#like so many bruises and cuts to the point it's cartoon ridiculous

[scalpho]

hunchfucks driving me up the walls bonkers because. guy who is literally the embodiment of sexual pleasure and can and will lust after anyone but he likes you? you're his favourite customer? he bets every penny he owns on you? and all the while you're a stupid ass detective? yeah. that's good shit

[popwasabi]

“The Mandalorian” S2 is a power fantasy with mini Star Wars trailers

The term “Plot armor” is often used by readers and viewers to describe the myriad of ways writers keep their heroes away from any real danger no matter what choices or actions they make in the narrative. It’s typically a derisive phrase for the way a writer’s hero seems to escape death no matter what is thrown at him for the sole purpose of moving the plot forward.

In Disney+’s “The Mandalorian” this term takes a far more literal description in the form of our main anti-hero, played by Pedro Pascal, in his beskar armor which seems to be, by all accounts the most indestructible material in the galaxy far, far away.

(I mean, it still looks really cool too, of course.)

The result of this narrative decision in this series is that action scenes often don’t have real tension to them. In another series you might be able to reasonably believe the hero might be in danger with blaster fire shooting all around them but with beskar it’s almost comically not the case at all. Stormtroopers fire laser blast after laser blast at The Mando and each time they bounce harmlessly off him as if he were fucking Superman. It makes scenes feel devoid of stakes and danger no matter what situation they are in.

The show thus becomes a power fantasy, as action scenes serve as extended highlight reels for the Mando. Where season 1 of the show mitigated the power of the Mando’s plot armor by putting him more often in situations where his beskar alone wasn’t enough to save the day, season 2 goes mostly full power fantasy as The Mando rarely runs into a situation he can’t just quite literally walk through.

(“Aim for his armor, men! That’s his weak point!”)

This isn’t to say the season wasn’t without its high moments or even that it wasn’t enjoyable plenty of times but the series’ devotion to fan servicey action and callbacks to “Hey remember ____” makes it a fairly shallow story. At least for myself.

Season 2 of “The Mandalorian” continues the story of Din and his small Yoda-like companion, The Child (later known officially as Grogu), as he looks to complete a quest to return the burgeoning Force wielder to the Jedi. As he seeks to reunite The Child with the ancient Order, he encounters other Mandalorians who are on a quest to retake Mandalore and right on their tail is the nefarious Grand Moff Gideon who is still bent on capturing Grogu for whatever it is he has planned for the Empire.

Let me start this review by saying power fantasies aren’t inherently bad to watch or read. They can be good, cathartic junk food for the soul and can also be compelling, artistic, or even deeply metaphorical in their own way. A movie series like “John Wick” for instance is a power fantasy that aims to reinvent the wheel in action film-making with Keanu Reeves performing perhaps the best gun kata of all-time onscreen. Another film like Paul Verhoueven’s “Total Recall” can satirize the power fantasy to show how ridiculous it is in concept.

So, making your hero an unstoppable killing machine isn’t necessarily always a bad thing if used properly.

(Seriously, this is one of the smartest action films ever made. Don’t @ me.)

Now that that’s established, however, “The Mandalorian” season 2, despite some strong moments here and there, is a power fantasy that lacks these elements for a more interesting narrative. If you believe killing dozens of stormtroopers onscreen while never suffering so much as a scratch for eight episodes equals compelling storytelling then boy does Disney have a series for you.

Through the first four-ish episodes, the new season is mostly just fine and even quite enjoyable. We have the Mando getting a fun side quest with Timothy Olyphant on Tatooine where they get to wrangle a sand worm in a callback to the Westerns that inspired much of the franchise’s aesthetic. The Mando gets to escort a frog lady to her home planet to give birth to some tadpoles and they run into some actual danger in this episode in the form of kyrnknas/space spiders. And we get the return of Bo Katan from Dave Filoni’s “Clone Wars” and “Rebels” cartoon series, with Katee Sackhoff herself reprising the role in a fun Mandalorian team-up episode.

(I’m just so happy to see my girl, Starbuck, again more than anything honestly ;_;)

But the wheels started officially falling off for me in the next episode.

Episode 5 marked the live-action debut of fan favorite Ahsoka Tano, played by Rosario Dawson, and she meets the Mando by getting the jump on him with her lightsabers. In virtually any other situation we have been told lightsabers can cut through virtually anything. Now, beskar has been shown to be plenty durable throughout the series so far but lightsabers? Surely not.

Well…

It is an overall good episode despite this but it marked the point for me where I badly wanted The Mando to just go the rest of the series without it. Obviously, the writers aren’t going to actually kill our hero, afterall The Mouse needs more money and he can’t have it unless we get 50 more Mandalorian episodes and spin-offs, but at some point I gotta feel like there’s a possibility at least that our hero might actually die or at least is in danger. It is actually super funny to me each time The Mando ducks or seeks cover in a shootout when I know, and the viewer damn well knows, he can literally walk right into the middle of it and shoot all these motherfuckers at his own leisure cause his actual plot armor is the stuff of adamantium and vibranium combined.

Episode 5 is mostly good though, it’s a nice callback to old school samurai flicks and for an old fan like myself it was enough to ignore beskar again saving the Mando’s ass.

(This was cool...This...was...cool.)

If episode 5 marked the point in which the wheels began to come off though, episode 6 is where the show really spun out into the ditch for me. Perhaps, this series worst episode, personally, episode 6 reintroduces fan favorite and series inspiration Boba Fett back officially into the fold and the result was perhaps the most self-indulgent entry of the series.

(I mean, it was directed by Robert Rodriguez so...)

Boba arrives to demand his beskar from The Mando who promptly tells him “no” before they are ambushed by a platoon of stormtroopers. Alongside Ming-Na Wen’s Fennec Shand, the three do battle with the stormtroopers with ridiculous ease. I’m aware that stormtroopers exist to be on the highlight reel of our heroes in this franchise and have a long history of not being able to hit the broad side of a bantha but again, I can only watch these guys die by the dozens onscreen over and over again while our heroes get away without suffering even a bruise before it starts feeling boring and repetitive.

It only gets worse once Boba actually puts on his armor. In a sequence that I would describe as “gratuitously” fan servicey, Boba wastes just about every last stormtrooper in this scene culminating with him destroying their two get-away vehicles in a single shot with a rocket. Considering he was killing them with ease just moments before with nothing more than a battle club and a bathrobe, it seemed almost hilariously needless that he donned his iconic armor.

(It would be tempting to say the stormtroopers fought as ineptly as the Putty Patrol here but even the Power Rangers have struggled a few times against these guys...)

I get that Boba is really important to a lot of fans, based on their perceptions of him in the original trilogy and subsequent books and graphic novels that came out in the following years, but here’s a hot take; this series didn’t need him in it. Maybe they didn’t need to keep him rotting in the Sarlacc Pit but this episode, alongside Ahsoka Tano’s feels more like marketing choices for the story rather than narrative ones. I’ll concede that there is a bit more substance to having Ahsoka there to commune with Grogu but their additions to the plot don’t actually show much of anything about the Mando outside physically helping him in a fight.

The way they tease, in both cases, stories that exist outside the internal narrative between Ahsoka’s search for Admiral Thrawn and Boba taking over Jabba’s palace at the end of the final episode, it feels like Disney threw in mini trailers for fans to nibble on at the expense of telling the Mando’s own story and letting it stand on its own like the first season.

The choice to have these characters shoved into this season again appears to be market driven not narrative. Once more, I get that these characters are important personally to many fans, but the appearance of these characters alone DO NOT equal good storytelling.

(Me when a fan tells me “But Boba was such a badass in *obscurely titled EU book that a handful of general audiences have read*! He deserves this moment!”)

The final episode of the season is truly encapsulating of all these issues “The Mandalorian” has, however. Moff Gideon, played by the always sharp Giancarlo Esposito, has Grogu imprisoned aboard his ship. The Mando and his friends plan a rescue mission to save him and, just like nearly every episode before, it is stupidly easy for our protagonists.

The crew of five, again, walk through every Imperial on the ship. I don’t mean this metaphorically by the way, I mean this literally as Cara, Fennec, Bo Katan and Koshka Reeves (played by WWE’s Sasha Banks) without a single moment of real adversity just blast through every stormtrooper on the ship and never get hit once in the process.

A good action scene needs an element of danger, a sense that our hero might actually not come out of this alive even though we all know they will. An action scene without this has no tension and without tension it becomes booooooooring.

(Even John fucking Wick is capable of bleeding, guys...)

The finale had a chance, however, to add real stakes and danger to the scene in the form of this season’s new enemy; The Dark Troopers. These Imperial battle droids were foreshadowed as these super soldiers at the end of episode 4 and seemed to be billed as a real dangerous match for our heroes to faceup against. When the Mando finally gets himself face to face with one he finds they are not as easy to kill as the nameless stormtroopers from before. To see The Mando briefly face real adversity for a change snapped me out of my cynical mood so sharply for a moment I thought I had turned on another series by accident.

But of course, danger never lasts long in this series as The Mando’s armor again saves him first from getting pummeled to death by the droid’s super fists then he uses his plot spear, cause of course he has one of those too, to finish the job.

Danger over.

Moff Gideon doesn’t fair much better in this episode. This villain who had been built up for two seasons as this calculative monster gets stopped rather easily with Mando and his friends barely breaking a sweat. This character feels wasted because of this, even though I’m sure Giancarlo Esposito will return in the next season. He just feels about as much like a pushover as the nameless stormtroopers in this series.

The episode had one more chance though to show these Dark Troopers meant business toward the end as we found the heroes cornered on the command deck with nowhere to run and a dozen of these droids ready to blast and pound them into the floorboards. But help arrives in the form of a Deus X-Wing Machina.

Without having to face even one Dark Trooper, Luke fucking Skywalker arrives on the ship and kills every droid without breaking a sweat. It plays as inspiring in the moment but again I just found myself bored and irritated. A chance to see the series heroes actually use their wits and show their creativity in a moment of true danger thwarted to please fan boys.

I get that Grogu called out to him in episode 6 but creatively this felt like an extremley lazy way to solve the heroes’ dilemna.

(“Hello my name is Jedi. I enjoy doing...*computes script* Jedi things.”)

This season wasn’t all bad. It certainly had nice production value that made each alien world pop and beautiful to look at. Every actor and actress played their parts expertly well, with what they were given, and made for interesting characters at times. There are also nice homages to both Western and Samurai cinema throughout the season that fans of both will appreciate. And Pedro Pascal is just so good on his own, especially in tender moments with Grogu, that you forget that his character is kind of a Gary Stu.

But the main crux of the issue here that I’m trying to get across is the reason you need to remove the plot armor of your heroes is not just because action scenes need tension and stakes, it’s that when faced with danger these scenes reveal who these characters are. I used to believe that the reason Mandalorians and Jedi had such a fierce rivalry in the lore despite the obvious advantages of wielding the Force was because these famed bounty hunters were just that fucking good at killing. That despite being, on paper, normal people they had great martial prowess, athletic skill, and the tactical wit to outsmart people who can literally sense their feelings. But now with beskar and the way this series is written, it appears the Mandalorians were challenging warriors just because they happened to harness the most OP armor building material in the galaxy.

It makes you wonder how the fuck they were conquered to begin with…

(Maybe they just needed more knee rockets...)

This takes away from the mysticism of the Mandalorians for me. It makes The Mando less interesting to me in the way he fights. Yea he can shoot really good too but really it’s the armor that makes him the fighter that he is and I find that kind of boring. We occasionally get this character to remove the armor during the series, including a whole episode that was easily one of the best of the season, and in every case he’s more interesting once the helmet comes off. I get that fans hold a lot of reverence for that armor, yea it still looks really cool, but making it this impenetrable super material doesn’t add anything to the story.

If anything, it takes away from it.

(Plus how could you not love Pedro Pascal when he’s out of armor? uWu)

I wouldn’t go as far as to say I hate season 2, even though I spent 2000 plus words just now lambasting it but I guess I just want to say I am unimpressed more than anything. I feel like I’ve seen better Star Wars be it in the movies, cartoons, books, video games, etc and I’ve certainly seen better action in the franchise as well.

Considering fan reaction so far appears to be overwhelmingly positive, I am definitely in the minority here and you are welcome to enjoy this series as much as you want in spite of how unimpressed I am with the season. But considering all I have seen of this fandom the last few years, regarding complaints about fan service (“Rogue One”), easily defeated/underdeveloped bad guys (“The Last Jedi”), and Mary Sues (The sequel trilogy in general), I have to ask again what is it actually that fans like or don’t like about new entries in the franchise? It’s not that there isn’t valid criticisms there and “The Mandalorian” is enjoyable in sincere ways too but it has many of the issues I hear commonly said of more divisive entries in the Disneyverse. So why does it get a pass?

I’ve been told it’s not worth my energy to talk too derisively about the fans in one of my earlier write-ups, so I’ll leave it at that but it does make me wonder.

(“Rogue One” admittedly has a simarily self-indulgent action sequence though haha...)

Season 2 of “The Mandalorian” isn’t the worst piece of Star Wars media ever created, far from it, and for most part its solid enjoyable Saturday morning cartoon theater but if the series wants to really take steps to become more compelling in the future it might be good to stop bubble wrapping their heroes in plot armor. Literally.

Until then this is the way…I guess…

Me getting ready for the backlash...

[owl-quill]

I wrote the first version of this story for Strange Magic Week last year, but wanted to expand it at least a bit ever since. So here goes.

The late summer sun close enough to setting to turn the light golden saw Bog kneeling in the soil of one of his vegetable beds. He was pinching the side shoots off his tomatoes, the way his face was pinched suggesting he would rather rip someone’s head off.

This year he had not been able to harvest one single ripe tomato. For two weeks now, when one looked like it would be perfect with just one or two more days on the plant, the next morning it would be gone. Other things had disappeared, too. Two small Kohlrabi had vanished without a trace, and there seemed rather fewer onions in the lines between the carrots than there should be.

Of course, there always was some loss. Birds carried off onion sets, possibly mistaking the tops for worms; slugs gnawed holes into anything they could get their slimy mouths on; birds got into the cherries before they were even ripe.

But the kohlrabi disappearing rather than merely being hollowed out, that was just too complete. Nothing ever had stolen a whole kohlrabi. And the tomatoes, every single one of them, completely gone? That was no vermin, or at least not the small vermin you usually dealt with in gardens. More likely human vermin, probably out to annoy him. If it had been someone really hungry, there would be more missing.

Bog sat back on his heels and looked around. When he wiped his forehead, his hand carries the yellow-green smell of crushed tomato leaves to his nose. The fence around his property was tall and didn’t lend itself well to climbing, but he should check the back for holes. He let part of the garden grow as it would to give insects and bird somewhere to hide and feed and breed, but that meant he saw that fence only once in a while, when it was time to make sure nothing grew through it.

His dogs liked it, particularly the little terrier, whom he could hear rustling and snuffing around right then. He was probably chasing something that would bite or sting him if he caught it.

Leaving the pair outside was unfortunately not a realistic option. For one thing, he didn’t trust them to not destroy the vegetables he wanted protected, for another, they were not aggressive towards strangers. Not guard dog material.

Bog unfolded himself and picked up the bucket he had collected the leaves and weeds in. Not much today, since he had been at it regularly lately.

At his whistle, Stuff got out of the thicket and trotted out on the lawn. She was probably a french bulldog, not that the hoarder she had been rescued from had had papers.

The other dog kept scrabbling in the undergrowth and took up snarling. A sizable section of shrub shook.

“Thang! Come here!”

He didn’t listen, but started barking hoarsely, in a rhythm he could keep up forever. A shock went through the foliage, and a moment later something small and brown and red raced out onto the lawn, terrier in pursuit.

Bog acted on instinct, diving for the critter, upending the bucket on top of it. There was a faint thump when it hit the side of the bucket.

The grey-brown terrier scrabbled at the edge of the bucket, growling, until Bog snapped “Stop!” The dog hung his head and shuffled back, whining a little, his ridiculously long bushy eyebrows trembling.

“Good boy,” Bog said absently. He had caught something, but what? After laying one of the bricks he’d lined the vegetable beds with on the upturned bucket to make sure the prisoner could not escape even with help from possibly too curious dogs, he made some preparations.

***

Once he had everything arranged to his satisfaction on his kitchen island, he made sure the dogs were in the living room, and closed the lower half of the kitchen door to make sure they would not disturb him.

He had used a cutting board as a lid for the bucket, sliding it very carefully under the bucket, like you’d use a postcard with a glass to catch a spider, and readied a small plastic terrarium he’d used occasionally to transport mice.

Bog stood staring at the arrangement, arms crossed to curb nervous gestures. The nerves were brought on by a weird find that he had also deposited on the table. It was definitely a bruised tomato, in what looked like a very tiny netting bag. He had found it near the shrubbery, were the… whatever-it-was that Thang had chased out dropped it.

Bog shook his head with a snort. He’d figure it out.

Tilting the bucket and pulling away the cutting board just enough to leave a narrow opening, he transferred the contents into the plastic case. Small tomato leaves, some uprooted chickweed and crumbs of soil, and something that moved.

Bog quickly snapped the lid on before he allowed himself a closer look. Then he stared until his spine hurt from bending over.

It looked rather like one of those 80s troll dolls, if that had let the crazy dye grow out of its hair, got a tan, and put on some clothes. Clothes! An overall over a short-sleeved shirt.

The tiny person sat up and held their head. Bog thought he heard a matching tiny voice go “oh no no no”.

“What. The. Hell.” Bog pulled over a chair from the breakfast nook and sat, which brought him face-to-everything with the whatever-they-were, and glared. He had a good glare, bright, deep-set eyes under dark brows.

The object of his attention tried to stand, but their leg buckled under them, dumping them back on their butt. Bog got a good look at their hand, splayed against the clear plastic of the container. It had four fingers, like a freaking cartoon character. But definitely hands, and definitely wearing ratty fingerless gloves.

Unwilling to ask some critter he caught in his garden what it was, and not sure what else to do, Bog kept glaring. His prisoner wrung his tiny hands and bit his lip, and very soon cracked. He took a deep breath and called “Hi? Uh. Thanks for saving me from that dog?”

Abruptly, Bog got up, running one long-fingered hand through his hair. He was sweating, be had been drinking enough water, so he was not having a heat stroke. He’d had one beer, and unless somebody had broken in without leaving a trace no-one could have spiked it with hallucigenics. A treacherous thought suggested someone mouse-sized could pull that off. But even if, the crown cap had been closed. Bog would have noticed the lack of a hiss when opening it.

That was, if he could trust his senses. What he needed was a reality check. After short consideration he picked a number from his very short list of contacts and dialled it on the landline phone. “Hello Aura, it’s Bog.”

“I guessed; there aren’t many people left whose phone doesn’t support showing their number. What’s up? Anything wrong with your furbabies? Or the scaly babies?”

“No, not as such.” There were tiny screams of protest coming from the kitchen table, which Bog ignored. “It’s… Thang rustled up and injured some kind of critter. I have no clue what it is.”

“You seriously want me to make a house call to identify a half dead, what, rodent maybe by species?”

“I’d consider it a personal favour.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet. OK, I’ll do it. But you will get a bill, too.”

“Thank you.”

“And call your mother!”

“I will talk to her again if she manages to go three months without trying to set me up for a date or similar.”

“Oh, you’re both so stubborn. Okay, I’m on my way. Toodles!”

Bog hung up and sighed, his shoulders sagged and he braced himself against the counter. In the quiet kitchen, the prisoner piped up again. “Sir? I’m really not supposed to be seen by humans. I’d be ever so grateful if you’d let me out.”

With someone who could tell him if he was imagining things on the way, Bog lost his reluctance to interact with this maybe-hallucination. “You’re going nowhere. First, you can’t walk.” There might have been a not quite loud enough demurral along “It’s just a sprain,” in there. “Second, I’m not letting you out.” The little guy did sort of a full body cringe, his voice going quavery. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I’m not sure yet. Let’s start with questions.” Bog sat back down to glower at his prisoner from a short distance. “Who and what are you?” “Uh, name’s Sunny, I’m an elf, I was just passing through…"

Bog was not entirely sure how to process all this, so he fell back on what he was quite certain of. “Have you been stealing my tomatoes?”

“No?”

Bog held up the tomato in its tiny net bag and glared some more.

The elf cringed, which included drooping his ears, which stood off his head to the sides and, yes, were pointed. “Um. Not successfully? I mean, you have it right there…”

“This time.”

“Sir, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. We don’t usually take that much, but this year our harvest was bad—”

“So there’s more of you. And you’ve been stealing from me in other years, too.”

Sunny stammered before finally getting something that made sense lined up. “Not much, really, usually. You never noticed before, right? But there really is a shortage—”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I’m just—”

“Silence!”

The elf actually covered his ears.

Bog dropped the tomato on the tabletop and crossed his arms. What in the world was he doing here? The guy was so tiny shouting might actually burst his eardrums. And it wasn’t like he was going to keep him in a box or feed him to his pets. I’m actually thinking I caught a tiny person. Bog decided to ignore his catch for a while, and fix himself a sandwich, to pass the time until Aura arrived. Maybe some protein would be good for his nerves, too.

[spongeguyandlelouchvibridankia]

Christmas Gift for a friend

December 24th. 1933.

 Spider-Man Noir, known only to a few as Peter Benjamin Parker, and affectionately known as Noir to 5 other spider people, stumbled into his office.

 Blood soaked his trenchcoat, but it was painted black and white.

 It was all painted black and white.

 The steps to his office/apartment were now laced with pools of blood, dripping every so often as he ascended them.

 The rusty railing made no sound as his hand used it to keep going, and the door only lightly squeaked as he pushed it.

 Light washed over (sort of) the room, revealing his office.

 A simple wooden desk, pens and papers scattered everywhere, and a left over cup of coffee from the morning that was ice cold; a hard, wooden chair, the 5th this week thanks to the recent mob attack of his building; and an egg cream stained couch that was somehow more comfortable than the bed despite the clear arch pain in his back.

 Maybe because he wanted to feel that pain.

 Just to feel something. Anything.

 Burning matches was just not cutting it.

 Noir tried to move his mouth, even a little bit, but his jaw was clearly disconnected.

 And his hands were too filled with glass shards to really handle that right now.

 The floorboards squeaked like the door as he tried his best not too collapse on them.

 “Is… Is she ok?”

 CRASH!

 Clearly, his best wasn’t enough.

 “It wasn’t enough… For that girl…”

 Noir didn’t want to think about it.

 He didn’t want to think about her.

 About her terrified eyes as she was in the hands of those monsters.

 About her petrified screams as he tried in vain to get her out from there.

 About her outstretched hand as he tried to reach…

 And about her faint, unmoving hand as the deed was done…

 Her blood, still on his coat.

 She was gone…

 She was gone…

 She was go…

 Removing his mask for the first time months, Peter Benjamin Parker breathed heavily, flashes of the scene still burned in his mind.

 He knew that Cletus Cassidy was a killer…

 But he didn’t know how far he’d go…

 Only the sound of heavy heaving could be heard from his office, soon deafened by heavy rain.

 Heavy.

 Chest.

 Abrasions.

 Left rib.

 Maybe some fractures?

 Maybe if he focused on the pain, it wouldn’t hurt.

 “Hospital.”

 Hospital.

 That’s good.

 They’d stitch him up all nice and well.

 He’d be back on his feet.

 Unlike her…

 PUNCH!

 Noir now felt a little bad for the hooligans he took on some days. His punch hurt like hell.

 Hell. He’d go there some…

 “Ok, this is getting ridiculous.”

 Noir felt like shit, but he wasn’t going to stay in this cycle for much longer.

 He needed… Air.

 He needed to think.

 The rooftop was sparsley populated, the pigeons flying away immediately as he crawled up.

 Carefully sitting down, now realizing he may have a bruised tailbone as well, Noir closed his eyes, his mask back on so he wouldn’t have to face even the stars.

 Her voice, still calling out for him, echoed in his ears…

 …

 “How could I have done this? How could I have failed?”

 Noir had seen many terrible things in his life.

 But this one almost took the cake.

 It made him question everything.

 How could he call himself a hero when he couldn’t save that girl?

 How could he ever make up for such a mistake?

 The metal in his mouth stung and he suddenly thought of another little girl in his life.

 One who confused him endlessly.

 He didn’t want to think about this now, but anything was a welcome distraction from the pained screams as she was touc…

 Shaking his head, shivering, Noir forced himself to see the one person he didn’t get, even more than Ham: Peni Parker, a Japanese Spider-Girl from the year 3145.

 When they first met, Noir thought she was slightly less confusing than the antromomorphic pig. For one, she wasn’t a cartoon character (at least, he thought), and secondly, she was a little girl. Those were easy to understand, no?

 But as time passed, Noir found that less confusing did not equal easier to deal with.

 Peni was a mixture of contradictions, a cavalcade of emotions: She was proud and a little haughty (introducing herself as a “genius, badass, and hero”, in that order), yet shy and almost scared whenever something really weird happened, like if some particularly scary looking guy would pass.

 Of course, the reason was because Sp;dr needed time to re-charge, but Noir had a hunch that Peni wasn’t as brave, or to be less harsh, wasn’t as fearless as she liked to pretend.

 Not that she was JUST a little girl!

 In the three days he had spent with her, he had been given many chances to be impressed with the odd girl: She was a genius as she said (how DID she make that doohickey, and how did she pilot it were most impressive!), she was a skilled mechanic too (watching her work was almost mesmerizing, almost offering the illusion that you yourself could do such wonders) and her childlike wonder was at times, almost infectious.

 Despite his unfamiliarity with this new universe, she kept asking him questions (which Ham was MORE than eager to answer with a quip and or pop culture reference), ones he tried his best to answer, because her eyes sparkled even in this mad color spectrum that surrounded them.

 Perhaps that was why he had struggled at first to comprehend her, he thought, as he began to relax a little, breath now slower and more controlled.

 Lying down on the roof, hat still firmly in place, he winced as she appeared before him, bouncing around almost as she pointed at things:

 “Why are people still driving cars? Don’t they remember the fly function?”

 “Isn’t that funny, Noir? (she had quickly assigned him that nickname) That guy is working in an office!”

 “Wait, people still eat Hot Dogs? Did they NOT hear of the green bits epidemic of…”

 Since then, Noir had not been able to touch a hot dog, though honestly, he noticed he was better off without them.

 Sighing, but now with a hint of affection, his mind wandered to the first night.

 Peni had so far both confused and impressed him.

 She had even managed to help when they got attacked by some simple mugger, despite his attempts to get her to hide.

 That… Ticked her off a bit, but he had managed to make amends with something called “Sugar Nightmare Express Deluxe and Knuckles”.

 The sugar rush had taken time to cool off, but by the time it did, Ham was fast asleep and he was on a rooftop, surveying the area.

 And…

 Peni was there, suddenly.

 “Whatcha doin’?”, she had asked, clearly shivering.

 Noir did not offer his coat, but only because his eyes were still hurting.

 “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

 “Shouldn’t you be not rubbing your mask?”

 Noir chuckled. She was quick, he had to admit.

 Pain still swelled in his gut, though. He needed some alone time. Besides, this kid wasn’t someone he should get attached too. He doesn’t do that. He…

 He can’t do that.

 “Look, doll, you really should rest. I’m sure that Ham makes for a good blanket.”

 “You bet!”, he somehow floated up, wiggling his eyebrows.

 “…How did you do that?”, Noir asked, as Peni couldn’t help but giggle.

 “It’s a gift, just like my incredible sense of humor!”

 As Ham floated down, wearing a bellhop outfit because OF COURSE, Peni looked over at Noir. “You know, you didn’t tell me what you are doing.”

 “You know, you’re very nosey.”

 Good trait in a detective, he couldn’t help but think.

 Peni schooced closer and made puppy eyes. “I promise I’ll go to sleep if you tell me!”

 Noir had to end this.

 So he got up, hands in his pockets, and stood with his back to her, watching the painful sky from another angle.

 “Doll, I’m serious: I’m bad news. Just stay away. Besides, I doubt you can help.”

 Peni took offense to that and crossed her arms, turning her back too. “I can so! I can totally help!”

 Noir pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated. “Ok, then try this for size, kiddo: How come everything is out of wack? Why are my eyes seeing things that shouldn’t be there? Why the hell am I here, when I’m sure they could have chosen any Spider-Man?”

 Ok, so maybe he was venting a bit. He had never liked himself. It had always surprised him that his Aunt May hadn’t cut him off.

 And it was even more surprising when Peni suddenly turned and gripped his coat.

 “Well… I think you’re sort of impressive.”

 You couldn’t see it, but he was raising an eyebrow. “How so?”

 She was shuffling at her feet. Suddenly, she remembered she was 14, and perhaps a little younger than she liked to think.

 “…Well, you have the cool detective gimmick. And the hat! And… Well…”

 She was avoiding something. You didn’t need to be a private eye to pick up on that.

 “You’re holding something back. Spill the beans.”

 Somewhere down there, Ham was spilling a cup of coffee and snickering.

 “…I guess… Well…”

 Finally, she spat it out, pouting.

 “You make me feel safe, ok?!”

 Noir was surprised by this, and turning wildly, he got blinded by the colors again.

 Still, he blinked it away to focus on the weird, black and red blur who sort of looked like a girl, but resembled something else as well.

 Her blacks and reds morphed into greens and pinks and blues as she became a shell onto herself.

 “I know I play it tough, and I can take care of myself, don’t misunderstand…”

 She sighed, looking down at a massive amount of responsibility.

 “But I miss home. And I know that something is wrong here. And, well…”

 She sniffled.

 “You’re perhaps the closest thing I have to someone who can protect me if me and Sp;dr are in trouble.”

 “HURTFUL!”

 Peni shouted back. “Hey, you’re there to make jokes!”

 “True. I retract my comments, your honor. The whole system is out of order, as is the escalator.”

 Peni looked back at a very confused Noir.

 “…I guess… Well…”

 Peni clutched her tiny fingers together.

 “You just feel nice. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think that we could be friends.”

 No one had ever said such things to him, least of all a little girl.

 Sitting down, putting a comforting hand, weird as it was, he avoided answering by letting her help.

 “…All these… Colors, I think? Are blinding me. I come from a place where everythin’ is black and white. It’s… Painful.”

 Peni was more than happy to teach him.

 And as she did, Noir looked at her, at her reds and blues and pinks and greens and blacks that he could now sort of name (but constantly forget) because she helped him, and he couldn’t help but think how Peni was not only a mixture of contradictions and a cavalcade of emotions:

 Peni Parker was a kalidascope of colors.

 And for once, he didn’t want to turn away.

 And that feeling had been there ever since, twisting in his gut.

 Knots formed in his stomach as he thought of her, of all those odd moments since that night, where she would cling a little, where she would look down and blush, where she would suddenly climb his shoulders before sheepishly going down.

 She’d tug at his coat and she’d offer to show him her world and she was always checking up on him and he didn’t get it.

 What had he done? Why was she so nice?

 And it was at that moment that Noir began to piece it together.

 Peni had lost her dad, he remembered. It was a sore subject, like Uncle Benjamin for him.

 And as hard as he wanted to hide it from her, the group had once managed to get him to talk about the man who ruined his life.

 The man he later wrestled to the ground and beat the living daylights out of.

 Blood was flowing everywhere, and for a moment, the chance was there.

 But…

 Revenge was not his game.

 So he withdrew.

 And as he walked down to his apartment, feeling like he was going to die, who else was waiting for him but Peni.

 He had asked her not to come to his dimension unless he said yes, but she ignored him.

 Not that there was time to be mad.

 He wanted to, but the moment he started he saw Vulture…

 And he fell to the ground, sobbing for the first time.

 And that was when Peni Parker surprised Noir for the first time: She hugged him.

 Noir had never felt so loved then when a girl from another dimension whispered that it would be ok in his ear.

 And now it was all clear.

 Why else would she do all this if she didn’t care?

 Of course she cared: She saw him as…

 As…

 Noir stood up, wiping his brow, the image of the girl he let down very much in his mind, but getting replaced with a new task.

 It was Christmas Eve.

 It wasn’t too late.

 At least one girl was going to be happy tonight.

 It was an hour later when Peni Parker was in bed.

 And a figure crept in to her room.

 And laid a present on her bed (gift wrapping was harder than it looked).

 Before he leaved, Noir observed her.

 Her hair (black, if he recalled) was at rest, her eyes (large, wide… Calming) were shut, and her snores were nearly silent.

 She muttered something about “gumballs” in her sleep, and giggled, and suddenly Noir realized that all his knots were actually wishes, wishes to die for her if it meant she was safe, vows to protect her from all harm, promises that would be kept till he was too old and too tired to keep going.

 Suddenly, as he kissed her forehead, Noir realized how much he cared, even though he feared hurting her.

 And though that fear didn’t go away, it didn’t stop him from seeing her and the rest as family.

 When Peni Parker woke up that morning and looked at the spider plush, she smiled.

 But it was when she saw the tag that said “Merry Christmas, Love, Noir” that she felt safe.