#to build them a cool new navy ship and were like 'yeah toss everything about the old ships. these are so cool we're only getti g these from-

[saint-lajka]

wife telling me about ddgs which sounds like a kink acronym but its just a navy ship model that he builds

[baejax-the-great]

Nadia Fucking Shepard

Early in ME2, Shepard reflects on changes to her body and situation. Genfic. Read on AO3.

~

Nadia rubbed a thumb over her lip.

All those years, and just like that it was gone. She’d grown used to it, the jagged scar that left her with a permanent almost-sneer. Made her less approachable, less pretty, less small. She’d liked it most when it was angry and red and new, the way the brass’s eyes had stuttered over it before they thought better of asking too many questions of the only person to make it out of Akuze, and she’d turned down the offer of cosmetic surgery to remove it. It was her souvenir from watching fifty soldiers die to a thresher maw and surviving on her own, blood soaking the collar of her under armor and crusting there.

It suited her. She rarely wanted to be approached. Not if they were going to talk about fucking Akuze.

Garrus’s gaze had slipped right over her newly perfect lip as he joked about his own scars that hadn’t even formed yet, his face blown to hell. His armor too, come to think of it, and Cerberus didn’t carry turian spares. She wrote that down on her endless to-do list, her tongue automatically tracing the inner section of her lip, too smooth, slimy even, unfamiliar.

The navy dubbed her “Sole Survivor.” Wrote it right on the damn statue, as if not dying was a skill. She’d almost asked them if they were going to put another statue on Mindoir of a frightened, crying girl with the same inscription.

Almost.

At least most people didn’t fucking ask about Mindoir.

She’d never liked the eyebrow scar as much. Got it pierced just before joining the Alliance to try and cover it up or at least make it look deliberate, the needle pushing through the thick scar tissue so slowly she thought she’d break her teeth clenching them. And then she joined up and the first thing they did was tell her to lose it. She always figured when she washed out it would be the first thing she did—repierce it and cover up the gash from when she was tossed under a bed like a doll a second before her first life ended.

Two perfect eyebrows now on the Alliance’s perfect dead soldier, and not a trace of that week in Mindoir when she got her first kill with a rifle previously only used on empty bottles and varren.

No use staring at it. She trudged to her bed and flopped onto it—too soft, she’d been dead and it was too soft—and opened the shutters to stare into the void of space that she knew better than most.

The joke was on the Alliance. Their sole survivor died with a bunch of others she failed to save. Choked to death on her own exhalations in fucking space. Couldn’t hide from asphyxiation. Or gravity.

Couldn’t stop herself from checking her Cerberus-issued armor four times for leaks even on planet-side missions. She felt Jacob’s eyes drifting over to her in the armory as she ran the diagnostics again and again.

Saved one life, though, before her frozen, dead body hit atmo and plummeted like a shooting star into Alchera. That was more worthy of a statue than digging in and waiting for everyone else around to her die. All she got was a death certificate and a lot of accusations.

And upgrades.

Cerberus upgraded her. Not just her skin, but everything else, too.

Shepard died, alone, out there, but Cerberus put enough tech into her she wasn’t sure she could ever die again. Her skin was thicker than a turian’s leathery ass, and her bones weighed about twice as much as they used to. Didn’t matter when she put on muscle like a pubescent krogan. And there was no way the amp they plugged into the back of her head was legal. If she hadn’t shaved her hair down to a quarter inch, her curls would be standing on end with all the energy thrumming back there.

She slammed the shutter controls more forcefully than she needed to, for the first time feeling trapped on a star ship. Having her own command was freedom, it had always meant freedom, but even if they’d filled her drawers with N7 gear—and she didn’t want to think about how they’d obtained it—this was Cerberus. The Illusive Man paid for her life, for her perfect face that was cracking at the seams, and he believed he owned her.

Nadia had made it pretty fucking clear on Mindoir she was not going to be owned by anyone.

Not the Alliance, who she’d contacted the minute her omnitool connected to the extranet and who took three days to get back to her with a message that boiled down to ‘dying without permission results in expulsion from our ranks.’ The shits. Not the Council, the one whose inaction led to their deaths or the new one who owed their positions to her but couldn’t hide their revulsion at her audacity to visit the very space station they’d dubbed her the hero of.

And definitely not fucking Cerberus.

She took a breath, and as she’d done countless times before when she felt like punching a hole through the hull—and she could do it, too, she felt it, if not with her fist, then definitely with her biotics—she dropped to the deck and started her fifth set of pushups for the day.

Hiding. That was all it had ever been. Bunkering up with an entire collapsed house covering the sound of her breathing or digging in behind enough scrap metal that the acid didn’t have time to burn through. The people who ran were the ones who got picked off first.

Shepard didn’t run away from shit.

Couldn’t even make it into a fucking escape pod.

Her sweat hit the cabin floor.

She would hide again, was already hiding, but this time in plain sight. Sure, the new Normandy was equipped with an AI that watched her every move and was tapped in directly to the Illusive Man, not to mention two loyal biotics and an entire crew of people who signed up for terrorism, but she also had Garrus. And Joker. And she was just getting started.

Colonists were disappearing, and the Illusive Man knew Shepard would jump into action for that, and she knew he knew it. So yeah, for now, she’d take her Cerberus body and throw it at mercs and mechs and the goddam Collectors. And for now, while the Reapers were waiting in dark space, she’d build a team to follow her into hell.

Nadia got off the floor and swiped a towel from her sink. Guess even Cerberus couldn’t think of better internal cooling systems than ejecting water from every pore. For an organization obsessed with the plight of humanity, they sure tested the limits of what could be considered human, but she still panted and sweated with the rest of them.

As she tossed her towel into the hamper, she caught a flash of red behind her green eyes. Someone’s green eyes. She had no idea if they were still the originals or if someone had painstakingly painted new irises from some old photo of her. Moment of humanity over.

They wouldn’t call her the sole survivor ever again. Not because she died, but because this time she’d either crash and burn through the Omega-4 relay with the rest of her crew, or they were all coming back. Every last one.

And, if at the end of this mission the entire crew of friendly terrorists and misfit aliens with nothing to lose didn’t answer to her command and her command alone, Illusive Man be damned… well. Then she really wasn’t Nadia Fucking Shepard anymore.

And none of this really mattered.

[takadasaiko]

Aftermath (a Veronica Mars one shot)

FFN II AO3

Part of my Spanning Years, Continents series

Notes: I know these one shots were supposed to be movie to the beginning of S4, but this idea popped into my head a while back and I wasn't able to shake it, so here we go. It does take place after the S4 finale, but with the exception of Logan getting to live because I'm not a monster.

Summary: In the aftermath of Epner's last bomb, Logan struggles with recovery and what it cost him.

Aftermath

It wasn't that the waves were much louder on the ground floor than the third, but in the early hours of the morning when the rest of the world was silent, they sounded like they were. It was just one of the many things that Veronica had had to get used to in the new apartment over the course of the last few months. They'd been lucky, she knew, to catch an empty unit a few sections down from their own and on the ground floor so that Logan didn't have to struggle up three flights freshly home from the hospital. He would have given it the same stubborn effort that he'd given everything since the bomb had gone off, leaving him clinging to life without great odds at pulling through. He had, though. Stubbornly. Just like he had stubbornly pushed through surgeries and rehab. She had no doubt that he would have been willing to climb the stairs if that's what had needed to happen, but she hadn't wanted him to.

Anyway, this unit had a washer and dryer, she'd told him when he'd rolled his eyes at her from the hospital bed. It all worked out.

It had nothing to do with the overwhelming fear and guilt she had felt at seeing him lying on the street below their old unit or the fact that every time she risked a glance out their bedroom window she saw it happen all over again. The glass cutting her face and the pressure from the bomb sending her stumbling back. It had sent him flying too, but instead of a bed to catch his fall, he'd been tossed like a ragdoll into the building itself. The collision with the unyielding wall had broken bones and given him a bad concussion while shrapnel had done the rest of the damage. Nearly six months later he still wasn't back up to speed and the doctor warned him that there was a good chance he never would be.

Not that Logan listened to him. That could be for better or worse. The doctors had also told Veronica to make sure her new husband's affairs were in order and he'd proved them wrong there.

Veronica pulled in a deep breath, the sound of the waves doing nothing to lull her back to sleep with those thoughts rattling around in her brain. She turned in the bed, hoping that holding onto him and feeling his steady heartbeat would help ease her nerves, but found only empty space and rumpled sheets on his side. She sat up ramrod straight in the bed they shared, looking around the room still drenched in pre-dawn shadows. "Logan?"

Shuffling could be heard from the other side of the bathroom door now connected to their bedroom and, for the first time, she saw the light peeking out from under it. It opened and Logan shot her a curious look. "Hey. You okay?"

Veronica squinted against the fluorescent light shining into the bedroom and Logan seemed to notice as he reached back to switch it off. She watched - noting the very subtle limp that still worked its way into his step some mornings - as he made his way back to the bed and eased himself down. "You okay?" he had asked again, his brows drawn together with the question.

"Yeah. Yes. Just —" Just what? Thought he was really gone? Thought that the last six, nearly seven months had been a kinder dream to replace a realty her mind couldn't accept? It all sounded silly now that she was actually awake, so she forced a smile and rocked forward onto her knees. Her fingers teased at his hairline and the burn scars there, gently guiding him in until he met her halfway for a kiss. She leaned into it, feeling one of his hands against the side of her face and she tilted them both over so that he landed on his back, Veronica leaned over him with an impish smile. There was one way to banish those recurring fears. "I love you," she said firmly.

His thin lips quirked up into that lazy, amused smile she loved and he brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I love you too, but I need to finish getting ready if I'm going to make it down to base by seven."

Her pre-caffeinated brain spun trying to figure out why he needed to be down at the base at all that day before it slammed head first onto the answer. "You have your physical today."

"Yep," he answered, kissing the tip of her nose and his tone a lot cheerier than she would have expected. His last physical had not gone as well as the Navy doctor - or Logan - had hoped. After about a day of moping around the apartment Logan had very pointedly brushed it off as still healing and buckled down to work even harder than before. Wanting it - needing it - had been what had gotten him through ROTC, through OCS, and continuing through one of the toughest military training programs there was, but it might not be enough to keep it now. Veronica had heard his physical therapist remind him the last time she'd picked him up that sometimes there was just no bouncing back to before an injury.

"You want me to go with you?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't read too much into the offer.

"Aren't you working a case?"

He rolled a little and she slid off of him, letting him up. "Yeah, but I can make time if you want me there."

"I'll be okay," he promised, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. "How about you make reservations and we'll celebrate good news at dinner tonight?"

"Logan —"

"It's fine. I've got this."

She watched him carefully, and damn it if he hadn't convinced himself of it. She just hoped he was right.

Slowly she unfolded and stood on the bed, stepping to the edge so that she could wrap her arms around his neck and look down on him, her fingers teasing his short hair. She took a breath and went in with him. "Yeah you do. We'll celebrate good news."

"You keep looking at me like that, Mrs Echolls and I'm not gonna make it to base," he muttered, mischief dancing through his eyes.

Veronica snorted and released him. "Then go get 'em, Mr Mars."

And on the heels of a joke they'd held onto throughout his recovery, he turned to finish getting ready to drive down to San Diego.

-------------

She knew the moment she saw him walk through the office door that the news had been less than he'd hoped for. They canceled the reservations and went home with takeout and a bottle of wine. He didn't talk. No quips, no brushoffs, not even an honest opinion or an explanation of exactly what the doctor had said or what it meant. Veronica didn't know if they were forcing him into retirement - or was it discharging him? She wasn't entirely sure - or if they'd pushed the decision down the line. His squad had already been deployed without him two months earlier - this time for a longer tour - and while she hated the idea of him shipping out to join them, the idea of him losing the job he loved so much - because of hers, the pesky thought tried to push its way to the forefront - wasn't any better. Sure, he'd be safer, but he loved what he did. He'd tried to describe the way it felt to fly his jet to her one time. The rush of an aerial dogfight, the thrill of hitting supersonic, and the way he could trust that his Wizzo Dave Riley had his back, both literally and figuratively. Even when his duties had shifted in the last couple of years and he found himself with boots on the ground from time to time, the people he trusted were right there with him. "They're family," he'd explained one time and she knew what that meant to him.

Now she was afraid that he'd lost that and she had no idea what to say. She'd never been particularly good at finding the right words to fill the awkward silence following a disaster she couldn't fix. She was good in a fight. She was good on a case. Something winnable. This…. she couldn't do anything for him besides be there and support him, but that never felt like enough. Too often she brushed past, opting instead to focus on anything tangible, but not here. She couldn't do that to him here.

Logan had barely touched the slice of pizza sitting in front of him, but his wine glass was almost empty. Veronica reached over to the bottle and poured the same amount she tended to reserve for his impromptu deployments: up to the lip of the glass. He shot her a look at that and she shrugged, finally pulling a mirthless snort that was close to a chuckle as he was capable of giving her in that moment. He reached over and she took his hand readily, feeling his fingers close around hers, his wedding band cool against her skin. He heaved a sigh, squaring his shoulders a little as he started to speak. "You know, right after I woke up in the hospital my first thought was shit, I bet that explosion just fucked my hearing. Woulda grounded me instantly."

"You got cleared on that three visits ago," Veronica murmured.

"Right? Didn't lose a limb, didn't damage my eyes or ears. I was lucky. I know I was lucky." She shifted on the bar stool and reached up tentatively, her freehand resting on his thigh. He tried for a smile and failed miserably. "I just couldn't pass the physical."

The words were like a knife to the gut and Veronica tightened her hold with both hands, feeling his own fingers around hers and he squeezed his eyes shut. He was done. They were taking his wings. They were taking the thing from him that had helped him find purpose in and that he'd devoted his adult life to.

She had taken it.

Veronica scooted off the stool and wrapped her arms around him, her forehead pressed against his arm as hot tears streaked down her cheeks. She felt as much as she heard him choke back a sob as he reached to hold onto her arm, his entire body trembling under the strain of it all. He'd fought so hard, but even he couldn't fight hard enough to win this one.

"I'm so sorry," she heard herself say, the words tumbling out again and again, faster and more desperate each time until he turned on his seat and suddenly he was standing there, his arms around her too and pulling her in.

He didn't say anything and her apologies eventually dwindled to get swallowed up by the sobs that still shook her. She felt his hand tangled in her hair, though, stroking it gently and he had her pulled close in that way that had always been meant to comfort. Even now, even after being responsible for this, he was trying to comfort her in whatever way he could manage. It wasn't fair.

She felt him pull in an unsteady breath and kiss the side of her head before leaning back. His eyes were rimmed red, the lines in his face a little deeper than usual with the strain of trying to hold himself together. "Veronica," he said firmly, even if his voice was rough. He waited until she met his gaze. "This is not your fault."

"Bullshit," she managed and swallowed hard, determined not to let another wave of sobs break free. "He was after me and he nearly killed you. I knew. Back in college I knew how dangerous this was. It's why I left. It's why I didn't come back until…"

"Till I asked you to."

"I knew this job was dangerous. Not just for me, but for everyone around me. Everyone I love. I went back to it anyway. I could have used my degree at a firm in San Diego or LA and lived here, but I was….so selfish. I knew I was putting everyone -" No, that's not right, Mars. If you're going to start, you better damn well own it."That I was putting you in danger. I did it anyway. I did this."

"No," he choked out, fresh tears building in his brown eyes and she hated that even now he was trying to defend her.

"This is my fault!" she shouted and lost the battle with her own will as she folded forward, unable to drag in enough air to satisfy her lungs.

He pulled her back in and held her close. "Don't ever apologize to me for being who you are. You're good at what you do and I…. I wish it weren't as dangerous as it is. You know I wish it wasn't, but that's for you. What happened to me is Epner's fault, not yours." She felt his finger under her chin, guiding her to look at him again. "You hear me?"

"Yeah," she said smally.

"You believe me?"

"I want to."

That pulled the tiniest of smiles from him and he leaned forward, kissing her forehead. "I love you. The Navy was everything once, but you…. I love you. I've loved you over half my life."

Veronica sniffed hard. "What now?"

He leaned down, catching her lips with his like that was his answer, and the moment she kissed him back he was lifting her off the floor. Veronica wrapped her legs around him and she could taste their tears in the kiss as he carried her back to the bedroom. He wasn't going to magically be okay with losing his career just like she wasn't going to instantly be able to - appropriately or not - redistribute the guilt she was feeling onto Penn Epner, but she could be there for him. And maybe, in time, she'd find a way to be a little better at that.

---------

The world didn't stop just because Logan felt like it should have. There were things to do, papers to sign, and - worst of all - a call he dreaded making. Thankfully he managed to hold it together on the Skype call with his squad, even if Riley of all people looked on the verge of breaking down. Riles wasn't the only one that reminded him that just because he didn't ship out with them didn't make him any less their family or them his.

Veronica spent the first few days after he got the news close by. She didn't ask him to talk about it, but listened when he wanted to . Even that couldn't go on forever, though, and eventually she started slipping out to the office. The bombing case had put Mars Investigation on the map even outside of Neptune and calls were coming in from all of the country. She wasn't taking anything out of town just yet, but Keith wasn't able to carry to load himself, even with the adjustment to his medication that had helped his memory issues. It was fine. Probably better than fine. Hopefully it meant that she was starting to accept that this really wasn't her fault.

Logan wasn't sure how long a person was supposed to take to mourn the loss of their career, but he was pretty sure he was due at least a few more days of moping. Dick hadn't agreed with him on that and had shown up on his doorstep with a surfboard and a chest full of beer that morning to drag him out to the beach. Well, it had always helped him clear his head when he was younger.

It was bordering on noon when he and Dick trudged their way back to where they'd left their things to find Veronica had brought her own beach towel and was stretched out with a magazine on cameras. She flashed him a bright smile. "Hiya, handsome."

"Always knew you had a thing for me, Ronnie," Dick chirped at his side and Logan rolled his eyes, elbowing the other man in the ribs.

"Hey. You calling it a day already? Careful, or someone's going to accuse you of keeping '09er hours."

"Well, I did marry one," she answered him with a wink.

Dick snorted and Logan elbowed him again before he had a chance to add to his earlier comment. He feigned injury. "That's what I get for trying to cheer you up, man."

Logan's lips stretched into an almost-smile. "Thanks."

"Anytime." Dick turned his attention back to Veronica. "You got him?"

"I do indeed," she answered cheerfully and popped to her feet. "You -" she directed at Logan this time - "go hop through the shower, then I'm kidnapping you."

"What for?"

"You'll see."

He glanced at Dick, looking for any hint he might give, and the blond shrugged.

"You think I'm dumb enough to give him details?" his wife laughed. "C'mon. We're on the clock."

Logan gave up trying to figure it out and did as he was told. Twenty minutes later he was showered and dressed, being ushered out to the convertible he'd bought four months before when he'd been cleared to drive again and it became clear that Veronica couldn't continue giving up her car or all of her time to make sure he made all of his doctors' appointments. He tried to swipe the keys from her, but she just smirked as she hopped into the driver's seat. "You don't know where we're going."

"Would if you'd tell me."

"Where's the fun in that?"

They worked their way through the back roads and he could tell she was trying to throw him off, but he knew the town too well and recognized the roundabout path she was taking to the private airport on the edge of town that Duncan's family used to fly their private plane out of. He didn't bother asking why, but settled into the passenger seat a little deeper and tried to push back the twinge of pain that the roar of a Gulfstream climbing overhead stirred in him.

"Veronica…" he started, suddenly finding himself utterly sapped of energy and wanting nothing more than to go home. They had come out here over the years and watched the planes coming and going. Veronica didn't get nearly as much out of it as he did, but he had loved to go on and on about them, always teasing her that he was going to buy some little single engine one day. She had rolled her eyes at him and told him not to even try it. He'd come close a couple of times, but the judgement would have been strong if he had.

"Trust me?"

He sighed, giving her a sharp nod.

They pulled around towards the hanger and parked off to the side. Veronica kept glancing at him, like she was constantly trying to gauge his mood. He could have saved her some time if she'd just asked: worse by the minute. "I'm really not in the mood to watch them."

"Good, because I thought you might want to fly one." She motioned to where a late 90's model Bonanza sat out on the runway. "You said that you can still fly, just not like the Navy needs you to be able to. I did some research and talked to Riley to make sure I understood everything correctly. He said you had gotten certified in a Bonanza several years ago and all you'd need to do to… re-certify?"

"Get current," he corrected and she nodded.

"Right, that's what he called it."

"Yeah, I just have to do what they call touch-and-goes. Three take offs and landings."

"Super easy, right?"

"Yeah." He felt his lips quirk upward despite his best efforts. "How long do we have her?"

"Unless Riley lied to me and you don't really love this model…. as long as you want?"

Logan stared at her. "You bought me a plane?"

"Well, technically, you bought you a plane, but apparently that marriage certificate means that your finance guy was willing to listen to the crazy idea and set everything up." The beautiful blue gaze of her latched onto him and Logan felt his heart stutter in his chest. "I know it's not a Hornet and I know it won't go mach… whatever, but you'll be in the air." He wasn't sure what his face was doing, but apparently it caught her by surprise. "Shit… do you hate? Is it too soon? I just -"

He leaned in, the kiss cutting off whatever she was going to say and he lifted her up off the ground and spun her a little before letting her feet drop back down and begrudgingly releasing her. Oh. That's it, he realized as he blinked through blurred vision. Tears could definitely give the wrong impression. "I love it," he swore. "It's perfect."

"You're not just saying that?"

"No. You wanna go up?"

She flashed him a bright smile. "See you fly first hand? Absolutely. I think we have to talk to the guy in the office before we just take off in it though."

"Probably so," Logan chuckled and caught her hand in his, pulling it up to press a quick kiss to her knuckles before starting into the hanger. The aftermath of the bombing, recovery, and his eventual medical discharge had been more than he could have ever handled alone, but he had her. Through all of it and for whatever came next. They'd figure it out together.

------------

Notes: So, fun fact: my dad has been a pilot all my life and when I was little (and it didn't break the bank to do it) he used to rent Bonanzas to fly us to different places. I have some very early and very fond memories of those flights, so when I needed a single engine for Logan to be certified in, that was my go-to.

[ravenwritesstuff]

Best Laid Plans (10/?)

Fandom: Frozen (modern AU, no magic) Pairings: Helsa, established Kristanna, Rapunzel/Eugene, lotsa frohana Rating: T for now, M later almost for sure A/N: Fun fact about why it takes me so long to write stuff. I write everything out of order. The very first scene I wrote of this fiction is in this chapter.

She cannot help but be wary. She has seen what happens when Hans Westergaard shows what he wants and she is all too familiar with that heat and tension. Her body tightens in anticipation of what he means, and does her best to hide her apprehension behind professionalism.

"While I am sure we all are thrilled with the mystery of your offer, it really is critical that we establish exactly what you want as quickly as we can as our timeline is so limited." 

She has never had a client be so withdrawn about their event or purpose before. Most clients could not wait to throw ideas and concepts and colors in her direction or instead all the things they didn’t want. So far she knows he liked the wedding because they danced and that he likes the ocean. She is in no way prepared for an event where that is the center. His lack of forthcoming throws her off balance and makes her irritable. She is not sure if it is just the Hans Westergaard way or if she is actually losing control of the situation. Whatever it is, she does not like it, but she hides her discomfort behind a Mona Lisa smile.

"Of course. Which is why I am going to show it to you as soon as I can. But it will require the wearing of swimsuits and the ability to swim. Are you all up to the occasion?” He is in full showman now, the elegant host, and while she feels more at ease when he is in this space she also likes it less. The conflict leaves her with feelings she promptly ignores and shoves down beneath the mental checklists ticking through her mind. 

“Per your vague instructions I believe we are all prepared for a swim,” she looks around at her team to get their confirmation even though she knows they all packed accordingly. “But really we have so much to cover. I think it will be best if we work through a few more steps before we get distracted.”

“Oh this is not a distraction. I promise.” He peers out over the ocean, shielding his eyes to make out something. “We have ten minutes before we need to get suited up so let’s talk until then.” He leans back and sips his coffee. “I would love to hear more from the team personally. Why do you all do what you do? What part of the events you manage is your favorite?” 

It is an unconventional question, but what other kind can she expect from Hans Westergaard? 

She watches as the team all look at each other with puzzled expressions and she is glad that at least this time she is not the only one befuddled by what Hans Westergaard has to say. 

“I mean - I guess my favorite thing is that I get to work with my family.” Anna chimes in first, smiling at Elsa and Kristoff. “We make a great team and I don’t know many families that can say that!” She turns to Rapunzel and Eugene as well. “And I’ve gained new family members I never knew before. So it is a win all around.”

“As someone deeply acquainted with the complications of family - I appreciate that Anna.” 

It is strange to hear her sister’s name on his lips, to see him smile at her and smile in return. 

Anna nudges Kristoff with her elbow and he grunts before offering:

“I get to work with my hands and make my wife happy. Not much better than that.” He chuckles when Anna throws her arm across his stomach and side hugs him. “Plus there is something awesome when a client sees you build the thing they wanted just like they wanted. Makes you feel like Santa or something.”

“The tables and altar at Eric’s weddings were incredible. You made those?”

Kristoff tilts his head, not one to enjoy outright praise, and then nods. 

Hans returns his nod with a smile. “Excellent work. Truly. I have ideas for you.”

Elsa sees an opportunity and cuts in: “We would love to hear more about those ideas so we can really talk them over and -”

“Hold on,” Mister Westergaard holds up his hand and focuses on the petite brunette across from him. “What is your favorite part of planning events?”

“Oh. I love weddings and I know you aren’t planning a wedding, but they are my favorite.” Rapunzel’s eyes widen. “But my favorite part of my favorite weddings is the kiss. You can totally tell who is going to make it and who isn’t by the kiss. When the groom really kisses the bride - or bride kisses the bride - or groom and groom - oh you get it. When they kiss them in the way that you can almost feel it from the back row… yeah. That’s my favorite part because I know we did something to give them their happily ever after.”

Leave it to Rapunzel would say something fantastical. Never mind that it has absolutely nothing to do with her role in the company or what is at the heart of their events, but it is water under the bridge. Elsa sniffs.

“Is everything okay?” It is Mister Westergaard. He is arching his brow in the most annoying fashion because it makes her stomach flutter and her mouth go dry and she screwed up. She drew attention to herself at the worst time possible.

“Don’t mind her.” Rapunzel interjects before Elsa can even force a smile. “It’s just that Elsa has never really been kissed.” She smiles a little too broadly at her boss before looking at Eugene (who is honestly at a loss). 

Elsa is flummoxed by the comment and she can practically see the mischief dancing across Rapunzel’s features. She is living for this, needling her like the second younger sister she never had. Anna is hiding laughter behind her strawberry lemonade where Kristoff’s eyes are wider than she has ever seen them. 

She cannot even look at Hans Westergaard. 

Eugene clears his throat and swoops in while Elsa’s mind sputters at Rapunzel’s brazenness.

“Well to be completely honest I had a bit of a rough start. I didn’t exactly use my super negotiation skills for good, but Elsa gave me an opportunity to do what I do in a productive way and that is what I enjoy the most. I like knowing I can con a deal for my client,” it is a joke and they all force a laugh. “Plus I like parties.”

Even Hans Westergaard manages a smirking chuckle without all of Eugene’s history. Chances are he has files on all them from some sort of private detective or something invasive like that anyway. There is no need for elaboration.

“So what about you, Hans?” Anna says, sipping her drink, deflecting from what was to inevitably be Elsa’s turn to share. “Why E&A Events? What do we bring to the table that you want for your event?”

Elsa could hug her sister for the segway. 

Anything to focus past the horrendous mess Rapunzel insisted on introducing and keep Elsa from having to answer Hans’ time wasting question.

Hans looks at them all and smiles. It is wide and easy, like he has never had any other job besides smiling at them and his response makes her boil. She hates his smile, his calm, that he had somehow gotten her on this ship where her insides are being flipped and churned and turned upside down. 

“I want you because you are unexpected,” he says matter-of-factly. “You aren’t what I thought I would want but somehow you are exactly, wholly, and perfectly what I need right now.” 

Elsa does not need to look up from her tablet to know he is speaking directly to her. She can feel his gaze as sure as she can feel the hammering pulse in her throat. It takes her best efforts to  take rein of her stampeding thoughts and draw a deep breath.

“That is very nice of you to say Mister Westergaard,” she pretends to be very busy taking notes on her tablet. “We are excited to dive into the particulars about why you chose us but right now I think the question we all have is just what exactly we are endeavoring to initiate.” 

He nods and looks again at the horizon just as the ship’s pace slows dramatically. His smile spreads. He looks back at them.

“You’re about to find out. It is time to suit up.”

….

Elsa put on her incredibly conservative one piece in the stark privacy of a marble and gold bathroom. The couples were given other rooms and while she knows the lighting is not flattering all she can do is look at flaws in the mirror. The suit had been specifically chosen because it did not show any of her scars. The navy suit had no cut outs, barely scooped below her collarbones and shoulder blades. The suit is made out the same fabric that swim athletes use. It compresses every inch it encases but it covers everything and is not flashy in the slightest. 

She had told Anna and Rapunzel to leave the bikinis at home.

She hopes they had or else her suit is going to look impossibly old fashioned.

She turns sidewise in the mirror and sucks in. She is not certain why. Her shape is her shape. There is little much she can do about that now. Her swim wrap is her saving grace. It looks much like any of the other dresses she might wear throughout the week though  is slightly sheer. The almost black is burned out with floral patterns and wraps at the waist with a feminine sensibility she normally eschews, but she had nothing else that would serve on such short notice. 

She looks at herself once more, feels her bare feet on the cool tile and breathes. This is fine. She is simply winning over a client that her company needs to impress. That is all. 

She presses her hands against her stomach and breathes. 

She does not tell herself it will be okay. She has not done that in years. Instead she tells herself it will all be managed. It will happen and she will handle it, whatever it is. This is a test and she intends on passing it. 

There are risk to swimming with her condition, but she knows her team has her back. They will watch her. It will be okay.

She tosses her braid over her shoulder, makes sure her personal items and stacked tidily in the corner, forces herself out of the bathroom.

The rest of them are already waiting on the aft desk. She hopes she hadn’t taken too long, not wanting to raise suspicion by her lengthy change. She assesses everyone’s dress as she approaches. The expression of personalities under the instruction of ‘dress appropriately’ is not lost on her with Anna’s tankini beneath a loosely tied robe, Kristoff’s rash guard and the longest possible swimmers available. Eugene trends towards more fashionable Bermuda cuts and Rapunzel’s suit is a one piece that hardly qualifies with all of the crazy cut outs. That leaves Hans Westergaard who stands in shorts similar to Eugene’s and a plain white t-shirt that is too tight to be decent.

She tries to not notice the shape of his calves, the size and shape of his feet, but it is a lost cause. Her rebellious mind grabs onto these facts before she can convince it not to. He smiles as he sees her and it is the same earth shattering power that leaves her shaky and uncertain where the rest of the world went.

“Shall we?” he says to the group before leading them out of the shaded part of the deck out into the bright sun. 

She squints and pulls her sunglasses down over her eyes as he leads them out past the infinity pool. There are wide steps beyond it railed with stainless steel grips and she clings to them as they descend to what appears to be a small launching platform.. At the base there is a large white space where three crew members wait. They demonstrate general snorkeling protocol that she vaguely remembers from when she was six, before this all began. They offer up equipment. They fit it to them. Then the worst comes. 

Every swimmer must have one buddy. Pick your buddy and know you are responsible for them out in the water.  

And the lines are so clearly drawn. 

She stands fidgeting with her mask and flippers knowing she is now responsible for Hans Westergaard. Anna casts her a knowing glance, but Elsa knows that damage that would be done if she let Anna be her partner. The affront will be obvious, personal, and honestly this is the least of worst case scenarios. 

It is just swimming. They won’t have to touch or speak. All she has to do is make sure that Hans Westergaard does not die. Easy peasy. 

With a return glance she calms her sister’s concerns. It will be okay. This is okay. She is okay. 

Then the crew is distributing sturdy plastic bottles to everyone named with only the words BODY and FACE This time though Mr Westergaard steps up to explain the reasons.

“This is just a little project I’ve been working on - a new line of sunblock. If you don’t mind using this instead of the kind you brought I would love to know what you think.”

Elsa holds both bottles in her hands thinking it is a bit strange, but she would rather have him be strange than charming. She had applied sunblock that morning in her apartment just in case, but the sun is bright and she is not interested in burning. 

She opens the bottle labeled BODY and starts with her legs and feet. The scent and feel of a lotion is pleasing. The texture is not oily or rough but actually absorbs into the skin easily. The scent is not overwhelmingly tropical but instead has the essence of eucalyptus. It is refreshing. She hates to admit how much she enjoys it.

They are all standing fairly close together but the couples have sectioned off into their own little bubbles. She and Hans are on the outside, reasonably spaced. Anna has lost her robe as has Rapunzel. She is next and the idea of him seeing her in something so opposite of what she normally wears makes her heart race. What if he was cataloguing her traits the way she inadvertently was his? What if he liked what he saw? What if he didn’t? 

She reprimands herself. None of that matters. This is a job just like any other job and she needs to stop losing her mind over things that don’t matter.

Her fingers work the tie at her side, thankful now more than ever that they all were wearing sunglasses. If he did look at her she wouldn’t know. She shrugs and the wrap falls to her elbows and then slips all the way to her hands. She carefully draws it in front of her and folds it neatly before setting it next to her snorkel gear and hopes it is bright enough that no one can tell she is blushing. 

She retrieves her sunblock and works her way over all the parts she had missed before until she arrives at  the exposed part of her back that she cannot reach. She is struggling to bend her arms to cover stubborn spots between her shoulder blades, head bent down, and a pair of feet comes into her field of vision. She looks up and Hans Westergaard stands there with his  sanctioned sunblock in his hand. He looks at her with a smile that is nothing but warm, sincere, and if he wasn’t wearing sunglasses she is sure that his eyes would hold that defenseless, human look that always rattles her.. 

“Need some help?” He offers. “The back is always the first place to burn.”

Her decline is on the tip of her tongue but she hesitates. She can always just ask Anna for help but how will that look? No matter how infuriating and unsettling this man is he is still her client and she is trying to make a point. She can handle his flirting and still maintain a professional nature.

“Okay.” She gives a stiff nod. 

He circles around her and that is worse. She is standing there in a garment that shows every lump, bump, and irregularity. It is not cut for flattery and she should be glad of that at this moment, but she finds herself wishing she has the more daring choices of her counterparts. Or at least something that doesn’t look like she is about to take a water aerobics class at senior citizens center.

No. She mentally reprimands herself. This is for the best. She is here to be professional, and he cannot create ideas about her interest in enticing him in any way when she is wearing the equivalent of a nuns habit in modern swimwear. 

She hears him open the bottle, make the necessary squirt, and she waits then for the first touch. It takes longer than expected to come, but when it does her entire body stiffens. 

She had expected cold but there is none of that. The lotion and his touch are warm. He spreads the cream over the available skin before he begins the process of massaging it in. She stays perfectly still, not daring to move, and does everything in her power to not consider that he is touching her, she is allowing it, and that the strength of his fingers is enjoyable.

His thumbs trace the fragile wings of her shoulder blades. The slick of the lotion gives his touch a silky glide as his hands work across her skin, tracing the delicate bulbs of her spine. He comes up to where her braid hangs across her neck and pushes it to the side before she can stop him. 

She knows exactly when he sees it. She can sense it in his hesitation. The scar creeping from the base of her neck up under her hairline is a wide pink line, made wider and more noticeable with every cut, and is something she hides with low lying hairstyles and high collars but now… 

She can practically hear his breath catch at the sight. 

His thumbs run in tandem up along the length of her scar in impossible reverence. She is sure that he can feel the rapid rhythm of her heart against his fingertips where they rest on her throat before she pulls away. 

“I'm sure that's good. Thank you.” she flips her braids back over her neck in an attempt to not rub the spot his thumbs had branded and looks at him with a dare to ask her.

It would be a relief in so many ways if he would just ask. If she could just tell him and scare him away before they get any further in this unnamed dance. Behind his sunglasses it is nearly impossible to tell what his intent is until a smile spreads over his face. Instead of probing he hands her the bottle of sunscreen.

“Return the favor?” It is a question as much as it isn't and she can hardly keep from blushing when he strips off his t-shirt. He winks as he turns his back to her and she recognizes a challenge when she sees one.

But that isn’t all she sees.

Her eyes trace the ropes of his muscles as they bunch and pull as he adjusts his posture to do his own application on the front of his torso. A wide smattering of freckles swaths his broad shoulders in frenetic clusters. Despite his fair complexion there is a tawny glow that speaks of his love of being outdoors. 

For a long moment she stands there frozen just staring as he worked his hands down the length of his arms. She watches his hand slip over the enticingly sharp cuts and swells of his shoulder and then down lower. He turns his head a bit to cast a look in her direction with a smirking grin. 

“If you need more lotion, just let me know.” 

Then he is back to it. His short phrase jerks her out of whatever spell she had been under and now it feels like all eyes are on her. Is her sister watching, is Kristoff? Eugene definitely would be and Rapunzel probably was brokering some sort of wager about what is actually happening and what will happen. 

She grits her teeth. 

She knows if she looks to see if any of that is true she will not be able to do this, which is exactly why she doesn’t. She’s spent the better part of today convincing everyone that this is nothing more than a harmless flirtation and that she can handle it. Running away screaming because he needs help applying sunscreen is not going to do much for her case, but she knows she is going to hear about this later.

So she might as well put on a show.

She grabs a nearby bottle and squares her shoulders. The cap opens with a snap. She focuses on each motion as she squirts a generous amount into the palm of her opposite hand. It is too much, she knows, but it is the only shield she has. She rubs her hands together to coat them thoroughly and then, before she can lose her nerve, reaches out to touch. 

Even with the thick creamy coat of sunblock she can feel the heat of him rising to her touch. The broad lines of his back are long with foreign trenches and cords of muscle telling their story of use. His body is not exaggerated in size like her brother-in-law’s, but it is well formed, athletically cut. There is a kind of feline grace about him and the way he moves, the way his calculating eyes watch her move in this game she can hardly remember starting.

She is more rough than she needs to be, pressing hard enough that she feels him brace. She does not take the care he did to make sure that every inch of skin is absolutely slathered and rubbed in. She works from the center of his back up over his shoulder blades and then down close to the line of his swim trunks.

She stares at her own hands moving across his skin and she tries to think of anything but the idea that she is just inches away from dangerous territory. As if this entire exercise isn’t dangerous territory. She lets out a breath she did not know she was holding  and steps away.

"There. All set." She holds her hands down at her sides, palms still tingling with his heat.

He turns and faces her. 

"So," he sets his sunscreen on the deck and straightens. "Snorkel buddies? What do you say?"

She has to respect that he is actually asking instead of just assuming. It gives her the opportunity to negotiate.

"We could always triple up. No sense in creating a superfluous twosome."

"There is no possible way that any group you are a part of could be superfluous," he grins. "But it's statistically safer in pairs. Trust me one we get out there you will have so much to see that I promise you will be glad you only have to keep track of one other person."

She is not going to ask for his source on those stats, but instead she asks: “What exactly are we going to look at?” 

She had not thought it possible, but his smile grew three sizes at her question.

“My initiative,” he pulls off his sunglasses, puts them off to the side, and fits his mask over the top of his head. “Ready to see?” 

She looks over to the others and they all have their gear ready to go and are watching them. How long had they been watching them? She looks back at Hans and nods. 

He leads them to the edge of the platform. It is a few feet above the water with a plastic and metal ladder on the side. Hans sits, pulls his flippers onto his dangling feet, and then slides off into the blue water. He pops up only an instant later and swims back a few feet to look up at them. 

��Water’s great!” He treads, powerful shoulder muscles rolling. “Come on in.” 

They all follow suit. Elsa is the last to slip from the safe edge of the boat into the water below. It is cold, not freezing, but definitely not bathtub water. The temperature is jarring at first. Her body cramps and hesitates as she stays submerged, but she manages to kick to the surface. She pops up on a sputtering gasp, reorients herself, and swims to the others. 

“We’re swimming to that buoy over there.” He points to a yellow speck a few hundred yards away. I recommend using one of these to help with the swim.” He raises his arm out of the water and gestures. Several life preserver belts fly over the edge from a helpful crew member and they all grab one. “Also once we are out there it is a strict look but don’t touch policy. Ready?” 

“When will we know we are seeing what we are supposed to be seeing?” Rapunzel asks, her intrepid curiosity shining through.

“I have a feeling you will know.” He smiles and pulls his mask over his eyes. “Follow me!”

[ previous ]

[f4liveblogarchives]

Fantastic Four Vol. 1 #97

Sun March 18 2018 [15:32:14] <Wackd> BEEEEAAAACH EEEEEPIIIIISOOOOODE!!!

[15:33:09] <Wackd> oh it's not a beach episode [15:33:12] <Wackd> just a cool cover :( [15:33:29] <maxwellelvis> And an odious tradition begins... [15:33:30] <Inbarfink> Boooooooo! [15:33:47] <Wackd> They WERE vacationing by a beach [15:34:25] <Wackd> But the story starts in media res, after their vacation has been interrupted by the Navy asking them to investigate sinkings in Lost Lagoon [15:34:35] <maxwellelvis> I take it Ms Harkness would not be joining them in that vacation [15:34:50] <Wackd> It's vampires that burn in sunlight, not witches! [15:35:02] <maxwellelvis> I know [15:35:07] <Wackd> Also so hey, uh. [15:35:23] <Wackd> Maybe if you didn't want ships to disappear here ya shouldn't have called it Lost Lagoon. [15:36:16] <maxwellelvis> Yeah [15:36:34] <Wackd> So, Reed, Johnny, and Ben (no Sue I guess) are attacked in their vessel by a killer whale. They suspect it might be Namor for a hot second, but then realize he'd probably just show up and start punching them, which checks out. [15:37:04] <Wackd> Ben thinks the whale mighta caused the sinkings, but it turns out that many of the survivors have reported sightings of "a monster in human form". [15:38:11] <Wackd> Also, apparently Tony Stark designed this submarine. Which is weird, right? With the exception of that one thing they got from T'Challa, I kinda figured the implication was that Reed built all their weird vehicles. [15:38:36] <Wackd> I can't imagine Tony sitting down and going "hm, you know, robot suits are cool, but I could *really* do with a submarine." [15:38:44] <Duraz> are they trying to keep people in their specialties? [15:38:53] <Duraz> I mean, they're usually bad at that [15:39:01] <Inbarfink> Does Reed have a specialty? [15:39:16] <Inbarfink> I thought he was a scientist, that studies science [15:39:27] <Duraz> my take would have been, like, particle physics [15:39:34] <Wackd> Transport kinda IS Reed's specialty! Like, he investigates deep space and microverses and negative zones, and then build things that take his team there. [15:40:13] <Wackd> Insofar as he's been confined to a field--and I'm not saying he's never dipped into other fields, especially when un-Thinging Ben is concerned--exploration has been it. [15:40:26] <Duraz> true enough [15:40:38] <maxwellelvis> I think, iirc, the last few times they went underwater, transport was provided for them, and I guess Reed never thought to build a submarine. [15:41:33] <Wackd> Man, I know we've already got Namor and all that stuff, but I would dig an arc where the Four had a deep-sea exploration and found, like, really bizarre shit down there. [15:42:04] <Wackd> I think people underestimate how much of the ocean floor we've actually covered, and just because Atlantis exists in Marvel doesn't mean that Atlantis is on the same level as giant squids or whatever. [15:42:35] <Duraz> reminds me of a time when I was playing Ultimate Alliance with a friend who doesn't read comics [15:42:49] <Duraz> "Looks like we're going to Atlantis," I said.  "Okay.  Awesome!" he replied. [15:43:14] <maxwellelvis> "Oh fuck," I think. As I recall that being the worst level in that game. [15:43:44] <Wackd> 1. Johnny, it's okay to be emotional. 2. oh my god that righthand panel is fantastic on so many levels

[15:44:46] <maxwellelvis> Strong men also cry, Johnny. Strong men also cry. [15:46:38] <Wackd> Admittedly, I don't have an encyclopedic knowledge of the first 100 issues, especially since I read many of them back in 2016. But this take on Johnny as a lady magnet feels new to me. If nothing else, it's leaning into him as the "youth culture" member of the team more than we've done in a damn long while.

[15:47:19] <maxwellelvis> It's been part of his character in Spider-Man, at least. [15:47:30] <maxwellelvis> As part of the contrasting between Johnny and Peter. [15:47:46] <Wackd> Makes sense. Has he been a regular over there? [15:48:15] <Wackd> (I mean, Spider-Man as a book also has a lot more time for civilians than Fantastic Four tends to, Alicia excepted.) [15:50:26] <maxwellelvis> Wackd: He pops up every now and then [15:50:57] <maxwellelvis> In the early years, mostly to be everything Peter wishes he could be: [15:51:13] <maxwellelvis> Cool, confident, popular, a hit with the ladies, beloved by the public, etc [15:51:37] <Wackd> I like that Reed just sort of assumes that his being around isn't a prerequisite for Sue to enjoy herself, as though on some subconscious level he knows how shitty he is.

[15:53:34] <Wackd> SO! Turns out the monster has some sort of chemical that can change him into a human being (or vice versa?) He's currently "undercover" as a dolphin trainer at an aquarium. [15:54:38] <Wackd> I like that Reed immediately cracking the plot is depicted here not as him being incredibly smart, but as him being a workaholic who's reaction to a fun trip to the aquarium is "what if the dolphin trainer is a villain?"

[15:55:11] <Wackd> (Also, uh, can you sit on dolphins like that without hurting them? That seems wrong.) [15:55:47] <Duraz> I guess they ought to be able to take a lot of pressure [15:56:35] <Wackd> PROBABLY not this much pressure, though, right?

[15:57:09] <Wackd> I feel like you PROBABLY can't toss a pilot whale INTO A WALL without something going horribly wrong somewhere. [15:58:47] <Wackd> The whale lives! (But Ben won't enjoy it.)

[15:59:57] <Wackd> So! It turns out our baddie can't speak in human form. (Possibly also in monster form?) I didn't notice, because villains having an ongoing internal monologue is par for the course at this point, but huh, yeah. This guy hasn't said a word so far. [16:01:16] <Wackd> (In an earlier panel, Ben jokes about him being "a real chatterbox." Because the baddie hadn't had a chance to say anything yet, I assumed Ben was making a joke about Reed not being able to shut up, but nah, he's making jokes about a guy he just met not talking, cool) [16:02:07] <Wackd> Indeed, as our baddie volunteers to lead Reed, Ben, and Johnny on a deep-sea expedition, it is CONSISTENTLY pointed out that he can't talk, with Reed finding it odd. [16:02:16] <Wackd> Does...does Stan not know mute people exist? [16:02:49] <Wackd> Like sure, it's not like this guy is using sign language or writing things down--he doesn't even seem to use body language, which makes me wonder how it was determined he wanted to tag along. [16:03:48] <Wackd> Anyway. Ben determines the baddie has led them into a bog, and that it'd be difficult for them to maneuver out, like he's trying to get us stuck down here with no way out!" [16:04:19] <Wackd> So this story is basically about our heroes assuming some rando is a villain because he doesn't speak and is too good at doing dolphin shows for tourists, and being validated in that belief. Cool. [16:05:59] <Wackd> The baddie busts up their submarine, and only Ben can hold his breath long enough to save Reed and Johnny. All the while thinking about how his life is worthless compared to theirs. [16:06:12] <Wackd> Ben: capable of hating himself while saving people from drowning. [16:07:56] <Duraz> hmm, whales were able to ram wooden ships, but still... [16:08:21] <Wackd> So, Ben fights the monster, then Johnny and Reed wake up, and then all three fight the monster. Fight fight fight. The monster makes a retreat. [16:08:33] <Wackd> Monster design, by the way? Real boring. Basically just a Creature from the Black Lagoon ripoff. [16:09:05] <Inbarfink> So when will Johnny start banging the monster? [16:09:13] <Wackd> pffffffffffft [16:09:49] <Wackd> So Ben's solution to having lost track of the monster is to just. Punch the walls of the cave they're in so all the walls collapse and the monster will have nowhere to hide. [16:10:02] <Wackd> Which I'm sure is a thing you can do while maintaining structural integrity. [16:10:28] <Duraz> he's gonna get buried if he keeps doing that [16:12:20] <Wackd> I mean, I suppose it's possible Ben knows enough about this sort of thing to make it work. https://usercontent.irccloud-cdn.com/file/2ED37f5X/IMG_1564.PNG [16:13:44] <Wackd> ...well, now I feel like kind of a jerk. [16:14:20] <Wackd> Turns out the baddie wasn't a baddie at all. He's a stranded alien who was only trying to collect water for him to breath once he repaired his spaceship and could make a return trip. [16:14:43] <Wackd> He was attacking the boats because he thought he'd be attacked if discovered. [16:15:24] <Wackd> So the entire POINT of this issue is that you shouldn't jump to conclusions about people just because they're strange. [16:15:53] <Wackd> Maybe, if they wanted that to work, they shouldn't have had Reed been right every time he suspects anyone ever in all previous issues? [16:15:57] <Wackd> Just a thought. [16:16:48] <Wackd> anyway fish boobs

[16:17:12] <Wackd> (maybe they're just friends, reed, you don't know) [16:17:34] <Wackd> OH HEY ALSO! The monster STILL can't speak! Reed is still just jumping to random conclusions! [16:17:49] <Wackd> So I guess the actual moral is that Reed is always right even when he's wrong. [16:18:04] <Inbarfink> Goddamit Reed and his Heteronomativity [16:18:19] <Wackd> those last three words are superfluous [16:19:09] <Wackd> HEY BEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD'VE BEEN A BIT MORE UNDERSTANDING IN THIS SITUATION

[16:19:31] <Wackd> didn't i just do a thing a few issues ago about how it's weird that ben is the quickest to judge considering his own issues [16:19:35] <Wackd> is that just a trait he has now [16:22:56] <Wackd> yeah, here--where he has no sympathy for mole man https://f4liveblogarchives.tumblr.com/post/171974975823/fantastic-four-vol-1-90 [16:23:44] <Duraz> not very introspective, for all the time he spends in his own head [16:23:59] <Wackd> Anyway the alien takes off, Reed works out the alien and the murder dolphin guy were the same dude, the issue ends [16:24:11] <Wackd> That sure was a thing