it had never been in their nature to boast, and anyway, their firm was inherently collaborative despite them being serving long as its head. The greatest thing about an architectural career was that, by nature, the buildings spoke and stood for themselves. “—but on the chances I’ll fully transition into teaching, I’d need to build experience.” 

And, as for birds— “I don’t have an official membership for Illinois’s local Audubon chapter yet, but I do talk online with a few of their members. Some academics, too. I like talking with them, they understand what it’s like,” they replied, a smile breaking through their features. “I think they view me as an enemy—bird collisions with buildings is a real problem—and Chicago, in particular, has a lot of mass collisions.” They settled their left hand on her thigh, tapping their fingers rapidly against their thigh, against the grounding denim fabric of their jeans. “I usually temper their worries when I tell them of the work the firm does for bird conservation, from window treatments, designing buildings with fritted glass, to lights out legislations during the spring and fall migrations, to—anyway, that's not the point.” Their eyes darted around, drawing their attention back to something else, back to—

“Why did you move down here?” They narrowed their eyes, curious and concerned, watching for any microexpressions that might betray anything in her face. It was not always easy. “I can’t imagine it’s all for work—you can pick that up anywhere.” It was hard to imagine anyone of Theo’s stature or merit as wanting for any opportunity. “Was my ex-husband just that persuasive?”

[thefanficmonster]

Casual

Ranboo x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None, unless talking about the future counts

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Following the arrival of the dreadful invitation to his cousin’s wedding Ranboo turns to the only cover-up he can think of to keep his still-single status hidden from his family.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your wonderful request! I’m so glad you sent your idea to me and I’m so glad you were my first official Ranboo request. I’m really sorry it’s taken me so long to write it but I still hope you’ll come across it and read it! Love, Vy ❤

“Heyyy, so Y/N, I have a favor to ask you...um yeah, call me back, it’s awkward sending it via voicemail. Bye“

Huh - that’s the first thought that goes through my head when I listen to the voicemail left after a missed call from my best friend Ranboo. The favors he usually asks for consist of requesting assistance for his videos in which I also appear with a mask and sunglasses to keep the brand running. I genuinely have nothing against my face being shown but when I think about it, I’m honestly a bit glad people can’t identify me.

Anyways, back to the favors, Ranboo is no stranger to asking me for them but they’ve never been considered too awkward for a voicemail which is why I’m no slightly concerned. I’ve been swamped with work for school and studies for the graduation finals for the past two weeks and it seems like I’ll never get on top of it and I know Ranboo’s been in a similar situation too, so maybe he needs help with that? He’s not used to asking help for school stuff, he sometimes even has a hard time accepting it when I openly offer it to him.

I eventually sigh, decide that playing this guessing game will not get me anywhere and settle on giving him a call as I make my way home from the gym with my legs barely putting up with the task of carrying me around.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey! Wh-...“

“Would you pretend to be my girlfriend for my cousin’s wedding next weekend?!“

My legs take that opportunity to stop moving in the middle of the sidewalk which is luckily void of any people at the moment. It’s not my fault my body’s first reaction was to freeze up at the question that came flying at me like an out-of-control jet, almost as though he’s been dying to say it and get it over with.

“Um...run that by me again please, I think I misunderstood.“ I say, blinking blankly as though awoken from a fever dream. No, actually as though I’m IN a fever dream right now.

“Ok, now that the cat’s out of the bag, wanna grab some coffee and talk about it face-to-face. I need to see your facial expressions to gauge what response to expect.“ He says, the previous nervousness gone and his voice calm as regularly once again.

I’m this close to face-palming but I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and bring myself to utter a reply, “Our usual spot. Be there in ten minutes.”

                                                             *  *  *

“No freaking way.“ I shake my head, folding my arms over my chest as I lean back in my seat in the booth we picked when we arrived. Good thing I got an iced coffee cause even a hot one would’ve gone cold by now considering I haven’t yet taken the time to have even a sip of it. I’ve been too busy listening to the long and short of the explanation and begging speech Ranboo probably made last night to try and convince me to agree to this nonsense. “Dude, we’ve been friends since middle school-...“

“Exactly! Who else was I gonna ask?“ He cuts me off, pleading gaze meeting my unimpressed one.

I huff before continuing my previous statement, “We’ve been friends since middle school so you know my opinion on weddings.” I put extra emphasis on the word ‘opinion’, giving him the clear hint at the distaste I’ve expressed on the topic multiple times before.

“And you know we’re on the same page there but there’s no way I can avoid going unless someone kidnaps me.“ He too now gets in the same stance as me, his coffee forgotten too.

I can’t help but snort out a little laugh, “I’d be more than happy to kidnap you considering the other option is far less appealing to me.“

He, of course, rolls his eyes at me as though he didn’t offer to do the same thing so I could avoid an exam but anyways. “So you’re gonna choose to fake a kidnapping that has the potential of landing you in jail over coming to eat some great food and maybe even have some fun at a wedding with your best friend? I’m hurt.“ He says, frowning to cover up the smile that’s fighting its way onto his face.

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes, “I’d be kidnapping you, dummy...” I cut myself off to let out a long sigh and calm down before I go off at him. His smirk isn’t helping me much with the task either. I’ve known Ranboo long enough to know he’ll eventually convince me and he’s known me long enough to know how to do that exactly. With that in mind, there’s really no point in getting so worked up and wasting my energy. And so, despite my own rationality, I cave. “Fine, but I’m not staying the whole wedding.“

His eyes immediately light up and almost makes me feel the compromise was worth it. Almost. I mean, when you’ve been best friends with someone for so long, seeing them happy is worth more to you than your own comfort sometimes.

And he knows it too. Which is exactly why he outstretches his hand for me to shake and says: “Just one dance and you’re free to go. Deal?”

I take his hand without hesitations. That’s a better offer than I could’ve ever imagined. “Damn straight it’s a deal.“

                                                            *  *  *

“How long until you kick the heels off?“ Ranboo asks, bringing me a non-alcoholic cocktail and sitting down next to me.

I take a sip and giggle, “You kidding? I already kicked them off and replaced them with flats. I need mobility if we dance. They also lower the risk of me severing off a toe of yours if I step on you on accident.”

He laughs, clinking his glass against mine before he gets a bit more serious, “By the way, thanks for handling my family’s attack so well. I know it might’ve been a bit much but you handled it like a pro. Still, I’m sorry on their behalf.”

I shake my head and wave my hand dismissively, “Don’t mention it. I’d probably react the same way if my brother or cousin brought a date to an important family event like this.” I instinctively turn to look in the direction of where the majority of his family has gathered around, chatting with guests, smiling brightly. It’s hard not to immediately take a liking towards these people. They’ve been a second family to me ever since Ranboo and I started hanging out so I completely understand why they were so shocked to see me in the role of his ‘girlfriend’.

“I’ll tell my parents the truth later, our extended family is the ones I wanted to fool to be perfectly honest.“ He looks around as do I and we catch more than a few pairs of eyes fixated on us that turn away when they realize they’ve been spotted, “Mission accomplished by the looks of it.“

I chuckle. I’ve never felt so comfortable at a wedding before. I don’t feel stressed nor anxious despite knowing that there’s quite the number of eyes on me and there are whispers going around about my ‘relationship’ with Ranboo. It’s oddly calming and relaxing to be surrounded by some familiar and some unfamiliar faces. This cocktail is pretty great too.

Speaking of which, if it had any alcohol in it I’d blame it for the decision I’m about to make but this one’s entirely on me: I tap Ranboo with one hand while taking out my phone with the other. “If we’re already the talk of the wedding, let’s give them something to talk about.“ I say as I put up my phone, pretending to be taking a selfie leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

When I pull away I can clearly see that he’s still processing what just happened. I can’t help but burst out in a fit of laughter as I reach out to wipe the lipstick stain I left on his cheek. He looks like a lost, clueless puppy with the question: ‘what on Earth just happened???’ replaying in his head and it’s so freaking cute!

Wait....what was that? Since when do I use the adjective cute to describe Ranboo? Didn’t I think he looks handsome in a suit earlier too? The hell is with me today?

Then it hits me - the feeling isn’t foreign. Like, I know I’ve felt it before but I never analyzed it or even bothered to acknowledge it. But now that I do, I’m afraid of what it might be.

“There!“ I say, desperately trying to push the thoughts away along with this little firework show in my stomach, “Now you have pinker cheeks. Well, cheek, singular.“

As if snapping out of his state of confusion, he returns to Earth with a smirk, “Kiss the other to even it?”

Alright, his blush might not be even but mine now is and it’s ten times as intense and very much apparent but I don’t let the feeling shine through anything else as I proceed to actually kiss his other cheek too, wiping the lipstick stain.

“Thanks. You’re the best.” And just like that, as though it’s no big deal, he kisses my forehead.

See, that’s the thing, it shouldn’t be a big deal! It’s never been! This is far from the first time I’ve kissed him on the cheek or the first time he’s given me a forehead kiss. These are regular occurrences after years of this lovely friendship we have. Why do they feel so different now?

Then, much to my relief, the music starts and the lights turn off leaving only one spotlight for the groom and bride to have their first dance. They look absolutely astonishing and I can certainly say I’ve never before stopped to think that about any newly weds of the weddings I’ve preciously been to. I don’t know if it has something to do with the company I have for this particular wedding or it’s maybe the fact that my mindset’s changed over the years without me realizing.

Then I automatically look at Ranboo who just so happens to be looking at me too and all I can say is: my mindset hasn’t changed.

A loud applause takes over when the couple finish their dance, officially opening the dancefloor for any other pairs who’d like to occupy it and I’m happy to see how many people are eager to rush up with their partner.

 Ranboo gets up, putting the glass down and offers me his hand, “So, wanna dance? Don’t take this as a sign to leave though, we said one dance and you CAN leave, not SHOULD.” He says, giving me a warning look.

I roll my eyes and am about to give him some sass right back but he takes my hand and picks me up from my seat, leading me to the dancefloor.  And I gotta admit maybe it’s a good thing he did. If he left it to me I would’ve probably said no to the dance and ran the hell away. Why? - Cause I’m freaking terrified of this new mindset and point of view and these intense emotions I never used to pay any mind to before in regards to my best friend.

Friends don’t feel that way about friends. Friends don’t look at friends that way. What’s happening to me?

When I gotta look him in the eyes like this, not for the first time might I add, I can finally understand how the friends-to-lovers trope works: it’s all meaningless until it starts to mean so much to you. It’s all platonic until it reminds you of a romantic movie moment. It ‘best friends’ until it’s ‘I wish we were more than that’. It’s all casual, until it’s not.

And, unfortunately, it’s irreversible.

Damn do I wish I ran away now...

[thevindicativevordan]

On Kong Kenan/Super-Man

It should've been him. He should've been the Superman of 5G/Future State/right now not Jon, and he should be the one getting an HBO Max series not Val. Hell he should be getting a movie!

God this dude is literally the best legacy character Superman has ever gotten, wholly his own person with his own lore and status quo while still building on the idea of "Superman". I am so pissed at DC for essentially just dropping him after his ongoing ended, what the hell Lee? You keep trying to make the Wildstorm characters happen, I need you to get my man Yang another Kenan book.

Have to admit I was a bit nervous at first about whether or not Kenan would be a worthwhile character. Yang's New 52 Superman run had been a disappointment to me overall, with only the the arc where Superman has underground wrestling matches against forgotten gods really sticking with me. Now he was introducing a brand new Superman? Didn't feel like he had "earned" that yet. But from the first issue I was hooked on this new character.

Kenan was unlike any other member of the Superfamily. He wasn't kind or sweet, he was an asshole! He was a bully! He was fantastic! Right from the start Kenan was set up to undergo a very different kind of character journey than the other members of the Superfamily. Empathy, humility, respect for people weaker than himself, these are all traits most heroes wearing the S-shield already posses by the time they first don the crest, but not Kenan.

Like all bullies he was even a bit of a coward himself at first, trying to bail on the experiment meant to give him Superman's powers right as it begins. After "saving" Lixin (the kid he bullies and steals lunch from every day) from Blue Condor he demands all the money Lixin has on him as payment. He's not courageous or selfless either at the start, Kenan is as much of an opposite of Superman as you can get short of being Bizarro. Learning the appeal of these traits formed the basis for his growth over the course of his series.

Seeing Yang bring in a lot of recognizable "Superman" elements in the series, but with a twist, was also great. Kenan is the one who bullies "Luo Lixin" rather than the traditional Clark/Lex friendship of Pre-Crisis and Birthright. Initially Kenan develops a crush on intrepid reporter for Primetime Shanghai, Laney Lan, but she dismisses him as too young and Kenan eventually ends up pursuing Avery Ho (Flash) instead. Baxi the Bat-Man of China has a similar relationship with Kenan as the traditional Superman/Batman in terms of being vitriolic best buds, however Baxi is the one who has the most respect for authority while Kenan is the rebel. Kenan is a part of the "Justice League of China" which does not meet with the approval of the already established Chinese superheroes, the Great Ten. That contrasts nicely with the good relationship the Justice Society and Justice League have, as well as seeing Yang lampshade the "Chinese copy" trope and incorporate that into his storytelling.

One of the funniest differences is how Kenan chooses to immediately reveal his identity as Super-Man to the world by taking off the compliance visor he was forced to wear, contrasting with Clark's choice to hide his identity. He was so eager to impress people that he never gave any thought to the danger he could put himself or his family in by revealing his identity until it was too late, something Clark is well aware of and has taken great pains to keep his identity secret. Was a missed opportunity for DC to have Kenan comment on Clark copying him for once when he outed himself under Bendis.

But one of the most poignant differences between Clark and Kenan is the gulf in separation between their relationship with their parents. Clark has a loving relationship with Ma and Pa Kent, trying to live up to their lessons as best he can. In contrast Kenan's mom was believed to have died in an airplane crash when he was just a child, and he never really knew her. His father was distant from him after that and the two weren't really close despite Kenan's attempts to impress him. So Kenan lacks that strong connection while still clearly loving both of them.

Pa Kent's death is one of the most tragic examples of Clark's love for his parents, and I've always been a fan of takes where Clark promises his father to fight for the powerless on Pa's deathbed. Kenan gets a similar scene at the start of his career, his dad "dies" (after being exposed as Flying General Dragon, a pro-democracy "supervillain" from the Chinese authorities perspective) and wants Kenan to promise he'll fight for Truth, Justice, and Democracy. But because Kenan's dad never really bonded with him, Kenan doesn't know what those mean, and can only promise that he never wants to see people die, something his father takes comfort in at least. In classic comic book fashion it's revealed that Dr. Omen, Kenan's "boss" and the one who gave him his powers, saved Kenan's father, because she is Kenan's mother! Kenan's relationship with his parents forms a lot of the crux of his character arc, and seeing how Yang utilizes the classic Superman concept of family kept the storytelling exciting.

Yang's brilliant exploration of the concept of "Superman" through the prism of Chinese culture was a great way to differentiate Kenan as well.

I absolutely freaking love how he tied to the concept of Qi to the S-shield in particular. Connecting the shape of the shield with the way Kenan has acquired his powers along the path of the Bagua (eight trigrams used in Taoism that represent the fundamental principles of reality), with his octagon S-shield outline representing all eight principles together, was mindblowing! So was the idea of restricting Kenan's access to his powers unless he was actually acting in a Superman manner, that tied his character growth to his power growth in an entertaining manner. There were so many characters and concepts that meshed Chinese and DC lore together, like how Emperor Super-Man was Kenan's "Doomsday", they even recreated that iconic dual kill shot! The Chinese Wonder Woman Peng Deilan, being based on the Chinese Legend of the White Snake! There was even some Korean mythology referenced with the Aqua-Man member of the JLC "Dragonson".

Yang also managed to do a Superman Blue/Superman Red story with Super-Man Yin/Super-Man Yang!

Shameful that it took me a while to realize what Gene Yang was doing but once I caught on I was touched. You can tell how much Yang loved Superman and his mythology, and how he was excited to incorporate as much from Clark as he could, while still using it in a way that was solidly Kenan's. And not just Superman's mythology, but the history and lore of the entire DC Universe. I-Ching got to be brought in, fleshed out, and used as Kenan's mentor! The "Yellow Peril" villain from Detective Comics #1, the comic DC gets its name from was brought in and revamped as I-Ching's twin brother All-Yang! Hats off to Yang for taking a racist caricature and attempting to make him into something more.

This series was a beautiful attempt by Gene Yang to build a space for Asian heroes and villains where they could be more than stereotypes, Kenan himself being a defiant mold-breaker in every regard as the complete opposite of most Asian characters in Western media (a jock, a bully, loves his dad but not on great terms with him, a powerhouse as a hero, etc). So much thought and hard work was poured into this by Yang and his team of artist collaborators.

Especially the costumes, man Kenan had so many great looks. From his starting outfit (which is my favorite Superman variant not worn by Clark himself), to the one with the Yin/Yang shield he acquired later on, to his Super-Man Yin & Super-Man Yang outfits, Kenan looked damn cool. Part of me is bummed they didn't go with the Chinese character shield they toyed around with, but I loved how Yang used the "s-shield" as a plot point, so I'm not too broken up over it.

All that great work Yang did to build that space up has been more or less forgotten sadly. It was nice to see Kenan in the DC Asian Month Celebration issue. Avery is going to be in Justice Incarnate at least (unsurprising considering she was created by Williamson). So fucking bummed that Superman Family Adventures cartoon didn't happen, they were going to have Kenan and John Henry Irons in it! Would've been a dream come true for me to see Irons in animation again, and Kenan making the jump to outside media! Maybe that would've encouraged DC to let Yang keep writing New Super-Man, or at least encouraged them to use him elsewhere instead of allowing him fall into Limbo.

Unfortunately I'm not sure what the future holds for Kenan. Jon is being pushed as Clark's replacement in the comics, with DC keeping all the other contenders such as Kon benched. Calvin is leading the Justice Incarnate team likely due to the upcoming Coates reboot that will make Clark black. Val will probably get something once Taylor leaves Jon's book or once they officially announce the HBO Max show is happening. So where does that leave Kenan, my new favorite PoC legacy hero? Currently my only hope is that Yang is working on something for DC involving him. Yang left Batman/Superman, where I was hoping to see a Baxi/Kenan team up, to go work on "exciting other opportunities" per his Twitter. So fingers crossed that there's something in the works for Kenan!

One day I hope he gets his day in the sun again.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Suicide Squad Team A

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS! Seriously, as soon as you click that read more, you’re gonna be smacked with SPOILERS! Don’t say I didn’t give you ample warning this time!)

The world’s in danger yet again, and Amanda Waller is in need of some expendable forces to take on some dirty jobs in the name of preserving peace. Last time she did this, it seems like she hired the wrong people. Nice guy Will Smith Deadshot? Bland, boring Killer Croc? El Diablo, who became attached to a bunch of reprobates after spending a couple hours with them? The only one who was useful in that squad was Katana. She had their backs, could cut all of them in half with one sword stroke just like mowing the lawn, and her sword traps the souls of its victims. Unfortunately, she was decidedly not expendable, so what is a girlboss like Waller to do?

Easy: Assemble a brand new squad of criminals to do the dirty work. Harley and Boomerang are the only ones she brought back, because let’s be real, they’re the only ones we give a damn about. Filling out the rest of the squad are the stoic, craggy crackshot Savant; the handsome, German spear-thrower Javelin; the alien warrior Mongal; the frothing, psychotic animal Weasel; the confident and all-powerful TDK; and Blackguard, who is literally just a guy. Together, this team gets deployed to Corto Maltese to do what no one else can do, and with skills like theirs, they are absolutely unstoppable!

They all fucking die before the opening credits.

Motivation/Goals: Considering the goal of the squad is to shave time off their prison sentences by going on the mission, it’s ostensibly the reason every single one of these goons accepted the job. Savant and Weasel are pretty well established in this regard; we get to focus on Savant for much of the opening, so we can get a sense of him, and Weasel is stated to have murdered no less than 27 children. So, yeah, they need to do this mission.

The rest, though? Who knows! Why are Mongal, Javelin, and TDK in prison? How did they even get an alien like Mongal? What did they do to land in the position they’d need to go on a suicide mission? Why doesn’t this movie have flashy, intrusive cards explaining everything to us in a throwaway gag in a montage?!

Blackguard, at least, has some other motivation. He sold out the entire squad to the military of Corto Maltese, which is why they’re ambushed. Now, there’s actually some ambiguity here: Did he do this of his own volition, and was this a complete surprise, or is it, as it is heavily implied, all part of Waller’s plan and she let this happen as a diversion for the other team to get in unnoticed?

Honestly, though, it doesn’t matter what their goals are. They’re all dead within five minutes of the movie starting, with one exception.

Performance: So, the reason these guys are even worth talking about is because, despite their minuscule screentime, all of their actors manage to cram in enough humor and characterization that they’re all pretty fun and likable. Michael Rooker is as stony and stoic as ever as Savant (until he hilariously isn’t), Flula Borg’s Javelin is really sweet and charming in his interactions with Harley, and Pete Davidson’s Blackguard is just amazingly douchey and pathetic. Special mention goes to Nathan Fillion’s TDK, who has an utterly endearing and unwavering faith in his astoundingly crappy ability to… detach his arms. It’s honestly kind of beautiful. Then there’s Weasel as portrayed by Sean Gunn, who is just a hilarious crackhead of an animal man.

Final Fate: Literally every single one of them die horribly thanks to Blackguard’s betrayal. He’s the first to go, because as soon as he walks out saying “Hey guys, it’s me, the one who contacted you!” he literally has his face blasted clean off. The rest go soon after. Mongal, in one of the most astounding moments of idiocy I’ve ever seen, leaps on a helicopter despite Rick Flag telling her specifically not to. Her weight and strength send it careening out of control, which leads to it shredding Captain Boomerang to bits before exploding, burning her alive as she painfully screams and writhes in agony. TDK gets his arms shot into Swiss cheese, leading to him bleeding out since even detached they still are part of him. Javelin is also shot, but gets a dying moment with Harley where he passes her Checkov’s Javelin. Finally, after witnessing all of this carnage, Savant completely loses his shit and tries to swim away, leading to Waller blowing his head up.

You may be wondering what happened to Weasel. He appears to drown as soon as the Squad deploys, because despite being actually smart in this movie, Waller forgot to make sure everyone on the Squad could swim. Thankfully, this lovable child-murdering crackhead rodent was just sleeping, and wakes up in the first credit scene.

Best Scene: Obviously, it’s their one and only scene. It’s a magnificent slaughter that puts the X-Force scene from Deadpool 2 to shame.

Final Thoughts & Score: I’ve gotta hand it to James Gunn. Even though these losers are only onscreen for a few minutes, they all get to cram a lot of charm and personality into that time, to the point it’s actually kind of sad seeing them all die. It’s a beautiful mix of comedy and tragedy. Since their screentime is so limited, though, I’m mostly going to be grading them on style, performance, and so on rather than on villainy like normal. They are all bad guys, as they don’t really get a chance to redeem themselves like the other Squad, so I’m still counting them as villains, which means they could potentially score above an 8 (which is the highest score I’m willing to give heel-face turn villains, because they end up being better as characters in general than as villains).

I’m also not going to talk about Boomerang (I’ll talk about him when I review the original Squad) or Harley (because she not only lives, but deserves her own solo Psycho Analysis). Now here we go, from best to worst:

TDK

If you thought anyone but TDK would get top marks, you’re sadly mistaken. Seeing Nathan Fillion proudly wield the insanely lame power to detach his arms to lightly tap soldiers on the head and gently grab their guns is a sight I never knew I needed to see until this movie. The fact he just seems so darn proud about this power that he doesn’t even bother to use in any way that would be remotely useful is honestly really endearing. Frankly, the sheer fact they adapted Arms-Fall-Off Boy in any way is enough for me to give him a 10/10.

Weasel

Weasel is just disgustingly delightful. He’s just a horrible, nasty, ugly little bastard… But he’s kind of adorable? He clearly has no idea where he is at any given time and is just so goddamn freaky that I can’t help but love him. The fact that, despite being a character who in the comics is noteworthy only for dying on his first mission with the Squad, he manages to survive the entire movie is pretty impressive. Hopefully he comes back in the future, but either way he gets an 8/10 from me.

Javelin

Honestly, aside from Boomerang, his death stung the most. He’s just so cute and charming, and he doesn’t even get to fling his javelin at anyone! Thankfully, he passes it on to Harley, and boy does she ever get to use it! He’s so cute, I have to give him an 8/10. I just wish we got more of him.

Savant

Savant is just an absolutely hilarious bait-and-switch. We follow him through the prologue, with everything seeming to point to him as our main character and the Squad leader. He’s stoic, he’s cranky, and he has impeccable aim… and then we get to the beach and he just freaks the hell out and starts screaming and crying and running away like a little bitch. Seeing Michael Rooker act like he’s shitting his pants after playing a badass like Yondu is just the sort of hilarious subversiveness that James Gunn loves to do when you let him loose. The fact that he looks like, to paraphrase the TVTropes YMMV page for the movie, a “cyberpunk Tommy Wiseau” is the icing on this 7/10 cake.

Blackguard

I was prepared to hate this guy just based on how lame Pete Davidson’s costume was, and you know what? I do hate him. But I love to hate him. He’s just an utterly pathetic scoundrel and a coward, true to his name. The fact he is the first to die, as just about everyone predicted, and is killed absolutely gruesomely makes any annoyance he could provide moot, and his freeakout over being seated next to Weasel on the plane is actually kind of funny. I was originally going to give him a 6, but you know what? He can have a low 7/10. He’s like the only member of this particular Squad to actually do anything evil, so I gotta give him props for that.

Mongal

Let me make this perfectly clear: I do not blame James Gunn or actress Mayling Ng. I’m not actually mad at either of them for what they chose to do, because it is ultimately hilarious and sad. It suited the narrative of the film, and I’m not actually, genuinely mad.

With all that out of the way, Mongal is one hell of a stupid cunt. It is one thing to cause your own death with your stupidity, it is something else entirely to cause the death of a beloved character with your poorly planned attack. The fact she didn’t take into account how her weight and strength would effect an airborne helicopter makes one wonder if she is really supposed to be based on a character who can take on Superman and live to tell about it.

Let’s compare her to two similar characters to really show how bad she is. Like Blackguard, she is directly responsible for a death on the beach, Blackguard being responsible for everyone by selling them out and leading them into an ambush (and yes, I’m including him as well), and Mongal killing Boomerang with the chopper. The difference is, Blackguard’s betrayal was deliberate, he meant to sell the team out, he was actively doing something evil there, while Mongal killed Boomerang out of sheer idiocy.

Now, let’s compare her to Zeitgeist from the similar bloody massacre that occurred during X-Force’s deployment in Deadpool 2. Like Mongal, he accidentally kills a teammate. The difference is, in the case of Zeitgeist, he only accidentally melted Peter, it was a freak accident, and ultimately it does get undone by the end. Meanwhile, Mongal made a conscious, stupid decision and ended up killing her squadmate with her own idiocy. She sucks, hardcore. I don’t do this lightly, but I’m giving her a 1/10. Villains just don’t get much stupider than her.

I will giver her this, though: the makeup work on her is good. She’s lowkey kinda hot if I’m being honest. But being hot and having good makeup does not a good villain make.

[iheartbookbran]

Ok so actually my biggest problem with the whole “Daenerys will burn KL” theory—not even the Mad Queen Dany theory, which is of course very sexist for obvious reasons, but just like, the idea that Dany will ~accidentally~ ignite the wildfire in the city, burning it all to the ground. That, at first, doesn’t sound that bad, but the longer I think about it the more I hate it because tbh it doesn’t do anything for her character? And also… that fate for her is just down right cruel.

Like, the most frequent argument I see on why this would be at all satisfactory for Dany’s arc is basically that it would be a sort of lesson for her about the dangers of unchecked power and the real threat the Dragons can pose on humans and that she shouldn’t use them to fight against other people. And that’s all well and good, excellent message… except that’s not something Dany’s ever really needed to learn? Not anymore that her fellow rulers, which I will touch on more detail later, but in general Dany has seen what the abuse of power can do. Starting with her conflicting feelings regarding Viserys and how she recognizes that even though he was her brother and she loved him, he also abused his power over her as her older brother, her only family and her king; she feels guilt about the atrocities Drogo committed to the lhazarene and tries to help them; she feels so much guilt about not handling things correctly in Astapor that she decides to throw away all her plans to go to Westeros and instead stays in Meereen.

And about not knowing the true danger that her dragons can pose? I mean, this is the same girl that literally agonizes across several of her ADWD chapters because Drogon killed a child, and then takes the extreme measure of caging Rhaegal and Viserion to prevent that from ever happening again. I think she’s at least a little bit aware that the dragons can be dangerous, thank you very much.

Ok so this got long...

Anyways, the only time Dany legit uses Drogon to harm someone and not just as bluff was at the house of the Undying, where she was being attacked, and in Astapor… and like, lmao, that asshole Kraznys mo Nakloz and the rest of his slaver buddies deserved it. Don’t at me. Also, Dany’s hardly the only one with a big magical and deadly beast at her disposal, why didn’t Robb had to go through some horrifying traumatic incident to learn he shouldn’t use Grey Wind in battle to tear his enemies’ throats. Bran will be learning about the dangers of abusing power, but that’s linked to his magic powers and an actual reprehensible thing he’s doing, not the use of his glorified prehistoric dog to kill, which he’s done, just like Robb. By all means let the narrative hold Dany accountable for her mistakes… but her actual mistakes and not shit she has no control over, because she doesn’t have much control over Drogon or the other dragons even though she’s trying to, and that’s very obvious in her last ADWD chapter where she’s delirious and Drogon could kill her at any moment, and she knows that.

The other big argument people make for Dany burning KL (even if it’s by accident!) is that it will teach her about the price of war, that someone as young as her shouldn’t be leading armies and conquering kingdoms, and that fighting for the Iron Throne is not a worthy cause, and I feel like that misses the actual point of her story by a mile. First of all because a) Dany is hardly the only teenage ruler in the story and b) this is a fantasy medieval story, a lot of the characters shouldn’t be doing the things they do, aaaand yet. Also speaking of other teenage rulers with far more power that they should have—Robb and Jon, being the biggest examples.

Granted, Robb and Jon aren’t exactly successful during their time as rulers, they’re literally betrayed and killed by their own men (even if Jon will technically come back for round 2 of bullshit he’s too tired for). But the moral of their stories is not that they lost because theirs was an unworthy cause and they were stupid kids wholly unprepared for their roles. And I actually partially agree! They are just kids, including Dany, and they shouldn’t be responsible for looking after so many others and going to battle, but their cause is still just and worthy, even with all the mistakes they make along the way. Robb didn’t loose because he was wrong in demanding justice for his family or trying to protect the riverlands from the Lannisters and their minions, he lost because Tywin Lannister was a giant coward who couldn’t take him out in a fair fight.

Likewise, it isn’t wrong of Jon to try to incorporate refugees from beyond the Wall into Westeros. He’s not too stupid and honorable to do politics like his father (how I hate when people insult Jon and Ned like that), and while he did some very obvious mistakes that inevitably ended in a coup and in him dying, this is more connected to his inability to let go of his ties with his family (mainly Arya or who he believes to be her), and in isolating himself from his friends and the people he could actually trust.

I’ve always thought that Dany and Jon share a parallel narrative within the story, so while Jon is struggling with that Dany is faced with similar problems. She cages her dragons, that to her represent the only family she has left, and she tries to compromise with the slavers, marry a man she doesn’t love, pretend she’s ok with reopening the fighting pit. While she tries her best to rule wisely in Meereen, it all comes at the cost of betraying herself and her beliefs, so it’s no surprise when it all crashes around her and she’s betrayed and nearly killed. Ironically, it is Drogon who comes to rescue her.

If they are monsters, so am I.—Daenerys II, ADWD.

This is hands down one of my favorite Dany quotes from the whole series, and I hate that it’s been given such a negative connotation in the fandom, when for me it represents Dany’s humanity and compassion at the fullest.

GRRM has a knack for humanizing the ‘monsters’ of his story, for showing the good in the outcasts and the ugly and the scary. He embraces their ‘otherness’ and makes them the heroes of his stories; Arya, Bran, Brienne, Dany, Tyrion, Jon, Theon and many others are all compared to monsters or beasts at one point or another in the books.

Dany sees herself in her dragons, literal monsters in every sense of the word. Later on she faces Drogon inside the pit, and in that moment you could say that she accepts that ‘monstrous’ part of her, and in doing so she’s saved from her fate of dying at the hands of the men who would crucify innocent children and gleefully profit off of the suffering of their fellow human beings while watching them fight each other to the death for their own amusement. Now tell me who’s the real monster in this situation.

But shortly before that happens, Dany is able to see the humanity in Tyrion, an outcast who has been branded as monstrous and unlovable due to his disability all his life, a man who has come to believe in his abusers’ rhetoric about him so strongly that he’s started to act cruel and detached. She saves his life. She sees value in his life when few others would, because she cares.

I’ve always find it funny that the “dragons plant no trees” is—another—example fans use to argue in favor of Dany’s descent into Darkness™ because the actual scene goes like this:

You are a queen, her bear said. In Westeros.

"It is such a long way," she complained. "I was tired, Jorah. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl."

No. You are the blood of the dragon. The whispering was growing fainter, as if Ser Jorah were falling farther behind. Dragons plant no trees. Remember that. Remember who you are, what you were made to be. Remember your words.—Daenerys X, ADWD.

Now am I the only one who finds it at least a bit relevant that it’s freaking Jorah Mormont aka Jorah the Enslaver whom Dany’s subconscious, at her literal lowest moment, utilizes to represent this particular thought, which btw I’ve always interpreted as Dany’s own self-loathing manifesting in her, and this is something she’s actually always struggled with—the idea that she’s not enough and she’s failing. Because above all things, even Westeros or the Iron Throne, what Dany wants is peace, she wants to plant trees.

When Dany made her descent, Reznak and Skahaz dropped to their knees. "Your Worship shines so brightly, you will blind every man who dares to look upon you," said Reznak. […] This match will save our city, you will see."

"So we pray. I want to plant my olive trees and see them fruit." Does it matter that Hizdahr's kisses do not please me? Peace will please me. Am I a queen or just a woman?—Daenerys VII, ADWD.

But of course the world doesn’t work like that, and so long as there’s Jorahs and Tywins and Eurons out there, men who would take the freedom of humans and submit them to their will, Dany can’t have the luxury of peace, just like Jon can’t have the luxury of belonging and family so long as there’s people still beyond the Wall who need his protection.

And I think that’s fine. It’s fine that Dany failed, it will help her develop as a character and realize that there’s no room to compromise with slavers, the metaphorical monsters of the story who do far more harm than the other more literal ‘monsters’ of the story. So that when she has to face down Euron Greyjoy—who btw, there’s a high chance he will end up stealing one of Dany’s dragons via Victarion using Dragonbinder… y’know, as in enslaving one of her children and using said dragon to inflict god knows what horrors, yet not many people ever consider this for some reason?—she will know. When she has to face down the Others, the magical ice fairies with no regard for human life, she will know.

That’s why I believe that it would make absolutely no sense for Dany to have to go through such a tragic and traumatic experience like burning a whole city even by pure accident, over something that’s either never been a problem with her character or she’s well into her way of learning anyways, so it would just feel repetitive. As I have pointed out, she’s already reached one of the lowest moments of her arc. Not saying there will be no other blows for her, and probably the destruction of KL will be one of them, and knowing Dany she will feel responsibility over it no matter what, but that doesn’t mean she has to be the culprit, intentional or otherwise.

[itsapapisongo]

Soul Nemeses! | WINWIN

Starring: Winwin ft. Hendery

Genre: Comedy | Superhero

Concept: Supervillain!Winwin (The Lobe) | Superhero!Hendery (Freakazoid)

Word Count: 2,786

Prompts: “Stop screaming, it’s just me.” + “I don’t think that’s legal, but we can work around it.”

Notes: The following is (1) an absurd short-story for the @ficscafe’s dialogue prompt event and (2) a writing exercise to get into a headspace where I can be as silly as possible. Freak Out! is a story I’m very excited for and this was a way to explore the characters and their dynamic. So, without further ado, I genuinely hope you enjoy this VERY SPECIAL EPISODE of Freak Out!

Taglist: @stayinzencity @mother-hyucker @lebrookestore @doievoir @du0tine @naptaemed

All is well in Way City.

Which is to say it’s really not and something is about to happen to disrupt that all-is-well feeling across town. Because a day can’t go by without some burglar, mad scientist, or supervillain indulging in their burglary, mad science, or super-evil shenanigans.

Thus we turn our attention to a deserted, discolored, and depressing city landmark: The Daebak Fair. Once it used to be the kind of place that burst with laughter and excitement, where money flowed every weekend and kept the owners’ pockets heavy and full. People couldn’t get enough of it until, well, they got enough of it.

So much so that it became free real estate for any villain that felt like using the abandoned fair as their lair. This changed, however, when Winwin decided he didn’t feel like sharing. He bought the place, and officially made it his holiday lair. And it’s here that our story takes place.

What once used to be a house of mirrors is now a workplace where a plethora of patented inventions specifically designed for destruction are built, reserved-engineered, dismantled, and kept out of his rivals’ hands.

With all the bells and whistles removed, the lair is quite spacious. Having decorated the place himself, Winwin has hung stolen paintings all over the walls and set tables for dissection, welding, engineering, and even, if he was ever in the mood, arts and crafts. The whole thing has Mad Scientist meets Bob Ross vibes and it’s both odd and endearing.

Winwin is currently dismantling his latest invention—a large crane-looking thingie fitted on the roof a modified golf-cart—out of boredom and frustration after being foiled once again by that red-wearing, annoying, ne’er-do-well freak of a nemesis.

“I can’t believe him,” Winwin grumbles, shaking his head for the nth time. Seeing as he’s alone, he says this to no one in particular. “I craft the perfect plan and he finds a way to thwart it!”

Who would have thought that Freakazoid would have convinced him that creating a gas capable of turning people into clown zombies to do his bidding would be the stupidest  masterplan ever? Winwin felt like he was failing as a villain, not challenging his nemesis enough. He had wondered then and still wonders now if he’s losing it, if he’s gone soft yet he knows he’s not, knows he hasn’t.

So why does this recent defeat grind his gears? Why has Freakazoid gotten to him? Though Winwin knew not to take their rivalry seriously, he sometimes did. It’s standard hero-villain stuff—to hurl insults and humiliate one another—yet something felt off.

He stops working and thinks back to their encounter.

CUT TO: HOURS AGO, IN A COLD, TALL, AND VAGUELY EUROPEAN MOUNTAIN

“Well, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Freakazoid had said, hanging off the side of a snowy cliff, for their confrontation had taken place in a cold, tall, and vaguely European mountain. With an impressive leap and a landing, he stood in front of Winwin and pointed a finger at him. “That’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard of! People don’t like clowns, dummy! People are terrified of clowns! Ever heard of It?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—’tis a good plan!”

Freakazoid rolled his eyes, scoffing.“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh,” Winwin replied, feeling instant regret for lowering himself to his nemesis’ childish argumentative skills. “It’s a brilliant plan!”

“No, it’s dumb, dumb, dumb!”

And then they debated like adults for a minute or two—

(“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.”)

—until Freakazoid clicked his tongue and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Pack it up, big brain,” he told him, not unkindly but definitely disappointed.

“Why should I? I already have a small zombie army at my disposal.”

“Small clown zombie army at your disposal.”

Winwin groaned in exasperation. “Yes, yes, that.”

“You’re doing this out here in the middle of nowhere. There aren’t even that many people around so I wouldn’t call it an army. I’d call it a small terrifying crowd.”

“Oh.”

Freakazoid nodded and crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side. “Did you even think this through?”

Winwin suddenly found himself speechless. Genuinely and anxiously speechless. He didn’t have an answer other than “I don’t know” and he hated resorting to admitting he didn’t know anything. He was the most brilliant supervillain in all of Way City—the Lobe, some called him—and admitting ignorance was (1) not on brand for him and (2) his worst nightmare.

“I don’t—I’m not sure—I—”

“Alright, you.” Freakazoid shook his head and gently guided him away by his elbow. “Pack it up. Get out of here.”

“But—”

“No butts, not tiddies, not ding-a-lings,” said the hero, his pout a judgemental feature in his face. “I expected a lot more from you. Clown zombies? Aiya.”

“I—” Winwin’s eyes widened and he felt them welling up with tears. “You’re right. I think I’m overdoing it. I might be overtired. It’s the best I could do on such short notice.”

“Turn off the cloud.”

And so he did. Winwin turned to see Freakazoid—lean, clad in red, black domino mask concealing his identity, his insignia that of F and an exclamation point on his chest, his black hair, slicked back as always, haswhite streak in the shape of a bolt across it—grimacing back at him. For a second, Winwin thought he could hear the world’s tiniest violin play a sad tune for himself as he pouted and got on the modified golf-cart he’d driven around the mountain to spread the gas around.

“Hey, big brain,” he heard Freakazoid call after him, the hero’s voice distant. He noticed it had softened somewhat. “It’s a dumb plan but I know you can do better.”

“Thanks, Freakazoid,” Winwin mumbled as his nemesis gave him a thumbs-up.

The moment was ruined the moment the idiot in red opened his mouth again—

“Now, git!”

CUT TO: NOW, BACK TO WINWIN’S LAIR

“Can’t believe I cried in front of him,” Winwin says, cringing.

“Yeah, me neither,” says a familiar voice.

Startled, Winwin squeals then yelps. A wrench flies off his hand as he falls off four feet to the ground and lands squarely on his bottom. He groans, and feels the back of his head throbbing. Opening his eyes, he blinks once, twice, thrice until he makes out the unmistakable silhouette of his nemesis looking down at him. Freakazoid couches and leans in so close, Winwin can feel his breath against his forehead.

“Stop screaming,” the hero says, “it’s just me.”

“Stop scream—are you serious? You nearly gave me a heart attack, you imbecile!”

“I know but that’s no reason to scream your lungs out.” Freakazoid offers his right hand and a half-smile. “Time to go upsies, big brain.”

Winwin glares, refusing the offer for help. “I don’t need your—” he begins but is cut off when he’s lifted off the floor. It’s both rough and gentle, in that he feels he’s taken several tight turns in a roller coaster without whiplash and is suddenly standing upright without imbalance. “Thank you.”

Freakazoid waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t mention it.”

“I won’t.” Winwin scoffs then wags a firm finger in a gesture of warning. “Nor shall you mention that I cried all the way up there in those cold, tall, and vaguely European mountains.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Freakazoid raises a hand, making a gesture that’s supposed to imply his discretion. He frowns then tilts his head with a shrug. “I mean I would dream of it so I might come up. Like, cards on the table, I might tell some of my dream friends about it.”

A beat as Winwin glares, turns to a camera that’s not there, and rolls his eyes.

“Are you quite finished?”

“No, not really—”

Winwin sighs and turns, picking up the wrench he dropped and returning to his work. “Why are you here, Freakazoid?” he asks, his voice laced with despondency.

“Oh,” is all Freakazoid manages to say. Winwin hears him clear his throat and take a step forward. “About that. I came to apologize, big brain. Didn’t mean to be, well, mean to you. It’s just that—” he pauses and the villain can practically see him shrugging. “—I think I’ve been a bit overworked too.”

“Was it your idea to apologize or was it Sgt. Qian’s?”

“That’s neither near or far.”

Winwin groans, doing his best to not roll his eyes or rub his face. “Neither here or there,” he corrects him.

“Exactamundo!”

“Did you come here to aggravate me?”

Freakazoid deflates, looking forlorn for a second before he clears his throat and the usual and insufferable aura of confidence that encompasses his very being returns. He smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck.

“Come on, big brain, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s just that—” Freakazoid groans, throwing his head back like a teeanger not wanting to admit he’s responsible for some wrongdoing. “—it was such a good plan!”

Winwin’s eyes widen as he takes a step forward and squeezes Freakazoid’s shoulders. “Come again?” he queries. “It was a good plan?”

“I mean—duh!—zombies I can handle but clowns? Geez. Ugh. No. Nightmare fuel.”

“So you did like it?”

“Like it? No, bud, I absolutely, definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, love it. Let me tell you, Lobe, it’s—” Freakazoid motions he’s kissing his fingers then wiggles his left hand as if to say mamma mia. “— diabolical.”

Winwin feels warmth spread across his cheeks and immediately clears his throat, looking away to avoid giving Freakazoid any satisfaction or a glimpse at his embarrassment. He laser-focuses on taking apart a component from the machine, cautious not to tinker much with the cylinder that contains the clown zombie gas, and pretends he’s not giddy with excitement and validation.

Then, just as he’s going to turn and give him his thanks, Freakazoid open his mouth and yet again ruins the moment—

“It’s diabolical, but stupid.”

Winwin mutters angrily under his breath, every fiber of his being urging him to reach for that knock-out gas he’d been working on for the past few days—or, perhaps, that disintegrating rifle that has been gathering dust for God knows how long—yet relents when he sees the look of concentration in Freakazoid’s face. The hero looks like he’s seriously considering why he feels Winwin’s plan was, in his words, diabolical but stupid.

And the villain, overwhelmed with both anger and vile curiosity, crosses his arms, taps his foot, and grits his teeth.

“Go on . . .”

“It’s—how to put this lightly?—immensely stupid yet awesomely evil in that you didn’t think it through but it has potential to really ruin my day if done correctly.” Freakazoid throws his arm around Winwin’s shoulder, pulling him close. “See what I mean, old chump?”

“You and I are not chumps.”

Freakazoid gasps and pouts, dramatically putting a hand on his chest. “And here I was thinking you were my nemesis,” he whispers in a low, wheezing voice. “I thought we were soul-nemeses.”

“I mean—” Winwin blushes again and his eyes widen the second he realizes Freakazoid notices his blushing. “We are nemeses, yes, but we are definitely not chumps.”

“Could we ever be chumps?”

Winwin sighs, rolling his eyes. “I believe so.”

“Ah, big brain, I knew you cared!”

“Yes, yes, caring.” The villain nods and pushes his nemesis off himself, “You’ve apologized, insulted me yet again, and tried to be my, as you say, chump. I believe that’s enough banter for a day.”

“Touché.” Freakazoid smiles. “I’ve made plenty of shameless jokes at your expense today.”

“And I’m certain they won’t be the last.”

“You know me,” the hero blinks, pointing a thumb at himself. He glances at the contraption built on the roof of the modified golf-cart and a glint of curiosity and mischief appears in his eyes. Despite wearing a domino mask, Freakazoid could be inexplicably expressive. “Whatcha up to?”

“Dismantling this heap of scrap metal.” Winwin turns so fast that it’s impossible for Freakazoid not to notice the frustration apparent in his face. He smacks the wrench against the roof of the cart and winces when it slips out of his hand. “Damn it.”

“Here, let me help,” Freakazoid offers, guiding Winwin away from the cart. “I need some space.”

Before Winwin can protest, a gust of wind pushes him back. He blinks to see nothing but a blur of motion and a shower of white sparks moving around the golf cart. It’s so fast that he glimpses at Freakazoid’s silhouette twice before the hero stands next to him, wiping his hands with a dirty rag. It reminds Winwin of a mechanic finishing up a check-up on a car in desperate need of maintenance.

“There.” The hero throws the rag over his shoulder. “Doneso.”

“How did you—” Winwin blabbers, flabbergasted at how thorough Freakazoid had been. Every piece is laid on a table that hadn’t previously been there, each component perfectly classified, and all the parts that were supposed to be tossed away neatly put on a trash bag. “How’s that possible?”

“Come on, brainy,” Freakzaoid scoffs, clapping Winwin in the back and making him yelp and glare at him. “We’ve been at this for a while now. If I can think of it, I can do it.”

“That’s not a very reassuring thought.”

For a second, Freakazoid’s smile disappears and a haunted look passes through his eyes. “I know,” he whispers ominously. Then he’s flashing that bright and infuriating smile of his as nothing has happened. “Anyways, I gots to get going.”

That stops Winwin dead on his tracks. Usually, after some crime-spree or being foiled and getting away, Freakazoid would burst in wherever Winwin was currently laying low on, say his cheesy heroic lines, and promptly deliver him to the authorities—which was always, without fail, to Sgt. Qian—and they would call it a night.

Here he is, apologizing, acting like Winwin hadn’t enacted yet another brilliant and evil plan—even though he had deemed it dumb—and being overall far more obnoxious than usual. Yeah, something’s definitely off tonight.

“Whoa, whoa, aren’t you going to take me in?” Winwin protests and instantly groans when he notices his hand on Freakazoid’s forearm, like a lover begging their other half not to leave. He lets go and sheepishly clears his throat. “You might have thwarted me today but I still turned a couple of people into clown zombies. That has to be a crime somewhere.”

“Definitely a crime somewhere, but they’re all good now. All they needed was some fresh-air. No harm, no foul.” Freakazoid shrugs then grimaces. “Although, no, not really. A couple of people were traumatized so there was some harm involved.”

“You see?” Winwin cackles and offers his hand, waiting to be handcuffed. “Take me in!”

“Not tonight, brainy. I’m all tuckered out and Kun invented me out for ice-cream. We can do that tomorrow, though.”

Winwin opens his mouth then closes it, narrowing his eyes in disbelief. “That seems awfully irresponsible.”

“Oh, it is.” Freakazoid snorts, turning to leave. “But I’m getting some ice-cream and Kun’s paying.”

“If you don’t take me in now, Freakazoid, I’ll come up with a worse plan tomorrow and enact it without mercy.” Winwin poses, raising his hands above to display his collection of inventions and devices solely designed for destruction and chaos. “For I live to oppose you. So it is written. So it shall be done.”

The hero blinks, holds his chin, looking pensive for a second, hums, then shrugs with an impassive expression. “I don’t think that’s legal, but we can work around it.”

“I—” Winwin raises and lowers a finger, deflated.

He could reschedule, postpone some things, advance others before he unleashed absolute chaos on the city. He knows can make it work. It would be business as usual.

With a mental note to not start his rampage before dinner time, he slowly and painfully rolls his eyes and huffs, “Fine. We’ll do it tomorrow then.”

“Goodie!” Freakazoid claps, pulling Winwin close for a hug. “Ice cream today. Possible disaster tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Winwin replies through gritted teeth.

“Okey-doke, brainy. See you tomorrow.”

One second, Freakazoid is there. The other, he’s gone in a blinding flash of light and a gust of wind that vaguely smells of chocolate. Winwin is left alone, despondent, and secretly impressed. He sighs and rubs the back of his head, feeling the area bruised and sensitive to touch.

Giving his lair the once-over, he slumps on a chair and pops his lips.

“This is my most humiliating defeat,” he grumbles.

A minute later, he decides to call it a night.

And, for the first time this week, all remains well in Way City.

itspapisongo | © 2020-2021 | All Rights Reserved

Freakazoid! is a Warner Bros. property, all rights reserved to them and the show's creators (Paul Dini & Bruce Timm).

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

Back at it again with my self-indulgent comic posts. This time! It’s Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow #3, perhaps the most tonally-distinct entry yet, with shades of The Twilight Zone. 

Spoilers!

So, as mentioned, this issue is the most deliberate in terms of both its pacing and its tone, IMO.

What is that tone, you ask?

To quote Alex Danvers, from “Midvale”: Hello, darkness.

THE STORY:

Kara and Ruthye are still looking for Krem Clues in the alien town of Maypole.

(Which is actually just Small Town, USA, complete with vintage 50s aesthetics.)

But the locals are clearly hiding something! So Kara and Ruthye continue to investigate, and they eventually discover what it was that the residents of Maypole were so keen to keep hidden. 

Genocide, basically. 

As I said, this issue struck me as very Twilight Zone; a genre story involving the build-up to a dark twist, all set against the backdrop of an idyllic small town. (Think, like, “The Monsters are Due on Maple Street” but instead of focusing on the Red Scare, it’s classism and racism.)

The wealthier blue aliens kicked all of the purple aliens out of town, and when space pirates showed up to pillage and plunder, the blue aliens made a deal with them: the lives of the purple aliens in exchange for their safety.  

Which is where the episodic story connects to the larger mission; it was Krem who suggested the trade, and then joined up with the Brigands (space pirates) when he was freed by the blue aliens.

The issue ends with no tidy resolution to the terrible things Kara and Ruthye discovered, but they do have a lead on where to find Krem, now, as well as Barbond’s Brigands.

KARA-CTERIZATION:

Ironically, it’s here, in the darkest chapter yet, that we get the closest to what might be considered ‘classic’ Kara. 

Which I think comes down to that aforementioned deliberate pace--this issue is a little slower, a little quieter. It gives the characters some room to breathe.

That’s not to say Crusty Kara is gone. Oh no. She is still very much Crusty. XD 

But anyways. A list! Of Kara moments I loved!

I mentioned a few of these in a prior post when the preview pages came out: I like the moment where Kara blows down the guy’s house of cards, and I like that the action is echoed later in the issue when she grabs the mayor’s desk and tosses it aside. A nice visual representation of the escalation of Kara being, like. Done with these creeps. (Creeps is an understatement but you get the idea.)

Another one from the preview pages: Kara explains to Ruthye that her super hearing won’t necessarily help her detect a lie, especially if she’s dealing with an alien species she’s not familiar with.

It not only reveals her level of competence and understanding of her super powers, it also shows that, you know. She’s a thinker. She’s smart. 

Amazing! Showing, rather than telling us, that Kara is smart! Without mentioning the science guild at all wow hey wow.

(Sorry, pointed criticism of the SG show fandom.)

Anyways.

I dig the PJs! 

And Kara catching the bullet! Not only are the poses and character acting great, it’s also a neat bit of panel composition:

We start with Ruthye’s POV, and then move to the wide shot of the room. The panel where Kara actually catches the bullet is down and to the side of the wide shot panel--we move our eyes the way her body/arm would have to move to intercept the bullet. Physicality in static, 2D images!

Also, like. It’s a very tense moment, life-or-death, but. Ruthye’s wide-eyed surprise at the bullet in Kara’s hand? Kind of adorable. 

I was pretty much prepared for the page of Kara shielding Ruthye from the gunfire to be the highlight--it was one of the first pages King shared and I was like, ‘yeah, YEAH.’ But, shockingly? The TRUE highlight of the issue?

Where do I BEGIN?!?!

EVERYTHING. About this moment. Is lovely.

From Kara holding Ruthye above the bench to explaining the concept of a piggyback ride, to telling her:

“I’m going to hold my hands here, and these hands can turn coal into diamonds, so they’re not going to let go. I’m going to keep you safe.”

HNNNNNNNNNNNG.

Ruthye’s narration--about how Kara had avoided flying as she was concerned it would freak Ruthye out--just adds a whole additional layer of YES, GOOD, YES, and her line on that splash page is great: “You see, all that time, she was worried about me.”

HNNNNNNNNNNNG. AGAIN.

To say nothing of the STELLAR ARTWORK.

And SPEAKING of that stellar artwork, Evely and Lopes continue to knock it out of the park. Each issue is distinct and beautifully crafted, a true joy to look at.

Before I jump into more of the art, a few final notes of character stuff in general.

Ruthye is the one most affected by the experience in Maypole, as she can’t comprehend how a society of people that look so nice and gentle and peaceful could have been party to such a horrible act.

One of the big criticisms of the book thus far is that Supergirl is not the main character, and I guess I can agree with that observation. Typically, in Western media, the main character is the one who goes through the most change in the story. 

And, yeah. That’s Ruthye.

As I was reading the end, where Ruthye sits on the curb and Kara hugs her, I was imagining how the scene would’ve played, had King stuck with the original idea for the series: Kara as the one learning to be tough/experiencing all of this for the first time, and while I think that could certainly work...

I continue to appreciate that King literally flipped the script; that Kara, especially in this issue, is like, ‘I’ve seen this, I know this,’ as opposed to being the one going through a loss of innocence.

*Marge Simpson voice* I just think it’s neat!

Because Kara’s been a teen in DC comics for so long--ever since she was reintroduced to the main DCU continuity, actually--so this is all brand new territory, here. Having an older Kara who’s SEEN SOME STUFF.

(Alsoooooo, since Bendis made the destruction of Krypton not just inaction and climate disaster, but rather, genocide, and the subtext of a Kryptonian diaspora text, the waitress’ derogatory comment regarding the the destruction of Kryton, as well as Kara picking up the bad vibes the entire time, suggests not just a broad commentary on discrimination in all its forms, but specifically allegorical anti-Semitism. The purple aliens being forced out of their homes and into substandard living conditions, then the blue aliens--their neighbors and once-fellow residents--essentially allowing the space pirates to kill them, making them literal scapegoats, Kara discovering the remains of the purple aliens, and Ruthye’s horror at the ‘banality of evil’...yes. A case could be made, I think.) 

(Which would probably require a post unto itself and a lot more in-depth discussion, nuance, and cited sources.)

(Should mention that King has brought up that both he and Orlando--the other Supergirl writer he talked to--are Jewish, and for him personally, that shaped his views on Kara’s origin story.)

I guess my point is that this issue is perhaps not as out-of-left-field as some might think, and just because there isn’t as obvious an arc for Kara, doesn’t mean there isn’t some sharp character work at play. 

(I could be WAY OFF, of course, and I’m not suggesting it’s a clear 1:1 comparison. I’d actually really love to hear King talk about this issue in particular.)

Anyways.

Here’s the final page, which I think works, because as I mentioned before, there is no easy answer/quick wrap-up to the story of Maypole:

THE ART:

I mean. How many times can I just shout ‘ART! AAAARRRRRRRRRRRTTTT!’ before it gets old?

I dunno, but I guess we’re gonna FIND OUT.

There are some panels in this issue that I just. Like ‘em! From a purely artistic standpoint! Because they’re so good!

Like, I just really love the way Kara is drawn in that top panel. Her troubled, confused expression, the colors of the fading light, the HAIR. 

Evely draws the best hair. I know I’ve said this before. I don’t care. I will continue to say it, because it continues to be true.

The issue I find myself running up against when I make these posts is that I really don’t want to post whole pages, as that’s generally frowned upon (re: pirating etc.) but with something like this, you just can’t appreciate it in panel-by-panel snippets.

(Guided View on digital reading platforms is a BANE and a POX I say!)

Anyways.

LOVE the implied movement of the cape settling as Kara speeds in and stops. 

And, obviously, Kara flicking the bullet away is just. A+. 

And the EYES, man. LOPES’ COLORS ON THE EYES???!?! BEAUTIFUL.

Also, should note the lettering! The more rounded letters for the ‘WOOSH’ of Kara’s speed (and, earlier, the super breath) work nicely, and contrast with the angular, violent BLAMS of the gunshots. 

And, I gotta say, the editor is doing a really great job of not cluttering up the artwork with all the caption boxes. Which is no small task.

(I assume the editor is placing them, as editors usually handle word balloon/caption box placement, but I suppose it could be Evely? Sometimes the artist handles it. Either way, whoever’s taking care of all the text, EXCELLENT WORK! BRAVO!)

Okay I think that’s everything.

Ah, nope, wait.

MISC.

Just a funny observation, more than anything else: Superman: Red and Blue dropped this week, and King had a story in there, “The Special” (which was very good, btw.) Both Lois and the waitress swear a lot so I’m beginning to think that this is just how King writes dialogue for any adult character who isn’t Clark. XD

This is absolutely a personal preference but when Kara was like, “And my name IS Supergirl,” I was like nooooo. I know King is trying to simplify all of the conflicting origin stories and lore but I LIKE KARA DANVERS, SIR. XD

It’s almost assuredly a cash-grab/an attempt for DC to get all the money it can out of a book they don’t have much confidence in, but I like the cardstock covers! Very classy, much Strange Adventures.

(OH my gosh, can you imagine that issue 1 cover with spot gloss???? Basically the only way you could possibly improve on it.) 

Okay NOW I’m done. For real. XD NEXT TIME: Kara and Ruthye go after Krem and the Brigands!

[welllpthisishappening]

Where the Love Light Gleams

Killian was going to kill his brother. 

Which wasn’t very festive, but neither was being away from his girlfriend on Christmas Eve and this was all Liam’s fault. Or so he would claim. While rationalizing his current tendency to wallow, and stare at his phone and he’d spent far too much time on his phone that night. 

Whatever, it was Christmas Eve. That was definitely a reasonable excuse. 

---

Rating: Teen, with banter and friendship and kissing Word Count: 5.1 K AN: It’s me! Someone who can’t seem to write an MC to save her present life, but loves few things more than Christmas-type fluff and is therefore filling Christmas-type prompts again. Today’s comes from @shireness-says​​ who is always wonderful about replying to these sort of things and requested: 

"you had a business trip and i missed you so much that i kind of tore up the house in your absence like a dog with separation anxiety… sorry?" and “we’ve become the clingy newlyweds you always complained about. "

Both of which I almost legitimately filled. Just kind of—twisted. As is tradition. If you are so inclined to send a prompt from this very long list, you can pick one here, and I’ll do my best to write it before Christmas. 

This one is also on Ao3 if that’s your jam, where I’ll be posting all of ‘em. 

---

“Are you moping? It kind of looks like you’re moping.”

“Wow, such unparalleled observational skills. You should become a private investigator.”

Sticking her tongue out, Ariel made some sort of objection-type noise in the back of her throat, which probably would have made Killian smile in any other situation. On any other day. A day that wasn’t Christmas Eve. 

When he was absolutely, positively moping. 

It was a miracle he hadn’t frozen like this. That would have done irreparable damage to his spine, he was sure. 

He wasn’t really sitting up very straight. 

“There can’t possibly still be private investigators in the world,” Ariel challenged, brushing a wayward strand of hair away from her face and it was far too windy on the docks. If Killian didn’t get off the docks soon, he was going to scream. 

Or mope for the rest of the holiday season. At least until the New Year. That seemed reasonable, honestly. 

He was going to strangle Liam. 

This was all his fault. 

“You’re kidding me, right? What—what kind of world do you think we’re living in?” Ariel shrugged. “One that’s progressed past the need for private investigators, obviously. And I object to the notion that I would require any sort of PI-type skills to know that you’re being an absolute and complete, although also kind of understandable, idiot.” 

“Those words don’t go together.” “What do people hire private investigators for, anyway?” “Loads of stuff.” “Give me one example.” He huffed, irritation rattling around his skull and mixing in with a begrudging appreciation because he knew Ariel felt bad and maybe he’d kick Liam too. “Missing kids.” “Yeesh, that’s awfully negative.” “What was that about accusing me of moping before? I’m playing to those accusations.” “Ok, but we already decided they were observations, so you don’t get to rename them now that you’re feeling particularly jerk-like.” “I’m here, aren’t I? Makes it seem less jerk-like.”

Another shrug. And a specific quirk of her lips that Killian was far too well-acquainted with. The muscles in his cheeks were almost starting to ache. 

Presumably from holding them in this position for so long. 

He was absolutely moping. 

But he’d already been in Boston two days longer than he planned on, and none of this was really going according to plan. He’d checked his phone no less than forty-seven times in the last forty-five minutes. He hated that. Staring at that screen made him feel like a clingy freak, who couldn’t go more than a few minutes without talking to his girlfriend, and Killian had complained about those people enough times that his current tendency to do it made him despise himself just a bit. 

And yet he couldn’t stop. 

His thumbs flew across the keys, sending complaints and updates and smiling in spite of his own situation. 

Like a psychopath. One who was quite obviously frustrated. 

With several thousand things, it seemed — the most pressing of which was his distinct lack of festive nature, caused almost entirely by the issues with the expansion in Boston and adding another ship in Boston was supposed to be easy. 

Until Eric got the flu, and it was understandably difficult to captain a sightseeing holiday cruise when you couldn’t actually stand up for more than two minutes at a time, and Killian couldn’t say no to his brother when they both had so much money tied up in this, and if Liam was going to fly in to make sure everything stayed the metaphorical course, then the least Killian could do was drive in from New York. 

Or so Liam had told him. In no uncertain terms. 

Except Liam had also brought Belle with him and that somehow seemed like cheating, and Killian should have asked Emma to come. 

She had to work. He’d missed Mary Margaret and David’s Christmas Eve party. 

Which normally wouldn’t have felt like the end of the world, partially because Mary Margaret’s fruitcake was notoriously awful, but this year it made Killian’s heart feel like it was fragmenting in his chest and Emma’s photos had gotten progressively more and more blurry as the night went on. Mary Margaret also notoriously bought a questionable number of Prosecco bottles for the Christmas Eve party. 

“You are,” Ariel agreed, a string of words that caught Killian off guard when he was so deep in his own wallowing. “Which is super nice, but—” “—How can there be a but in this situation?” “There are several, actually, except the biggest one is how three different people on tonight’s cruise wanted to know why the first mate was so obviously distracted.” “They called me first mate?” “People think it’s funny to use nautical terms in real life.”

Slumping forward did not do anything to help the state of Killian’s spine, only managed to make sure his hair fluttered in front of his eyes when a salt-tinged breeze blew off the Harbor and he briefly wondered how dramatic he could get. He needed to exhale some more. 

He needed to go home. “Anyway,” Ariel continued, “they wanted to know why the first mate was on his phone all the time, and if the first mate was available and—” “—I’m sorry, what?”

“You have a face, you know that right?” “Now you’re just saying words.”

If she kept sticking her tongue out at its current rate, it was going to get frost-bitten. “These are compliments, you’re an ass and I owe you just—a metric ton of rum, the good kind, for doing all of this.” “Giving me whiplash,” Killian muttered, but one side of his mouth tugged up despite his best efforts to remain as depressing as possible. Ariel’s eyes got brighter. Rivaled the lights still flickering along the railing of their very nice, very new, decidedly expensive multi-level ship, and it had only taken about fourteen seconds for Killian to make that one photo Emma had sent him his phone background. 

That probably wasn’t weird.

“So, people wanted to know about you,” Ariel said, “and your previously discussed face, and rather than employee a PI because it’s not 1947—” “—Oddly specific.” “I will kill you.” “God bless us, everyone.” “Your very helpful and exceedingly sure of his own obnoxious brand of humor brother was very quick to inform all the interested parties that the first mate was distracted because he unfortunately wasn’t with his wife for Christmas.”

Ariel’s murder threat was not only out of place considering the date, it was pointless because he was going to guarantee he died all on his own. Killian nearly fell off the edge of the dock. 

One of his knees buckled, gaping at his friend and business partner like she’d only recently grown a few extra heads. She didn’t shrug again. Smiled, in her best impression of a variety of fictional and overly confident cats, but her shoulders stayed frustratingly still and that was—

“Emma and I aren’t married,” Killian sputtered, not entirely stunned to find those particular words difficult to say in that order. Half a plan rattled around with the rest of the emotions circling his skull, and he hadn’t really acted on the plan, but he’d been pondering and considering for at least a few weeks before his phone had rung. 

And that was only kind of a lie. 

He’d been doing a lot more than pondering for much longer than a few weeks. Considering had flown out the imaginary window, like—as soon as he and Emma had moved in together. 

Liam didn’t know any of that, though. 

At least in theory. 

Maybe strangling his brother was something of an overreaction. 

He still wanted to go home, though. 

“Liam knows that,” Ariel reasoned, “and I know that. And obviously you know that, but none of your on-water admirers know that, and you were playing your part very well.” “What?” “Glued to your phone, all night. Like a clingy newlywed.” “That’s ridiculous.” “Is it? Because while not technically true—” “—Or true at all,” Killian interrupted, and he wondered if he was getting used to the feel of his heart doing whatever it was doing, or he was just growing more melodramatic by the second. At some point in the last twelve minutes the idea of walking back to New York had become rather appealing. 

“Well, whatever. It was a good excuse, and it’s not like it was one-sided texting and it’s kind of romantic. All things considered.” “What are all the things, exactly?” That shrug came with another smile — far too knowing for Killian’s liking, but he also knew Ariel wouldn’t go back on her rum-buying word, and he supposed there was something to be said for that. Especially if it was good rum. “If you’re going to play the part…” “Look who’s being a romantic now.” “I’ve spent most of the lead-up to Christmas trying to force-feed Pedialyte on my husband. Got to get my romance from somewhere and you’re like—Hallmark Channel ready.” “Probably couldn’t have as much alcohol, then.” “How many bottles of Prosecco do you think Mary Margaret bought this year?”

Tugging his phone out of his pocket, Killian scrolled back through the more than two dozen photos he’d been sent over the course of the night until he found the one he was looking for. Of a table covered in green-hued bottles with plastic champagne flutes that Mary Margaret must have bought in bulk and— 

Ariel’s laugh hung in the air around them, louder than it probably should have been considering the time, but they were also by themselves and he was still kind of moping. So. The world could cope with their collective volume. 

“Do you think she gets a discount for buying so many?” Killian shook his head. “If she doesn’t, she’s being robbed.” “Get the private investigators on the case.” “Challenge Liam to a comedic battle.” “Not if we’re calling it that,” Ariel argued, bumping her shoulder against Killian’s leg. And he wasn’t sure if he was actually smiling, but his lips were moving and his heart didn’t appear to be shattering quite as much anymore and he hoped Emma fell asleep. 

On Mary Margaret and David’s couch. 

They wouldn’t let her go home, he was sure. 

He hadn't gotten a text in awhile. 

He was less sure about the shadows moving towards them, though — because he’d been a little distracted when they docked, but he watched Liam and Belle get into their rental car and there was absolutely no reason for either one of them to be back on the docks, but anyone else showing up on the docks at eleven o’clock at night was probably a sign that Killian and Ariel were about to be robbed. In a far more literal sense than whatever happened with Mary Margaret and her plastic champagne flutes. 

“You guys good?” Ariel asked, sounding more aware of what was going on than she should have been. Killian’s eyes narrowed. 

That made it only slightly difficult to see the overall width of his brother’s answering smile. 

Plus, it was dark out.

“Better,” Liam said, “she's an absolute natural.”

Scrunching her nose, Belle waved off the compliment. “Please, all I have to do is stand there and be helpful.” “Yeah, but that’s more than Killian was able to do today, so…” “He was distracted.” “And standing right here,” Killian muttered, although standing was a little generous. His left knee was still awful bent. In an unnatural sort of way. “Doesn’t that hurt?” Liam asked. Gesturing towards Killian’s posture, he tilted his head and that was even more judgmental than any of the words Ariel hadn’t bothered saying. “Can’t be good for your ACL or whatever.” Belle clicked her tongue. “Adding the whatever makes it sound less official, really.” “And we’re trying to be official,” Ariel chipped in, clamoring to her feet. By using the side of Killian’s jacket for leverage, tugging on fabric until she threatened to tear it and that also would have been impressive if it didn’t feel suspiciously like he was about to pass out. 

She wrapped her arms around Killian’s middle. 

That kind of helped, honestly. 

He’d never admit to it.   

“Official about what, exactly?” Killian asked. “What are you guys doing here?”

Liam’s smile got wider. “We could ask you the same question, but we’ve already claimed way too much of your time and—” “—Wait, what?” “Killian seriously,” Ariel sighed, “if you keep interrupting, we’re never going to get to the fun and passably romantic part of the plan.” “Oh, no it’s definitely more than passably romantic,” Belle argued. 

“Depends on him, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but he was glued to his phone and I’ve got at least twenty bucks on this happening before New Year’s Eve, so—” “—New Year’s Eve would be really romantic, actually!” “No, no, no,” Liam objected, voice rising on every repeat, “I’ve got Christmas morning, and that means he’s got to go now.” Not having anything to drink made it impossible for Killian to claim intoxication as a reason for the current spin rate of his head. Metaphorically, at least. Even so, he felt a little dizzy and slightly out of breath, trying very hard not to topple into the water. 

There was no way he’d be able to disentangle himself from Ariel before he did that. 

And then she’d get annoyed. 

“What is going on?” Killian demanded, pausing between each word for emphasis. Liam’s lips disappeared. Behind his teeth. 

While he failed spectacularly at containing his laugh. “We’re kicking you out,” Belle said simply, like that made sense and they hadn’t all but required his presence in Boston less than seventy-two hours earlier. 

Killian blinked. Once, twice. Half a dozen times. Nothing changed. Ariel’s arms tightened, maybe — but Liam didn’t move, and Belle’s nose still had that scrunch-like effect, and the lights on their ship really did make it appropriately festive. 

“And apologizing,” Ariel added. “We should make that more obvious.”

Blinking more was stupid. 

Talking probably would have helped. But Killian’s tongue suddenly took up far too much space in his mouth, next to all the imaginary cotton balls that were impeding his ability to breathe and it could not have been healthy for so many body parts to consistently fail like that. 

“This is really my fault,” Liam admitted, taking a step forward to clap Killian on the shoulder. His right knee bent that time. At least his reactions were symmetrical. “And I—well, I...I was so worried about the money and the party and—” “—We didn’t really think about your plans,” Belle finished. Opening his mouth, Killian genuinely could not come up with a word to describe whatever sound he made. Something between a scoff and that huff he was trying to accomplish before, but also drifting dangerously close to laughter borne of disbelief and his back actually had the gall to pop when he leaned forward. 

“I don’t have plans.” “Please,” Ariel scoffed, “you have at least the hope for plans, and that’s nice in a way that deserves a better adjective and all that rum I promise.” Liam’s eyes widened. “How much rum are we talking?” “Enough that you stop spending so much time talking about the proper light to string ratio.” “What does that even mean?” Killian balked. 

Shaking her head, Belle moved into his space as well. Both her hands landed on the front of his jacket, and Killian wasn’t exactly cold per se, but there was something inherently comforting about his sister-in-law’s smile and the way she always smelled a bit like vanilla. 

As if she were just minutes away from baking something, at all times. 

“Telling you to come here was a dick move,” Belle announced, Ariel’s head finding Killian’s shoulder when she started to cackle once more. They were all standing too close to each other. Someone was going to step on someone else’s foot. “And,” she continued, “Liam was right. This is totally his fault, but he’s running on like...no sleep, because we’re—” She grit her teeth, another unfinished sentence that frustrated Killian for about eight and half seconds. Before it all clicked at nine. “No, shit.” “Shit,” Belle confirmed, another smile and her left foot landed on Killian’s right when he pulled into a far-too-tight hug. Ariel had to move her arms. “Babies are expensive you see,” Liam said, “and we’d already funneled so much money into this, the party had to happen and I wasn’t sure if Belle was going to be able to come with me because—” “—They don’t tell you morning sickness lasts all day,” she grumbled. Killian’s laugh had an almost manic edge to it, suddenly happier than he thought he could be and that was more appropriate for the time. Of both the day and season. 

“So,” Liam added, “I kind of lost my mind about Eric, and didn’t think about you or Emma or how stupid you’d be when you weren’t around Emma at Christmas because it’s so goddamn obvious what you’re planning.”

Heat rose in Killian’s cheeks, a questionably large inferno that suddenly flared to life in the pit of his stomach. “I haven’t totally decided.” “Yeah, well that’s dumb.” “Rife with opinions tonight, aren’t you?” “We’re kicking you out,” Belle repeated. “With our apologies that I wasn’t on the ship tonight because that shrimp appetizer smell made me want to die a little.” Ariel sighed. “Do all our statements have to be so violent? There should be more positivity to all of this.” “There will be if Killian can get me my twenty bucks.” “Why are you betting on this?” he asked, but the distinct lack of frustration in his voice was obvious even to him. Belle laughed. “Because calling you a newlywed was not nearly as unbelievable as it should have been, and if you get with the program you could probably have your rehearsal dinner on one of our very accommodating ships with an appetizer that does not include shrimp.” “I’m not really a huge fan of shellfish.” “See, the perfect plan.” An objection sat on the tip of Killian’s tongue — if only because he was decidedly stubborn and now a little worried about his brother’s expanding family, but his own family was not in Boston and he’d really like Emma to be his family. In an official sort of capacity. 

“But what about—” “—No, absolutely not,” Belle cut in before Killian could finish, “that’s what we were doing. Going over the plans for tomorrow’s lunch cruise, and everything you were supposed to do, which I’m pretty confident I can do now, mostly because my husband is here and I won’t be tempted to text him the entire time.” “At least not much,” Liam quipped. The pinch between Killian’s eyebrows was going to stay there forever. If not longer. “And then I’ll also text you, at an appropriate time tomorrow, to apologize for being a massive Christmas bastard.” Hair hit Killian’s cheek. Not his. Distinctly red and smelling like shampoo she’d definitely spent far too much money on, Ariel’s hair blew around her when she threw her head back. With laughter. The catching sort, spreading like wildfire through their tiny group, until Belle had to wrap her arm around her middle to stay up, and Killian’s stomach ached just a bit and it took him a moment to realize he’d made another fire pun. 

In his head. He needed to go home. 

“Was Ariel a distraction?”

She kicked his ankle. “Rude, and yeah obviously. Liam is so goddamn overprotective with his unborn child, it’s disgusting.” “And nice,” Belle grinned. 

Exhaling, Liam tugged on the back of his hair. A tell, and an apology without the words. Killian wanted the words. Even if it took a few extra minutes. “Seriously,” Liam said, “a Christmas bastard, which is not an excuse, but—I’m sorry. For the batard’ness, and bringing you here, and not explaining the reasons behind the bastard. And also for ruining your plans.” “I really have no plans,” Killian promised, but that fell a bit flat and he at least had rather specific wants. Of the desire-type variety. 

“So fix that. Like as soon as possible.” “For my twenty bucks,” Belle said with another yank on Killian’s jacket. The poor jacket was not going to last much longer. 

Ariel rolled her eyes. “She’s obsessed with the twenty bucks.” “Because your husband will have to pay it!” “Should you have bet with an invalid?” Killian asked, trying without much immediate success to take a step away from either one of them. “And what kind of Pedialyte flavor are you forcing?” “The purple kind.” “Blue’s definitely better.” Liam looked frustrated. 

That felt like something of a victory. “Were you going to go, Killian? Or—” Kissing the top of Ariel’s hair and pulling Belle into one more hug, Killian flipped off his brother, muttered Merry Christmas, don’t sink the boat, and would never admit to running back towards his car. Or how quickly he drove home. 

It took at least twenty-six minutes to find a parking spot. 

Four blocks away. 

Still, Killian assumed he was running on holiday-fueled adrenaline and something almost resembling romance and the distinct lack of anything in his pocket was a challenge he viewed as quirky more than anything else. 

He bounded up the steps, nearly dropping his keys more than once before he managed to unlock the door only to be immediately hit in the face. With what felt suspiciously like garland. 

And Killian hadn’t really planned on spending much time in their apartment, only thinking about a few hours of sleep before driving to Mary Margaret and David’s house on the Island because he might have come up with half a list of sweepingly romantic things to do, but he wasn’t a total jerk who would show up on someone else’s doorstep in the middle of the goddamn night, and it obviously did not make a single ounce of difference. 

While he was being strangled with garland. 

Blinking against the darkness of their living room, Killian’s brain couldn’t quite come to terms with what he was seeing. Like the ninth floor of the Herald Square Macy’s had exploded. Tinsel hung from what appeared to be actual ivy, pinned along the top of the wall with startling accuracy. Lights meant to resemble icicles reflected against every window pane, and there was an actual tree in the corner. 

Every one of his inhales had a distinct pine-like scent to it, like he was standing in the middle of a forest, and Killian did not think they owned that many ornaments when he left. 

They hadn’t owned any ornaments, so it was a rather easy number to remember. 

A star was balanced precariously at the top of the tree, paper snowflakes dropping from the ceiling and—

Emma curled in the corner of the couch. 

With at least four blankets covering her. She was a notorious blanket thief. 

Mary Margaret hadn’t woken up either, twisted into the other end of the cushions, and Killian couldn’t fathom how they were comfortable, but he was also admittedly a little distracted by the desire of his lungs to keep providing oxygen to the rest of his body and David’s eyes were alarmingly wide. 

“What are you doing here?” “I live here,” Killian hissed, swatting away the garland. Bits of it fell onto the top of his sneakers. “What are you doing here?” “Helping.” “What?” “Helping,” David said slowly, like Killian simply did not understand the word and not all the meaning behind it. “She—well, the decorations left something to be desired, and you know Mary Margaret. There’s a project, so she’s got to help and—” “—Wait, wait, wait, did Emma do all this?”

Waving both his hands in the air, David didn’t bother to say obviously when the movement made it so abundantly clear. Killian’s jaw dropped. 

Something popped there as well. Which probably wasn’t what woke Emma up, but thinking that was almost nice in another way that deserve a better adjective, and the overall force of her smile as soon as her eyes landed on him made every bit of splintered heart still lingering in his chest knit itself back together. 

Immediately. 

“Should I be concerned that you’re deserting?” she asked, hooking her chin over the back of the couch. As if she’d been expecting this exact situation. Killian shook his head. “Nah, this is a wholly authorized shore leave.” David’s groan very likely hurt the inside of his throat. 

“What happened here, Swan?” Pink immediately colored her expression, every one of her teeth obvious when she grit them. Mary Margaret must have been the soundest sleeper in the Universe. Or she’d had a questionable amount of Prosecco to drink that night. “Christmas?” That was as good a reason as any, honestly. Although that stubborn streak of his ran several nautical miles wide, and nearly tripping over the garland on his few steps towards the couch made Emma’s shoulders shake. 

Killian knelt in front of her.

Step one accomplished, then. 

“It’s super lame,” Emma warned, but Killian’s heart was doing more biologically impossible things and his eyes fluttered when she brushed his hair away from his forehead. “I just—well, you weren’t here, and that kind of ruined any of my festive-type feelings, which as we all know are shaky at best.” “Work in progress, love.” Her tongue sticking between her lips was not as annoying as Ariel’s had been. Killian figured that had something to do with the desire to kiss her. And not Ariel. Who would have smacked him at even the allusion to such a thing. “Well,” Emma mumbled, “the lack of appropriate holiday spirit reared its head like—as soon as you closed the door behind you, but then I went to the party and you kept texting me and—” “—I’m sorry, I was texting you? You were texting me!” “God,” David grumbled, dropping into the only chair left in the living room. There should have been more chairs in the living room. “It’s ridiculous, the pair of you.” Killian narrowed his eyes. Glaring was too difficult. “Why are you here?” “I told you, helping.” “He did,” Emma said. “Both him and Mary Margaret, really. I, ok—well, whoever was texting who, it doesn’t really matter. Just that Ruth thinks we’re married.” Of all the ways that sentence could have ended, Killian was loath to admit hearing that David’s mother believed the same lie Liam had been spouting to Boston tourists was not one of them. 

“She does,” Emma continued, rushing over the words, “for some reason. But she kept saying how nice it was that a young couple like us was able to keep in touch when we weren’t together for the holidays and I was really kind of drunk, and even more upset that you weren’t going to be here, so my mind just kind of latched onto things and—” Pulling in a deep breath made her shoulders shift again, Killian’s eyes taking in every moment so he could commit them all to memory and the question was out of his mouth before he realized Emma was still talking. “Will you marry me?” “Do you want to get married?”

David fell out of the chair. 

Slid, technically. Directly onto the floor and next to presents that were almost perfectly wrapped with color coordinated bows on each of them. 

“What?” Killian breathed, Emma’s hand flying to her mouth. Left one, so that helped too actually. None of his fingers shook when he reached up, pulling that same hand down and kissing the bend of her knuckles. Tears clouded Emma’s eyes, falling on her cheeks faster than he could brush them away. 

With his mouth. Killian tried all the same. 

While ignoring the increasing volume of David’s rather uproarious laugh. He was texting someone. Probably Ariel, who very likely was requiring play-by-play. And had timed Killian’s drive home. 

“That was kind of...this,” Emma explained, nodding towards the living room. “I—I wanted to decorate, and make it Christmas when you got back because...well, I blame the alcohol and your brother and—” “—That’s fair, honestly. Belle’s pregnant, by the way.” “No shit.” “Shit,” Killian confirmed, a repeat he’d share later. Once they got all this engagement business sorted out. “They’re pretty incredible decorations.” “Yeah, well flattery will get you everywhere.” Huffing out a breath, Emma’s head dropped to his, and that made it easier to get his fingers in her hair. “This made a lot of sense when I was drunker. But, uh—I needed to do something with all that energy and sudden holiday thoughts and I’ve got a lot of thoughts about your face, you know that?” Ariel was going to be insufferable. 

Killian would make her buy some Moscato, too. That was Emma’s favorite. “Gave me something to do,” Emma added, “and then I figured you’d get home and there’d be some sweeping and we could do something about Ruth’s assumptions and I think we’d be really good at being married.” Kissing her was the only reasonable option. Even as David sounded like he was in physical pain. 

Surging up, Killian’s mouth all but slammed into Emma’s, tilting his head so he got to that one, perfect angle that allowed his tongue to swipe across her lips and draw that even more perfect sound out of her, and he was only dimly aware of Mary Margaret waking up. The couch creaked when she moved. 

Killian didn’t. 

His fingers carded through Emma’s hair, only breaking apart to appease his lungs and the requirements of his body before kissing her again, and his knees kind of ached. Presumably from supporting most of their collective weight when Emma was kind of draped across him. “Don’t go in the bedroom, ok?” Humming against her only guaranteed David made another noise of protest, but it was nice that they’d helped decorate and Killian could only imagine how they’d gotten all that ivy on the wall. 

“That’s, uh—” Emma leaned back, one of her eyes squeezed closed. “Where we put all the extra non-holiday stuff, and it’s kind of a disaster.”

“Tore up the apartment, like she had separation anxiety,” Mary Margaret slurred, and Killian refused to be held accountable for whatever his face did at that. 

David rolled his whole head. Emma shrugged. He liked that one the best. “So, uh—” “Yeah,” Killian finished, before he could stop himself and any qualms either one of them had once had about clingy relationships or relationship qualifiers appeared to disappear before their eyes. Like frost on the window. Which was seasonally appropriate. “I think we’d be really good at marriage.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. Where’d you get the decorations from, though?” “You’re welcome,” Mary Margaret replied, sounding a bit more coherent and just as exhausted. That was fair. It was close to four in the morning. 

Emma nodded. “Definite separation anxiety. So we should probably not do this again, and then you can help decorate.” “Deal,” Killian promised, and they didn’t bother waiting for an appropriate time to call Liam. Or Ariel, who crowded into the video call because, as she claimed, it was her living room and her twenty bucks and her shriek probably affected the structural integrity of her house. 

The rum showed up two days later. 

And made for a very good toast, as soon Killian slipped the ring onto Emma’s finger. They picked it out together. 

[ravnicaforgoblins]

Ravnica for Goblins

Exciting Planeswalker Visitors

(Caution: Before we begin, this post is going to be much more opinion-based than previous ones. These are my own homebrew ideas, use them as/if you wish, discard/dismiss them if you prefer.)

Planeswalkers are an integral part of MTG Lore, as well as several of its most iconic characters. Put simply, a Planeswalker is an individual with an inherent gift for traveling between planes, or worlds. The gift does not appear at birth, but is usually triggered by some manner of incredibly emotional (usually traumatizing) event. In addition, each Planeswalker displays a unique aptitude for a particular style of magic; be it plant growth, transformation, becoming transparent, illusions, invulnerability, summoning beasts, structural analysis, setting things on fire, etc. Whatever their specific brand of magic is, it’s usually on a higher level than an ordinary person can hope to achieve.

Planeswalkers, as a general rule, are wanderers by nature. They may have a home plane, or even an adopted home plane, but being able to traverse the multiverse leads many towards lives of constant adventuring/shenanigans. Add in the fact that Planeswalkers cannot bring anyone else with them on these travels (except in very rare cases), and you end up with a special breed of super-powerful magical loner. They show up, make a name for themselves with their big magic, and depart when they feel like it. Did you say, “Instant Adventure”?

Ravnica has a few native Planeswalkers among its citizens; Ral Zarek, Vraska, and Domri Rade. In addition, it has several Planeswalkers who have at some point or another (depending on your timeline) devoted enough time & energy to be effectively considered citizens; Azor, Tezzeret, Kaya, Dack Fayden, Dovin Baan, Gideon Jura, and Jace Beleren. Some of these are currently dead, missing, or magically barred from ever returning. At one point, Ravnica had more Planeswalkers on it at one time than any plane in the multiverse has ever or will ever see. If you are going the War of the Spark direction, good luck. You'll need it and so will your players. For everyone else, which Planeswalkers you choose to include in your campaign (if any), should be based on who will work the best for the story you’re trying to tell. A recommendation; if you find their lore too distracting and complicated, stick to the main beats. A lot of these figures can be boiled down to simple ideas, and you don’t want to bore your party with the entire novel of these usually dramatic/tragic lives. Trust me, the base concepts are enough.

With that in mind, here are four Planeswalkers that I, a random person on the internet, believe would work great for a Ravnica campaign. My choices are not based on who has canonically already spent time in Ravnica, or who would be the most powerful/dangerous to suddenly appear in the city. Several Planeswalkers have their own prior commitments on other planes that are pretty central to their character, and BAMFing them to Ravnica for a quick Bad Guy to take down wouldn’t do them justice. These four characters would slide into various aspects of Ravnica beautifully. These four would be the most exciting visitors to Ravnica.

Ashiok, Dream Render

I don’t think any MTG character could be as good a fit for a Ravnican Guild as Ashiok is for House Dimir. Ashiok is almost literally a walking shadow of secrets and intrigue. Their origins, their age, their motives, their face; hell, their gender is a secret yet unrevealed. Ashiok’s power is creating living beings born of the greatest fears stolen from people’s nightmares. Literally.

It’s like if the Dimir stopped half-assing the art of stealing thoughts and turned it into a weapon of mass destruction. Because even the mightiest of Ravnicans are afraid of things. Ask Niv-Mizzet about the Nephilim sometime, see how quickly he changes the subject. What’s better, for a Guild that prides itself on always having the up & up on everyone, Ashiok is inscrutable. They have no past that can be divined, no secrets that can be stolen, no previous encounters to prepare any for their arrival. Neither Lazav nor Etrata can claim such anonymity, despite their best efforts. Ashiok is a true enigma and a dangerous new weapon for House Dimir.

Ashiok also comes with the ability to create minions and NPCs from out of any PC’s worst nightmares, making encounters a great combination of roleplaying & combat. Fighting them is specifically facing one’s deepest & darkest fears made real. Can you say, “character development”?

Ashiok’s arrival could spread this new magical art to other Dimir Agents for a longer campaign, but it might be best to confine it to Ashiok in order to allow for a cleaner victory. Ashiok is not a fighter, cornering them into a direct confrontation should be enough to make the Nightmare Sculptor run for the hills. The mind is powerful, but also very squishy.

Tibalt, the Fiend-Blooded

You know how the Cult of Rakdos are technically Chaotic Evil but generally just a bunch of artsy hedonistic nuisances? Tibalt is to them what a gallon of gasoline would be to a lit stove. Good for fire, bad for everything else. Tibalt is an empath specializing in Pain Magic. Quite literally, he loves hurting people for fun. Drawn to pain like a magnet; physical, emotional, spiritual, psychological, etc, he is sadism personified.

His brief time on Ravnica during War of the Spark was enough to make a strong impression on the Rakdos.

“I like this one’s energy.”

This is because they do not realize how bad Tibalt would be for the Cult. There is a fundamental difference between the Chaotic Evil the Cult practices and the Chaotic Evil Tibalt delights in. The Rakdos have survived 10,000 years by taking in the freaks, the rejects, and the crazies, and giving them a place where they can live out their most depraved hedonistic fantasies. They are the voice of the outsiders bringing all figures of power & authority down a peg. They always punch up, never down. Tibalt is a young man with no home, no friends, no job, and no interests or hobbies beyond inflicting pain in as many people as possible. Tibalt punches everyone. The most important distinction between the two is that the Cult of Rakdos is a culture, a way of life for people to embrace; it might be crazy, but it welcomes & accepts people no matter how insane the world says they are. Tibalt does not care about anyone but himself. Following his example would see the city turned into the largest, bloodiest, and most destructive riot in its history; with Tibalt inciting and sicking every monstrosity he can find onto the city at once. He will burn the Rakdos candle at both ends and leave them to suffer the consequences of his fun. The aftermath being the city in ruins, the Cult wiped from the face of existence, and him moving on to his next project. In short, Tibalt will hurt the Cult of Rakdos as much, if not more, than the rest of Ravnica. Because that’s how he gets his kicks.

The one thing standing in his way will be Rakdos himself. As the single largest diva on the entire plane, Rakdos does not tolerate anyone who tries to steal his spotlight. As a 10,000+ year-old Demon Lord, Rakdos is in a league of his own, and Tibalt is just a hotshit little pain mage with a few tricks. It’s not a fight, it’s either an exit or a curtain call for the Planeswalker. If Rakdos is around, Tibalt’s spree will be very short-lived. If, however, Rakdos is doing his usual thing of hibernating for weeks, months, or years at a time, that’s a different story. Tibalt is good for if your campaign wants to bypass politics & intrigue and go straight to killing Cultists & Demons. He’s bad for anyone he comes in contact with.

Garruk Wildspeaker

In case I haven’t made my contempt for Domri Rade clear, I hold Domri Rade in utter contempt. As a character, as a Planeswalker, and most of all as a Gruul, he’s a failure. Scrawny, weak, gullible, and stupid. My chief grievance with Domri is that he fell short in all the areas the Gruul Clans idolize. He couldn’t survive in the wilderness on his own without his Planeswalker abilities, he couldn’t fight for himself except against weaker opponents or with herds of animals as backup, and he acted on orders from someone else who wasn’t Gruul. For a Guild built on independence and survival of the fittest, he failed both completely.

Garruk is the real deal. Gigantic, strong, savage, and cunning. Here is a man who, on a fundamental level, has embraced animal savagery as a way of life. He lives like a predator on the hunt, an alpha of any pack, and a fierce threat to all who intrude upon his territory. On a plane like Ravnica, where civilization has encroached on the untamed wilds almost completely, Garruk would be a gamechanger. Not only could he feasibly fight Borborygmos for leadership of the Gruul, he could win, and he could unite the Gruul under his howl of reclaiming the wilds from so-called “civilization”. Garruk would bring animal strength to the Gruul in ways they’ve only begun to tap into, and he’d do it in their language. Because Garruk understands the Gruul, and they understand him. They have so much in common with each other that it’s hard to think of any Planeswalker who could be welcomed so readily into a Guild. They would become so much more than rock-smashers and anarchists, they would become Ravnica’s reminder that nature will survive when all traces of society have crumbled away.

As if taking on the city itself wasn’t big enough already, Garruk has also taken to hunting other Planeswalkers, and can actually track them across the Multiverse. Meaning a few high-ranking members of Guilds and even the Living Guildpact have to take his threat seriously. He’s got a particular grudge against necromancers, dislikes talking, and has a special gift with animals of all varieties. All of which provides plenty of ideas to build from. He’s an 8ft tall Human Druid/Barbarian who willingly chooses animal savagery over intellectual reasoning, can there be anyone more perfect for the Gruul?

Did I say Ashiok was the most perfect fit for an MTG character in a Ravnican Guild? Yeah, scratch that. Garruk is.

Sarkhan Vol

Most Planeswalkers have a theme to their abilities. For some, that theme extends to their personalities as well. And then there are Planeswalkers who can be adequately summed up in a single word. For Sarkhan, that word would be “dragons”. Sarkhan sees dragons as nature’s purest & most destructive form, and carries a fascination with them that is perfectly healthy for anything with wings and scales that breathes fire, but generally less healthy for everything & everyone else.

One of the things that makes Ravnica unique is the distinct lack of dragons (emphasis on the plural). Ravnica has a dragon, Niv-Mizzet the Firemind, who made the executive decision thousands of years ago that he alone was sufficient to represent his entire species. Ravnican dragons are considered more intelligent than dragons on other planes, Niv himself being a prime example of this. Around the original signing of the Guildpact, Ravnica’s Godlike dragons were hunted to extinction, with Niv leading the hunt against his own kind. They were not entirely successful in this endeavor, but what few dragons do remain in the present day survive by staying as far off Niv’s radar as possible. Some dragons live by carrying out Niv’s will under constant supervision, or by hunting in the untamed wilds outside the city, or as sideshow attractions for the Rakdos (usually with their wings cut off to prevent escape). They are effectively stripped of anything that would identify them as “dragons” for the sake of their own existence. Since dragons are such a notoriously touchy subject for the Firemind, few have the nerve or fire immunity necessary to speak out against it.

Sarkhan would be horrified. If he thought the extinction of dragons on his home plane of Tarkir was bad, seeing them living like this would infuriate him beyond words. What would Sarkhan do once the initial shock of seeing his spirit animal (in more ways than one) reduced to pitiful scraps of life as lab rats, scared prey, and freak shows wears off? Let’s make it a game! Do you think Sarkhan will:

A. Cry.

B. Throw up.

C. Embrace this as a plane’s reality that he has no right to get involved with.

D. Scream.

E. Set something on fire.

F. Set everything on fire.

G. Bring back the dragons.

H. Burn the city to the ground with dragons.

I. Kill Niv-Mizzet.

J. All the above except “C”.

If you selected Answer “J”, then congratulations! You’ve just won a free trip to a BURNING METROPOLIS! Sarkhan will absolutely make it his life’s goal to bring dragons back to Ravnica and destroy the whole wretched city down to the last brick. How he would do it is up to you, but it’s a solid bet that even if every other Guild treats him like an apocalyptic madman, the Gruul might side with him over some shared beliefs in smashing the city apart with ferocious animal savagery. They tend to lean towards such ideas with uncharacteristic willful compliance. Ravnican dragons are primarily red, with the most prominent breed still remaining being the Utvara Hellkites beyond the city limits.

Oh, and Sarkhan can turn into a dragon, too. Have fun with that.

[that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick]

You ready? Cuz ITS FRIDAY WHOO!!

This week I am asking what is one (or a few) of your favorite lines of dialogue that you've written? :D

So this turned into an actual database of excerpts that took me half a day to compile but have at it (some that come from very earnest parts of my heart and a lot that just make me cackle):

Kitten:

"I don't know or care what you're implying about me, you jerk, but you can keep your nose out of Al's business." Ed's voice softened. "Anyone that innocent, especially after all we've been through, deserves to be able to stay that way."

-

[Ling] "You wound me so, Edward! Where was the kinship we shared when we ate your boot?"

You Infect Me:

[it's so freaking dumb but you gotta give me points for creativity]

[Saeyoung] He grabbed a bottle and a bag and took a running start. He leapt like February 29th! Spun like a silkworm! And flopped like diving flippers! Onto the couch.

-

“What have you been doing all day anyway? Hacking into government files? Destroying the world one cat at a time?” Saeran shuddered. “Making those stupid TokTik videos?”

-

Saeran rolled his eyes. "Just get in the shower. Maybe when you get your pants off, you can get on the toilet and relieve some of that emotional constipation."

Blind Trust:

"HOLY FUDGE NUGGETS ON BACON ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME???" [MC]

-

[innuendo ahead; MC and Vanderwood]

"Do I otherwise have to wear anything in particular? That's not a lot to go off of."

"Doesn't matter to me. Now go change before I do the job myself."

"I wouldn't complain."

"This is not that kind of date! Go!"

"Fine, Sir Panties-in-a-bunch."

-

[Vanderwood and MC, after sassing]

"Such a docile wife I have. Never difficult, never demanding."

"You think it's sexy. Don't even try to deny it."

"I would have filed for immediate divorce if the description 'docile' actually fit you."

-

"...I've long come to the realization that every person is hardwired to desire love of one kind or another. I know I'm still unlearning all of my coping mechanisms, and I know I'm still sharp with some people, but with you?" [Vanderwood] smoothed a hair back from her face. "I'll take whatever love you can give me."

-

MC cackled. "You cannot be serious. I've got to be a mess right now."

"You act as if that's a contradiction. It's the mess that makes you more beautiful."

-

"Shame indeed," MC parroted, trying to steal another kiss from his lips and stealing one from his nostrils instead.

-

"You think you can charm your way out of anything," MC responded airily. "Well, you're right."

-

"Vandy…" She exhaled. "We've gone over this whole 'not deserving it' thing. Whether you deserve it or not doesn't matter. To me, what matters is your heart. You have such a beautiful heart, Vandy."

Waste It on Me: [spoilers for anyone who hasn't read it, but it's one of my top favorites]

Vanderwood growled in frustration. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that you deserve good things and that those things aren't unrealistic?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Why do you think it's such a waste of your time if you know what you want and what you don't want and if it could make you happy?"

"Because I've lived over a quarter of a century and not seen it once, Vanderwood!" Her voice broke. "Not once."

He gritted his teeth. "Fine then, MC. Fine. If love is nothing more than just a waste of your time, why not waste it on me?"

Golden Eyes and Golden Drinks:

[Winry re: Edward] "Who's off-brand Gerard Way in the corner?"

-

[Winry and Edward]

"I'm trying very, very hard to keep this to a stage whisper, but if you keep trying to set me up with some random creep, I won't be able to!"

A distinctly male voice grumbled, "I'm not a creep."

"Keep telling that to the girls on Tinder. I'm sure they'll understand eventually."

"Yeah, and I'll bet if you look at your 'Live, Laugh, Love' sign a little more, you'll understand it eventually."

-

[Ed and Winry; I'm proud of this one for the ADHD rep]

And for your information, coffee doesn't really help me wake up. It just helps me focus on homework." He lifted up his empty cup and gave it a shake.

"That's the weirdest thing I've ever heard."

"ADHD is a weird thing, and yet, here I am."

I Want Your Lips More Than Your Repair Bills: [Winry POV]

But maybe, just maybe, kissing Edward would make him forget the scars on his heart. Just for a moment. His smile was like the noonday sun, and she would get to feel it pressed against her own lips. In the end, his happiness might just be the real reward.

Elric Escorts: (including all my chapter titles)

As [Edward] looked through the front door, three thoughts jumped to the forefront of his mind:

Holy mother of Jesus, she's gorgeous.

Being the kid of a former pastor really takes a toll on your use of expletives.

How does a woman so small carry a bag so gigantic and heavy?

-

[Winry and Ed]

"The plating design seems awfully familiar though...what company made your leg?"

"It was actually some local hag. Name's Pinako Rockbell."

"WHAT?"

"Alright, alright, geez, I'm sorry I called her a hag. She's always on my case for every little thing, though."

Winry's expression of utter shock remained unchanged.

"Is it that I go to an independent outfitter? I would have thought that you'd be more understanding, considering your family business and all."

Winry finally spoke up. "No, it's not that. Pinako Rockbell is my grandmother. Granny and I run the family business. So yeah. I'm Winry Rockbell."

-

[Alphonse, to Edward]

"Or, you know, I could just send myself your cringiest selfies to use for blackmail. Fyi, angling them from below doesn't make you look taller. It just makes you look like a Facebook mom."

-

[Mei] "I just like the idea of stabbing people for a living," she said, looking up at Al sweetly.

-

Alphonse snickered. "The cat's name is Jeff?"

The corners of Mei's mouth twitched. "Jeff Bezos, actually."

"What?" Al laughed incredulously.

"The owners have a peculiar sense of humor. The way they explained it to me, they thought that the idea of telling a billionaire to stop pooping on the carpet was amusing."

-

The aforementioned cat was vastly uninterested in discussing their shared past, finding herself more keen on making sure a certain giant stranger was worthy of their presence. The intruder held out a hand smelling suspiciously of her best friend's makeup. Maybe he stole some! Xiao Mei bravely came to her friend's defense, biting the giant's hand as hard as she could. Alas! He barely even flinched!

-

Basically, any AlMei that I've written are my favorite lines.

If anyone got through all of this, I applaud you but also wonder what the heck you're doing with your life. You must really like my writing for some reason.

[orbitariums]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟔)

note: it’s been a while y’all!!! i hope you’re still here & i hope you’ve been taking the time to educate yourself on everything that’s going on around the world!

this chapter probably took me the longest to write out of any chapter bc i was trying to get all the details just right. i felt like maybe something was missing, and i edited it all this week to get it how i wanted. now i feel more secure!!

i hope y’all enjoy it, i’m so excited to see and show y’all what’s up next for moonrose/yn and steve. leave your thoughts !! let’s gooo

playlist

word count: 8.1k

warnings: none really? other than mentions of sex work and the age gap btwn steve and moonrose. but no smut this time! this starts off where chapter five ended.

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐱: 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

The sight in front of you when that camera turned on made you sit right up, your eyes nearly popping out of your head. There was no fucking way. It was some sort of sick joke. Because the man behind the camera simply could not be who you thought it was.    

     “What. The. Fuck.”

| | |

     "What the fuck?" you continued, less statically now that the initial shock was gone.

But there was no way in hell that the man you were talking to, had been talking to for over a month, was Captain America? He didn't have to be in his full attire, the face of Steve Rogers was noticeable anywhere.

     And then it hit you, a flood of realizations. Of course he had used a fake name at first. It should've been obvious when he changed his name from Grant Roberts to Steve - short for Steve Rogers. It should've been obvious when he told you that he was a "scientist", such a vague term to use for the many branches of science that existed.

     It should've been obvious why he wouldn't turn his camera on. And yet, it shouldn't have, because this wasn't something that you could even begin to suspect. Customers had their reasons for turning off their cameras - one of those reasons was not usually because they were secretly an Avenger.

     But still, it didn't feel quite real. The logical, pragmatic side of you calmly figured that this was all just somebody's idea of a sick joke, that maybe this person behind the screen had set you up all along just for this big reveal, as some sort of way to deceive you. In fact, the logical side of you wanted to write this all off as a pathetic joke.

     It didn't make sense. And you desperately needed it to. You needed answers, now. If this were some kind of highly calculated joke for whatever reason, you couldn't even find one, you wanted to know. And if it were a joke, you wanted to know why you. You wanted to know how much farther this person was willing to go.

    And if it weren't a joke, if you really were talking to Steve Rogers... you wanted to deny it, but something in you urged that this was real, as unlikely as it seemed. The feeling that he was who you had truly been talking to felt as true as the connection you had created with Steve.

Still, that didn't mean you weren't shook the fuck up.

     "What the fuck!" You repeated, standing up and bringing your laptop with you as you migrated into your office, turning on the lights and then sitting back down at your office table. This felt like official business. You wanted to really be able to take it in.

     And Steve? Well, he was just waiting for you to finish reacting, all the while his eyes slowly watching you on the screen, his chest filling up with worry. He shouldn't have, he really shouldn't have, even if it were in the name of bettering himself and fixing things with you. But he knew he couldn't panic again, couldn't retract out of fear. He would face this, even if it meant having to endure a reaction from you.

     The worst that could happen was you could expose him and it would lead to some unnecessarily huge scandal. Even worse, it could turn out that you were not to be trusted, and that somehow this would take a turn for the dangerous. But he had known that all along. He had thought about it long and hard before he made the decision to show himself, and he still did. So there was no turning back now.

     "Are you kidding me?" you barked, not out of anger but out of pure confusion - you felt like you had to assume this sort of accusatory position to defend yourself, whether or not he was real. And if he was, you had some choice words to say.

     "Moonrose..." Steve said, the first time he was speaking ever since he turned on the camera.

     You focused in on the way his lips moved and his careful expression, the way he spoke slowly and calmly, like he was approaching a scared animal who was ready to attack. All of his words would be calculated, you could tell in the way his eyebrows came together, the way he watched your reaction as if he were concerned for your own well being. And to admit it, he was to some extent. He understood your freak out, but he was trying to be calm to avoid a meltdown that would ruin the both of them, depending on what you decided to do in the midst of said meltdown.

     "Okay. You're talking," you noted, blinking. Maybe if he hadn't spoken you could slam your laptop shut and brush this off as some sort of glitch in the matrix. You still had questions. You were a smart woman. You weren't about to be played. "How do I know you aren't a deepfake?"

Steve furrowed his brows. All his years in this business and some of this new technology was still hard for him to keep up with,

     "What?"

You ignored his confusion and continued on. Your request was more like a command, Steve felt like he was back in the army again.

     "Blink," you commanded.

      You wanted to see if you could spot any inconsistencies in him, just to cross out the idea that the person in front of you could be generated by an algorithm. Was it desperate? Maybe, but not unnecessary. If you were talking to Steve Rogers you bet your ass you would make sure he was real.

     Steve wanted to ask why, but he figured he was best not going against your wishes in any way. So he blinked, and to your wondrous disdain, it seemed legitimate. You felt some sort of marvelous sinking feeling in your chest. Like this - your career, your customer interactions, your life - was realer than you had signed up for. Everywhere you turned these days, something was surprising you. But what made this sinking feeling so brilliant was the fact that you were seeing Steve. And you weren't just seeing anyone, you were seeing Steve Rogers. That was a big deal.

     A quick bark of laughter escaped from your lips - first because of the fact that you thought you could prove whether or not what you were seeing on the screen was real, when all signs pointed to yes, and second because you were in genuine shock, processing what had happened to you. But you were laughing because it was almost funny. Lately your life had thrown you so many curveballs. It was almost unbelievably hilarious that of all the people in the world, Steve would be this Steve in particular. The universe would broaden those slim chances just for you.

     And for what? You wondered. Maybe it was a test to see if you would break down again. But really, you had no reason to. You weren't necessarily upset over this revelation, in fact it made the discrepancies of your relationship with Steve make a whole lot more sense. It made the blow less heavy. So you weren't upset. You weren't on the verge of tears or a brand new breakdown that would take you weeks to recover from - you were just sitting motionless in a soup of disbelief.

It was kind of cool, though. This whole time you were talking to Steve Rogers, the Captain America. It was also worrisome, because you thought there might have been some reason in particular that he chose you, although you couldn't figure out why for the life of you. The most illegal thing you'd done in the past few years was neglect a couple of parking tickets and have a few underage drinks.

     "How do I know I'm really talking to Captain America?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at him through the screen.

Steve sighed as if resigning and reached over beside him, where from behind his bed frame he pulled out the shield, showing it on camera like it was nothing. You squinted and folded your arms, observing it up close.

     "That could be anything," you raised a brow, and Steve sighed again, this time closing his eyes.

     "It's me. Really. I don't know how else I could prove it to you."

When you heard his voice again, the pure intention in his voice, hoping that you'd believe him, it all seemed to click. And any shred of denial you had left was gone, defeated by acceptance.

     "Jesus," you breathed out, looking at him in silence for a second and then shaking your head, confused. "You know so many girls on here would kill to talk to you? I mean, seriously. I have a friend who dresses up in Avengers cosplay every night and uses a dildo the same colors as your shield. So why me? You know there's nothing illegal about what I'm doing, right? I can't get in trouble for this."

You realized you were sort of rambling and not making any sense, but this was one of those times where you let yourself. What was the appropriate response to this? The answer - there was none. Also, you wanted to make sure you were in the clear. Though you doubted Captain America would be prowling against sex workers, you had to make your innocence obvious in general. It was like you hadn't considered that maybe Steve, like anyone else, had needs, and that you were just helping him fulfill those needs... until it spiraled into, well, this.

     "Listen," Steve started.

Even he hardly knew what to say. For all the time he had spent thinking about this decision, he was starting to feel that he wasn't really thinking at all. He didn't know how he would de-escalate the situation, and he didn't know what exactly he would say. He just figured it would provide a sense of relief for him and hopefully for you too, as well as resolve any discrepancies in why he stopped talking to you.

But now he felt like maybe this was just his selfish excuse for the fact that he wanted more, and that he was willing to show his face because of that fact. Did he feel better? Slightly. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of his chest now that you were talking again, now that he was seeing you again. The feeling was so odd, a kind of weird lightheartedness that didn't feel like it belonged.

He finally chose his words.

     "I'm sorry. For everything. I... I don't even know what to say right now."

     "You're telling me," you responded with raised eyebrows.

The situation may have been weird and more than either of you could deal with, but it was nice talking to him. The face was nothing like you had been expecting at all. But it was still Steve... right?

     "Really, though. I want to apologize. And I don't have to show my face to do that, but I feel like I need to. I'm sorry for how things ended last time. I was afraid of the things that could happen if I let myself open up to you. I was trying to be extremely careful, and I let that take over me. It wasn't fair to you to detach myself the way I did," Steve explained slowly, and you listened, taking in each and every word.

     It wasn't hard to understand. It made sense why he wouldn't want to open up to someone on the internet, being who he was. Still, you wished he hadn't been so sudden about it. You'd wished you could've at least understood him a little, so it didn't end out like that.

He continued,

     "And I'm sorry for enabling any of this at all, even though I don't regret it any more. It's not that I don't think you'd be able to handle that kind of communication or that I found you immature. It's that I think I wouldn't be able to handle that kind of communication. And... and I was beating myself up for letting things go so far the way they did instead of just realizing... just realizing that..."

     He swallowed down his words a bit, but you were curious, leaning your head in as if to prompt him. All his words were reassuring, a genuine apology. Like he was making up for his own failure, explaining his own faults. It made you feel a whole lot less naive and it cleared up so much for you, after things were left so blurry. And you were surprised he was even giving you an explanation. Why did he come back, if he were so busy and had weaned himself of you already? Why was someone of his importance being so caring when he didn't have to be at all?

You wanted to know.

     "Realizing what?" you asked.

     "That what we had wasn't something I could just brush off because I was scared. That just because a strong connection like that intimidates me doesn't mean trying to pretend it doesn't exist will help. It's not like me, honest. I value loyalty above all else. I consider you a friend, and I wasn't loyal to you. And I'm sorry."

The thoughts in your brain were running a mile a minute. If anything, you weren't expecting this to begin with. But an apology? You weren't expecting that at all, from the Steve you once knew, or from Captain America. And now that you could see who he was, this connection you had felt like something you were more willing to lean into. You were more willing to be honest about the fact that you liked each other, and not just for the purpose of your work.

    You had so many customers who considered you a friend, but not in this way. Not in the genuine way, where even though you serviced him, you weren't being nice because of that. If he had been just some rando, you might have been able to brush his words off easier. And you wouldn't even be entertaining the idea of a conversation that was this exclusive, this revealing. Had he been anyone else, this wouldn't be happening. But you'd seen who he was, on the news and in the public world, and through a screen. It just made it easier to want to trust him and his intentions.

    And right now, it sounded like Steve was genuinely sorry, and that he felt like he had let down a friend. And you were both surprised and ecstatic that he saw you in that way. It wasn't every day a public figure like Steve Rogers wanted to talk to you. It felt like speaking with an old friend, so mundane and nonchalant, yet so out of the norm.

    Yet, even though you were happy to be talking with him, you couldn't help but criticize his methods. You thought of how he had thrown you completely off guard while you were in this carefree disposition, but you didn't forget that it was your reaction that mattered.

    Your reaction would set the feel for the entire week. You were proud of yourself for not allowing the kind of reaction that would send you back to the place you had spent time getting out of. You were glad that this revelation didn't ruin the good mood that had been curated over the past few hours during the night out. He had just come out of the blue, and was giving some hearty apology that you weren't even prepared for in the slightest. Uttering your next words, you shook your head slowly as you expressed your feelings of disappointment in him.

    "I'm glad you've come to your senses. And, I can understand where you're coming from. But I can't help but think that this isn't like you, or it shouldn't be. I mean, you're kind of a big deal. You should know how to handle your feelings instead of just leaving me out of the blue and then coming back to reveal that you're... well, you! It's really a lot to take in, I would hope you're not missing that."

Steve nodded, glad that you were expressing yourself. It didn't upset him that you were calling him out- if anything, he deserved it, and he liked someone that could point out his own wrongdoings, although that wasn't because he wasn't responsible for himself. He liked a woman who could call him out, but he didn't need a woman who could stay on top of him, because he was adult enough to do it himself. There was a difference, and distinct levels of maturity that came with that difference.

    He had been so engulfed in his own shortcomings and anxieties and that wasn't fair to you, nor was coming back and doing this big reveal, being as prolific a person as he was. To be fair though, he hadn't really been thinking logically in the moments before he showed you who he was. But you had made all correct points - he was supposed to be the smart adult in the situation and communicate efficiently - you understood why that hadn't happened, but you just wanted to bring it to the table. You were vocal about your feelings. You didn't just make excuses for people.

    "Yeah. I know. It's silly of me, I was thinking of myself and stressing over the details. So, I'm sorry, I know that wasn't very heroic of me. I feel a little selfish, because I don't want knowing who I am to put any added stress on you," Steve became slightly sheepish, apologizing for the fact that he was who he was, and that he was intentionally revealing himself to you despite his high importance.

     You had settled into the reality of the situation, and ever since you took the time for yourself to heal, this sort of rolled off your back. Another conflict down, just like that. You were ready to take on more surprises, more shock. Maybe a month ago something like this would've blown you out of the water and put you on edge, especially if it were in tandem with the stressful things you were already going through.

But now, you were mellowed out. And you were thankful for the fact that you had been on a night out before this, the drinks in your system and the fun you had had definitely took the edge off, made you feel more in the moment without the anxieties of the present.

So you almost laughed it off, genuinely chuckling.

    "You don't sound cocky at all," you joked sarcastically, and Steve made a playful face.

    "What's that mean?"

You did your best impression of him, putting on airs and sitting up high and mighty, imitating his voice,

     "I'm sorry that I'm Steve Rogers, defender of justice. Here's my shield, no big deal. Next caller."

Steve chuckled, lowering his head,

    "Oh, is that how I sound?"

You shook your head slowly and playfully,

    "Without a doubt. And by the way, the fact that you sleep next to your shield? Classic."

    "Not next to it, it's just beside the bed frame," Steve defended himself, playing along with the joke.

    "Same thing," you teased, with a dismissive wave of your hand.

    A beat went by, silence. The two of you sitting in the acknowledgment of what you had, staring at the other on the screen. Sated, but not elated by what had just happened. As for Steve, he felt much more relaxed. Like he was in a better place, now that he had explained himself to the only person who it made a difference for. Now that he had finally broken past that wall of fear. And he wasn't thinking about the future, wasn't worrying his head off about the possible consequences of what he was doing, though there were so many that his brain could think up. Instead he was just sitting in his good feeling, floating in it.

    He was being honest with himself, with no fear of what that meant. So many times he pushed back opportunities like this because of his own fear, or because he convinced himself he was too busy to pursue something like this. And though it wasn't like you two were dating or in an official relationship, there was something between you. It was clear that you liked each other, more than just in the way a customer would. And instead of running from that spark, Steve was letting it shine. Whether it turned out to be something more ot not wasn't what you two were worried about. It was just sitting in the moment. Although, the silence, the attraction in your gazes made you wonder where to go from here.

    Would Steve be continuing to attend your shows, and carry on like normal? Would he want to talk more, now that he had gotten rid of this fear he was telling you about? Your mind wasn't going too far on that front - you weren't thinking of technical things, like what this would mean when it came to your relationship with Steve, that seemed like it was outlandish to be talking about. You weren't pursuing anything with him and he didn't seem to be pursuing anything with him. But you wanted to know what the hell would happen after this?

    "So... what now?" you asked calmly - because you weren't worried about what was next, you just wondered.

Steve took in a deep breath, slowly shrugging his shoulders up and down. He raised his brows,

    "I dunno. What's important to me is what's important to you. What are you hoping for?"

    "I'm not hoping for anything," you replied, and to hear yourself say those words was such a relief. You were done wanting anything from men, or anyone, or hoping that they would follow through with your desires. Your hopes for how other people would act always spiraled into desperate measures, and that wasn't you any more. You continued, "Also, you're the one who wanted to clear things up. I think what's next is your decision."

    "You're right," Steve nodded. That was fair enough. He didn't want to put any of this on you. To him, it was a matter of how this relationship would progress. He wanted to know you on a base level, not just through this. He wanted to know you the same way he knew a normal friend. He saw you as that, why not make things that way? But for now, it was best to just take things slow. Not out of fear, but for the sake of reality. "I guess I just want to get to know you on a real level. Not as a customer, but as a friend."

    Steve's words struck a realization in you. Not only were you talking to Steve, but you had also performed for him. He knew your o-face. And that wasn't something that embarrassed you, because it was your job, and you were very comfortable with your sexuality because of your job. But knowing now that you were performing for Captain America? It felt like the stakes were just a bit higher, and you always put on a good show.

    And it was just a tad bit flustering to know that the man you gave your all to sexually, the man whose groans and moans turned you on to no end, the man who needed you to please him, was Steve Rogers. Unbelievable, yet the proof was in front of you. You'd be lying if it didn't make you feel powerful to know that you had been the reason that a whole Avenger was pleasuring himself almost every night.

    "Huh. So do I still show you my ass?" you asked, masking your flustered state with humor.

A laugh tumbled out of Steve's lips, and you could see him turning a shade of pink, see his face change as he got what he could only describe as flashbacks. You smirked at the impact you seemed to have on him. He cleared his throat so his voice wouldn't break as he continued, smiling shyly at the camera,

     "Uh," he started, realizing he hadn't quite formulated a response. He chuckled nervously. "If-if you want to."

You nearly snorted, feeling especially devious now,

    "Wow, Steve, I'm shocked. After all this time, I still make you nervous?"

You kind of felt like the shit. Who else could say they successfully got Steve Rogers off, without even touching him? You were the only one who could make him feel this way, and he didn't have to say it out loud, he already knew it. There was a reason he chose you specifically. The minute he saw you, he was drawn to you. That hadn't changed.

He chuckled at your question,

    "I'm not such a tough guy when it comes to these things."

    "Oh, but that can change. Trust me, I've seen it," you commented, and you both knew what you were talking about - the time when you had taught Steve how to be more dominant with you. That was probably one of your more intense sessions with him.

    "Really though, I do want to get to know you better. You're a friend to me. I want it to feel like a friendship. If you're comfortable with that."

    "I think so," you responded. Again, it was only because it was him that you were agreeing to this. But you didn't quite know how to make that happen, because it never had before. "I guess it's just a question of how to be friends outside of this."

Steve shrugged,

    "We could talk outside of this. If you're okay with doing that."

You raised a brow, sort of surprised at that suggestion,

    "Are you? I mean, what are you thinking?"

Steve felt secure enough that he wanted to be able to talk to you outside of this site, as long as he wasn't being reckless with his communication. He didn't want there to be some way for important information to leak if he started talking to you on his phone, or give up too much personal information of his own. But he knew he wanted to talk to you outside of just this site, and hear your voice, too.

    "There's gotta be some way we can talk more frequently. I'm not really a texting guy, but I have... several phones. Some are for business and some are for-"

     "Talking to cam girls online," you filled in the blank.

    "Sure. Except you're my friend. Who happens to be a sex worker."

You laughed, grinning at him, a warm feeling blossoming in your chest at the fragile correction,

    "Got it. I mean, I have a phone number. I'm sure one of your techie friends can find a way for us to text without revealing too much personal information, if that's what you're thinking about. But hey, you know I'm not gonna like... I don't know, try to rob the Avengers."

Steve nodded understandingly.

    "No, I understand that. It's just, I don't know, a precaution thing. A job thing. It's less personal and more just, professional."

     "Hm. Do you usually hide your number from friends?" you asked inquisitively, raising an eyebrow.

    "Sometimes," Steve said shortly, then sighing as he began to think of the circumstances. This friendship was different from one he ever had. It was so based on trust and making slow progress, within the boundaries you both had to set. "You make a good point. I'll think about it," Steve decided.

    "Here, we can compromise. I have two snapchats. One is a private snapchat, a special treat for loyal customers, and the other is my regular snapchat. The private is for nudes, the regular one is for... my life. You can see my boobs and my hiking trips. And, we can text on my regular snapchat, like friends would. But, just to be clear, you're... still a customer, right? You can be both a friend and a customer. Huh. Now that I'm saying that out loud, I realize that a lot of my friends have seen me naked."

Steve laughed, and you grinned just at the sight of his smile. It was nice to hear his voice, but it was more than enough to be able to see the face that went along with it. Maybe this was the start to your friendship.

    "I get that. And I'll always be a customer. But I think, maybe for a few days, it would be healthy for me to just see you as you. It would feel weird watching my... friend, you know," Steve couldn't even complete that sentence, and he wasn't quite sure how he could.

You did a lot of sexual stuff on camera, it wasn't just one thing. But it was how he felt. He wanted it to feel like a refresh. That didn't mean he didn't want to see you that way at all, but it was the old fashioned part of him that made him feel like he needed to see you as just you. He continued,

    "You know, not while you're performing as Moonrose."

    "Sure, I can appreciate that," you nodded. "But in the meantime, don't be a stranger on here. I actually like doing those things for you."

    "Oh, don't get me wrong. I'll definitely be back," Steve replied quickly - there wasn't a big enough old fashioned bone in his body to keep him from interacting with you the way the site was designed for. He needed you in that way, he knew that was undeniable. But first, a fresh start. "And the Snapchat thing sounds good. You do have to teach me how to use it, though."

     "Sure, Steve," you smiled. You felt some sort of excited pang in your chest, like this was the start of something new and good.

     Lately you'd been circulating in such good energy, and even though this came to you as a shock, the end result was so positive. You were glad to be returning to interacting with Steve, to be feeling the joyous depth of this connection that you had. You were glad that he was who he was, because it made it that much more fun to talk to him, it felt like some sort of special occasion. Because you knew Captain America, without knowing that you knew him. And now you were becoming friends with him, and it was almost normal because you had been talking to him for so long. It was hard for you to get a clear grasp on, it was so unexpected, so irregular. But it was exciting. A rush, and not in a toxic, thrilling way. It was a fulfilling and wholesome rush, one that made you feel full.

    "Oh, and by the way," Steve added, the thought just coming up in his mind. "What's your real name?"

You were practically beaming. Never in your life would you have expected to be telling this to a customer, to be becoming friends. But he was asking, and you were willing to respond. You wanted him to know you, just as he wanted to know you.

    "My name is Y/N," you said, like you were letting out a breath and taking in fresh air. You couldn't wipe the smile off your face when he heard your real name, how it sounded just right coming from your lips, and he decided he wanted to say it all the time.

     "Hi Y/N. I'm Steve. Nice to finally meet you."

| | |

    "What's got you giggling like a schoolgirl with a crush on teacher?" Sam inquired as he walked into the kitchen, catching sight of Steve leaning over the counter, his phone in his hand, an unlikely grin on his face, laughter coming from his normally pouty lips.

      Steve just looked up from his phone, trying to appear as serious as possible. Sam's observation wasn't totally off, after all. For the past week or so, you and Steve had been talking through Snapchat, a different means of communication like how you discussed. You taught Steve how to download it, which was an experience unique to you and you only.

    How many people could say they taught the strongest, smartest supersoldier out there how to download and create a Snapchat account? (All while you were teaching him how to use the app, he kept insisting "I'm not that old", to which you did nothing to reassure him that he wasn't). Anyways, Steve had been preoccupying himself with that as of late.

    During this time, the spring period of the year, the Avengers were a lot less busy, and had a lot more downtime on their hands. He spent that downtime on Snapchat with you, and with his team in real life. And it was safe to say, he was back up again. But not in the almost superficial, hyper-pleased way that he was when he first met you, the kind of happiness that was like a sugar high that crashed hard. No, this time he was happy, truly. There were no blurred lines between the two of you at the moment, only honesty, only truth.

    So when he watched your Snapchat stories on your regular snapchat and got to see your real life, he was always highly entertained. He truly wrapped himself into your hiking adventures, study sessions and student life, your daily acai bowls, all the outfits you were making, all the things you enjoyed. You weren't perfect, but he admired you so much. You were hardworking and adventurous. You made everything you did beautiful, and you only wanted beautiful energy around you - you exuded energy of that very same magnitude.

And plus, you were always sending him funny snaps - pictures of yourself with filters on them, updates about your day, or just posts you saw that you found funny. It was so good to be interacting on a humane, friend level. He could admit he got caught up sometimes, like in this very moment.

    He switched off his phone, putting it in the back pocket of his sweatpants, and offered a small smile to Sam, who was teasing him.

    "Hello to you too," Steve chuckled, shaking his head.

     He wouldn't answer that question though. Even though he was much more comfortable with you, he still didn't want his business revolving around you to circulate. But this time it wasn't out of fear, it was simply because he wanted to keep things private and be smart about it. He still knew that his team would probably be concerned if he was talking to you at this level, that he let it get this far, but he wasn't exactly worried about that. 

     He just didn't want to deal with the controversy if he told them about you. For now, this was just something for him. Not secretive, but not public, either. The shift was similar to your own healing transition - Steve was less robust and scared, less type A about the whole situation.

    "I don't think I've ever seen you look at your phone like that. I don't even think I've seen you on your phone... at all," Sam continued, though he wasn't pressing Steve, he was just curious.

Everyone had taken notice, once again, of Steve's shift in energy - they wondered if it would be permanent or if he would just become withdrawn or irritable once again. And they wondered what brought these shifts on, but they mainly just admired the moments like these. Maybe it was just the fact that it was getting nicer outside, that the skies were clear and blue, and that they weren't overwhelmed with work.

    Steve dodged the question yet again, watching as Sam filled up a water bottle.

    "First time for everything, huh?"

Sam grinned mischievously,

    "My man Steve. Finally adjusting to the times."

Steve chuckled silently - he was adjusting more than Sam even knew.

And when it came to you, you were glad to have Steve in your life. He wasn't a priority to you, and that was a good feeling. He was just someone you liked talking to, a friend who you felt you had a deep connection with. You were glad that you had each cleared your feelings up, that you decided to make this compromise in order to be friends, in order to revive and live through that connection that you both acknowledged you had.

    "You could say that," Steve grinned at Sam, who was in athletic clothing and was filling up a water bottle at the fridge.

    "Going for a run. Wanna come with?" Sam asked, Steve smirking playfully as he folded his muscular arms, which bulged through his t-shirt. He was already in athletic wear - a tshirt and sweatpants - he was ready any time.

    "That something you really wanna do right now?" Steve teased.

After taking a big gulp of water, Sam pointed at Steve, indicating that the competition was on,

    "Try me."

Steve shook his head and laughed,

    "Sure, why not?"

     As Steve and Sam embarked on their afternoon run, they were followed by the sound of snapping cameras and flashing lights, which was normal for any Avenger doing anything. Though, press generally respected their wishes and didn't ask them any questions or bother them much, they were still there. Though, it was generally something Steve could ignore, and this time in particular it didn't bother him much. He was too wrapped up in the moment, the warm spring breeze against his face as he ran alongside his close friend, the thought of you fresh in his mind, the image of your smile burning in his brain.

All these things kept him warm, and Steve was glad. He was much too used to the cold.

✺ ✺ ✺

    You liked talking to Steve - scratch that, you loved talking to Steve. If you had a connection before, it was undeniable now. It was really him. And knowing that, you could sink into the comfort of talking to him. Neither of you felt like there was anything to be afraid of. You were just friends, and it was great like that, even if you both knew you had the bursting potential to be more. 

     Of course you understood the romantic undertones of your relationship, they'd been there from the start, first under the guise of flirting, then stretched out as you spoke to one another and got to know each other. And now that you actually knew each other, the possibilities for more were right above your heads, all it would take was a little reach.

    But you weren't quite thinking of that. You knew it, but you let yourself rest in the friendship you had now. You were still taking care of yourself, not focusing on your love life at the moment. But if the feeling should become so pressing, who were you to deny it? You would be lying to yourself if you did, and probably denying yourself a good thing. You only wanted good things.

    Each day, when you thought about your situation with Steve, your heart swelled up with the magic of your beautiful secret. No one could know, of course, but it was nice to know for yourself. If there were anybody that you were going to tell, it would be Aaliyah - she usually found things anyway.

    You were getting to see him as the real Steve Rogers - not Captain America, not The Man Out of Time, not the Steve Rogers that all the news stories reported on - though he wasn't quite different from the loyal, strong minded and good natured person that he was known to be. And although you knew it was so special to talk to someone like him, you didn't idolize it as much after that week, and that was good. It meant that you really did have the capacity to be friends with each other.

    Out of respect for Steve, and because you were being smart, you decided that you would tell no one. You didn't want to sacrifice the fact that every day you were talking to the one and only Steve Rogers on Snapchat, and he was your friend. You enjoyed sending him things just as much as he liked receiving things. You'd taught him how to use it, but he was still getting used to all the oddities and newness of Snapchat - filters, bitmojis, all that. It was still cool to know that you had this exclusive way to talk to an Avenger. If you weren't smart, you'd tell it on the mountains.

    You were just opening a snapchat from him, a picture of him and The Falcon, yet Steve had the audacity to caption it: "Out with a friend." Looking at the picture, your eyes went wide, glancing between Steve and Sam and not being able to decide who to focus on. You slowly realized there would be more perks to talking to Steve than just Steve - after all, he was a part of a team with the rest of the greats. The perks weren't all you cared about, but they definitely garnered a reaction. 

     You were fixated on the image, hardly paying attention to Aaliyah who was in front of you. Again you were out for brunch together. You'd decided to take up your tradition of Sunday girls brunch yet again, ever since you'd started up therapy and your self proclaimed healing process. But what was great about that process was that you were in a space where you could say that you were happy. Still on ground, but at least you weren't beneath the surface of the earth.

   "Hello! Earth to YN!" Aaliyah exclaimed, waving her hand in front of your face.

Quickly, you turned off your phone, the image of Steve and Sam disappearing (but how badly you wanted to screenshot it), and set it down on the table, letting a smile replace your entranced features. You folded your arms and tried to appear as nonchalant as possible. Luckily, Aaliyah didn't get on your ass about whatever was on your phone, because she had other things on her mind.

     "What's up?" you quirked your eyebrow, taking a sip of your green juice.

     "You know what's up. I've been trying to ask you about Alex all week," Aaliyah raised her eyebrows, and you nearly chortled at the mention of his name.

     You remembered that incident, it had only been a week ago. But that was a moment of spontaneity. You weren't thinking of seeing him again, but Aaliyah seemed to have other plans.

     "What about him?" you smirked, biting down on your straw.

     "You know 'what about him'! You were sucking his face and then you never spoke again, that's what about him," Aaliyah replied.

You rolled your eyes playfully, but a blush came to your cheeks as you remembered the events that went down. Lucky for you though, both you and Alex had agreed that you weren't looking for anything. So you felt fine just leaving it the way it was. You liked those moments of spontaneity, liked the fact that you didn't need to worry.

    "And let's leave it just like that," you grinned, and Aaliyah leaned back in her chair, impressed.

    "Hmm. This is interesting for you. You really aren't a hookup girl, I mean, not in real life. I'd think you wanted something more out of that."

Aaliyah was right, you weren't a hookup girl. You had your attractions in the past, but even before your boyfriend, you'd been more traditional. You were attractive and flirtatious though, so you'd had a small amount of flings and hookups, but it wasn't your style. You did it so much on the internet to begin with. In real life, you had a good balance of spontaneity and regularity. But this was different. 

     You had done what you did with Alex for yourself, for your own pleasure with no strings attached, with the knowledge that this wouldn't be followed by the long, winding road of trust exercises and disappointment that came with an actual relationship. And it inadvertently taught you to stop resisting when you wanted someone, even if it didn't mean you'd be together forever. Would you do it again? Probably not. You'd satisfied that small craving you had.

    In response to Aaliyah, you simply shrugged and said,

    "I guess there's just more in store for me."    

✺ ✺ ✺

    After the run with Sam, Steve took a hot shower and let the water run down his body. As always, hot showers brought along thinking sessions. Usually Steve thought of the things he'd lost, the things he still had yet to adjust to. But right now, all he had on his mind was you. And it didn't make him melancholy or nervous the way that it did in the past. 

     This time he just thought of you with sweet pleasure, without even touching himself. And he thought of the things Bucky had said about trust, just a little while before he'd revealed his face to you; about how at surface level it can appear hard to trust someone, but that gut instinct reveals who you could trust, even if it didn't seem like you should. And you were gaining Steve's trust steadfastly.

   To Steve, it was crazy that you had only just started talking to each other on this level. You felt much closer. It made sense, because you'd spoken for so much time before, but it wasn't the same as how you were speaking now. It was developing, quick and easy, it wasn't hard for Steve to call you his friend.

    And maybe, even more. The same with you, Steve had known the romantic potentials of your relationship - it was a part of what had scared him off at first. He knew it, maybe even more than you did. Because while you solely acknowledged the romantic potential, Steve could feel himself looking a bit more into it. He was wondering what it might be like to be closer to you- the beautiful pros and even the cons. He wanted to know how much closer he could get, to satisfy the feeling of simply wanting to be closer. He couldn't get enough of you and your cute quirks and the conversations you had together outside of the cam site.

    Being friends with you was more than enough, but the feelings that were bubbling up were hard to ignore. They made him so vibrant, and it was noticeable. He kept his head on his shoulders, but not pinned on too hard. Some part of him thought that maybe he was just letting his head go too far in the clouds because he wasn't used to being this spontaneous, wasn't used to the feeling of earning a new friend under such exclusive circumstances. That the freshness of the situation was getting him overexcited, and that maybe he was more of an old fuddy duddy than he realized. But another part of him thought that this was a slow blooming realization, and that he shouldn't clip it while it was still budding.

    It was exciting, it was nerve wracking. He had felt this way before the reveal, but it was crushed beneath the ruins of his own anxieties and fears. Now that he felt he was free to connect in this way, he was hopeful, like there really was something out there for him. Months ago, he thought looking for love was pretty much a dead end, and something he didn't have the time for. Now, even though he wasn't infatuated, he was a bit more optimistic about the fact that there was something here for him, something he had passed roadblocks to get to. 

     He was already learning from you, he could only imagine what you could teach each other if you got closer. And so, the possibility, no matter how reachable or unreachable it was, intrigued him. He was walking around with the ghost of a smile on his face because of it. Again, he wasn't completely gone off you. The feeling was like he was just dipping his toes in to a very deep pool.

     He was lying in bed, opening another snap from you. No filter, no makeup, just you in bed on your side, the sheets over your head, a small smile to match your sleepy eyes. The caption read: "goodnight!" Steve couldn't help but feel special about the fact that he got to see you up close like this, outside of your Moonrose act, stripped down, the same way you felt special about the fact that you were texting someone like him. He looked at the picture for far too long, in the same position as you, smiling before he was able to realize he was even doing it. If he could feel all these things just by looking at you, a friend, he knew there was more to come. And finally, he was thinking he could be open to that.

    Thinking that he could want to take things further, on his own initiative.

note: EEP!!! this was a big chapter !!! how do we feel <3 

[thefanficmonster]

Real Friends

Valkyrae & Reader (Male)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: SMAU, Platonic fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Following an accidental and not very consensual face reveal, Y/N’s dealing the sudden shift of the spotlight on him even more than it was before. Being the big deal he is on social media, the internet has every right to be freaking out. Luckily, he’s got a friend to help him cope with it all.

Requested by @iawaythrown Hii! Thank you so much for your request! I’m so sorry for how long it has taken me to complete your request and post it but here it finally is. I’ve never written a SMAU before so this isn’t the classic SMAU format but I still hope you’ll enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

Imagine you end a toxic relationship of almost a year and go to bed feeling like a ton of bricks has been lifted off you, like you can finally breathe properly and like you’re finally getting a taste of freedom. The very freedom you chose to lose by getting in the toxic relationship in the first place. Of course, I didn’t know it was toxic at the time, probably cause it wasn’t, but it gradually turned into a nightmare.

A nightmare that keeps haunting me even after I thought I had put an end to it.

Apparently, that was wishful thinking cause I woke up this morning to find an unbelievable number of notifications and messages from friends, family and my manager and associates. Being in the music industry as a faceless creator, I keep my circle tight and it only consists of people I can trust so to see them all freaking out at me at once, even the most level-headed ones, freaked me out too. Quickly, I opened the first notification I reflexively tapped on and it opened a post in which someone had tagged me.

A picture taken of me while I was asleep, no doubt one taken by my ex. That being said, I think we can all have a guess at who posted it in the first place. I didn’t listen to my manager when he told me to not allow anyone I trust 1000% into my inner circle. I was foolish and at the peak of my career, feeling on top of the world and feeling invincible which was rare for me. I’ve always been insecure about many things in my life, growing up with a lot of judgy people made me be that way. Not to mention that I didn’t want to be the victim of the internet’s racism either. People turn a blind eye most of the time, but it’s still there, it still exists and looms over all social media platforms, disturbing people’s peace left and right.  You see, I didn’t want people to have an opinion of my art based on my appearance or associations with other creators. I’m pretty good friends with many content creators, especially in the gaming industry, but I’ve never wanted to be put in a box as one of the many friends of someone famous. I made a name for myself without anyone knowing who I am exactly.

And now they all know because of this photo that my ex sent to float down the rivers of hungry social media:

Damn am I gonna get an earful from my manager or what. It’s still rater early though and I’m really not about to deal with this drama on a caffeine-free brain so if there are any calls, emails or messages that need answering - and yes, there are PLENTY of them - they’ll all have to wait until I feel like dealing with them. I’m glad I don’t have to keep up this unbothered charade at home since I live alone cause I seriously don’t feel ok with this. I mean, I could probably report it, but what use would that be when my brand now has a face and a huge chunk of my privacy has already surfaced against my will.

As I sit in my kitchen, sipping my coffee, I finally gather the nerve to at least scroll through the notifications that I’ve received. Fans reaching out, relatives, friends, pissed off people that are there just to exist and try to disturb my peaceful existence but all they’re gonna get is a hard DELETE from me. I have offers on top of offers for modeling pending, waiting on my response. I’ve never considered it, being a faceless creator and all, but my manager will definitely want to milk some cash from this too. That thought makes me sigh in defeat. I have no one to blame but myself for trusting my ex. No one made me do it, no one made me let them in, but I still did, fucking myself over insanely. Just like they’ve now fucked me over.

Amongst the sea of notifications and yet to be opened messages, one in particular stands out and makes me do a double take. It’s a message from my friend Rae - Valkyrae, as she’s known online. She’s one of those gamer friends I mentioned earlier, probably the one I’m closest with. Her and I talk on the regular so seeing a message from her in my inbox is nothing unusual so I wonder why that was the one that stuck out to me. Regardless, that’s the only one I feel like opening and replying to at the moment.

V ~ Hey Y/N, you doing ok? This all must be really hard on you so don’t feel obligated to reply. Do so when you can or want to. I’m here if you wanna talk

Of course Rae would be the one to know how I truly feel in a situation like this. I can act and cover up all I want but she knows exactly what’s underneath the surface of my façade. That third eye friends have for each other, it’s incredible.

Me ~ Doing ok. Wasn’t expecting to wake up to this but now that millions of people know what I look like it feels oddly bittersweet, you know? Like I don’t have to go out of my way to hide anymore but I’m also gonna miss that privacy I had while I was a phantom

Me ~ On the upside: people want me to be a model now XD

My message goes to Seen almost write away, the Typing icon appearing shortly after the messages were read. I wait for Rae’s reply, sipping my slowly cooling coffee with little interest due to how invested I am in our conversation. If there’s a person who can make light of this situation, it’s Rae, no doubt about it.

V ~ I know what you mean. It’s not gonna be easy to adjust to but you will get used to it eventually. I’m sure you’ll even grow to like it. Promise you, it’s not that scary to be exposed, there’s literal millions of people who support you wholeheartedly :) 

V ~ Us, your friends, are here too! Never forget that, we’ve always got your back, Y/N!

V ~ Oh and you really should be a model! Whoever’s saying that has got the right idea. Maybe don’t fear this new change, but embrace it! Take this new turn in your life confidently. Sure, it was out of the blue, but do you really want the person who exposed you to feel the satisfaction of bringing you down? That doesn’t sound like you at all tbh

The epiphany strikes me as soon as Rae’s words sink in as I read them. She’s 100% right. The last thing I want is for my ex to think they’ve won. I refuse to give them the pleasure of tasting victory on the expense of my mental health and career progress. In fact, imma show them just how much they benefited me. But first...

Me ~ Thank you so much, Rae. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for this eye-opener

Me ~ I owe you one <3

I sure as hell owe her one, but for now I have other battles to win.

Rifling through my gallery, I find one more recent picture and without a shred of doubt or hesitation, I go straight to Instagram to post it.

~ “Since y’all were curious...And since y’all wanna see me model, you’re welcome” ~

Within seconds likes and comments start flowing in like a riptide, taking over my phone that, despite being charged all night, is already at half of its battery life.

I refresh the page with the post to look at the new comments that have come through, all supportive and complimenting me, some are real thirsty and some are incredibly kind. And even in that sea, her comment still sticks out to me, making me grin like an idiot.

“That’s what I was talking about! Work it, Y/N!“

[nomanwalksalone]

FASHION SURVIVOR

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

“It’s STYLE not fashion!” enough of us have trumpeted, reflexively, defensively, guiltily, at surprised interlocutors who have confused our interest in clothes no one else wears with fashion. Fashion, we have told ourselves, is fleeting, style – as manifested in the continued and compulsive frittering of our wages on items with details only our parasocial internet peer groups care about – is eternal.

And against the frenetic unpredictability of fashion’s changes, even the twenty or so years I’ve pursued my personal style give me a fair claim to a sort of eternity. But no style has a permanence that allows it to exist completely outside of fashion. The esthetics of cutting-edge fashion can still filter over into pedantic classic menswear, literally shaping gentle changes those of us who cling to that grammar are seeing, as trousers are getting wider and baggier. And, more pointedly, every strange clothing subculture has its own particular fashions, and thus is subject to fashion’s strange bedevilments within their own frames of reference, like some spooky exotic particles.

My twenty years of being a clothes bore means I have endured the style wars. Twenty years ago, the foolhardy and conservative hailed the return of traditional menswear (suits, ties, nice shoes) as if Arthur himself had returned from Avalon (rather than Bryan Ferry on yet another tour). They did not realize that the look of traditional menswear, too, was now simply one of the many fads fashion cycles through, a temporary resurgence. (As I literally have too much invested in it and, thanks to high school, have ample experience living on the margins, I’ll keep wearing what I want anyway.)

The heyday of that trend took classic dressing to flamboyant extremes: fussily detailed pocket squares, vividly colored and patterned suits, and the freak explosion of a mannered little feature of a classic, if previously rare, shoe: the double monkstrap. This, readers, is the story of how I succumbed and overcame.

The monkstrap is a relatively uncommon design for closing shoes – laces and slip-ons are classic, and seven-year-olds everywhere are grateful to the inventor of the Velcro that closes their sneakers, but there’s always been a shoe in most classic shoemakers’ catalogs that closes instead with a leather strap that buckles like a belt to close your shoe. Like a belt, it also can be less forgiving in fit than closures that allow stretch (like elastic-sided slip-ons), or laces’ element of give. But two straps?

The double monk has been a specialty of the shoe brand John Lobb, a brand that is actually two separate companies, whose odd relationship is a complicated detail no one but the fellow esoteric bores we talk to gets right. Suffice to say, this style, invented about a century ago by William Lobb, at his family’s custom shoemaking operation in Paris, had become something of a cult classic in the years prior to the classic menswear fad. As even a cult of fops is not made only of the insanely wealthy and self-indulgent, what allowed this fussy, intricate design to become a classic was the ready-to-wear version John Lobb Paris had begun selling in the years following its acquisition by Hermès. (Hermès bought Lobb Paris in the early 1970s, kept its French custom shoemaking operations going and launched an English-made Lobb ready-to-wear line based on some of the most famous Lobb custom shoe designs. All the while Lobb London, solely a custom shoemaker operating out of a single shop in London’s West End, has continued separately.)

The benefit of a second strap to fasten a shoe is debatable. Its main attraction seems to be its novelty, and as a style it was relatively unusual for decades, perhaps because it’s hard to make a shoe pattern with two straps that fits comfortably, unless the shoe is made to fit a single person – the excellence of custom. And no matter how well made a ready-to-wear shoe is (and Lobb ready-to-wear is quite nice), there are limits to how well it can be made to fit an individual wearer.

Once classic menswear was indeed in fashion, the double monk was adopted by dandies, posers and happening fools alike, some of whom would even walk around with their double monks unbuckled for obvious, obnoxious sprezzatura, a superficial nonchalance that was no longer studied but copied from an Internet essay library. Lobb Paris ran with it, coming up with new styles of double monk shoes and making the double strap its attempt at a signature brand design, even offering what may be the ugliest briefcase ever made.

Lobb London stayed above it all. As a purely bespoke shoemaker, it makes whatever design a customer asks for, one pair at a time, although it has a vast catalog of samples for the customer’s inspiration. A literal catalog, I discovered, when I first began ordering shoes from Anthony Delos, the gifted custom shoemaker who had worked at John Lobb Paris’ custom shop, where institutional, trans-Channel, custom shoemaking memory ran deep and customers could consult the very same gigantic, luxurious catalog of samples. Among those custom shoe sample designs was a simple jodhpur boot – a buckled ankle-height boot – with a double strap closure. Those two short straps replace a single jodhpur strap that traditionally winds sinuously around the upper part of the boot, so they actually don’t look any more flamboyant than the normal design for that piece of footwear. And at last I, too, succumbed to the allure of the double monk, out of romanticism for the idea of a bootmaker trained in the Lobb custom tradition making them for me, out of the finest, softest suede he could find, and the sentimentality of a last order from a maker I considered a friend.

The result has endured, survived along with me the decline of the classic menswear trend and the devolution of the double monk into not only hideous briefcases, but even into triple-strapped mutant shoes and penny loafers whose very saddles have become double monk straps. To say nothing of the past year and change where I have worn only sneakers, but I am optimistic that the styles of that period, too, will evolve and pass.

[feminaexlux]

Branded

It’s the @lukanette-exchange fic! After a long while it’s here!! @kingsglaivian I hope you enjoy! Also thanks to LBSC and @quickspinner in particular for finding the cool soulmark prompt lol

I am super, super excited to share this with you!

Original prompts: “childhood friends AU, soulmate AU, and an AU of the exchangee's choice.”

∴

It’d been just a few minutes after they first met when she first wrote her name on him.

She had come closer and stared over his shoulder when she saw he’d been drawing something. Was it a drawing? It looked like he had been drawing circles on a bunch of lines. Oh, Maman had showed her how music was written, it was music! “Hi! Are you drawing music?” She had asked cheerfully.

The boy had startled, apparently not having seen Marinette earlier. His pencil had marked across the entire page. “Aah!”

“Oh no!” Marinette whined. “You messed up!”

“Y-you made me do that,” he frowned. “You scared me.”

“Are you drawing music?” Marinette continued asking.

“Oh, yeah, yeah I am,” he said, turning the pencil around and erasing the errant mark. “I think about music all the time.”

“So what does that mean?” she asked, poking at his paper.

“That’s uh… that's…” he thought a bit. “I think that’s D and the next one is F and another D but this one’s higher. It’s a song from a video game.”

“You play video games?! Papa and I play games too!”

They talked back and forth about a bunch of different little things and he completely forgot what he’d been doing. Then it got to the point where Marinette had pulled out one of her markers and started writing her name on his arm. “– and if stays tomorrow it means you found your true love!” Marinette smiled up at the boy she’d been talking to. He looked like he was a few years older. Maybe he was even 10? Maybe he was younger, he looked really kinda small to be 10.

She was at the playground next to her family’s bakery. She’d been running around and playing with a few other kids there, but she saw this one boy sitting by a tree in the shade. He looked like he was alone and Marinette wondered if he’d been bullied. She knew what that was like, even at the tender age of 5. But it was easy to talk to this boy, he was much less Crazy Mean Boy than Kim was. He was more like Nino! And Nino was nice.

“Is that your name?” the boy asked, staring at her neatly written letters. “Marinette?”

“Yeah!”

“So if it stays tomorrow you’re my true love?” He asked, confused. “Mom told me that writing names on other people is bad… But why?”

“Maman and Papa have their names on each other’s arms,” Marinette said. “It’s not bad! Oh but you have to draw over it ‘cause it’s important that you do it,” Marinette added.

“Why?”

“It’s important,” she clarified. It looked like he was going to keep asking why until his mom called out.

“Ay laddie, it’s time to go,” a lady with a long braid said in their general direction. She had a girl on her hip and was walking over to the boy. “Why hello there lass, are ye makin’ friends with me boy?”

“I’m Marinette,” she said up to the lady. She wasn’t Lass, she wanted to say.

Marinette saw the boy quickly pull down his sleeves from his hoodie to hide her name. “Itwasnicetomeetyoubye,” he said quickly, before Marinette could whine about him hiding her name. He ran away to hold onto his mom’s hand. “Let’s go mom,” he continued, pulling his mom away in a slightly embarrassed fashion.

“Don’t ye want to say farewell? We won’t be ashore fer a while son.” Well, she didn’t know at the time he had wanted to run away and hide so the nice new girl wouldn’t be weirded out by his mom like most people were.

“See you tomorrow!” Marinette yelled after him.

She didn’t.

∴

It’d been just a few days after they first met.

Luka scrubbed and scrubbed at the M on his wrist but it wasn’t coming out. He’d scrubbed himself raw at the sink, his flesh feeling tender and his skin close to bleeding. He’d written over the girl’s marker with a pen a few days ago, idly curious if the mark would stay. At least he’d written over just the M, thinking about the nice girl who’d been curious about him.

“Luka?” He heard his mom call out. No, no, no. It wasn’t coming out and his mom would see it and she’d freak out and he’d have to make an excuse or find some of her makeup or something. He’d been told to take off his hoodie by… that man and so he ran back to the bathroom to try to do something about the M on his wrist.

Anarka opened the door. “Luka, my boy what are ye–” Oh no oh no she saw the mark. He put his hands back in the sink and kept scrubbing, starting to cry. “Luka what…” His mom started, initially alarmed and then… and then she came over to hug him.

“Mom what do I do?” He cried. “It’s not coming out!”

“Who'd… no, it doesn’t matter. Luka stop doing that, it’s not going to come out. It doesn’t, lad.” His mom took his hands from the sink and started to dry them. “It stays no matter how hard ye try to get rid o’ it.” She spoke to him with the rare moment of solemnity. “Ye'e been Branded, and there’s nothin we can do about it.”

“I don’t wanna be Branded!” he wailed.

In a quiet, heated hiss Anarka whispered “This is why I told ye to never write names on yerself!” She looked at her son crying and sighed, shaking her head. Luka would realize later she’d been more disappointed in herself that she’d let him get Branded like he did. She thought she warned him, but how could she blame him for something no one ever thought would happen at 7 years old?

Who finds their soulmate at 7?

But it’d be a shackle for the rest of his life. Luka would grow up wondering if this M would ever be part of his life again, whether M would even want to be his partner. If he did find someone else to be his partner, they’d wonder if they’d ever be loved like whoever this M was. “Here,” Anarka sighed. “Ye can’t get rid of that Luka. But ye can cover it. Forget about it now, lad,” she said gently, taking off the wide leather cuff she had on that had covered her own Brand. “This 'ere’s yers now. I’ll get ye all freshened up. Granpa’s waitin for us,” Anarka said, pasting on a fake smile.

Luka hated that man. He was angry and hateful and mean, but Anarka had wanted to see her own Ma again, to have her Ma help guide Anarka in the raising of two children Anarka never originally planned to have. Granma was nice. But Granpa? No. Luka swore to himself he’d never be like Granpa.

His mom put the cuff around Luka’s Brand, looping twice to fit the small wrist better. “All covered up now. Is that fitting, Luka?” He nodded, staring at the “S” on his mom’s wrist.

“Was… that dad?” Luka asked, pointing at the Brand.

Anarka laughed. “It stands for Scotland,” she said lightly. “It stands for the Sea. It’s not yer da, no,” Anarka lied.

∴

It’d been a few weeks since Marinette met Adrien Agreste.

She’d been convinced Adrien was her True Love, and was continually disappointed every morning when his name disappeared off of her arm. “Tikki, it disappeared again,” Marinette sighed.

Tikki shrugged. “Maybe he’s not ready?” The Kwami had seen this before. The Brands were a form of magic that humans had that linked two souls together, signaling that they’d found their soul’s mate. A person would have to write another’s True Name on themselves somewhere, and it would disappear at sunrise if it wasn’t meant to be. Sometimes, though, it depended on if the other person was even capable of loving back. A Brand that had disappeared earlier might “take” later, when the soulmate was ready.

Tikki wasn’t sure if it was a good thing for Marinette that Adrien wasn’t capable of loving Marinette back yet. Maybe Adrien had a different name? The kwami wasn’t going to put forth the suggestion that it might not be Adrien at all. Marinette seemed convinced, and Tikki knew better than to doubt her bearers.

Marinette’s parents proudly wore the names they had on their arms, a very simple “Tom” on Sabine’s wrist and a beautifully formed script of “Sabine” scrawled across Tom’s massive forearm. Of course it simply encouraged Marinette into writing several names on her own arms throughout the years, even if most people found writing names on themselves taboo.

Recently, though, it’d just been Adrien’s.

None of the attempts ever stuck.

“It’ll happen one day!” Tikki said cheerfully. “I believe that you’ll find your soulmate one day. But right now you should get ready for school!”

∴

It’d been a few months after Juleka showed him that the picture curse was broken that he met the girl that’d been able to break it.

“I’m Ma-ma-ma-Marinette!”

He’d laughed a little and it hurt her feelings. Good job, Luka, that was a great first impression. Luckily he was able to apologize and smooth it over.

It tickled him, just a little bit, that he’d met another “M” in his life that he actually ended up liking. He ended up liking her a whole lot, which… ultimately kinda sucked because she’d been interested in someone else. Well, that was alright. He’d been used to the idea that he’d never find “the one” since he technically already had and lost them so many years ago.

But this one? This “M”? She was pretty cool and he found himself more interested than he’d ever been in anyone before.

There’d been one other “M” in his life a couple of years ago before his mom decided to move them all back to France, and Paris in particular. Her name had been Meryl and she was a pretty awesome girl, but she’d been several years older and already in University. She’d still given Luka some attention though, apparently finding it cute that she had a boy doting on her like he did. She was nice and she said he’d look good with some blue in his hair, and it’d been the last thing she said to him before she found herself her own soulmate. It hadn’t been Luka, of course.

He’d gotten into a fight with Granpa over his hair after Luka had dyed it. Juleka joined him by dying her hair purple. Anarka had finally had enough of her and her kids being put down and said she was going to go back “home”. It’d been a hard conversation with Granpa, but after Granma had passed Anarka and her kids had little reason to stick around in their Scottish family house. Anarka’s little wildlings were less little, and Juleka and Luka were both in their tweens to teens, largely old enough to handle themselves now.

Anarka had found some nearly-derelict fishing barge and spent a few weeks with her kids fixing up the ship, making it their new house, and they left Scotland as soon as they could. She sailed the newly christened Liberty back into Parisian waters, claiming the Seine as her new home. She gave a little wink to Luka, a nod to the new “S” in Anarka’s life that her Brand now represented.

It’d been good to see his mom coming back into her old self, the wild, chaotic, free spirit that she’d always been. He was no longer embarrassed of her like he’d been so many years ago. And he had to be honest to himself, the boat wasn’t the first choice he’d make in having a place to come home to, but something about Paris just felt right.

Juleka had been feeling better too. The younger Couffaines had been under their Granpa’s oppressive shadow for too long. And now they were slowly discovering more of themselves over time.

Rose was one of the first friends Juleka had made after coming back to Paris a few years ago, and they were “best friends” since. Today, Juleka showed him a neatly written “Rose” in a flourishing script on the back of her right hand. Juleka apparently hadn’t minded getting the Brand at all. “Marinette did this too,” Juleka smiled. “She’s been drawing names for people who ask. It’s so cool,” Juleka mumbled.

“She’s amazing,” Luka said out loud. Jules gave him a look and even he couldn’t figure out what it meant. “What?”

“She’s got eyes on Adrien, you know.”

“I’ve heard your schemes, I know.”

“I’m on team Adrienette.”

“Alright.”

“She deserves to be happy.”

“Sounds good.”

“It’d be weird if you two dated, anyway.”

“But we’re not dating. She doesn’t seem to notice me.”

Jules frowned at that and grumbled something that sounded to Luka like “she notices and it’s weird.”

He thought to himself, Not where it matters.

∴

It’d been a year since Adrien lost his mother, and Marinette finally said the words “I love you” to him.

Yes, it was a video recording and yes, Felix had apparently gone through and deleted it before Adrien ever got to see it, but she’d done it! She’d done the thing! She could do it again! It had to be easier the second time, right? The second… time.

She couldn’t bring herself to do it. It’d been nearly a full year of her attempting Adrien’s name on her arm, and nothing changed. She’d stayed up and watched it fade out when the sunlight hit it during a few fitful mornings. She wrote his name so often it stopped looking like a word and more like a familiar pattern. Just shapes and no meaning.

Marinette had tried out a few different names over the year as well, just so she’d be certain… in a slightly unsettling way. She kept it discreet, writing on her ankle or in another place easy to cover up in case it was… taking. She’d written “Nathaniel”, once. It disappeared. She’d written “Chat Noir” and nearly sighed in relief (and maybe deep down in slight surprise) when it disappeared. Not that it was his real name anyway.

She’d secretly tried “Nino” once, even though he and Alya had gotten together. It hadn’t stuck. Nino and Alya hadn’t asked for Marinette to write each other’s names down, and maybe… maybe that was actually healthy? Like they didn’t need any external validation in order to really enjoy time spent with each other.

There might have been a lesson in that.

She tried “Kim” and “Wayhem” and “Theo”, even though the last one kinda creeped her out a bit. She tried “Kagami.” Nothing stuck.

There was still one name she hadn’t tried but… but she’d been absolutely terrified of it. Luka had more or less admitted to the world at large that he loved her after he’d gotten akumatized. There’d been genuine affection that was unfiltered, unbiased, uninfluenced by whatever the magic was that made names stay on people. He didn’t seem to mind that she was so, so into Adrien. Even if she wasn’t his soulmate, he’d love her.

S-So she’d be able to do that for Adrien! Yes, that made sense. Yes, that soulmate stuff was all kid fantasy anyway. Even if it was demonstratively real.

But if Adrien found his soulmate and it wasn’t Marinette… what was she supposed to do? Just step out of the way?

∴

It’d been a decade since Marinette and Luka first met except neither remembered that first time when they were young children, even if they’d been in the same place: the park nearby the bakery.

He’d held onto her as she broke down crying about the heartbreak and how tired she was. Luka told her he’d listen and be there and hadn’t lied about any of it. It was why she chose to sit next to him after letting her infatuation go and stepping out of the way for Kagami, watching Adrien and Kagami have their Sweetheart’s ice cream together like it was always meant to be Adrien and Kagami instead of Adrien and Marinette.

Marinette chose to sit next to Luka instead of going home.

She went to bed that night deciding that the whole names and soulmates and True Love thing was just a big huge distraction from what she really needed to focus on, which was getting through school, defeating Hawkmoth, and getting her name out there as an up and coming Fashion Designer!

It lasted all of 3 days until she finally gave into her curiosity and wrote an L in the crook of her left arm before going to bed. She really had meant to write out the rest of his name, but then her phone buzzed and there’d been an akuma alert. She sighed and rolled into action.

Her Lucky Charm gave her a guitar pick. That was a little too on-the-nose, Tikki? Ladybug zipped over to the Liberty, somehow not surprised that Luka was still up and leaning against the Liberty to overlook the Seine, looking cool and thoughtful. Actually, scratch that. He looked a little haggard and worried, and he’d been expecting to see Ladybug. Well, at least it meant she didn’t have to go in and wake him up.

“… you must return the Miraculous after…” Ladybug trailed off, noticing as Luka reached out to take the bracelet that he hadn’t been wearing any of the normal… accessories he chose to wear most of the time, most notably the leather cuff he usually had on. Something bothered her and she caught his hand before he touched the bracelet. She turned his right hand over and looked at the pen mark on his wrist. “Is that an M or an E?”

Luka pulled back his hand immediately, embarrassed. “An… M,” he said reluctantly.

Then Ladybug remembered it’d been incredibly rude of her to ask. “Oh, I’m so sorry I-I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It's… been 10 years since I got that, I don’t even remember much about it,” he shrugged.

Ladybug smiled, biting back a sudden urge to scream, and offered Luka the snake Miraculous again. “If you agree… I’d like your help, Luka.”

Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Viperion were able to save the night and have everyone able to go to bed on time. She picked the Miraculous back up from Viperion, who seemed to be confused the akuma victim wasn’t who he’d expected it to be. “Anything wrong, Luka?”

“No… no, I’m glad I was able to help. I’m okay,” he said, clearly still a bit frazzled. Ladybug furrowed her eyebrows at him and he eventually sighed. “I guess I’m worried about a… friend. She’d been going through a lot so I’d been… I’d been waiting to see if she’d either call me or… or God, I don’t know,” he laughed, a little bit in disbelief. “I almost thought she’d been akumatized tonight. I’m so glad it wasn’t her. But it kinda makes me feel like crap for even thinking that.”

“It’s kind to be worried about your friend. W-Which friend by the way?” Ladybug asked. “I could pay her a visit if you’d like?”

“I don’t know if she’d appreciate that, actually,” he sighed. “She can kill me later if she wants, but yeah it’d be great if you’d check up on her. It’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Instead of being worried that Luka was worried over her, she asked “Is she your M?” Ladybug got blindsided by her own question, but she only felt the impact and implication after she asked it. “Oh no, no, I’m so sorry I’ve been so rude.”

He blew out a breath. “I wish,” he mumbled. “I don’t know,” he said, his tiredness making him slightly more obvious about being miserable. “I guess I could know for sure by writing out her name.” That was said like he had been convinced it’d disappear…

“I’m pretty good at writing out names. If you want I could write… the rest of her name out on your arm?” Ladybug offered impulsively.

“… Sure,” he agreed. He watched her as she grabbed a nearby marker and wrote out Marinette on his arm. “Wow, that… looks pretty dead on to her signature.”

“Pfft,” Ladybug laughed. “That’d be the worst identity reveal ever. Marinette’s signed a few things for me too, I’ll have you know.”

“You might have a future in crime with your forging skills if you ever decide to stop being a hero,” Luka chuckled.

“I’ll stick to saving Paris, don’t worry,” Ladybug giggled. “You do have to write over it yourself if you want it to stay. I mean… if she is… you know…”

Luka nodded. “I know. Probably a long shot. Thanks,” he said.

“I’ll check up on her. Thank you for caring, Luka,” Ladybug smiled. “And you know, I’ve got a good feeling about this one,” she said quietly, biting her lip while tapping his arm. “I’ll be off. Have a good night, 'Bug out!”

Ladybug landed in her bed and detransformed. Tikki floated back to her little nesting spot while the kwami watched Marinette pull out her phone.

hey luka just got a visit from LB! thanks for thinking of me

Marinette looked down into the crook of her arm, grabbing a marker and filling out the rest of Luka’s name. She’d recognized that M on his arm.

Had it really been 10 years when she first met him? It was kind of funny that she didn’t remember until now. He hadn’t given his name back then but she remembered the disappointment the next day when her new friend didn’t show.

Had it really been a whole year of writing… the wrong name on herself?

It’d been months since Luka told her she’d been the melody in his head. Months.

And she had spent a week in heartbreak over the wrong boy.

It’d just been a few days since she decided she was going to let Adrien go. And she found her soulmate after that? How lucky was she? Marinette looked up at the sleeping Tikki and squinted suspiciously. Maybe she was Lucky™, except that she had apparently met Luka when she was 5.

Marinette stared at her phone, watching the minutes go by. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight.

The sun rose after an agonizingly boring time of rolling back and forth in her bed, too excited to go to sleep but too tired to do anything productive. She kept checking the name on her arm and it’d still been there all throughout the night, but now at first light… she was… scared. She closed her eyes and covered her head with her pillow, half dreading what she’d see if she looked down at her left arm where she wrote his name.

“It’ll be there,” she said to herself, feeling more certain of that than anything. The warmth of sunlight hit her left arm. She lifted the pillow off of her face but kept her eyes closed. Slowly she opened one eye.

His name was still there. “It’s you,” she whispered, feeling the tears fall from her eyes.

She launched herself out of bed, turning into a little hurricane of activity. She threw her jacket on and ran downstairs, kissing her Maman and Papa on the cheek and telling them she’d be out for a while. They’d been too surprised to see her up at the crack of dawn to complain much, just insisting that she take her phone with her and that she wear proper shoes.

She ran down to the subway entrance and guessed the nearest station where Liberty would be moored, taking the subway train there. She emerged from an entrance about 10 minutes later, ignoring the confused looks the other commuters shot her since she’d been a mess of pigtails and pajamas. She ran toward the Liberty, climbed up and leapt over the railing onto the ship when she saw that the gangplank wasn’t extended.

“Marinette!” she heard Luka’s alarmed shout. She knew he’d be up. She knew it! He ran over to her. “What the heck–” He’d been wearing a different hoodie, a long sleeved one that covered up both his arms. She frowned at him, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

“You’re up early,” she said.

“S-So are you! And you’re-you’re here? What’s wrong?” His voice had dropped from a high pitched panic to his deeper, concerned tone in the span of two words.

She took off her jacket and extended her left arm. She saw him flush but start pulling up his hoodie from the hem, taking it off and tossing it aside. He turned his right palm up to show her the name written across his forearm.

Their names had stayed. He breathed out. “Did Ladyb–” She cut him off, her hands on either side of his face to pull him down, planting a kiss on his lips. They pulled back a second after, looking at one another in surprise.

“It’s you,” she said, resting her forehead against his shoulder. To be honest she’d been embarrassed that she’d just kissed him in the disheveled state she was in, having left to see him as soon as she got out of bed, but she felt giddy and… right.

He pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her to hug her tight. “And… it’s you.”

[bouwrites]

Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream: Chapter 17

Despite the overwhelming odds, tomorrow came.

First, Previous. Ao3.

And we come to the final chapter. Thank you all so much for reading! It was a delight to be able to share this story with you. Be well, and stay safe <3

Story under read-more.

“Honestly, I’m just relieved that you and Jon actually realized you’re in love with each other. I’ve been hanging out with Tamias recently and, God.”

Marinette rolls her eyes at her friend. “It wasn’t like that. It’s not like I was secretly pining since I met him. Or, not-so-secretly.” She snorts good-naturedly, thinking of the boys.

Louise loudly guffaws. “Marinette, you two were so transparent from the moment we met you. There’s no way you weren’t already in love with him then.”

“I wasn’t! I loved him, yeah, but not like that.” Marinette pouts a little. “Just because I fell in love with him later doesn’t mean we were always in love. We really were just friends. Our pining lasted like, two days.”

Kasey smirks mischievously. “I don’t know why you’re trying so hard to defend it when you’re literally dating him now, but go off, I guess. You were married from the moment you moved in together. I bet.”

“We’re good roommates.” Marinette rolls her eyes. “And we had our share of problems. And I wasn’t in love back then. When we met, I was still dating Adrien, you know, and it took a long time to get over him. No, I fell in love with Jon when he brought me out into a starlit field on Thanksgiving and made me a heartfelt speech about how much I mean to him. I mean, I’m not made of stone! Who wouldn’t fall in love when he does that?”

Kasey groans loudly. “That’s so freaking cute, oh my god. I hate that I know that Jon is exactly the kind of person who would do that.”

Louise giggles even more, covering her mouth with her hand. “I hate that he totally did that without even thinking about it being romantic. I bet he fell in love with you at the same time, didn’t he?”

Marinette is loath to admit it, but… “Yes. That’s exactly how it happened.”

The other girls cackle at the thought and, wiping a tear from her eye, Kasey says, “Now, if only David and Tamias could have a starlit romp through a field.”

“Heavens no.” Marinette says immediately. “David and fields? We don’t want to start wildfires.”

“What is with him and fire, anyway?” Louise asks. “He’s not even a pyrotechnic; things just happen.”

“We don’t question it.” Marinette answers. “We just try to minimize the damage.”

“Probably smart.” Kasey says. “He’s got an internship this semester, right? I hope everything catching fire around him doesn’t affect that too bad.”

“Seems to be going alright so far, though Jon would know better than me.” Marinette hums. She sits back, thinking about David’s internship and the seemingly unanimous worry about what comes after college. It’s the last semester for most of them. That thought is still surreal to Marinette. It feels like just yesterday she packed her bags for her very first trip to American soil. “Can you guys believe we’re going to graduate?”

Both girls groan loudly. “It’s so exciting!” Kasey says, though her voice is less enthused than her words. “But also, I’m terrified.”

Louise nods sagely. “I feel like I haven’t learned nearly enough to have a degree!”

Marinette giggles. “Are you going for a Master’s, then?”

Louise nods. “If I can afford it. I’m still budgeting, but my job right now is pretty good, so it should be fine. What about you?”

“Maybe.” Marinette says. “Honestly, I haven’t given much thought to what happens after graduation. I’ll have to talk to Jon about what his plans are, but… yeah, I’ll probably work on my Master’s. Depending on what we decide, I might do that somewhere else, though. I don’t know if Jon wants to go back to Metropolis, or what.”

Kasey coos. “You’d follow him to Metropolis?”

Marinette shrugs. “Why not? Metropolis may not be Paris or New York, but they’ve still got a flourishing fashion scene. It’s not like I’m just following my boyfriend – I can see a future in my career there, too, so right now, since I don’t have it all figured out yet, it’ll work just as well as staying here. Or even going back to Paris. I’m not sacrificing anything doing that, and frankly I think it’d be cool to live in Metropolis, even if it’s just for a while. You know?”

“I totally understand.” Kasey nods eagerly.

Louise giggles. ‘Plus, if Jon is planning on a writing job, he’ll have a much harder time in Paris trying to do that in French.”

“His French is actually pretty good!” Marinette says in his defense. “I’ve been practicing with him, and he’s been at it for more than a year now, so he’s not that bad. You’re right, though. He hasn’t had a firm idea for what kind of job he wants, not that he’s told me, anyway, so if he’s planning on just joining the reporting scene like his parents, even just as a temporary job, it’ll be much more difficult for him in Paris. At least, more difficult than designing will be for me in America.” Marinette hums, holding a hand to her chin. “Something else to consider, I guess.”

“Sounds like you and he need to talk about it.” Kasey says. “You’re running out of time, fast.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Marinette signs. “What about you, though? Any plans for a graduate degree?”

Kasey flushes a little and shakes her head. “N-no. I’m still just worried about finding a job.”

Louise pats her back gently. “Easily the worst part.” She says. “The job search sucks. But you’ll get through it!”

Marinette groans in agreement. I need to remember to thank Uncle Jagged again. She thinks. Even with her name tied to his giving her massive opportunity within the industry, looking for jobs still sucks. She’s so fortunate to have consistent (celebrity, no less) clients, so she’s sitting pretty well working on commission. But she does want a more stable income just for future-proofing. She even has the luxury of, what she’s thinking of doing, trying to start her own label right out of the gate instead of working for a brand first.

It probably would have been smarter to keep her identity secret until she set that all up and use Jagged’s announcement to prop up her new label, but… that’s hindsight, Marinette supposes. Jagged Stone is still big enough that she’ll turn heads when she does announce it regardless.

Either way, she’s keeping her options open for now. But she’s so lucky. The only reason she’s even looking for jobs is the option and experience – she doesn’t need it. Marinette tries her best to appreciate that.

She definitely needs to talk with Jon, though. Which she will do, if tests don’t murder her first.

To be fair, midterms aren’t all bad. Marinette has a good groove going – she nails it down during their third year so this is just slight alterations here and there to adjust for this semester’s schedule. Still, she can see that diploma and she sure as hell is not going to slack off and let herself lose it now.

Plus, they have a whole semester. Yes, they need to plan and prepare, but it’s not that urgent just yet. Despite how graduation seems to loom over them, it’s still months away. It makes it a little too easy to put the talk out of her mind and focus only on the more immediately approaching tests.

That said, Marinette knows it’s irresponsible to keep putting it off. Marinette is reminded of it regularly when Tikki brings it up during their chats. Wayzz reminds her often, too, but if Tikki, who only gets out of the Miracle Box much more sparingly these days, uses her valuable time with Marinette to worry over it, it must be worse than Marinette thinks.

Then again, it is Tikki, so maybe not. Tikki’s a chronic worrier, after all.

But Marinette ends up surprised when it’s Jon that brings the subject up. They’re on their sofa, playing a video game together, when Jon says suddenly, “I keep meaning to ask, what’re you planning to do after graduation?” Marinette blinks up at him for a moment, because despite the question being on her mind, it’s still unexpected now. “I mean,” Jon chuckles awkwardly, “I know you’re already making a living off designing, so maybe nothing much will change there? But, uh… are you going to move back to Paris?”

Marinette smiles gently. “I was actually meaning to ask you that.” She sighs. “Someday after graduation I’m going to start a label. I need to get people and get all the prep work done for that, and I’m probably not going to work too hard on starting that until graduation, so that’s a while off, and I was thinking of working on a Master’s degree, but… as for where, I was going to ask you. I can make my label anywhere, and I can live off commission until I get that sorted, but since I don’t know what kind of job you’re looking for, I was thinking you’d probably decide where we go.”

Jon flushes red. “You were? I- oh. I thought since you had everything all figured out already, I’d just go where you do and find a job there.”

Marinette flushes as well at him saying so directly that he plans to follow her wherever she decides to go. It’s something they both already understand, of course, but they rarely voice that particular thought. Have we ever said that aloud? That they’ll move to an entirely new city just to be with the other? When Marinette thinks too hard about it, it seems more grand a gesture than it feels. Really, it’s more like… Jon’s home, so if he’s in Metropolis, that’s home, too. It’s not a big deal. Yet, when he says the same thing, it feels so major. “Oh.” She says. “Well, what kind of job were you thinking of?”

Jon shrugs. “I don’t know, honestly. I mean, dream job, you know what would be really cool?” Jon perks up cutely and grins at the thought. “Working in a museum. It’d be so cool just to be surrounded by all the artifacts all the time. Do research, and educate people… I don’t know. I haven’t thought too much about it, but that sounds neat, doesn’t it?”

“You’re volunteering at a museum, aren’t you?” Marinette asks.

Jon grins. “Yeah, for class. That’s what made me think of it! It’s actually a lot of fun. Though, in the meantime, I do still like writing. It’ll probably be easier for me to get a job at a newspaper or something because of my parents. That’s an option, too.”

Marinette hums. “Well, if you’re going to write, you probably don’t want to do that in French.”

Jon grimaces. “I didn’t even think about that.”

Marinette just giggles. “So that’s a reason to stay in America, I guess.”

“If you want to go home, you shouldn’t let me stop you. I can figure something out.” Jon says earnestly. “I’m fine living in Paris, I promise. My French isn’t that bad anymore, right?”

Marinette shakes her head fondly. “Of course not. You’re fluent enough to work there if you have to, and you’ll only get better if you do, but do you have a preference?” She asks. “Do you want to go back to Metropolis, or to Paris, or somewhere else?”

Jon makes a face and shrugs. “Honestly? Not really. So long as I’m with you, I’ll be fine.”

“I didn’t ask if you’d be fine.” Marinette rolls her eyes. “I know you’ll be fine. I asked if you have a preference.”

Jon blushes again and shakes his head. “No, I don’t.” He says firmly. “I promise. I can see myself living… well, maybe not anywhere, but any of our three cities.” He leans in close to her touching her nose with his as he grins at her. “Or on a farm.”

Marinette kisses him quickly before pushing him away, laughing at his stunned expression. Apparently, whatever he expected from teasing her with that farm comment wasn’t that. “As beautiful as the farm is, I think I would prefer living in a city, if it’s all the same to you.”

Jon just shrugs, smiling goofily all the while. “Works for me. Maybe we can save the farm for retirement.”

There’s a thought. Since she was little, Marinette imagined so many different futures for herself. From childhood to old age. But she can truly, honestly say that not one of those daydreams involves spending her old age with her goofball husband in the American countryside. Then again, none of them involve living anywhere but Paris; she always assumed that she’ll spend her whole life there.

But thinking about it, there is an idyllic appeal to the thought. Ha, maybe. She shakes her head. More than the thought of some pastoral life on a farm, it’s the thought of Jon planning to retire together with her that brings heat to Marinette’s cheeks.

She has a more immediate future to think about, though. “What do you think about staying in New York?” She asks. “We’ve both got friends here, even considering the ones that are probably going to move away after graduation. Maybe it’s the safe option, but I’ve already dropped my life to move to a new city once already.”

Jon snickers playfully. “You mean you got it all out of your system? No desire at all to move to China next?”

“Don’t tempt me.” Marinette giggles.

“New York sounds great, though.” Jon says, more seriously. “I like it here.”

“Me too. And it doesn’t have to be permanent. If we decide we want to move somewhere else later down the line, we can always still do that. But at least we know what we’ll do right out of university.”

Jon chuckles to himself. “Just know that I’m working on Kryptonian after I get comfortable with French. If you drag us to China, you’re going to be the one doing the talking.”

Marinette smacks his arm. “I’m not going to drag you to China.” She says. “…For more than a visit, anyway. I do have family there, you know. But I want in on Kryptonian lessons. That sounds like a lot of fun. You going to have your Aunt Kara teach you?”

“That’s the plan.” Jon says “There’s some old educational stuff in the Fortress of Solitude that we’re going to use as reference, but she’ll be in charge since she already knows it. I’ll tell her you’ll be joining us when we do start that. It’ll be nice to have you to talk with, too, like we do with French. Otherwise, I’ll pretty much never use it.”

“I can’t wait.” Marinette smiles at him. “That should be exciting.”

“Definitely.”

The conversation lulls, and Marinette is happy. They finally have that conversation about where they’re going after graduation, so that’s a weight off her shoulders, and she’s happy regardless just to lean into Jon’s side and play video games quietly with him.

“Is it weird,” Jon says suddenly, after a while, “that I think of New York as home? At least as much as the farm or Metropolis. Maybe more.”

Marinette shrugs. “This is our fourth year here. Probably not. It’s home for me, too, either way.”

Jon hums, a deep vibration in his chest that Marinette can feel from where she lays against him. “I’m glad we’re staying. I didn’t even realize until now, and maybe it’s silly, but… New York feels like our place. If that makes any sort of sense. Paris and Metropolis are Ladybug and Superboy’s places, but New York is Marinette and Jon.” He hums a little more and nuzzles into Marinette’s hair. “I like Marinette and Jon.”

Marinette chuckles, feeling her cheeks flush even as she adjusts to press even closer to him. “I think I get what you mean. New York is where our new life is. Sort of like we left our hero lives behind in our old cities. If we went back, it’d be a new life in an old home. Wouldn’t be bad, and we could make our home there if we want to, but…”

“But it’s not the same.” Jon agrees. “We’re already home. We don’t need to move.”

“Yeah. I feel the same way.” She looks up at him. “I love you, Jon.”

“I love you, too.” He kisses her tenderly, with that soft, gentle crescent of a smile that says so much more in so much less than his brightest, most beaming of smiles.

“Jon.” Marinette says suddenly, jumping up from her seat. “Jon, oh my god.”

Jon perks up, shifting quickly into alert mode from the tone of her voice. “What? What is it?”

Marinette takes another moment to consider the thought that occurs to her, to verify it, and grabs his shirt. “Nothing. Nothing is happening. No big revelation, no genetically engineered siblings, no catty high-school drama, no tragedy – dude our last semester is normal!” Marinette puts a hand to her head, still reeling from the thought. “So that’s what it feels like.”

Jon releases a breathy laugh. “Don’t jinx it! Besides, I wouldn’t say nothing happened. Mercury passed in front of the sun. The astronomy professor at my school let me look through her telescope. It was pretty cool.”

“Jon, you absolute dweeb, you know that’s not what I mean.”

Jon starts cackling. “Were’d you even learn the word dweeb? I mean, you’re right, but who says that anymore?”

“Television.” Marinette says seriously. “But I’m serious here!”

“Me too.” Jon says. He wraps her up in his arms comfortably, chuckling all the while. “It’s not really the first time, is it? I mean, we don’t have that bad of a track record, all things considered.”

Marinette thinks about it more, trying to piece the timeline back together. “Huh, I guess so. It’s like good, bad, then bad – but just for me, I think? – then bad at the start but good for most of it, then good, then Sam, then whatever the hell last semester was. Is that a pattern? Second semesters have drama? Oh, god, is the drama just waiting for graduation?!”

“Marinette, I love you,” Jon’s voice is cool, grounded, sturdy, “but do not catastrophize right now. The last thing we need is bad vibes on our last semester. It’s our last semester! We’ve got it figured out! So, if some stupid call to action comes knocking at our door between now and graduation, what do we do?”

“Tell it to shut up, because we’ve got to study.” Marinette says with a small smile, pressing her head to Jon’s. “You’re right. Let’s keep this going.”

Jon chuckles softly. “To be fair, Sam was perfectly ordinary drama, and Kon had basically nothing to do with us. Not- not him being born, anyway. He’s my brother, obviously, so he- eh, you know what I mean.”

“Not our fault.” Marinette chants quietly. “Not our fault. Not our fault.”

Jon giggles and joins in, echoing the chant until it becomes a cheer and they’re both incapacitated by their giggles.

He’s right. Despite the bad parts, when Marinette examines her university career a little closer it becomes clear that, by and large, she does exactly what she set out to do. Especially as Jon and she get better at dealing with conflict, figure themselves out, and establish themselves into this life they build for themselves, even though certain things should be so much more monumental – like Conner showing up compared to what is arguably the worst time in her university life, the reveal of Jon being Superboy – it doesn’t really feel like it.

Maybe it’s because they’re both more comfortable, and because they grow enough to be equipped to handle those things, in their own way. Maybe it’s because of the strength she finds in him, that they find in each other. Maybe it’s because she’s happy in a way that she wasn’t back then that everything else seems so much more pedestrian and simpler to deal with.

It doesn’t really matter why. Marinette is just grateful that her life has gotten to this point. All because of Jon.

They’re sitting together in a park, a quiet, overcast day taking a respite from their studies, when Jon catches her off guard. “I love you, you know.” Jon says quietly, with so much feeling in his voice that Marinette thinks he must be pondering the same thing she is, how appreciative she is that he’s here. It’s a small, intimate moment between the two of them, cuddled together in the park. Jon is so good at moments like these. He always manages to leave Marinette breathless. She adamantly refuses to believe he’s just as stunned and overwhelmed as she, even when she can see it transparently on his face, because he always, always comes around with something so damn sweet and meaningful that- “It’s because of you that New York is home. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you, so thank you, Marinette, for helping me be someone I really love.” Something like that. “And for being yourself – another person that I really, really love.”

Marinette cups his face in her hands. “Don’t make me cry in public, Jon!” She whines half-heartedly.

“But I have to!” Jon pouts. “I have to remind you how much I love you while I can.” His voice takes a more somber note, something beneath the light lilt of it. “I can’t stand the thought of you not knowing exactly how special you are, so I have to.”

“You really don’t.” Marinette says too earnestly to be teasing. “I know how much you love me. I just hope you can feel how much I love you. Everything you said I could honestly say right back at you, you know.”

“Of course, I do.” Jon whispers, stealing a kiss. “But just because you know doesn’t mean I shouldn’t say it. I have to say it. I don’t- I don’t have the words. I’m still trying to figure them out. I have to get them right, and the only way to do that is to keep trying, but also… also you deserve to be told how wonderful and beautiful and smart and talented and gorgeous and breathtaking and resplendent and kind and brave and honest and clever and-”

“You going to run out of adjectives anytime soon?” Marinette squeaks, face aflame and covered with her hands.

“Not even close!” Jon chirps cheerily. His voice falls back into that lower register, the soft one for only the space between them and no further. “But I’m serious. I have to keep saying it because you deserve to hear it. It’s different; knowing, and having it reaffirmed. I just want to keep that smile on your face.”

“You are so unbearably sweet sometimes, you know that?”

Jon snickers quietly. “So you keep telling me. But you love me.”

“I do. I absolutely do.” Marinette sighs. “It’s so weird. Just three years ago I thought Adrien was the one.”

Jon’s big eyes gleam curiously. Not in an aggressive way – in fact, it’s with a gentleness somewhere close to sympathy. “Do you still love him?” He asks.

Marinette worries her lip. “In some ways, yes.” She says honestly. “But not like this. Not anymore.” She grabs Jon’s hand and kisses the back of it to reaffirm her feelings to him. He’s not so fragile as to seriously doubt her love for him at the mention of her ex, but admitting she still loves Adrien still can’t be the easiest thing in the world, even if it’s not in a romantic sense. “Adrien and I worked. Heroism was a… a dealbreaker, I guess. If it weren’t for that, I would have probably ended up marrying him. Might even be right now, in that other life.”

Jon furrows his brow at the grass for a moment, just long enough for Marinette to get concerned, then he says, “I get it. I never got as far as you did, but… I never told you why I lost my crush on Damian, did I? Wasn’t just time, though that was part of it. That was all during high school, as I was getting more and more sick of being Superboy, but Damian was growing up. He was… well, I guess he was about where we are now, back when I was still trying to wrap my head around liking guys at all.” Jon shakes his head, smiling fondly. “When we were kids, I used to tease him about me being three years younger and six years more mature. Wonder when he got so far ahead of me.” He sighs. “Anyway, despite how hot mature Damian was-”

“You can say is. I won’t be jealous.”

Jon splutters and flushes brilliantly. “…is. Despite that, it was just increasingly clear that he’ll never be anything but a hero. As I got sick of it, that whole crush thing just…” Jon makes a motion with his hands, as if tearing something apart.

Marinette nods. “Yeah, it’s sort of like that, isn’t it? In another life, it might’ve worked, but in this one, it just… can’t. I’m just grateful that we work in this life.”

“Mhmm. Me too. If it means we work, I’m glad we’re in this life. Who cares about those other lives when we’ve got this right here?”

The rest of their last semester passes by in a flash. It’s anticlimactic, all things considered, but despite jinxing it by pointing out their strange pattern of drama, nothing terrible at all happens to ruin graduation for them.

Well, there is a small scare with Conner. Hero work isn’t safe, even for Kryptonians, but some calming tea and reassurance calms Jon down quickly. It helps that he’s actually kept updated on the situation, and it’s not actually that frightening in hindsight. Both Marinette and Jon have been through far worse.

Still, it’s Conner’s first real beat down. Marinette isn’t sure if she’s inspired or horrified by how quickly, how easily, and how little he hesitates getting right back up. She has to have a few conversations with Jon about that, as the semester continues, but ultimately Conner is free to do as he likes. Marinette will worry about him, just like Jon does, but it’s clear that, at least for now, heroism is where Conner’s heart is.

She doesn’t begrudge him that. In fact, he’s ironically one of the least annoying heroes she knows, and she doesn’t love those others any less. Adrien still asks her about joining him for patrol when she’s in Paris, Alya still bugs her about Tikki and what her hero name with Wayzz is and if she’ll give her an interview as the turtle hero, temporary heroes from her time fighting Hawk Moth, original and re-chosen both, ask after their kwami and usually end up inviting her out if she decides to let them go for a run (she rarely has reason to say no to letting them see the kwami, so those invites are fairly common).

Hell, even Damian is more respectful about not trying to bring her back into hero work than her Parisian friends are. Though, to be fair, she’s only assuming he even knows. She never actually tells him; she just assumes that he of all people will have her figured out, if Superman knowing doesn’t mean her identity is common knowledge within the Justice League. It doesn’t concern her either way. She’s not Ladybug anymore, and she knows Damian isn’t stupid enough to both put the Miracle Box in danger and risk outing Jon and his family just by her proximity to them. Damian’s actually pretty cool, all things considered.

But the fact is that when Conner is in her and Jon’s apartment, he never even mentions his own hero work. He talks about the Teen Titans sometimes, but only about them being his friends. He only talks about them in situations where, minus powers, they could be any teenagers at all. He doesn’t mention missions or training or anything of the sort. Marinette can’t help but wonder if he’s doing that on purpose, thinking of Jon’s feelings about it, or if he himself doesn’t want to bring it up. Thinking about it, this little New York apartment is probably the closest thing to normal family life the kid has, and Marinette can see the look in his eyes. She won’t be surprised if the latter is the true reason.

Regardless of reason, though, he’s a welcome addition to their home. Marinette makes sure to prepare some tea for him whenever he stops by, and even once has to wrangle a whole gaggle of rowdy, superpowered teenagers as the other Titans decide to crash the party. (They’re notably less restrained about asking about Marinette and Jon’s heroic pasts, and after a while of growing quietly more and more irritated, Conner cuts in when one of his friends asks why Jon and Marinette quit heroism to berate his friend for being intrusive, saying to stop prying into his family. Marinette shares a smile with Jon, thinking how cute it is that he’s defending them, and secretly melting inside that he’s openly including her in his family, and calmly answers the question anyway, patting Conner’s head and passing him another cup of tea. He calms down, after that, though he never seems comfortable so long as they stay on the hero topic.)

But overall, nothing groundbreaking happens. Marinette and Jon go out throughout the semester, he’s ridiculously cute like always, Adrien teases her about it good-naturedly and Marinette sees through the façade of levity to the concern and firm affirmation that he’s okay with her and Jon like always, Louise and Jon geek out, leaving Kasey and Marinette to look at each other and shake their heads like always, the boys set up more shenanigans to get David and Tamias together (“Not much time left!” Jesse insists. “We got to pull out the big guns!”) and that doesn’t happen, but something catches on fire like always.

It’s fun. Eventful but not stressful. And it all culminates in what everything over the past four years is leading to. Graduation.

The days leading up to it, Marinette is legitimately considering not walking the stage at all. Her graduation and Jon’s are a day apart, so there’s not a scheduling conflict, but it is close enough that Marinette considers just prioritizing his. After all, her friends and family are mostly overseas. A lot of them won’t be able to come anyway, whereas Jon has his whole family here. It only makes sense.

Jon disagrees, obviously, but it’s not until Jagged rolls around with half her friends from Paris already packed into his car that Marinette concedes completely.

It’s worth it just to see the look on Kasey’s face when she shows up at Marinette’s apartment to get ready for graduation together and Jagged Stone is there already fussing over her. Marinette is half-certain Kasey is about to faint, and Jagged welcoming her like an overeager puppy and starting to fuss over her preparations for the ceremony doesn’t help matters.

Between Jagged, Marinette’s parents, a good majority of Marinette’s not insignificant number of friends, Kasey and Louise, Jon’s parents, grandparents, aunt, and brother, Bruce Wayne’s entire family (Marinette thinks? There’s a lot of them, and they’re all mysterious.), a smattering of other League heroes, and Jesse, Mason, David, and Tamias, their tiny apartment isn’t anywhere near big enough to handle everyone. Luckily, they have no less than five absurdly wealthy people among them, and their little afterparties are held in one of their notably larger temporary residences.

But during the graduation itself, Marinette is strangely nervous. She’s certain her old nerves will come back to bite her and she’ll trip on stage and make a fool of herself. Kasey and Louise are nowhere near her in the seats, so she’s on her own down in the middle of the stadium surrounded by her peers and their families.

She bounces her knee, unable to keep still, and then her row stands, and she follows without thinking about what she’s doing, and there are pictures taken, and the next thing she knows she’s facing out at the crowd. It’s a crowd she knows, and she smiles. This crowd doesn’t ask anything of her but to collect her diploma, have her two seconds in the spotlight, and move on for the next student. This crowd doesn’t take. And warmth surges through Marinette, and she’s proud. She’s so proud that she can cry.

I really did it. She thinks. Cameras flash, people scream, Marinette swears she can hear Jagged, and she swears his voice is amplified somehow (that’ll probably get him kicked out, if him being Jagged Stone doesn’t give him a free pass, if only the once, Marinette thinks with a giggle), and then she’s continuing on, shaking hands with some of the staff, and then she’s off the stage entirely, making her way back to her seat.

She looks at the paper in her hands – not her diploma, just a little note of a stand-in, made generally, with no names and no specifics, so that no one needs to worry about which one is handed to which student (she’ll get the real diploma after the ceremony ends) – and she feels so, so proud of herself.

Jon, when she’s released, with her true diploma in a large envelope in her hands, is the first to capture her in the biggest hug he can muster. The rest of the group surrounds them, about half of them pouting that Jon doesn’t let her go for them to hug, as Jon says in her ear, “You did it. No takebacksies.”

Marinette gets a good laugh at that.

“You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You know that?” Jon says quietly, intimately, despite their menagerie of onlookers. “You’ve changed my life for the better. I’m the person I am today because of you. So, thank you. You are beautiful, and so intelligent, and the most creative person in the world, and you’re everything you decide to be, and that still takes my breath away.”

Through the coos of all their eavesdropping friends, and Jesse’s wolf-whistling, Marinette chokes over just Jon’s name.

“I love you so, so much, Marinette. I will never take you for granted.”

Marinette forgoes the words that get caught in her throat and just kisses him instead.

When they separate from each other, and the others get their chance to hug her, Alya frowns at Jon. “Wait, that wasn’t a proposal?” She hisses, not nearly quiet enough for Marinette not to hear.

Jon just giggles impishly. “Why would you think that?”

“I- you- how often do you do that?”

“Remind the love of my life how talented and smart and awesome and resplendent she is?” Jon asks. “As often as I can. Duh.”

Marinette covers her face as her parents lean in to tell her that he’s a keeper, and to remind her to let them know as soon as he does propose.

As if she doesn’t already know that, or that she’ll do anything different.

——-=——-

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