#’yeah i love going for the supervillain fit they always have the best designs’

[bearmemesreviews]

FotW: SDMI - In Fear of the Phantom

Welcome back to Scooby-Doo Mystery Incorporated, and now we're getting into a problem many reboots and adaptions face - what happens when you try something different. Today's episode isn't really that special, serving as a bridging point between the next stint of episodes focused on the gang's love lives.

Except for featuring the Hex Girls of course.

Not to overshadow the main villain, which would be extra funny considering their backstory, but come on that's what y'all are here for.

Yeah, they got a bit of a redesign since their last few appearances in the two billion direct to DVD films. Fans DID NOT like this, and in a later episode they had to actually address the backlash while also scrapping these outfits for the original ones. They also steal Luna and Dusk's hair dye and gave Thorn's highlights a diminished role.

My personal opinion? Eh, I would've preferred a middle ground between the two, but for reboots I encourage designers to go all out since it's their own thing. So for Mystery Incorporated I would've either kept the redesigns or gave them completely brand new looks a second time. The OGs have a more cohesive aesthetic, but I like how MI experiments by giving each girl their own Alt style. It's probably Dusk who could probably use a new outfit though, since her Tank Girl getup doesn't mesh as well as Thorn's "Pagan School Girl" and Luna's "Lesbian Thespian" outfits do. Actually, maybe one of those Scene Kid reconstructions of School Uniforms would've worked better?

Oh yeah, this nerd.

Backstory: Like most lesbians Velma is a massive fan of The Hex Girls, snagging front row tickets for the Scooby Gang just in time for them to witness a "Phantom" try to murder Thorn on stage. As with every mystery the gang decide to take it upon themselves to do the cop's job to keep the concert going while protecting the band.

This leads to an exploration of the show's two main ships, Fredphe and Shoob - again, yes really.

This show is really good trust me on this.

Scooby outright calls Shaggy a cheater for going to prom with Velma instead of hanging out with him like they always do, and replaces Mathew Lillard with a wooden dummy much to Shaggy's chagrin.

Fred meanwhile comes out as nonbinary a teenage boy with emotions as he finally grasps Daphne's romantic interest in him. All thanks to an entire song written by Daphne where she uses Fred's special interest to get through to him.

Behold, one of the best songs made for a television show in history.

Before this spectacular moment of audio interposed with occasional Zelda CDI-level animation (to be fair are you even looking at the animation in the first place) we got some Phantom shenanigans. Mostly him responding to Scoob and Shag's ability to warp time and space by just setting them on fire, probably the most effective thing one these guys have attempted so far.

Design: Obviously a homage to The Phantom of the Opera, and as we go through the series, you'll start to notice a lot more homages that Wikipedia will kindly point out for you. Though you can also see a bit of Comic Supervillain in his design, so much so that he doesn't seem to fit with the show's own aesthetic. He wears a black full body suit with a gigantic, taller than his own head, Dracula collar and grim reaper-esque hood. He has a fabricated piece of his outfit that goes over his shoulders like Football Pads, but with a sleeker design as it attaches his cape to the main costume. His cape is black but its interior is lined with a sparkling holographic material.

His mask, belt, boots, and glovers are all made of golden mechanical pieces, as they actually allow him to charge up bolts of electricity to fire at the teens in our show. This tech is never explained, and he really only uses it a few times before forgetting he has these weapons at his disposal.

His mask is the best part of the outfit, legitimately cool while evoking a gas mask. It's almost like it was made out of several pieces asymmetrically stuck to each other with large bolts, like if C3PO was mangled in an accident and put back together with recolored bits of R2-D2. There are several short, cylindrical ports on his gauntlets, boots, belt, and mask that occasionally glow green.

Reveal: Shaggy, with an extensive knowledge of obscure musical groups as we'll be shown time and time again, recognized the shiny material of The Phantom's cape as belonging to a One-Hit Wonder named Fantzee Pantz. And once that's discovered it's pretty obvious that the other suspect, The Hex Girl's manager, is not the culprit as he was just as responsible for Fantzee's obscurity as THG.

No, the true culprit is the girl's songwriter, who first attempted to sabotage them through badly written songs but was thwarted by the girl's talent and popularity - So he then turned to just trying to kill them, and Daphne. He ends up taking Scoob's dummy to jail with him, but the original duo patch things up by then - letting us look back at Velma who got sidelined so badly this episode.

2/5 Goofy as hell design for a goofy character, probably the most "Villain of The Week" we've encountered so far. In fact, he'd probably fit in better in Miraculous Ladybug than this show. Not that bad otherwise, just not as impressive.

[cats-in-the-clouds]

sometimes there are traits and style choices that are super cool and sexy in fiction but then when someone in real life chooses to be like that you’re like oh yikes nevermind and then after an unpleasant experience you can never appreciate it in fiction ever again

[maxwell-grant]

Would you consider Hugo Strange a pulp villain?

Yes. And I would argue that he didn't really stop being one even after his revival.

"Professor Hugo Strange, the most dangerous man in the world! Scientist, philosopher and a criminal genius - little is known of him, yet this man is undoubtly the greatest organizer of crime in the world! - Bruce Wayne, Detective Comics #36

Hugo Strange was created with the intention of being Batman's arch-enemy right from the start, introduced as such by Bruce when he figures out he's responsible for the G-man assassination, pretty explicitly intended to be Batman's Moriarty and with even an equivalent demise. He was big enough to tower over his henchmen and fistfight Batman, he had a uniquely deformed skull, he was both a charismatic but threatening crimelord as well as a mad scientist plotting to TAKE OVER THE WORLD, and I've heard before the argument that the Monster Men were taken from a Doc Savage novel released earlier the same year called The World's Fair Goblin that revolves around a giant mutated man doing crimes under command by the story's villain

That poor devil, Maximus, was a Fair visitor himself, once. He was given injections of thyroxine and adrenalin—and changed rapidly into a pituitary giant. But, in the experiment, his will power was destroyed. Now he only follows the directions of that masked devil who has him hypnotized

He said, "The Man of Tomorrow stuff was merely publicity to draw the Fair crowds—and a shield to cover your own experiments. But the masked surgeon cashed in on it. Obviously he is mad enough to really believe a superman can be created." - The World's Fair Goblin

(Considering Lester Dent had taken potshots at Superman explicitly in "Whisker of Hercules", it's not unlikely that this is an explicit reference)

Although there's really no overlap in the stories besides that, as The World's Fair Goblin only had one giant where as Hugo mutated a couple dozen mentally ill patients to create monsters and then used them to go on mass murdering rampages, because Batman has always been over-the-top. But, yeah, original form Hugo was a pretty cut and dry pulp villain, like most of Batman's villains who debuted prior to 1940. Which is part of why he only had about 3 appearences before they killed him off.

By this point, Batman was in the process of moving away from his pulp knock-off origins into more of his own character, with the introduction of Robin and Dick Tracy cartoon villains that would set the tone for the rest of Batman in the Golden Age, and with the debut of Joker and Catwoman in Batman #1, Hugo was already obsolete as an arch-enemy, and was killed off the following appearence.

Of course, if you know Hugo Strange, you likely already know this, and that he was then revived in the 70s by Marshall Rogers with a brilliant take that stuck to the character's origins as a brilliant crimelord and scientific genius, but also added to him a specifically twisted psychological bent of being obsessed with Batman and becoming Batman, a villain of unshakeable will and even a twisted sense of honor and ethics, refusing to divulge Batman's secret identity even while beaten to death.

And from that moment onwards Hugo would go on to have some of the most consistently brilliant appearences out of any Batman villain (at least until the 2010s) and would secure himself as a mainstay, albeit a very obscure one, figure of Batman, the kind of villain whose plots can range from Born Again-esque subtle destructions of a person's life to a rampage of mutant kaijus on downtown Gotham, and like many of the best Batman villains, it all comes back to a central obsession and psychological edge upon Batman, and the weaponizing and destruction of anything that stands in his way.

You could argue Hugo Strange used to be a cut and dry pulp villain who was eventually reimagined as a Batman Villain, and it would even be somewhat fitting of his in-universe trajectory as a man who started out a career as a figure of prestige and respect, effortlessly able to blend in society, until his repeated encounters with Batman and, most importantly, his gradually increasing obsession with becoming Batman, gradually destroyed him until he's no longer the one ruling the madhouse, but instead trapped in it.

But the reason why I'd argue Hugo Strange is still a Pulp Villain is because his reinventions didn't shed away what he used to be, they merely returned him to his true origins. Because Hugo, you see, is not just a Mad Scientist or Mad Psychologist, Batman's got those by the dozens. Hugo is of a particularly nasty kind of Pulp Villain, who came to existence around the same time as the Mad Scientist if not slightly earlier, an archetype Jess Nevins has named The Evil Surgeon

Medicine has arguably thrown up more serial killers than all the other professions put together, with nursing a close second - Herbert Kinnel, former chairman of the British Medical Association

The Evil Surgeon came to existence as a pop culture archetype in the late 19th century, as the result of serial killers like Jack the Ripper and H.H Holmes making the news, with Doctor Quartz from Nick Carter being first and foremost among these, as the main arch-enemy of the most published character worldwide at the time.

He would be followed years later by H.G Wells's Doctor Moreau, and the likes of Dr Caresco and Professor Tornada, the stars of novels created by André Couvreur, who was himself a medical doctor and used these novels to both condemn the characters as well as give serious consideration to the ideas they explored, and depicted Dr Caresco's over-the-top exploits harkening back to stories about Marquis de Sade (the origin of the term "sadist"). These would be followed by characters like Grigorii Trirodov, Dr Cornelius Kramm, Dr Gogol from Mad Love, currently the most famous example of this seems to be Hannibal Lecter. And Hugo has been operating much more along the lines of those characters in the last decades, than the typical mad scientists he was once designed in reference to.

Of course there's a massive overlap between the two and room to dispute whether they even constitute separate archetypes, they practically came to existence together following the footsteps of Victor Frankenstein, who really isn't a true example of a Mad Scientist in the original novel, and wasn't even a real doctor, but Frankenstein's reputation undeniably is the oldest cultural touchstone we can point to as an influence in the archetype, even if said archetype would only truly take form in pulp magazines and serials.

What I'd argue defines the Evil Surgeon as an archetype specifically, is that they are specifically centered around the violation and destruction of the human body and function more as murderers with budgets, than supervillains in labcoats. Mad Scientists are generally more centered around plots closer to sci-fi/fantasy inventions like sentient robots and immortality potions used for large scale global domination, where as Evil Surgeons are more preoccupied with wielding psychology and torture and criminal resources to get away with destroying minds on more individual scales, or turning cities into slaughterhouses for them to work in.

They aren't quite full blown slasher villains, like Zsasz or Professor Pyg, instead they usually tend to be quite good at passing off as respectable, mentally sound figures of moral standing, and usually possess a sense of purpose towards their work, a goal they are working for by piling corpses atop each other and moving resources to achieve, even if said goal is a purely selfish fulfillment of their own desires. It's quite common for these characters to acquire large bases for them to operate in, even islands specifically.

In Caresco Surhomme, Caresco has taken control of the Pacific island of Eucrasia. Caresco applies his surgical methods to the inhabitants of the island, altering them to better do their jobs. The captain of the plane which brings outsiders to Eucrasia is a limbless trunk with telescopic vision. Even the island itself is in the shape of a human body. The natives of Eucrasia are addicted to various sensual pleasures and generally submit to Caresco’s rule, for fear that he will castrate them or worse.

On Eucrasia, Caresco makes use of “omnium,” a mysterious and unexplained power source, to create: a machine capable of stripping the years from human bodies and reversing the aging process, a fast underground train system, food pills, omnium-powered diving suits, and so on. Caresco is given to such things as collecting the spleens of all those he operates on - Jess Nevins, The Encyclopedia of Pulp Heroes

So, yes, I absolutely would argue Hugo Strange is still a Pulp Villain. Pulp villains do come in many different forms other than the Fu Manchus and Fantomases that are most commonly imitated, pulp was the breeding ground of the supervillain as a concept after all, where they got to star in their own magazines time and time again. Hugo started off as a fairly generic one, and when he's written poorly, he tends to be brought onboard of a story purely because it calls for a mad scientist.

But Strange came back from death as something much, much worse than just a crimelord and mad scientist, a much more rare and much nastier type of villain that, much like Hugo himself, may lie dormant, but refuses to stay dead for long.

"Quincy. My servant. My friend," Hugo said. "We don't have much time."

Quincy was crying again, with joy. "How, master, how did you-?"

The therapy, Quincy realized. The hypnosis. The drugs.

"Stay with me master, please!" Quincy tried to grab hold a phantom hand.

"I cannot." Strange said, looking benevolently down at Quincy, stroking his hair with a touch the prisoner couldn't feel. "But there is one last service you can perform me."

"Anything, Hugo, please."

"First, remove the sheet from your bed, Quincy. And tie it to the light-fixture on the ceiling."

[itsapapisongo]

Soul Nemeses! | WINWIN

Starring: Winwin ft. Hendery

Genre: Comedy | Superhero

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

Word Count: 2,786

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

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

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

All is well in Way City.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stops working and thinks back to their encounter.

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

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

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

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

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

“No, it’s dumb, dumb, dumb!”

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

(“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nuh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.”)

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

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

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

“Small clown zombie army at your disposal.”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

“I don’t—I’m not sure—I—”

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

“But—”

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

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

“Turn off the cloud.”

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

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

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

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

“Now, git!”

CUT TO: NOW, BACK TO WINWIN’S LAIR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you quite finished?”

“No, not really—”

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

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

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

“That’s neither near or far.”

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

“Exactamundo!”

“Did you come here to aggravate me?”

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

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

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

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

“So you did like it?”

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

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

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

“It’s diabolical, but stupid.”

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

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

“Go on . . .”

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

“You and I are not chumps.”

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

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

“Could we ever be chumps?”

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

“Ah, big brain, I knew you cared!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not a very reassuring thought.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure,” Winwin replies through gritted teeth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

itspapisongo | © 2020-2021 | All Rights Reserved

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

[sincerelymarinette]

A Recorded Life Sequel (10/10) - Miraculous Ladybug

Words: 2033 Summary: In the finale, Adrien confronts his father and Marinette and Adrien have a date they deserve. Author's Note: Well, here we are, the last chapter! I've been writing this story for over 2 years now and I'm so happy people have enjoyed it so much. Thank you all for reading and sticking with me! I hope you like the finale :) <3

Prev / Masterlist

Breaking News

---

Adrien waited in the cold room that he had not dared to visit in years. He thought for a long time, and finally made the difficult decision to make the trip. He'd been haunted with trauma and nightmares since he was a teenager by this man, but it was high time he went to see his father again, especially if he intended not to see him for many more years.

The doors opened, and Adrien shot up to straighten his posture when he saw his father entering the room with a guard by his side. His hair was flat, which always caught Adrien by surprise, and Gabriel's scowl was deeper than Adrien ever knew. Gabriel wouldn't admit it, but he was surprised that Adrien came to see him. Last time, their conversation did not end well, and Adrien promised he would not come to see Gabriel unless it was serious.

But after many meetings with his therapist, Adrien decided that this was important enough to see Gabriel. It was a few weeks after the fashion show, but he was sure Gabriel was going to criticize it as much as he could.

"Hello, Adrien," Gabriel said as he sat down across from his son.

"Father," Adrien replied. Though Adrien was older now, and doing much better, he was still scared to talk to Gabriel and did everything in his mind to calm himself down.

They stared at each other for a moment in silence, neither one sure how to converse. Finally, Gabriel took a breath and spoke. "I watched some of the fashion show you and Miss Dupain-Cheng hosted."

"I wasn't sure if you would be able to. It was a nice day," Adrien said, not asking for his opinion, but sure he was going to get it.

"I would have done it differently. The timing was off, and you could have had better music. You had your designers redesign some of my work?" Gabriel criticized.

"Well, all of our reviews praised the music and said the models were amazing. And yes, I did. To fit our rebrand and new mission and values. No one wants to wear something that Hawkmoth designed anymore," Adrien said, holding back every muscle in his body to not roll his eyes.

Gabriel shook his head condescendingly. "You're being dramatic."

Adrien took a deep breath to calm himself down before answering. "Maybe. But all of my reviews recently have been better than they were when you were in charge. They like seeing me so active in the company, and our lines launched in stores recently, and business is booming. So I must be doing something right," Adrien said, confidently. Gabriel's jaw dropped, but Adrien continued to talk before Gabriel could interject. "I only came here to tell you one thing, father, but it turns out I actually have more."

"Go on," Gabriel said after composing himself.

"My time in therapy has helped me deal with everything you have thrown at me, and I know you don't approve of it, but Marinette and I are happiest together. We are running The Fashion House together, and we are sure it will be better than you could have ever dreamed. I hope you learn from your time locked away that what you did was harmful, but I know you won't," Adrien spit out, not thinking twice. "And I am going to continue to be happy with Marinette and my friends for the rest of my life, running Emilie's together and keeping Paris safe."

Gabriel shook his head again, not wanting to hear it. "I will be out of here eventually, Adrien, and I will take back what is mine."

"The Fashion House is mine now, and you're going to be stuck in here for the rest of your life. You're delusional if you think you, Paris' Supervillain, is ever going to get out of here," Adrien said. "It's a shame you turned your grief for my mother to evil and will miss out on the rest of my life, but I don't care anymore. It's clear you don't." Adrien didn't wait for a reaction from Gabriel, grabbed his coat, and stood up to walk out of the room. He was scanned out as Gabriel was brought back to his cell, still a bit shocked by what Adrien said to him.

---

It was a warm summer day in Paris, and Marinette and Adrien finally made time for themselves to have a nice date. They had spent so much time working day in and day out, that they decided they could be a little selfish and take the day for a date. No Kwamis, no cameras,  and no one around. It was a nice, well-deserved break for both of them.

They decided the best date to celebrate all they've been through the last few years was to get out of the busy part of the city, and back to the park near the Bakery and the school where they met. The park they spent many days fighting Akumas and filming videos with their friends. Maybe they could even catch a ride on the carousel.

They set up the picnic blanket and started laying out the food. Sandwiches, chips, crackers, and the dessert they got from Tom and Sabine when they stopped by for a quick chat before the date. Marinette's parents were the exception to the no people rule.

They started eating as they relaxed. Every time they came back here, they were always flushed with memories, more memories than what usually came back when they would only visit the bakery. "I'm glad we finally have some time to ourselves. Don't get me wrong, the past few weeks with all the lines coming out has been amazing," Marinette started. "But it's nice to have a few minutes to breathe fresh air."

"I agree, and not have the endless amount of questions ten hours a day," Adrien laughed. "I love what we're doing, but man, it's been tough. Hopefully, now that the rebrand is completed, it will calm down just a bit."

"I bet," Marinette nodded. "Now we just have to worry about new meetings for our fall and winter lines!" She said.

Adrien nodded with her as he took a bite of his sandwich. "I'm happy we chose to come back here; it's been a while since we've been to the park."

"Oh yeah, and it's really nice to not have our date interrupted by Akumas. It's been years, but I still worry," She admitted.

"I know. Nooroo may be living in the box happily, but it's still a valid fear. But you're such a great guardian I know there's nothing to worry about," He complimented.

Marinette rolled her eyes. "Flattering only gets you so far, Agreste," She told him.

Adrien shrugged and looked around the park, remembering how much has changed. Photoshoots, videos created with his friends, projects from school, and now dates. "I saw my father yesterday,"  Adrien said.

"Is that where you got off to?" Marinette raised her eyebrow. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wasn't planning on it; I just kind of ended up there," He said. "Well, I was planning on seeing him, just didn't think it would be yesterday. He didn't approve of our show or how we're running the Fashion House, but I told him I don't care. I was going back and forth on asking him some things, but then I saw how he is, still planning revenge and hoping to get out of prison, and I realized I don't care what he thinks. I haven't for years, and I don't need to tell him when I'm going to do something or need his permission. Then I stopped by the bakery to reward myself with talking to your parents, who actually enjoy having me around," He said, not aware that he was rambling about the whole experience.

Marinette put her hand on Adrien's shoulder to catch his attention. "Well, it sounds like you made some good self-discovery and figured you don't need your dad. I'm happy to hear that, because your dad really sucks," She said, with a slight smirk on her face. "What were you going to ask him?"

Adrien shook his head to brush it off. "I ended up bringing it up to your parents, because it's much more important to me that they approved of my ideas. They're good people, Mari."

"So you've said. Is everything okay?" She asked, a little worried he was beating around the answer.

Adrien took a deep breath and nodded slowly. He took another bite of his sandwich, and the meat inside fell out the other end and onto his pants. Adrien started to sift through the basket for the extra napkins as Marinette watched him closely. He slowed his searching as he began to talk. "Yeah, I think I'm better than ever, actually. You mentioned the Akumas earlier, and my dad and Hawkmoth were horrible. And though endless amounts of bad things came from him, there were some good things that came from it that I wouldn't want to change," Adrien said.

Marinette cocked her head, waiting for him to elaborate. "Us becoming superheroes, working with our friends closer than ever giving my mom her proper burial. Us finally becoming a couple; that one I wouldn't ever want to change," He said and looked back at her with a small smile. He pulled the extra napkins out and removed some off the top, revealing a black box underneath. Adrien opened the lid as Marinette was putting together what he was saying and saw the sparkle from the sun once it was opened. "Marinette, will you marry me?" He asked.

Marinette's jaw was dropped as she looked at Adrien. "Was this what you were going to ask Gabriel? If he was okay with us getting married?" She asked.

"Yes, but like I said, I don't care what he thinks. Then I asked your parents, and they said they've been waiting for it for years, so of course they thought it was a good idea," Adrien said.

Marinette giggled and nodded. "Of course, I would love to marry you, Adrien."

Adrien's smile grew wide, and he leaned forward to kiss Marinette. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too."

---

BREAKING NEWS: ADRIEN AGRESTE AND MARINETTE DUPAIN-CHENG ENGAGED!  By: Alya Césaire <link>

oh my god oh my god oh my god

ITS HAPPENING PEOPLE THE ADRIENETTE WEDDING WILL BE HAPPENING

first alya and nino, now adrien and mari, how will i ever cope seeing them grow up like this

took them long enough! happy for you guys

i remember when adrien first appeared in one of marinette's videos and people shipped them from the start, look where we are now

how it started, how it's going

this is going to be the biggest wedding EVER

will they have the wedding in the backyard of the mansion like they said in the "if we were dating" video from before they were dating

this is the best news of the year

Marinette laughed as she read the Tweets in their trending section, happy to see how excited everyone was. Fans from when she first started her channel following her for years and years, to now watching her get engaged and eventually married. Her parents and friends were beyond excited for the two of them, already ready for the parties and the big wedding (if they decided to go big, that is), and couldn't wait for all to come. Gabriel obviously did not approve, but no one cared, as Marinette and Adrien were going to be happy together without room for negativity.

The Kwamis were excited to shower the wedding with magic, and Marinette couldn't wait to document her road to the wedding. They had to plan, she wanted to make her dress, and she was planning on having a cake tasting session with her parents. Even if they decide not to go big, the celebration with their friends would still have all the fun aspects of a big wedding.

It had been a long few years of battling Akumas and Adrien's father; Marinette and Adrien deserved to be unapologetically happy.

---

@lady-of-the-roses-and-lilies @bookishserendipity03 @avatheexceed @gkz10 @coccinellegirl @kat-thatoneweirdo @strawberryblondish @snow-swordswoman @lilgaga98 @evufries @toodaloo-kangaroo

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 3:

“Let me step on your back,” I say abruptly.

Previous

Read chapter 3 on AO3, or read below:

“Sherlock Holmes.”

I barely have to think about it. “Sherlock Holmes was an omega.”

“No.” Cardan sounds totally affronted. “No way. How can you even say that?”

For lack of anything better to do, we have been playing this game for nearly an hour. Mostly fictional characters, but some historical figures, too, who are up for debate. As much as alphas would love to lay claim to every known conqueror, it just isn’t realistic. Cardan and I have already gone back and forth on Alexander the Great and Ivan the Terrible and Ghengis Khan. Designations live in a kind of middle space between gender and sexual orientation, so people make assumptions based on the way you present in society, but also whether you’re an alpha, an omega, or a mythical beta is, technically, no one’s business but yours. So, especially in older stories, these things go unsaid or are discreetly left for the reader to surmise.

“Why would he be an alpha?” I challenge.

Cardan is sitting in his corner, one leg propped up, elbow on knee, same as before. He shrugs. “I mean, he feels empowered to take charge in crime scene investigations, he’s assertive—”

“You’re thinking of the BBC reboot,” I scoff. “The way Conan Doyle wrote his Holmes wasn’t like that. He was an expert, yes, and knew it, but he admitted it when someone bested him, and he went out of his way to help vulnerable people. People who had been scammed, or… single women.”

As bad as it seems for omegas and women—especially omega women—now, it would have been even worse in the stratified Victorian era. We still have our strata, but they were more codified then:

Alpha men

Alpha women/omega men (depending on the situation)

Omega women

And, of course, it was all way worse when race and class got thrown in. The point is that someone like Violet Smith of “The Solitary Cyclist”—a woman, assumed omega, and poor—would have been in real trouble without Holmes’ help.

“So he’s an omega because he’s nice to widows?” Cardan asks, with a glare.

“No, he’s an omega because he pays attention,” I reply. “Alphas don’t need to pay attention the way Sherlock Holmes does. You just waltz in and traipse all over whatever or whoever and always get your way. Who cares about the details when you’re an alpha? But Sherlock Holmes looks hard at the little things. You don’t do that if you don’t have to, if you’re not used to walking into a room and assessing threats, figuring out the balance of power. All the time. Because it’s exhausting, but you have to do it.”

Cardan is quiet for a beat too long, and I realize I may have actually said more about myself than about Sherlock Holmes. But he spares me by saying, “Surely we’re not all that bad.”

I make a noncommittal sound.

“Your dad’s an alpha, right?” he continues. “He took you and Taryn in after your parents died. He didn’t have to do that.”

I have to keep myself from snorting. No one who’s met Madoc would ever describe him as particularly nice or even giving. “Did you know Vivi has a pet conspiracy theory that he killed our parents in the first place?”

“What?”

“Not himself, obviously. That he hired someone to sabotage the car we were in.” I don’t know why I tell him. The second it leaves my mouth it feels like a family secret, or an in-joke I’m not supposed to share. But I can’t stop talking. “I mean, it was just luck we weren’t killed, Taryn and Vivi and I. But my parents’ car was new. The brakes shouldn’t have given out like they did. Anyway, Vivi thinks he took us in because he felt guilty.”

“I mean, that’s… crazy to think your dad was involved.” But Cardan says it too slowly, and hastens to add, “He isn’t a supervillain.”

“Yeah, I know. Just with everything that happened after, the way he swooped in, she was always suspicious.” I feel my mouth twitch, but I don’t know whether I want to smile or scowl. “I think she wanted us to be like The Boxcar Children and run away to live in the woods.”

“Well, you’re getting the one-room, no-running-water experience now.”

I catch myself smiling—he’s funny—and force my mouth into a frown, scouring our little room again for anything useful. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Even the socket that would hold a bare lightbulb is empty. Finally, my eyes settle on the one tiny window, set close to the ceiling, letting in a meager amount of natural light that does seem to have grown brighter as we talked.

“Let me step on your back,” I say abruptly.

“You want to what?”

“Step on your back,” I repeat, exasperated. “Are you tall enough to reach that window without a stool?”

“No?”

“Well, neither am I.” I fold my arms. “So I’m going to need you to give me a boost.”

He arches a critical eyebrow. “Why don’t you just sit on my shoulders?”

I blink at him. “Because… I thought you wouldn’t want to put your head anywhere near my crotch? Given how I reek and all.”

“But you thought I’d want to be stepped on? Jesus.” Cardan rubs a hand over his face. “What do you think I’m into? Look, I’ll crouch down, you get on my shoulders and look out the window. It’s not like I’m putting my face in your vag.” I shudder, and he adds, “We’ll never have to talk about it again. Okay?”

“Sounds great to me,” I say.

He nods and crouches down. I am not prepared for the way my heart thumps in my chest at the sight of the guy who made my life miserable since I was in seventh grade, who pushed me during gym, who whispered vile things in my ear whenever he could, who empowered other kids to do the same or worse waiting for me to climb onto his shoulders with his head bowed. It’s not real power, it’s just temporary, but it is intoxicating.

Then Cardan says, “Taking your time, huh?” and I snap out of it.

“Why the rush?” I ask. “Got somewhere to be?”

“I was thinking anywhere but here would be great.” He looks up at me. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I swing my legs over him and let him hoist me up on his shoulders. I haven’t exactly been invited to participate in a ton of games of chicken fight in the pool, so it’s been some time since anyone carried me like this. Maybe not since Taryn and I were very small, just after our parents died, when Madoc would help us get things from high kitchen shelves. I gasp when I’m lifted. Cardan is strong enough that it seems effortless, but I also hear him let out a small grunt.

“Not a word,” I say, dreading the jab he might make about my weight. “Move me closer to the window.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Cardan mutters, but he obliges.

I am extremely conscious of his hands on my bare thighs, the way his muscles shift under my shoulders. Some alphas, like the guy who tried to grab me at the party, are kind of muscle-bound in an unattractive way. Not Cardan. Cardan has just the right amount to be fit and lean, with the bare minimum amount of body fat, but not so much muscle that he tips over into ungraceful. He’s a sports car of a person, lithe and elegant. It’s no mystery why his shirtless TikToks get so many views.

I get my hands on the windowsill so he’s not bearing my full weight, and then I groan. “Bad news.”

“What?”

“Well, I definitely can’t fit through here. I can kind of see the sky, so I would guess it’s maybe ten a.m. Otherwise there’s just a window well. Plastic and dirt. I can’t make out our surroundings at all.” I sigh. “We’re in a basement.”

There’s an awkward pause, and then Cardan says, “At least we know for sure.”

“Yeah. Put me down?”

He does, and we go back to our respective seats, mentally reviewing what we know. The only door is, of course, locked from outside. The floor is bare concrete, the ceiling exposed insulation and tubing, so we might be in a storeroom of some kind, or an unfinished basement in an older house. Our kidnappers left us with absolutely nothing, so no phones. Even my keychain, with the Swiss army knife Madoc gave me before my first summer at sleep-away camp, is gone.

We are growing hungrier and more sullen with each passing minute when there is a knock at the door.

Cardan and I glance at each other from our opposite sides of the room. “Um,” I say. Are kidnappers supposed to be polite?

Cardan shrugs one shoulder, then straightens up, lifting his chin in a decidedly imperious way. Trying to summon some air of command, some macho alpha-ness that will help us out of this. It could work—it is half working on me, I begrudgingly admit to myself, because my stupid brain is wired that way—if we weren’t both grimy from sitting on the floor and still a little woozy from the drugs.

“Come in,” he calls.

The door is opened slightly, and the first thing to poke through it is the barrel of a pistol. A 9mm, by the looks of it. Cardan’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“You kids willing to behave?” comes a voice. It’s a man’s voice, strangely melodious. I was expecting the sandpapery roughness of an old-school gangster. I know it’s stereotypical, but I’ve never been kidnapped before, and it’s not like they make a manual.

Cardan and I glance at each other again. I’m not sure what we’re looking to find in each other’s faces.

“Yeah,” I say. “We’re good.”

“Oh, good. I’d hate to shoot you.” The man pushes the door open the rest of the way, and I have to press my lips shut to keep from gasping. There are disfiguring scars that cut across his cheeks, down his jaw, even one across the bridge of his nose. I’m not even sure what makes scars like that, jagged and rough-edged. If it was a knife, it wasn’t clean work. Someone was making a point.

I am immediately relieved, though, because his resonant voice had made me think we could be dealing with a real alpha, someone whose words hold command. This man is of average height, average build. If not for the scars, for the obviously broken nose, he would be totally unremarkable.

“Who are you?” Cardan asks. I am reluctantly impressed that he manages to sound haughty in this situation. He’s sitting up straight with his back against the wall, one leg outstretched, the other bent, his foot planted on the floor. He’s resting his elbow on that knee, like it’s all effortless.

“Breakfast service,” replies the man, still pointing the pistol at us. He tosses a McDonald’s bag into the room, then he and the gun retreat, and the door shuts behind him. We hear the click of a lock and then, to my horror, the sound of a deadbolt sliding into place.

Cardan exhales and reaches for the bag.

“Don’t!” I exclaim. “Seriously, it might be drugged.”

“It—what?” he asks. “Now you decide to care about whether the food is drugged? This isn’t Flowers in the Attic, Jude. We’re hostages. They want to ransom us. They’re not going to poison us.”

I blink at him. “Flowers in the Attic? You’ve read a book?”

He rolls his eyes and reaches for the bag. “Well, if you’re not going to eat it, I will.”

When he opens the bag, the smell of sausage grease and egg hit me like a truck. My stomach growls. I am suddenly very aware that the last time I ate was before the party, and my nerves had kept me from eating much then. “What… is it?”

“Two McMuffins.” He looks up at me. “See? They don’t want to starve us. They’re keeping us alive.”

“They could still tamper with them. Sedatives or something. Keep us complacent, keep us from doing what we’re going to do, which is try to escape.”

Cardan arches an eyebrow. “Has anyone ever told you you’re unbelievably paranoid?”

I think of Taryn and purse my lips. “Did you know it wouldn’t kill you to take something seriously?”

He holds up one hand, fingers spread wide. “Okay. How about this. I eat a McMuffin because I am fucking starving, and if they put anything in it it’ll get me and work through my system faster. You can stay up scheming or whatever. If nothing happens after like fifteen minutes, you get to eat yours. Or if you decide to be stubborn, I’ll eat it. Deal?”

“It’ll be cold and gross.” I cross my arms. “But fine.”

“Good.” Cardan takes a McMuffin out of the bag—his hands are so big that it barely looks like enough food for him—and devours it in what must be record time. I turn my head away.

“Where’s the nearest McDonald’s, do you think?” I ask

“Huh?”

“We were in East Hampton. They don’t have one there.”

“Uh-huh. That’s a good point.” I look back to see Cardan sucking grease off his thumb. “Dunno. Closer to the middle of the island, maybe?”

“Maybe,” I echo quietly. Without knowing how long we were out, it seems impossible to figure out where they could have taken us. “You’re right. We couldn’t be in the city.”

Cardan shakes his head. “Nah, don’t think so. Too quiet, and like you said, that’s definitely daylight, so people’d be out and about.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking up at the window.

He looks at the window, too, but doesn’t say anything, and we lapse into silence. It’s strange, to be sharing space with him, to be quiet. I could never have imagined anything like it, not with our fraught history. There’s no world in which Cardan Greenbriar and I could be friends, but, at least temporarily, we are not enemies.

“Did you like it?” I asked at last, when the silence stops being neutral and begins to make me feel anew how tired and tense I am.

“Like what?”

“Flowers in the Attic.”

“Oh.” He blinks twice, his dark eyelashes fluttering. “I read it a few years ago, but, yeah. I did. You know, it was nice to read about a family that was more fucked up than mine.” He raises his eyebrows. “Spicy, too.”

I scoff. “How can your family be so fucked up you’d read a gothic novel for catharsis?”

Cardan drums his fingers on his knee. “How much do you know about my family?”

“You’re old money. One of those alpha families that claims they’re pure alpha for generations.” Which is pretty much impossible, but everyone in that tier of society tells the same lie. Half the kids in my school claim to be pure alpha, and on paper both of their parents are alphas. But while alpha men and women can reproduce—they have the right gametes—it’s not easy. More likely omega egg donors, and, before that, omega surrogates who were well-paid. It’s no wonder they see us as breeders.

I start ticking off additional facts on my fingers. “Your great-grandfather was one of the great American magnates, but it was his alpha daughter, Mab Greenbriar, who really made something of his millions. Your dad was her only son, so he inherited the whole corporation. You have five older siblings: Balekin, Elowyn, Dain, Caelia, Rhyia—”

Cardan holds up both his hands. “Yeah, yeah. I get the point.”

“It’s all on Wikipedia.” I shrug, and to sound less like a weird stalker, I add, “And Vivi and Rhyia are like best friends.”

“You know, and I know you said it before, but I do forget Vivienne’s your sister. She’s so cool.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”

I get it, though. He probably thinks Vivi’s cool because she’s an alpha, but she also gets points for being the family rebel. Her biological dad, Madoc, adopted us all after the car crash that killed our parents, but she never wanted to be the natural successor he hoped for. Now she plays rugby at an all-girls’ college, has three cartilage studs and a septum piercing, shaves half her head, and is defiantly, unapologetically queer. It’s a different path than I would take, but marching to the beat of your own drum is definitely something that appeals to people.

“By the way,” Cardan says, “it’s been a few minutes and I feel fine. Well, as fine as one can feel having eaten only one McMuffin. I don’t feel any worse.”

“Okay.” I hold out my hand. “Toss me the bag.”

The bag crinkles when he picks it up, then he looks inside. “I think I’m owed a poison taster’s fee.”

“Huh?”

Cardan takes my McMuffin out of the bag, takes a bite out of it, then drops it back in the bag, which he proceeds to lob at my head. I catch it, face wrinkling in disgust. “Ew!”

“What? I need the calories more.”

I shake the bag at him. “I am not eating this,” I huff.

“We split the water bottle. That didn’t kill you.” Cardan sits back against the wall and closes his eyes. “Besides, who knows when they’re going to decide to feed us again?”

“You’re all so gross,” I mutter as I open the bag and pull out my breakfast. He’s right, and I hate that he’s right. I also hate that my hunger is enough to overcome my revulsion, at both the stolen bite and the undeniable fact that my McMuffin is now cold. I stuff it in my mouth, devouring the rest of it in only a few bites.

“Who’s gross?” he asks. “Alphas? Boys?”

“Alpha boys,” I inform him, with my mouth full.

“Big words from somebody whose designation’s known for leaking fluids everywhere.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “We’re not the only designation that leaks,” I point out. “We’re just the only one that gets shit for it. We’re the ones who’re thought of as gross while you and your type get to go around ruling the world.”

“Oh, sure. That has nothing to do with the way you guys are totally incapacitated for three straight days if you don’t take your drugs.”

“If we don’t get out of here, you’ll be just as screwed as I am,” I snap. “Stuck in a room with me? You won’t have a chance. We’re both going to become brainless fuck machines if that happens, so… shut the hell up.”

He does, to my surprise. I do too. I wipe my greasy hands on the McDonald’s bag, then crumple it into a little ball and toss it into the corner of the room. My anger is a living thing, running through my veins like electricity, vibrating under my skin. It’s been there for so long, but I would never have dared to say that to his face before. The rest of our situation is so absurd, so dire, it feels like there are no consequences for mouthing off at him.

That’s dumb, of course. There are always consequences. But at least they won’t be coming anytime soon.

“‘Brainless fuck machines,’” Cardan whispers quietly, and then he snickers.

“You—shut up,” I say, feeling unlikely mirth bubbling at the corners of my mouth. Cardan lets out another huff of laughter, and then I am giggling, and he’s laughing outright, clutching at his stomach. It’s ridiculous, all of my nerves coming out like that, but he’s laughing and it feels like there’s nothing for me to do but laugh too.

“Oh, man,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “I didn’t know you were a poet.”

“I’m serious!” I squeal, my abs cramping from laughing and trying not to laugh harder all at once. “That’s what happens!”

“God.” Cardan lets his head fall softly into the corner. “We are so screwed.” He points one finger up in the air. “Metaphorically. So far.”

“Jesus.” I cover my face with both of my hands. “Jesus.”

“Jesus was an alpha.”

I peek at him through my fingers. “He was not. He literally said ‘I am the Alpha and the Omega.’”

“I’m just fucking with you.” Cardan grins, his hair flopping in his face, but then his cheer vanishes abruptly. “Wait, you’re not actually religious, are you?”

I shake my head. “Not really.” But I still know that common theology holds that Jesus—and angels, and any other holy beings I don’t know about—are not alphas or omegas, but they aren’t betas, either. They are all things and nothing. Must be a good life. I pull my hands down and squint at him. “Were you worried about offending me?”

“Me?” Cardan shakes his head to toss his hair out of his face. “Nah.”

“Well, good.” I cross my arms again. “Because you’ve never cared before, and it’d really freak me out if you started now. Then I’d know we were both losing it for real.”

“I just thought…” He shrugs. “I mean, it’d be nice if one of us believed in something. That praying could help. I’d like to believe that. Seems tidy.”

“Yeah.” I let my cheek fall against the cold wall, too, and blink away the memories of screaming at the night sky, demanding someone give me my parents back. I can’t fall into that pit. I will not.

I just say, “I stopped believing that anyone was listening a long time ago.”

Cardan scratches at the wall with his finger. “Me too, Duarte,” he said. “Me too.”

Next

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

Ya know what these self-indulgent Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow posts need? Self-indulgent banner art, that’s what.

Spoilers for issue #4!

Let’s start this off right with CREATOR CREDITS. Issue 4 of Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow is titled “Restraint, Endurance, and Passion.” Written by Tom King, Art by Bilquis Evely, Colors by Matheus Lopes, Letters by Clayton Cowles, and Edited by Brittany Holzherr. (w/ Assist. Editor: Bixie Mathieu & Senior Editor Mike Cotton)

THE STORY: 

Right, so this? This issue? Best one yet.

Also the bleakest of the bunch thus far; even though we don’t always see the brutality of the space pirates that Kara and Ruthye are following, there’s...the suggestion of it. The aftermath. And how Kara responds to it.

Okay, getting a little ahead of myself. BASIC PLOT SUMMARY: Ruthye and Kara continue their pursuit of Krem, who has taken up with Barbond’s Brigands.

The Brigands basically just. Murder and terrorize people, for profit.

Each planet they visit brings new horrors, as well as people who need Supergirl’s help.

And help she does.

KARA-CTERIZATION:

I yell a lot about the art on this book, and have, in fact, openly admitted that I’m primarily here for Evely and Lopes.

Well, that wily son-of-a-gun King went and wrote some of the best ‘Super’ stuff I’ve ever read and dang it, dang it, now I gotta yell about the words too. XD

Specifically, I wanna yell (in a good way!) about some words that occur towards the very end of the book.

Kara and Ruthye have Seen Some Things; things like genocide and mass grave sites and horrible violence, and upon reaching a planet where peaceful monks were slaughtered, Kara’s had enough, and needs to leave because if she screams, she’ll destroy what little is left of the monks’ monastery.

Here’s the text in full, because my gosh. It’s so good:

“What I write next I write based on my observations in those long-ago days at the side of the greatest warrior in the history of this august reality we all call home. It is important to note that my assertions do not rely on anything Supergirl said. It was not a subject we ever discussed or even approached, but nonetheless I believe it to be as true as the turning of worlds. You see, what is not well understood about the daughter of Krypton is that her power was not one of action but one of restraint, endurance, and passion. She did not choose to fire a beam from her eyes, or have breath of ice, or run faster than a speeding bullet. Or any of her other well-documented miracles. No, she held back her heat vision to look you in the face. She warmed her breath to converse with you. She slowed herself to walk by your side. Ever moment of every day, she suppressed the forces churning inside of her. All of the energy of a dead world that strained against her many barriers, eternally demanded to be released. I believe this effort hurt her. I believe she lived her life in pain. But I reiterate again, for I think it important enough to repeat--These beliefs are based on my time at her side, watching her as she moved through strife and sorrow. If you were to have asked her, I have little doubt she would have claimed that such as assertion was absurd. She would say she felt fine and well and then she’d as you if you needed any help.”

A long chunk of words, I know (this comic is DENSE!) but like. This is it. This is one of the defining attributes of the Supers--all that raw power at their disposal and they choose to help people, to be kind, to suppress that power for the benefit and safety of others.

HNNNNNNNG.

Hope, Help, and Compassion for All.

Whole lotta folks claimed at the outset of this book that King did not understand Kara, that he was a bad fit. And that may be so, I suppose--there’s a whole other discussion about like. The violence and swearing and ‘does that belong in a Supergirl book?’ But the characterization? Getting that Kara and Clark are just good people? 

King gets it. He got it in Superman: Up in the Sky and he gets it here, in Woman of Tomorrow.

Other things King gets! Kara is stubborn! Kara is passionate! Kara is going to fix things, even if the effort of doing so hurts her, physically, emotionally, and mentally!

(Fuuuuuuun fact for the crowd saying that Woman of Tomorrow is vastly superior to the CW show: TV Kara is ALSO all of those things! King isn’t pulling this stuff out of thin air. It’s almost like...gosh. I don’t know! Both the show and Tom King are pulling from the character’s comic history, or something!!!! HOW NOVEL.) 

Like, seriously. There’s a lot of overlap. Stop pitting Karas against each other!

Anyways!

I promised art, so here is art!

Oh, right, forgot to mention, Kara literally THROWS HERSELF INTO THE SUN to express her grief and anger, so as to not cause that unnecessary destruction. She gives new meaning to the phrase: Set yourself on fire to keep someone else warm. 

More art yelling: GOTTDAMN, the way Evely draws Kara just colliding with the surface of the sun and then the way Kara’s hair like...becomes the flames...

I am FEELING FEELINGS. HOW DARE.

Also, props to King and Cowles; King for deciding to have that initial scream, Cowles for the way the letters burst forth from the point of impact on the sun, and then back to King who decided that it would just be...devastating silent screaming from Kara, for the remainder of the scene. 

Back to the characterization, I just wanted to highlight something I mentioned...earlier on, I think? In these posts? But haven’t brought up recently, and that is how this book has not once brought up Zor-El, and I think Superman only got a quick mention in issue 2.

Honestly, I think that’s gotta be some kind of record.

It’s so refreshing. Not because I think there should never be mentions of Clark, or anything--I love that boy--but because so much of modern Supergirl comic drama is mined from the same like, angsting over her place compared to Clark, or her crazy sometimes-a-supervillain dad. 

There is no Clark and Kara drama here, no manufactured friction, because it’s just. A cool Supergirl story! 

Gonna keep going, but let’s do it with some more...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTT!!!!

Once again, Mat Lopes is all over the dang place with his palettes, it’s marvelous.

Each new planet gives Evely the opportunity to go hog wild on the worldbuilding and design, and similarly! Each new locale is an opportunity for Lopes to set the tone with colors. Like, here, towards the beginning of the book, we’ve got a planet bathed in this warm, pale yellow/orange light. 

(Quick note: “Sure, yeah, I get it. We all have our duties. And it’s mine as a neighbor to do what I can to help you with yours. Please.” A+ Kara content. We love to see it. And then locating the remains of the alien’s daughter, so that they can go visit the grave site and have some emotional closure???? It’s just. So. Touching.)

Anyways, back to colors.

Like!!!! LOOK AT THAT JUMP. From the soft, almost pastoral feel of the delicate oranges and yellows to HARD GREEN, PINK, AND PURPLE. (Difficult colors to pull off in print, I might add.) 

(This is also an interesting scene, character-wise, because I think it helps re-contextualize some earlier stuff with Kara. Like, I’m mostly thinking that incident on the bus, where she was swearing at the passengers as the space dragon was about to destroy them. Here, we see Kara kind of...goad this alien woman into releasing her pent up emotions by yelling at her/getting her to fight, and you can clearly see at the end of it that Kara did not mean the things she said, because check this out:

She goes and gives her a hug once the woman is able to finally cry.

It’s not ‘Kara is being mean, Kara is swearing at her’, it’s, ‘Kara has an unorthodox solution to a problem, and she’s gonna FIX that problem, NO MATTER WHAT.’

Circling back to the bus thing--again, that could be an instance of ‘unorthodox approach to a weird situation that Kara is going to handle because lives are at stake.’)

But also, DIG THAT KIRBY KRACKLE, BAY-BEEEEE!

And a little Strange Adventures easter egg! The Pykkts! 

(I think those guys are unique to the Black Label series, rather than deep Adam Strange lore, but don’t quote me on that.)

Moving on to YET ANOTHER PALETTE, one I’ve dubbed, ‘Treasure Planet Purple/Grey’

Love Ruthye’s snoozing against the door, waiting for Kara.

Also, just as striking as the colors of the environment, are the colors used on Kara. 

If you compare this page with the previous one, Kara’s eyes are a paler shade of blue, and the red-rimmed look on her eyes here is not as intense as the red-rimmed look we saw back in issue one, when she was confronting Krem. 

All of which to say! There’s a pale, haunted quality to both the linework and the colors. Like. We know Kara has Seen Some Things. But she’s shoving all that stuff down to protect Ruthye, to save Krypto, and to stop these monsters, and you get all of that WITH COLORS AND LINES ON A PAGE.

I love it, I love it so much.

OTHER BOOKS WISH THEY HAD THIS LEVEL OF CHARACTER ACTING, I TELL YA! THEY WISH THEY HAD THIS BEAUTIFUL ALCHEMY OF INKER, COLORIST, AND WRITER WORKING IN SUCH TIGHT TANDEM!

Ahem. XD

Alright, last bit of art, lest I just. Post the whole issue in here. (Which I’m honestly always tempted to do but Strong Feelings about Piracy hold me back.)

JUST HECKIN’ LOOK AT THAT BLUE, MAN. JUST LOOK AT IT. S’BEAUTIFUL.

And more stunning character acting from Evely. Like. Bottom middle panel. The expression, the tilt of her head and the shadows on her eyes...

*insert silent flailing here*

Oh, also, KRYPTO LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVESSSS (for now). 

I’m never right about these things, so I’m glad the one time I’ve correctly read a thing is when it involves Krypto not, ya know. Being dead. XD

Also absolutely love that Kara’s instinct is to send Ruthye home to protect her--once more leaning into that whole, ‘I’m going to protect you, even at great cost to myself’, though of course we know that she can’t send her home, not here, not now, just halfway through our journey. 

ERRRRRRGH, so mad we’re not getting twelve issues of this! CURSE YOU, POOR SUPERGIRL TRADE SALES! CURSE YOOOOOOU!

That said, King’s pacing? Has been phenomenal. I feel like Strange Adventures and even Mr. Miracle kinda...I’m not gonna say dragged, that’s not quite right. But it is more build up, I guess. Takes a while to get to the payoff.

Here, I think King is pushing things steadily along as he doesn’t have the benefit of an additional four issues, so he has to get to the point, so to speak. Keeps everything moving.

SOME FINAL, MISC. STUFF:

I’ve sort of glossed over the darker stuff from this issue, and I just wanna note that like. This is a book that features a bad guy getting stoned (in the death sentence way, not the drug way) on panel. Like. I can’t recommend this to children.

I can’t even really recommend it to some other Supergirl fans, because I know that the King elements will be too off-putting. 

It never feels like the book is going too far, though. At least in like an...exploitative way? If that makes sense?

The violence is handled with discretion, I guess is what I’m trying to convey. This could very easily tip over into like, gross shock factor territory, if not handled well, but I think the creative team pulls it off.

...Still wouldn’t hand this book to kids, though. XD

As mentioned, we’re halfway through this series! Can’t wait to see where it goes--every time I think I have this book figured out, it surprises me. So, like. Bring on the Dinosaur planet! With no sunlight! I wanna see how Lopes handles THAT. XD

(But Oh, OooooOOooh, we gotta wait until NOVEMBER.)

(Hhhnnnnng!)

(Then again, maybe that’s good; we’ve got the TV show in the meantime, and then once it ends we can pick right up with new Supergirl content just a few weeks later.)

(...Aw. Made myself a little sad, thinking about the TV show coming to an end.)

:C

So as not to end on that sad note, here once again is tiny, smushed Kara:

Give ‘em the ol razzle dazzle.

[loosescrewslefty]

Squeaking By

Ever since she got her Miraculous, Marinette had picked up more than one peculiar habits. 

This wasn’t a side effect, or something to do with the miraculous itself. Instead, it mostly had to do with the fact that she now had a near constant companion in Mullo, her sweet, shy and soft spoken kwami. Marinette adored the little immortal mouse. When she was nearly blinded by panic at the idea of going up against supervillains and protecting the citizens of Paris from the wrath of the man who was abusing the Ladybug Miraculous’ power as he scoured Paris for the Ring of the Black Cat, which had been lost during the invasion of Paris during WWII, Mullo’s calm, quiet confidence in her had been the only thing that gave her the courage to jump into the fray. 

She absolutely trusted her kwami’s wisdom and judgement, and she wanted Mullo to feel as comfortable as possible as the two of them worked together to help Fu stop Scarab, and find all the Miraculouses that had been lost and scattered to the wind. And that desire lead to Marinette changing a few small things about her day to day life. Loud noises were kept to a minimum now, since Mullo preferred the quiet. Marinette now had an extensive collection of puzzles and little brain teasers, because Mullo enjoyed the challenge of them. And peanut butter cookies now had a strange habit of mysteriously vanishing from the bakery and finding themselves in Marinette’s room.

And there were other ways Mullo’s influence affected Marinette too.

Marinette wasn’t always fully aware of these influences, unfortunately. Because of that, they tended to come to her attention when other people noticed them, which could be a little bit embarrassing sometimes. Especially when Marinette wasn’t expecting it and it was the guy she had a crush on who noticed.

Which, of course, was exactly what happened.

“Marinette!” 

Glancing up from her sketchbook, Marinette smiled when she saw Rose and Juleka approaching her, looking excited about something. 

“Hey, guys! What’s up?” She asked as she closed her book to give her friends her full attention.

“You won’t believe what happened to us! It’s so amazing!” Rose said, almost bouncing in excitement. Next to her, Juleka was flushed pink with a wide smile. Marinette actually DID have a pretty good idea of why her friend was so excited, but she wasn’t going to rob Rose of the chance to spread the good news to others herself.

“What happened?” She asked, doing her best to look innocently curious and NOT like she had any hand at all in her friend’s glee.

“Kitty Section’s opening up for Clara Nightingale at the May Music Festival!!!” Rose almost screamed before dissolving into a fit of giggles. “And Multimouse is the one who recommended us to her! We’re one of Multimouse’s favorite bands! I can’t believe a superhero is one of our fans! Isn’t that amazing?!”

“Totally cool!”Juleka agreed at her side, looking more excited than Marinette had ever seen her quiet goth friend.

“That’s great!” Marinette said with a wide grin. “Congratulations, you guys! Kitty Section totally deserves this, you guys are all so talented,” Her friends both practically glowed at the praise, and Marinette felt a swell of happiness at seeing the pair so excited. Especially when she caught sight of Mylene giving a surprised laugh as Ivan swept her up into a hug and literally spin the both of them around as the small girl giggled breathlessly about getting dizzy. She was happy she could play a role in giving her friends this chance, and she was sure they would knock everyone’s socks off when the big night came.

“Thanks, Marinette! That means so much, coming from you!” Rose said, looking giddy. Marinette blinked a little at that.

“...Coming from me?” She repeated, a little confused. Why would her opinion matter so much to her friends?

“Well, you see, we actually wanted to ask you something…” Rose explained, fidgeting slightly, “See, Clara is actually gave us a budget so we could get the things we need for the show, and we were wondering if we could commission you to make us some costumes for our performance. But only if you’re not too busy! I know Lila mentioned that you’ve been designing for some contest and said we shouldn’t bother you earlier this week when we were talking about going to the movies, and I don’t want you burning out or anything!” Marinette frowned a little. So Lila was taking advantage of her friends attempts to be considerate to justify excluding Marinette from group activities as well as taking advantage of them so they’d wait on the little liar hand and foot, was she? 

“Lila must have... heard wrong,” she said, biting back the temptation to accuse her of intentionally lying again. Her friends were happy right now, and she didn’t want to ruin that for them. She knew even if Rose and Juleka did ask, Lila would turn this into another he said/she said thing by claiming she heard it from someone else and Marinette had no evidence of Lila’s true nature to warn her friends away. “I’m not doing any contests right now, and I’d love to help Kitty Section make costumes.”

“THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOOOOOU!!!” Rose said, grappling Marinette into a spine shattering hug. “Oh, this is going to be so INCREDIBLE! Your designs are always the best, Marinette!”

“It’s no problem, Rose. I’m always happy to help,” Marinette told the blonde once she’d freed herself from the other girl’s vice grip and regained the oxygen her lungs had lost. “Is there a theme to the concert?”

“Midnight in Paris!” Rose told her, grinning widely. “Clara showed us the designs for it, and it’s going to look so romantic!”

“It’s awesome,” Juleka agreed, grinning. “All dark, with smoke and candles and stuff.”

“We can do something like that, with Kitty Section’s image and sound,” Marinette said, the creative wheels in her head starting to spin, “a kind of Phantom of the Opera sort of look. Rose, we can put you in a punked out ball gown, and Juleka can wear a tuxedo dress. Maybe Ivan and Luka can wear capes…!”

Fully lost in a cloud of inspiration now, Marinette flipped her sketchbook back open and began putting pencil to paper, sketching out rough concepts of the image she had begun to form in her head. Rose and Juleka eagerly took up seats on either side of her to watch over her shoulder as an image began to take shape under her pencil.

She didn’t know how long she sat like that, only half in reality and listening to Rose and Juleka give suggestions or excitedly praise the design details they liked while the rest of her sank further into the creative bliss. In fact, Marinette was so caught up in designing that it took her a minute to register the sound of someone chuckling in front of her. Blinking out of her daze, Marinette brought herself out of her head to focus on her surroundings once more, glancing up to see who was laughing.

And then promptly freezing in shock at the sight of Adrien Agreste’s green eyes less than a hand’s width away from her face.

Yelping in shock, Marinette flailed to put some distance between her and the model, but just ended up throwing off her balance and nearly falling into the rosebush planted behind the bench she’d been sitting on instead. Luckily, Juleka caught her before she had a VERY uncomfortable encounter with the thorn-covered plant, but unfortunately Adrien was standing right there and witnessed the entire thing.

Quick! Distract him from your total lack of grace! Say something!!! “Adrien! How you be?!” Marinette babbled out helplessly, cringing a little and screaming inside as Rose and Juleka shot her sympathetic looks.

“Oh, hey Marinette! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just wanted to see what you were working on,”

“Marinette is making Kitty Section’s costumes for the May Music Festival!” Rose told the model happily. “We’re opening up for Clara Nightingale.”

“Seriously? Wow, that’s incredible! Congratulations, guys!” Adrien said, turning to give Marinette a grin and a cheeky wink. “You guys are gonna look AND sound amazing! I can’t wait to see you perform!” Marinette was in danger of passing out from all the blood that rushed to her face at her crush’s praise.

“W-what were you laughing about, anyways?” Marinette asked, suddenly remembering what had distracted her from her drawing and fearing the worse, “is there something weird about one of my designs?”

“What? Oh! NO! It wasn’t your designs, I swear!” Adrien reassured her quickly, looking a little self conscious. “I just thought it was cute that you kept making little squeaking sounds, actually.”

...What?

“Squeaking sounds?” Marinette repeated, perplexed. She turned to Rose and Juleka to see if they knew what Adrien was talking about, but found them both studiously avoiding her eye.

“Yeah. You kept making these cute little squeaks. Kinda like a happy hamster or something,” Adrien told her. Marinette gaped at him, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as she tried to process what he was saying. “Anyways, I’d better get going. Gorilla’s gonna start looking for me soon. Tell Kitty Section to break a leg for me!” and, with that, Adrien was off, oblivious to the fact that he had just tilted Marinette’s entire world on its axis.

“Wow, Marinette! You did a lot better that time!” Rose praised her. “Most of your sentences were completely coherent!”

“...Do I squeak?” Marinette asked her friends.

“Erm, sorry, what?”

“Do. I. Squeak?” Marinette repeated, already dreading the response she knew she was going to get. Sure enough, Rose and Juleka exchanged looks that told Marinette all she needed to know, and she buried her face in her sketchbook with a wail of dismay.

“You don’t do it all the time! Just when you’re happy!” Rose assured her hastily. “We didn’t want to say anything because we didn’t want you to feel self conscious about it. Right, Juleka?”

“It’s cute,” Juleka assured Marinette quickly at Rose’s prompting. Rose nodded aggressively in agreement.

“Adrien probably thinks I’m a nutcase!” Marinette moaned, curling into a ball.

“No he doesn’t! He even said he thought it was cute too!”

“What if he was just saying that to be nice? He was laughing at me about it!” Marinette said, curling further in on herself. Rose and Juleka exchanged uneasy looks, clearly stuck on how to make their friend feel better. Marinette gave a sigh, feeling a bit guilty for dumping her baggage on the two when they just wanted to be excited about the amazing opportunity that they had. Composing herself as best as she could, Marinette collected all her things and put them in her bag, giving her worried friends the closest thing to a smile that she could manage. “I think maybe I should head back home now. I’ll focus better in my own room. I’ll show you the first drafts for your costume designs tomorrow at school, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks again for helping out, Marinette!” Rose said as Juleka waved at her quietly. Marinette nodded at the pair before making a break for it, heading back home as quickly as she could manage without superpowers. She nodded absently at her parents when they greeted her in the bakery on her way up to her room, but didn’t stop and speak to anyone. Then, as soon as the trap door was shut, Marinette collapsed into a lump on the floor, moaning loudly in humiliation and self-pity. 

Away from prying eyes, Mullo flew out of Marinette’s purse to give her teenage companion a concerned look.

“You okay, Pinkie?” she asked worriedly, brows pinching together when Marinette just groaned and curled into an even tighter ball.

“Is it really too much to ask that I go one day without making an idiot of myself in front of the boy I like?” she asked her Kwami miserably. 

“Is it really something to feel so embarrassed about? Is it offensive? I squeak all the time,” Mullo reminded her, slightly confused. The rules of propriety among humans seemed to change with every new generation, and within each culture, so it was difficult for her to keep up with social taboos.

“You’re a mouse, Mullo. You’re supposed to squeak. Humans are not. Girls are not. Especially not in front of the boy they like.”

“Not even if you picked it up from spending time with me?” Mullo asked. That caused Marinette to unfurl, giving Mullo a confused look.

“...What?” 

“Your squeaking. It’s something you started doing because I squeak around you all the time. Because I’m happy here. You just kind of… picked it up. I never said anything about it because I thought you were aware of it.”

“I… oh. Oh.” Marinette said, coming to a bit of a revelation. Mullo did squeak around her a lot when it was just the two of them and the little mouse kwami was happy. Marinette had never minded the little mouse noises- even thought they were adorable- but hadn’t realized that she had adopted the habit purely due to spending so much time with the kwami.

Suddenly, Marinette remembered something her mother had told her years ago, when she asked her why her mother had a habit of sticking her tongue out a little when she was focusing on something. Her Maman gave a little, embarrassed laugh at the question and admitted that it was just a weird habit she’d picked up from spending time with her Uncle, since he did the same thing.

“Sometimes we pick up little quirks from people when we’re close to them, sweetie. I guess that’s just human nature,” Sabine told her warmly. Marinette remembered feeling a little jealous at the time, wishing that she had people she was close enough to to ‘share’ habits with.

“Pinkie? Did you hear me?” Marinette was jolted out of her thoughts and back to the present at Mullo’s concerned question, blinking a few times to focus on the worried Kwami floating a few inches in front of her.

“H-huh?”

“I asked you if you want me to tell you when you squeak from now on. So you can break the habit.” Mullo asked patiently with a gentle smile. “That way, you don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself around Adrien again.” Marinette studied the kwami for a second, giving her suggestion some consideration, before flashing Mullo a warm smile.

“No, it’s okay,” she said, pulling herself off of the ground and dusting herself off. Mullo gaped at the teen as she pulled her sketchbook out of her bag and opened it up to the sketches she’d been working on before.

“But… you were so upset about it!” Mullo said, clearly struggling to make sense of the girl’s sudden change of heart.

“Yeah, but know that I know why I’m doing it, I’m okay with it,” Marinette said, giving Mullo a soft look as the Kwami puzzled over her actions. Maybe it was a little weird and yeah, doing it in front of Adrien was extremely embarrassing, but it was kinda nice to know she and Mullo were close enough that she was picking up new habits from the kwami. Trying to break those habits felt like a rejection of that bond, and Marinette didn’t want to do that for anyone, even Adrien Agreste.

“...You humans are so confusing sometimes,” Mullo said with a small huff of frustration.

“Yeah, but you love us anyways,” Marinette said, grinning teasingly at the mouse when she shook her head in fond exasperation and sighed before settling herself comfortably on Marinette’s shoulder. Giggling a little, Marinette reached up to give the kwami a small, affectionate pat on the head.

She just grinned wider when Mullo gave her a happy little squeak in response to the attention.

[aion-rsa]

Jupiter’s Legacy: Ian Quinlan is the Mysterious Hutch

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This article is presented by:

Generationally speaking, the character of “Hutch” Hutchence is in an interesting position on Jupiter’s Legacy. He’s another bridge between the generations of heroes.

The man who plays Hutch is Ian Quinlan, who has appeared in the films City Hall and Music of the Heart. On television his credits include episodes of Lifestories: Families in Crisis, The Carrie Diaries, The Family, Gotham, Sneaky Pete, and Orange is the New Black.  

WHO IS HUTCH?

NAME: “Hutch” Hutchence

ALTER EGO: None

POWERS AND ABILITIES: Possesses the Power Rod which allows Hutch to teleport himself and others anywhere simply by naming the location. It also emits energy blasts. 

NEED TO KNOW: Son of George Hutchence. A complex, charismatic wild card who prefers the company of young villains. Hutch didn’t inherit his dad’s superpowers, but relies on his Power Rod, which enables him to navigate life as a con man with a conscience.

What was shooting this show like?

It was a freaking blast to film. Like shooting three movies at once. We go back in time, then in the present we have the superhero side of things that feels like Christian Bible Camp, and on the other side is Hutch and the Hutch Gang, which is like The Sex Pistols meets Guardians of the Galaxy. 

It sounds like you’re having a great time with it.

Yeah, it’s really awesome. With all the action sequences and the subject matter and the character and the crew that I get to play and play with it’s just a blast. And I get to basically be like a version of Sid Vicious meets Tyler Durden.

What attracted you to it?

When I read the script and realized it was Mark Millar, it blew my mind. I read all of his stuff growing up — The Ultimates, Civil War, The Authority. Once I knew it was him, I was, like, “Oh, I know what this guy wants.”

Which is what?

When he did Civil War for Marvel, it asked, “What are our values? Where are we going? Do we want to adopt a new set of codes of conduct?” I found that very similar to The Union, when their children are getting ready to take over and don’t necessarily subscribe to their code. And what happens when they want to make changes and there’s nobody really to hold them accountable?

How does Hutch fit into that?

Well, he doesn’t really subscribe to heroes and villains or capes and spandex. That’s what felt like Mark Millar: he’s always talking about this theme of superheroes and how they would fit into the real world and what society would actually have to say to them. I found that very cool and very exciting.

How do you view Hutch as a person? What is your take on him?

I think Hutch is definitely an iconoclast. I think he’s a guy who had to grow up fending for himself and fighting for everything he could ever get. I think he simply got a chip on his shoulder. He’s the black sheep of this super family. 

He’s the son of the world’s greatest supervillain, but he’s never met the man. Not only is he the black sheep, but he’s also got this stigma attached to him. I think he’s feeling like an outcast and he sort of adopts and lives in that world of the outlaw. He’s looking for his own authenticity…and he has made his own family and they sort of live outside of the law. He protects those he loves and he doesn’t really let a lot of people in.

What I really like about Hutch is that, and what I like about stories like this in general, I like antiheroes. I like people who do bad things for good reasons and have to live with those choices.

His weapon of choice is very cool.

The Power Rod is so freaking cool. It looks really great. I can’t wait for you to see it.

What is Hutch’s journey like as the show goes on? How do you think he changes from where we meet him to where we finish with him this season?

He’s trying to figure out who he is to some degree and that’s because he doesn’t know his father. I think part of that is the search for identity. He finds a kindred spirit…Mark sees them as Romeo and Juliet, but I see them as Sid and Nancy a little bit. They find this interesting romance of challenging one another to figure out who they are and to break away from these traditional roles. So I think this guy’s going to find that he’s maybe not as alone as he used to be.

Is it annoying or is it a relief that you don’t have to wear an intricate superhero costume?

Let me tell you something, Lizz Wolf, our costume designer, is brilliant. Whenever I work on a show, I always want to talk to the designers because they’ve been doing this way longer than I have and have so many better ideas than I do. Lizz Wolf showed me her vision board for Hutch, and it was these very kind of transient, rich clothes, found items, very thrift store-y, found items. Things to reimagine to fit new purposes. And she’s like, ‘I think in this world where people have these symbols and these uniforms that the counterculture movement wears ridiculously mix and matched stuff as a sort of F-U to authority and to that sell-out culture.’

She had me in these really awesome pants and she had me in all this found jewelry, sort of like Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean. Here comes the Utopian in his big cape and his chest logo and spandex, and you got me in a Hawaiian t-shirt and a shark tooth necklace and a power rod. This is my uniform… I’ve thoroughly loved my outfits.

There’s so many different superhero universes out there right now. How do you feel Jupiter’s Legacy stands apart?

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Mark said it best. I think superhero movies and shows are like Shakespeare and he does too. It’s really cool to see different versions of these things and different styles of these ideas in different ways. We’re dealing with superhero family and the trials and tribulations they face both as superheroes, but also the toll it takes on their family while they’re trying to navigate this world. I think superhero shows are always about the belief in something greater than the individual and a collective belief. That’s really cool, so I think they’re always going to be around. There’s always something new to imagine and discover.

The post Jupiter’s Legacy: Ian Quinlan is the Mysterious Hutch appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3ufNhwb

[enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers]

A continuation of this

It was around 2am when Night eye reached the thought to be abandoned factory. He didn’t bother breaking into the factory itself, that’s for all of his nemesis’s inventions to be.

No, he went straight for the factory’s warehouse, where he suspected Artem’s living quarters were set up. With a criminal record like that, Night eye doubted Dr. Artem would manage to rent an apartment, civilian disguise or not. There is no way he could change himself without anyone recognising his voice.

He always enjoyed making everyone know he’s there, always so loud, always making sure every single civilian and hero from a five mile radius (it wasn’t a huge city) knew who he was and what was about to go down. Despite being able to perfectly fuse with shadows and darkness in general, he loved being in the spotlight. He thrived on all the people’s terrified faces, the terror in their eyes, knowing exactly what people are thinking, scared for their lives. It’s as if this was just a game for him, some form of entertainment he could watch back to himself on the tv at night. Night eye didn’t mind it that much, if he was being honest. Go ahead, call him selfish and full of himself. He might be a hero but he isn’t just a 100% pure, golden boy everyone thinks him to be. He craved attention more than anything, to be seen and heard and cared for, and if the hero business let him get that while also helping people and saving their lives, well, let’s just say he wont be retiring anytime soon.

“Huh..” weird… nearly all of the windows were open. Either Artem knew he was coming, or he just wanted some air. And as surprising as it might seem, the latter was more believable.

Night eye didn’t say a word about it during their last encounter, but Artem looked like shit. Dark circles hung below his tired eyes, and as much as he was trying to make up for it with his bantering, he couldn’t hide the fact that he was more exhausted than ever. They were both tired.

Maybe it’s better to just go home… it looked like Artem was serious about not wanting to do anything but sleep tonight. Maybe it really was time to take a day off work.

He stood up and stretched, and then, with magnificent grace, slipped and crashed through the window.

He doesn’t know how or why his legs decided this was such a great plan, but there is no going back now. Curse whoever designed this poor excuse of a building!

He landed with a loud and painful thud. He was lucky enough that Artem was not in the room currently, but he suspected a horde of guards might barge in any second now.

Not taking any chances of letting them know what came in through the window, he frantically searched through all the shit that was lying around in this corner of the room. He found a short stack of papers on a desk and a small rock.

He was confused for a second, then looked up from where he found the rock and saw a broken window, very lazily barricaded with a couple of wooden planks and duct tape. An evil genius inventor who fixes windows like this had a certain charm to them, that is no doubt, but he still had very little time before the guards came rushing in.

Night eye made quick work of getting his pen out of his pocket (every superhero had one with themselves for the fans, don’t judge him) and hastily tried to write a few threatening lines on it. He used some of the remaining duct tape from the same desk to carefully attach the note to the rock, and placed it in a decent spot so it looked like a full grown man totally didn’t just make their biggest fuck up in history, but another villain was screwing with them.

He didn’t know if his nemesis had any complications with other villains in town, but his thoughts halted just right then, as a single henchman slowly opened the door and poked their head in, just right after he successfully lunged in a not-so-great-but-will-do-for-now hiding spot. Their eyes settled on the rock, and thankfully not on the small piece of his cape hanging out from his hiding spot, because wow, yeah, Night eye really was getting out of shape.

“Ugh, it’s another one of these!” They shouted as they picked up and held up the rock to show to the person on the other side of the doorway. “Looks like we wont be sleeping anytime soon…” Henchman added. A loud, tired and dramatic sigh was heard as Dr. Artem entered the room.

“Oh come on, this is the seventh one this week! The hell does he want now?” He asked his servant. ‘Him?’ What does he mean by him? So he IS having some complications with another villain! But what complications? Well maybe if you’d stop your stupid internal monologue, you’d hear a damn thing he’s saying!

“I don’t get it, we already gave him what he asked for!” He said with a whine and sighed. “What does this one say?” Artem took a few more steps toward his henchman, already looking frustrated and anxious.

“Hmm… weird,” “Just spit it out already, Lye.” Ordered Artem at his henchman, Lye it seems, “Huh, looks like empty threats to me. Almost fake? I can’t quite put my finger on it.” Lye furrowed his brows. “Fake?” Artem idly wondered as he looked up at the window. What’s with all this brow furrowing? Now Artem is doing it too… What are they thinking about??

Night eye remained still, already not liking how his nemesis was looking at the gigantic hole he made in the window. He started sweating, his heartbeat syncing up with the echoes of the supervillain’s boots on the dusty floor.

It stopped. He stopped.

Somehow that just made it worse.

Maybe it wasn’t the best choice of action to hide behind the flimsiest pile of cardboard boxes.

He could only make out the bastard’s shadow, leaning forward. The silhouette of his head changed, puffed up slightly, indicating that damned, annoying, smug smile of his had just appeared on his face.

As if things couldn’t have gotten worse, Night eye very quickly realized why he was getting more and more worked up. Dr. Artem can manipulate and become shadows. He can see him. He can see him and he’s smiling at him and Night is screwed.

“Well well well, how nice of you to drop in,” He said with a honey covered tone, so sweet and so cold at the same time. And so so awful because that stupid pun nearly made him smile too.

He watched him step out of the wall, out of his own shadow (Which Night eye was still not used to, by the way, it’s quite terrifying) and kneeling down before the now very very embarrassed superhero.

“You know, I was telling the truth back there.” “For once.” Night eye quickly cut in Artem’s word, which he only found amusing. “Yes, well, you see, I have quite a busy schedule ahead, and none of it involves you. For once.” He added the last bit with an evil purr. They were very close. Oh god they were very close and he couldn’t not think about it and this idiot decided this was a good time to be flirting again. Curse him. Curse his evilness and curse his stupid smile and his genius inventions and his well thought out plans and his cute face wHICH WAs very close and- “Now, as much as I like seeing your red, flustered face, I have some very important matters to attend to.” He gave him one last smug look before he stood up. “Another one of your evil schemes for your oh so busy schedule?” He tried for some banter but he was suddenly met with a very tired and serious enemy, and a flat answer. “Sleep.”

With that Artem turned on his heel, all the flirty glances and flustering words vanished, and asked Lye to tie Night eye up and get him in a cell.

No. He wasn’t having any of this. He wasn’t even captured damnit, he had no idea why he just sat there and listened to his enemy’s words without doing a damn thing. He lunged at Lye, the poor boy not even expecting it was quickly knocked out. Night eye made a run for the exit, and while on his way there, he only caught a fleeting glimpse of Dr. Artem through the small hallway, looking back at him with a very tired expression, one hand still on the doorframe, and the quickest, smallest of smiles made its way onto his face. It wasn’t a malicious one, like during their battles, it wasn’t a teasing smirk like the ones in their random flirting fits. It was a small, content, genuine smile.

Yep, that man was really out of it, it seems.

Night eye nearly ran face first into the wall next to the exit door, but thankfully he managed not to embarrass himself even more today.

Maybe they both were.

Night got home around 3am. He sat down at his desk, trying to remember what information he got out of this… interaction. His nemesis has got some beef with another villain, he’s super exhausted, and he better not do that shadow trick ever again because it makes his spine crawl. Plus his hideout is in the old factory and the warehouse. Just like he should’ve suspected but was too dumb to do so.

Well, there goes his good night’s sleep.

He will have to investigate further though, now that he knows where the other lives.

——————————

It was 4:30am.

His back ached, along with his eyes and head.

He had been sitting at his desk for hours, already lost track of time. Just when he thought his headache couldn’t get any worse, his door slowly creaked open. “Sir? I’ve looked through the reports, none of them states Meghan’s activities clearly.” Lye sighed tiredly.

“Ugh, of course that snake would cover up his tracks everywhere…” Artem was at a loss of what to do. Not only was one of the biggest supervillains in town out to get him, but he also had to take care of his nemesis so he wouldn’t get involved.

Meghan and superheroes were a touchy subject. It was all over the news, the day a hero got brutally murdered by a gang of supervillains. Supervillains led by Meghan, of course. If a hero was naive enough, or had a heart of gold, they stood no chance.

He was more than a villain. He was a monster. And he was coming for him.

He knew it was a bad sign when Meghan visited him in jail, tried to kill him right then and there, because it wasn’t a real attempt. It was a warning. Not just any warning, a warning that meant you’ve crossed the line and you’re done for.

As of what line he’d crossed, Artem had no idea. They made a deal, everything was taken care of, and they agreed to go on their separate ways.

But of course, Meghan wanted something else, which Artem could never give him.

Himself.

He doesn’t know if he meant as a henchman, or a lab rat, or whatever else, but he was in danger.

And of course, of fucking course, his little golden boy is too stubborn to take a small break and let things play out between the two evildoers so he doesn’t risk his life.

Artem put down the papers on his desk. He was working all night, reading thorugh every single report he could find, to maybe get an idea about what Meghan was planning for him. With each minute passing, his anxiety got worse and worse, constantly feeling he’s just wasting time until it’s too late. The shaking was getting worse, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think-

Knocking.

Small, faint, knocking.

Lye froze beside him. He slowly got up from his desk, head pounding, heart beating faster than ever. The knocking did not get any louder or quieter. Just the same three low knocks repeating again and again, getting more and more unsettling.

No, no please not now-

The knocking stopped. Everything stopped, the sounds, his own breathing, his cognitive thought process- even time itself. It stopped.

Somehow that just made it worse.

———————————

Oof my boy’s in trouble, hopefully I wont be too cruel in the next chapter.

Also if you liked this and have ideas for other snippets, my inbox is always open for hero x villain requests! And if you lke this story I’m writing with my characters, please let me know if you’d like to see what happens next to them!

(Constructive criticism is always welcome)

[0poole]

Some Retrospective Thoughts on Gen 7

Galar’s making me go nuts. You already know. Let’s look back on Alola because why not. I feel like I have stuff to say about it. Also, I just watched the last episode of the Alolan Anime, so there’s that.

Whenever I first think back to Gen 7, I think “Eh, it was alright. Nothing special, I guess.” The Pokemon were decent, apart from being almost universally slow, apart from like 3 speed demons, the starters weren’t much, the story was alright, the location was alright, etc. etc. 

Then, I ACTUALLY think back, and I realize… I have no idea why I was thinking that. This generation was actually amazing.

First of all, they finally put the motif of the Sun and Moon into game types. It’s definitely a breath of fresh air after they tried to use the fucking dimensions in 3D space for titles in Gen 6 (Loved that gen too, but seriously “Life” and “Death” would both be more fitting and not as strange. Maybe they don’t want “Death” as a title tho). Really fits in with how naturally themed everything is too, which is obviously for the best, since this is the most “natural” game to date. Even though we technically already had an America-based region in Unova, Hawai’i is so unique in its own right it definitely fits for a region. I’m usually the type who doesn’t like super overt themes in things, and kind of just wants a very generalized experience, but it’s probably for the good of everyone that they don’t actually follow through with that idea. 

Probably the biggest thing to come out of this generation is the new habit of them posting short little videos on Youtube revealing new Pokemon/features/etc. Obviously they were super trigger happy with them then, but now it seems they’ve taken a step back a little. I do love this idea, though, because it actually hypes me up more than anything else ever could. I remember before, even though I was kinda-sorta trying to follow the updates on Gens 4-6, I never really felt like I could, and even though I was going to get the games no matter what, now I realize I really want to know what I’m getting into. 

I remember exactly where I was for some of the major announcements. For the starters, I was in my high school geometry class, where I watched and re-watched that video dozens of times just so I could keep looking at them. I started off on Rowlet’s side of course, but once I realized he was getting all the attention and ol Popplio was getting basically none, I changed my allegiance and stayed there to this day. Ignoring the fact that I don’t really like any of the final evolutions enough to actually use them in game, I LOVE Popplio himself. It’s seriously a shame that he didn’t become some clown seal like everyone was speculating. Unlike how it seems, I really, really like “normal” clown characters (as in, not “horror” clowns), so he could’ve easily become one of my favorites in that case. Decidueye is definitely my favorite of the final forms, and Incineroar I think is still underrated. Sure, whatever, he’s bipedal, and it’s weirder than it otherwise would be, but for some reason I love how his mouth was an actual modeled mouth and not just an image slapped on there like most Pokemon. It really made him more expressive than the average Pokemon. Plus, the animation for Darkest Lariat is really cool, with his hands flashing against a flat back background for a second before actually doing the move. Even better, it’s great meme potential when hacked onto other Pokemon, like Wailord.

I don’t remember if Solgaleo and Lunala were introduced in that first trailer too, but either way I love both of them. I was a bit more drawn to Solgaleo at first, but Lunala has since grown to be one of my favorite legendaries of all. The starry wings, golden rims, and white skeleton-y body are such a great combo. And yeah, sure, Solgaleo would’ve been more fitting as a fire type or whatever, but since stars form the heavy metals that make it onto planets it’s fine. I won’t accept that Lunala should’ve been a dark type, though. The Moon is a major embodiment of light in the night sky, so if anything it shouldn’t be related to darkness. As for Necrozma, I love his base form a lot. It’s such a strange look, especially how the back of his head is transparent. It’s the perfect “evil prism” pokemon. I really just wish Ultra Necrozma had more detail to him, though. He looks so flat for such a major figure in the games… At least he had a good battle and an even BETTER theme song, hot damn

Guess that’s a good transition to talk about the music, and I guess tangentially about Team Skull, since they were probably the best possible departure from the usual “Evil Team” formula. Them just being random hooligans causing trouble instead of a formal organization trying for world domination is a good change of pace, as pretty much everyone agrees… It wouldn’t have been so great if they didn’t at least try to incorporate rap/trap music into their themes. They’re probably the most music-oriented Team canonically speaking, so they’d have to have a great theme. Also, the idea that they feel left behind by the traditions of the Trials really makes sense, since something so important in their culture would definitely make someone feel left out if they couldn’t get through it. 

Other themes for the more calm situations, like Hau’oli City’s night theme, are also extremely good. I didn’t even realize how much I loved that track until I heard Insaneintherain’s cover of it. It almost sounds like something out of Steven Universe, for how pleasant it is (apart from the piano). Lillie’s theme still gives me the warm fuzzies every time I hear it, too. I don’t think a single game before this has ever done the credits so well, too. Apart from the fun artwork, the last shot of Lillie and the game’s legendary actually just kills me every time. She’s such an adorable, pure soul, it’s crazy to think that when she was first revealed, we thought she was the secret supervillain of the game, just because she looked kinda peeved in her official art. We weren’t far off, though, with the Aether Foundation and all. I love both the calm theme of the Paradise itself AND their evil battle theme. Even though one is obviously an evil theme, it does feel like it came from the same source. Same goes for Lusamine’s theme. I really love the Aether Foundation as a whole too, where we can now have “Good” Foundation archetypes to counter the Evil Team archetype. Plus, their designs all involve white with gold accents, which is basically my brand. I tried to design my own Aether outfit the instant I saw them, since I love their look so much. 

As for battle themes, I love how jazzy Galdion’s battle theme ended up. It made him so much more interesting than just a generic edgelord. The Elite Four’s battle theme might actually be the scariest theme to date for some reason, and yet all I can picture when listening to it is Acerola bobbing joyfully back and forth… Basically the same way, the Tapu battle theme is also pretty crazy, with tribal chants in the back of it. The Tapus are probably the coolest group of legendaries in the game, considering how unique they are, with their oddly wooden shells that represent animals. It really makes them feel like spirits brought about by the people of Alola themselves, instead of just some being that came out of nowhere. Probably the one theme that is the most nostalgic (yes, I know it was only 3 years ago, you can still feel nostalgia damnit) for me is the Kahuna battle theme. It was probably just some random comment on Youtube, but somewhere someone said that it was the perfect theme because it starts off intimidating, but quickly switches into a super fun melody, because ultimately, the Island Challenge is for fun. I just love that. I’m always looking for “Fun” stuff in pretty much everything, so I like a theme that represents that. Also, it’s just super catchy, and even expanded upon in Pokemon Masters. Let it be known that Hapu is the best Kahuna by the way. She cute. Also, watching her become the Kahuna is the best world building you could possibly muster up for this kind of setting. 

Of course, I’m intentionally leaving out a certain group…

You know what I think of when I think of Hawai’i? Pearly white sand beaches… Palm trees… Fruity drinks… oh, and let’s not forget fucking interdimensional aliens. 

The Ultra Beasts are the exact type of thing I’d want to insert into the Pokemon world, and that’s why I love them. They’re so weird in the best ways possible. When they were introduced in a trailer, I had the same reaction as I did with Type: Null. They put him up on the screen for a bit and was like “Haha here’s ‘Type: Null,’ okay next” like EXCUSE ME? YOU CAN’T JUST SHOW ME A POKEMON CALLED “Type: Null” AND NOT EXPLAIN WHAT’S GOING ON. Of course, that’s kind of what the games were for, but it was seriously a shock to the system to see Pokemon with code names instead of actual names. You also can’t convince me that Pheromosa wasn’t designed after Lusamine, and to a lesser extent that Xurkitree wasn’t designed after Guzma. I think it’s canon that Lusamine styled Lillie after Nihilego in her crazed state, but the uncanny likeness between those other two is pretty darn notable. I think from the first batch, Celesteela was my favorite of them all, being like a rusted copper rocket ship or something, who can even smack you with her two giant rockets. Also, Pokemon directly based on folktales are always welcome, no matter what. Meanwhile, with the Ultra games being the first sequels to introduce brand-new Pokemon, Blacephalon easily took top spot. I did say I liked clowns, didn’t I? Plus, the biggest evidence that he’s best boi is that in the anime when he appeared, he didn’t even try to attack anything. He just wanted to show off (specifically, believe it or not, by moonwalking… Whoever’s idea that was needs a raise). I also love detachable heads, which is a great idea to mix with clowns, and I guess also fireworks in this case… I just love him. I really hope that there will be future instances of Ultra Beasts, since it’s apparently super easy to just make them however the hell you want them, and since you’re not limited to a region’s natural environment. Lord knows whoever designed Buzzwole didn’t have any limitations. Exploring his, and really all of their worlds in USUM was extremely fun. It’s a damn shame Blacephalon and Stakataka (again, what a name) didn’t get the same privilege. 

As for the Pokemon as a whole, like I mentioned, off the top of my head I don’t feel super crazy about many of them, even though that’s a total lie. Shiinotic appealed to my inner mushroom-character-lover so much that I basically designed a character that looked identical to him. He’s easily the best mushroom Pokemon to date, where he looks pretty cute while also being just slightly creepy enough, with those souless eyes. The concept for Araquanid is amazing, where he’s a reverse Diving Bell spider. I might’ve designed him a bit differently, but he still looks super cool. The ideas behind Oranguru and Passimian are also cool, since we haven’t delved much into intelligent ape Pokemon enough. Wishiwashi is another great concept, and probably the best fish Pokemon in my opinion because of it. Lurantis and Minior are total cuties, the latter being one of those Pokemon that isn’t always in the forefront of my mind, but the instant it is it reclaims its place as one of my all-time favorites. Golisopod and Kommo-o are two of the coolest Pokemon designs to me, the latter being my all-time favorite Pseudo-Legendary. Vikavolt looks awesome, despite being deceptively slow. Dhelmise looks weird until you realize it’s actually insanely large (like, Wailord large). Mudsdale is just an all-around good-looking horse. Oricorio also looks really cool, especially in her fiery form. Tsareena is, well… Tsareena… That’s not even including the adorable Magearna and Marshadow, who are in generational limbo… Also, I think Mimikyu might be the overall best addition to the franchise ever. No Pika-clone could ever compare. 

I mean, specifically as far as a single Pokemon goes, Mimikyu is definitely the best addition to the franchise. Meanwhile, as far as concepts go, the absolutely HUGE idea of Regional Variants is the best addition. Again, I remember where I was when I heard the announcement: it was some sort of weird fantasy house, with a ton of cool details in it to make it look like a setting in some movie or something. It was awesome there, even if we were staying for only a night or so I think. Either way, the concept of different Pokemon adapting to different conditions in the region is the most perfect way to bring attention back to older Pokemon, and I’m so glad they seem to want to keep the idea for all future generations too. It’s especially fitting for Alola, since it’s a super remote island. I love how goofy Alolan Exeggutor is, especially because everyone else seems to love his goofiness too. Same sort of goes for Dugtrio, since his hair is actually based on a real thing… Marowak becoming a spiritual fire dancer is definitely the best possible iteration for him. My favorite might be the colorful Alolan Muk, though, even if Alolan Vulpix is infinitely cuter and better than fiery Vulpix in every way. I cannot be convinced otherwise.

Also, she’s a perfect fit for Lillie, so I guess I’ll use that as my transition into talking about the characters/anime. I’m just gonna be real with you. I’m not going to hold back. Alola has some of the cutest girls in the entire franchise. But first of all, let’s divert that train and instead lust after a man who is easily the hottest professor in the games yet, Kukui. What self-respecting researcher wouldn’t wear his professor-mandated lab coat without any undershirt? He needs his bulging abs as target practice for his Pokemon’s moves, people. He needs to let them breathe. Also, I was kind of enamoured with Sycamore before him, but you can’t deny the tinted skin gets to you a little. Burnet’s a lucky gal, let’s just say.

Okay, now that we’ve established that my pants don’t discriminate, we have to talk about Wicke. So now that that’s covered, can I just say I love Mina? I’d say she deserves more attention, but she was the only Alolan to make it into Lets Go for some reason, so I guess she’s well off? First of all, I love hippie-esque girls (idealized hippies, at least), so that’s a major plus… I mean, I should probably stop using the word “cute” altogether because it applies to every girl in the game, but yeah. Lana’s highly deserved spotlight in the anime made me love her too, where she was a perfect combination of extroverted while still more soft-spoken. I don’t know if that kind of characters’ an anime trope, but lord knows it’s not in western media, so I love how unique her personality is. Her interacting with Mallow and Lillie in cute, girly ways felt so wholesome. If the anime’s anything, it’s wholesome. 

One sec, though. I have to mention that I really like Hau. He’s obviously the one pinned as “Boo, he’s not a giga-asshole! That means he’s bad!” because I guess the fandom’s hive mind has collectively agreed that the only good rivals are assholes now. Like I said before, this stuff’s more about fun now. Hau’s a fun friend to fight, to the point where you beat him as the Champion you kinda feel bad for knocking him down so much. You feel bad because you like him, you know. Also, I forgot to mention this earlier but even though he isn’t entirely difficult himself, the trials in these games are actually both a difficult and interesting challenge. A 2v1 where you’re at the disadvantage is a great boss battle idea, especially with the strategies set out by a Pokemon’s different abilities and moves. Probably the best was Totem Lurantis, who of course summoned a Sunny Day-based Castform to activate her Chlorophyll and buff her Solar Blade, while adding a diverse fire type into play. It was really difficult, to be honest. Those who say it wasn’t either got lucky or have insane standards that cannot be met because they’re Pokemon Veterans who know every little thing about everything. I’m pretty much in that camp, and I still had to actually plan during the fight. Same goes for Totem Araquanid in USUM. I literally had to poison (not toxic, base poison) stall that guy because I couldn’t do anything to him otherwise. He was pretty much one-shotting everything I sent out, anyway, so I had to stall however I could. You can’t argue that that means it was “easy” because I knew how to beat him. It’s only “easy” if you can just send out pretty much whatever and do whatever and still win. Then there’s the Rainbow Rocket episode in USUM, which is just crazy… There’s not much to say that isn’t obvious there. It was fun seeing the villains that were victorious in a different dimension.

Anyways, for the anime, I also have a similar stance. It really seemed like the only people who started off hating it were anime nerds who had no concept of an in-between frame. I will say that it was a step down from XY/XYZ though, but those seasons’ quality was unusually high. Compared to the animation quality of every other season, it was so much better. First of all, I really don’t even like “anime style” that much, so a slightly more western style was very welcome. Like pretty much every show ever, the animation quality is seriously high where it counts, so there’s not much to be said about that, but I’d say the overall animation quality is a step up in general. The more simplified style only really looked weird in Ash because we’re so used to his more pointy style. Every other character looked totally fine, in my opinion. 

As for the story, I will say I would’ve wanted the scope of the plot to be much larger, like how with the other seasons Ash was going on an adventure, whereas here it was very contained, and centered around the Pokemon School. But, still, like I mentioned, I did enjoy the casual wholesomeness of it all. Not only do I just like mindless fun, but it made the crazy shit feel even crazier. The episode where Faba was trying to catch Nebby is a perfect example. It begins with a nice fun game of all the Pokemon and people jumping rope and having a good time, with some slapstick humor with Faba failing to capture Nebby. Then he does, and shit goes down. First of all, he’s torturing the little thing. Then, ASH (not his Pokemon, Ash himself) tackles Faba. Tell me, what other season had humans fighting other humans? I honestly can’t think of a single time when fighting was done with fists and not Pokemon (although surely I’m forgetting something, there’s gotta be at least one other example, right?) Then, Lillie re-experiences her past trauma of almost being abducted by Nihilego, except now her mom gets abducted in her place… Like, what happened? It was so cute a second ago. That’s always the selling point for any cartoon, for me. Stay casual for a decent amount, then break it with some uncharacteristically high tension. The same goes for the segment where Ash goes into Guzzlord’s post apocalyptic dimension. As for mega-feels, It’s great that they made Litten/Torracat an actual character instead of just some random Pokemon, with Stoutland and whatnot. The episode where they go into Tapu Fini’s mist and Mallow meets her mother, and Torracat meets Stoutland just destroyed me. It was strategically remedied by Lillie and Gladion not seeing their father, suggesting he’s still alive. There were some really great episodes in the season, for sure.

So, yeah… Alola was a good time. Don’t deny it. Galar’s gonna be great too. No game’s ever going to be perfect, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be fun.

[bredsticon-blog]

title: ¡quake! & ~the wave~

desc: by day, you're a reporter for a sketchy newspaper called the exposé. by night, you're a hero named ¡quake! (the exclamation points actually stand for the ground shaking). you and a fellow reporter, brandon arreaga, have recently found the lead on a villain's identity: ~THE WAVE~ (the tildes actually stand for the water... er, waving). ~THE WAVE~ is also your archenemy. who is also brandon arreaga. ...whoops.

part: one (déjà vu)

tags: superhero au, dark! brandon arreaga, humor, love square, gender neutral reader (as always), cussing, mentions of drug use, alcohol, & death (later on)

word count: 1.2k

notes: i have a really large kink for weird multipart aus so expect more to come :^) i have an edwin and austin one coming up. whichever i update first depends on the responses i get

You're not groggy and foggy this morning. You haven't had your coffee yet and the sun isn't peaking through the boarded windows, but you don't stumble around your room, either. Not like there's much to stumble around. Furniture is hard to move from house to house. That, and you stuffed too many confidential documents in the couch cushions to trust any moving company.

In fact, you're never groggy and foggy in the mornings. You don't need to drink coffee. You could step outside in your costume, turn to the wall of flashing lights and microphones, and say three words: "I want chairs." and every furniture designer in the world would scramble to ship their best pieces to you. Not that they'd know your address—you've made certain that no one would—but they'd try.

You make your way to the living room, gingerly stepping over piles of unopened letters covered in kiss prints and heart stickers. Your fans discovered your past home, so you had to move before they found out who lived there. A box T.V., slouching on one of your untouched packing boxes, blares in the corner. You grimace and cover your ears, but you can still hear it.

"International supervillains quake at the sight of ¡quake! Haha, that was a nice one, wasn't it, Normani? Last night, ~THE WAVE~ was found plotting to stea—"

You dart to the TV and turn the volume down one notch. It goes mute. There you go, that's it. Bliss.

Not for long.

Something goes off near your hip. You scramble in the deep plush of your pajama pockets. It's like an earthquake. Your skin vibrates along with it. Your fingers clasp around smooth plastic, and you tug your phone out.

"HELLO, STERLING."

Your boss's voice explodes in your ears; you grimace, throwing your phone to a couch.

"Yes, boss?" you say, answering to your alias. Sterling wasn't your actual name, but that's what your boss calls you when she's on the phone. In case someone's tracking.

From the couch, her voice is less booming. "Sterling, a certain friend of yours has told me that you moved again? Without telling me?"

But just as terrifying.

"Yes, boss. People found my address and started sending things. Most were good but... gross things, too. Y'know how it is now. Normals have a fetish for me. My kind."

You give her a second to respond.

"You're lucky I pity you, babe." Your boss is one of a kind. She's the only person in the world who pities you. "If you weren't you, if you didn't have your condition, if you didn't always give me the juiciest stories, I'd damn near fire you for moving so much. On my bill. This is the sixth time this year, no?"

You nod, then realize that it's a phone call. "Uh- yeah. It is."

Since you're a "superhuman," the government requires that you register to UN, fingerprints included. Your superhero identity would be tacked on every piece of ID you ever own.

The thing is, you're one of the only heroes with a living archenemy. Which means you don't exactly want everyone to know who you are. Which also means that the government doesn't know you exist. Can't file taxes, buy anything substantial, or get a proper paycheck. You just rely on your boss's money to keep you afloat. Every time you move, it's been on her card.

She sighs. "Fine, fine. Just keep up the good work. You being... you is worth it."

"Will do."

"Speaking of good work, I have an assignment for you. You know that person that's been bugging you for the past few years? Well, after the information you gave me, Brandon's found something new on them." Her voice takes on a sparkle. "This is gonna be big. If this doesn't blow up our paper, I don't know what will."

Your eyebrows shoot up. Wait a minute—is she talking about the bane of your existence? ~THE WAVE~? The person that's been messing you up ever since you got your powers?

"The thing is, my darling Sterling, it's so big, I will need your sharp senses. Brandon refuses to leave this story, so both of you are going to work on it."

There's only six reporters working for the Exposé—and she's putting two on one story. That's one third of her entire business. On one story.

"Now, dear, could you tell me your new address so he could do a little hop and skip to your place? Some of this stuff is deeply sensitive."

You whisper it in the a special code you two formulated. Your ears pick up a faint scribbling sound, and she speaks once more.

"Wonderful, wonderful. He'll be over at three!"

She ends the call.

You gulp. Your house is the definition of a wreck. You have fan gifts addressed to ¡quake! all over the place, and as far as Mr. Arreaga is concerned, your name is Sterling, and you're just a humble reporter. You haven't brushed your teeth yet. You didn't take a shower in two days. Your good fits are still in your car. It's two o'clock.

As the great Captain America once said: Fuck.

You speed through your personal hygiene, going in and out of the bathroom to dig through boxes. You knew you should've unpacked sooner. You knew it, and you didn't.

After that, you take all your gifts into the basement. Or, rather, roll them into the basement, since you couldn't carry some. Being ¡quake! didn't give you super-strength, and one person literally gave you a tree (their prized Pennantia baylisiana). You have no idea how that went through UPS, but it did, and you also had the ignorance to bring it with you when you moved. You truly question why little kids look up to you.

You aggressively dust the house, push around furniture, pick a good fit, and sneeze a good fifty times before finishing. The boarded windows look suspicious, but you can just say you're a conspiracy nut. Brandon doesn't much about you, so you can make up whatever bullshit you want. Chances are, he'll believe it.

None of your coworkers know that much about you, really. The other five are pretty much brothers, while you've kept to yourself. For good reasons. You haven't killed your archenemy yet. Until then, you've vowed to keep your hero life away from your personal life. It's the only way to keep everyone safe. Especially when it's your archenemy.

So you chit chat with them, act friendly but not too friendly, just average. You bring good stories, though, the latest scoop, all that. Even if you hold back a bit, you know enough about the criminals in this area to satisfy any paper. It gives you a good excuse to act like you're leaving for an assignment when you're actually just punching ~THE WAVE~. Your coworkers don't know more than they need to. And you plan on keeping it that way.

The doorbell screams. You kick the last fan letter into a corner, and you rush to open the door.

Brandon gives you a smile.

He's cute, but still just your coworker. You gotta keep him at arms-length. You smile back, knowing you look completely dead inside.

He meets your eyes. His are dark. Like an inked signature. Like a new moon on a cloudy night. It flips a switch in you, a spark of coldness, a wisp of familiarity, and your eye twitches. Déjà vu. He stares at you. Neither of you speak.

Then he blushes. "So, uh, I'm guessing this is where the infamous Sterling lives?"

--

a/n: i know this sucked ass. dont remind me

[ao3bronte]

Smutember: Fingering

Masquerade on Ao3

16: Fingering/handjob

A sex scandal, a PR nightmare and an akuma attack all in one day; just a typical afternoon for Paris’ dynamic duo.

Or, as La Parisienne had so aptly put it:

CONFIRMED! Cities Having the Most Sex…Can You Guess Who’s on Top? (And it's not Ladybug!)

Marinette smashes her face into her pillow and screams as loudly as she can, kicking her feet hard enough to make her bounce around on the mattress. Alya had finally, finally pulled the video from her website but the damage had already been done. The screenshots were everywhere on Instagram, the GIFs all over Tumblr; it seems that everyone and their dog was talking about Chat Noir and Ladybug’s ‘nooky in the nook’ (thanks Cosmopolitan) and the press was having a field day.

Surprisingly, the reaction wasn’t entirely negative. It’s not like they were being praised or anything, but much of the focus was on their bodies. Considering the skin-tight nature of her suit, Marinette wasn’t entirely unaware that her physique was a constant source of interest on the internet and she figured the same fanaticism could be applied to Chat. After all, he had just as many raving fans as she did; the fan art and fanfiction on the internet could attest to that.

After that, the more pragmatic side of the world was looking into how their transformations took place, which had obviously never been captured on film before. It took away a lot of the initial sting since the television news stations couldn’t exactly air the footage due to the subject matter; instead, they had to focus on other aspects of the incident.

There were the haters of course. The American organisation One Million Moms was arranging protests in their country, declaring a television boycott on the two Parisian superheroes in order to save the decency of their children. Others were saying Chat was being too rough (somehow forgetting that Ladybug had been just as rough, if not more so) and that they were too young to be having sex. After all, the press didn’t know their ages and their reports varied wildly, pegging them anywhere from fourteen to twenty-two.

And that wasn’t even the worst part.

Marinette had been forced to wear a kerchief around her neck all day to hide the hickeys and even Alya had told her that she looked like she just walked off an Air France Boeing 747. Alya had tried to tug the scarf off and Marinette had clung to it like her life depended on it, so of course Alya was curious. Marinette tried to explain that she was covering a nasty zit with it and, when the bell rang, she escaped as fast as her feet could take her. She’d managed to evade Alya’s sticky fingers for the rest of the day, but the bruises wouldn’t be fading for at least another few days and no amount of concealer was going to save her.

And that wasn’t the even worst part either.

In true Le Papillon fashion, the supervillain decided today would be a great day to re-emerge from his two week absence and infect an angry lawyer, which meant that Marinette had to somehow sneak out of calculus to nip that in the bud. Mind you, the purification had been simple enough; the lawyer’s razor-sharp dossier of death had been no match for Chat’s cataclysme and they had everything tied up within ten minutes.

“So,” Chat attempts to break the ice, “How’s school?”

Marinette grabs his forearm and steers him away from the oncoming hoard of journalists, disappearing into a covered passage and running up the fire escape, “Oh, let’s see. Everyone in my school has seen me naked. So, you know, it’s been great.”

Chat ricochets off the stone wall and pulls her up with him until they’re on the roof, “I know. The girls in front of me in econ wouldn’t stop talking about my butt.”

“Yikes.”

Chat looks just as dazed as she feels, “It was…well, you had to be there. It was creepy.”

Marinette shivers and they set off towards the general direction of her school, “You’re telling me. My best friend won’t stop talking about it.”

“Mine too,” he dives between a clothesline and makes the next few bounds on all fours, easily keeping up with her, “It’s been surreal.”

She takes a sharp right and pauses at the brink of the boulevard, “Patrol tonight?”

“As always,” he replies, slipping his hand into hers for a moment, “We’ll talk later. I’ve got it get back to class.”

She gives his fingers a brief squeeze and waits until Chat has disappeared behind a building before yoyoing back to her school.

Back in her bedroom, Marinette sighs. That part wasn’t so bad, but still, sometimes it feels good to scream into a pillow and be dramatic, especially when pictures of your naked body are still trending worldwide.

When she’d ran home from school and opened the door to her parent’s bakery, her parents had been oddly subdued. She figured it had something to do with the oppressing heat making all of the measurements for their pastry recipes fall out of whack. It was extremely humid in the kitchens and her father asked her to try and fiddle with the air conditioning to get it flowing properly again.

“Is the cold air coming out?” Marinette hollers from the boiler room.

“Not yet!” her father booms from the kitchen and she jabs her fingers into the thermostat again, hoping to beat the ancient thing into submission by brute force alone. She wiggles the tiny handle and smacks her fist down over the top of it and all it does is pop, sputter and shut back down with a heaving clunk.

Marinette throws her head back and glares reproachfully at the ceiling, “Could this day get any worse?”

And now, with the house feeling more like the surface of the sun, Marinette screams into her pillow again and throws the offending cushion across the room for no better reason than that it feels good to do it.

“Marinette?”

She listens as her mother cracks open the trapdoor and reluctantly turns her head to acknowledge her, “Yeah?”

“Are you alright? I…heard screaming.”

Marinette sighs theatrically, “I’m fine mum. Just hot. And tired.”

Sabine makes her way into the bedroom and shuts the door behind her, “Are you sure? Do you need to talk about it?”

She barely keeps herself from snorting, “No, it’s okay. It’s just school and the heat, that’s all.”

“Alright,” Sabine nods but looks far from convinced. She pins Marinette with a knowing look, “Just remember, I’m here to talk if you need to. About anything, I mean it. I won’t get upset.”

The way she says it speaks of things Marinette has long suspected but never acknowledged, “I know but I really don’t want to talk about it right now. Maybe later.”

“Okay.”

Marinette closes her eyes and Sabine retreats back into the bakery, leaving her blissfully alone. She turns her head and peels one eye open, taking note of the time and closes it again.

Three hours left until patrol.

~

“Good evening,” he calls from behind her, landing on the railings of the Hermès building in the 8e arrondissement. They’ve long used the building’s private rooftop gardens as a meeting place and have spent many a warm evening tucked in behind the trees and shrubs, chatting the night away.

“It’s a terrible evening,” she sulks, crossing her arms over her chest. She’d brought a water bottle with her this time, determined to stay hydrated in this life sucking heat.

“I heat to agree with you but I’m feeling the burn.”

Marinette briefly fantasises about throwing said water bottle at his face, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Not in the mood for jokes?” he smirks, “I never would have guessed.”

“It’s been a rough day all right? I want to relax.”

“I can help you with that.”

“Good. Close your eyes, I need to get out of this suit.”

She drops her transformation as soon as he turns and sighs in relief when her skin is finally exposed, wearing only a soft tank and a pair of cotton shorts underneath. He opens his eyes and drinks in the length of her legs and the creamy skin of her thighs, so perfect and yet almost always covered. He’d only ever seen her in a skirt for the first time this week, his steady suspicions only confirmed further, especially since she’d disappeared during calculus at the same time he had. He wishes she would wear skirts more often, wishes he could dress her in some of the items in his father’s summer collection, all soft fabrics in flowing designs.

She lays down on the soft sod and closes her eyes, giving him a chance to detransform. He does so gladly, slips his mask on, and sighs when he finds himself back in the clothing he’d returned home in after the Versace fitting, perfectly tailored but altogether stifling in this heat.

Whoa.

“Ladybug?” he calls and his voice startles her, snapping her back to reality.

“What?”

He wiggles an eyebrow, “You’re looking a little red under that mask.”

“I am not,” she responds and flushes even more.

“I love it when you blush,” he hums, “Even your ears turn pink.”

She snorts, “Speak for yourself. You’ve swooned so hard I’ve had to scrape you off the ground before and you know it.”

“I have not,” he scoffs and sits down beside her. She tries to stay composed on the outside and bites her lip, conscious of the way she’s clenching her inner muscles and thighs together to relieve some of the pressure.

She sneaks a glance at him, dressed to the nines, and finds him watching her, a little grin spreading on his lips. She feels the familiar rush in her stomach that comes with the sudden onslaught of arousal and god, she wishes he would just crawl between her legs and be done with it. She doesn’t know whether it’s the heatwave or the itch beneath her skin but she can’t help the way she reacts as she inches closer and he leans in, his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear, “Let me make you come.”

She nods and turns her face towards him, their noses brushing, and he cups her face in her hands. He kisses her then, soft and hot and everything she’d been craving, burying his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck. She responds, expert and bruising, and brushes her hands up his chest and neck and cheeks, rough with facial hair.

“Slob,” she chastises teasingly, grazing her knuckles against the rough texture.

“It took me a while to get ready this morning,” he blushes.

“Did I tire you out last night?”

Her teasing only makes it worse, “Yes. It was the best sex of my life.”

She may be the queen of baiting him but he’s always been able to knock her down a few pegs with his sheer and brutal honesty, “Oh.”

She’s falling back into the grass and his body slots between her legs like it belongs there and now, after all this time, she’s starting to believe it really does. Like Tikki had told her a thousand times already, a Chat Noir always finds his Ladybug eventually, no matter the odds against them.

Crawling over her, he hitches her legs upwards and hooks them around his hips, slender and addictive. She kisses him breathless and lets her mouth travel down his jaw and neck and collarbones, dissolving him into a puddle between her arms. She loves that these simple gestures, these effortless acts of adoration make him melt like putty in her grasp and smiles into his skin, transferring every ounce of her newfound love into her kiss.

She undoes his dress shirt, a slim fitted cotton poplin with mother of pearl buttons, and tries not to wince as she slips it off his shoulders and throws it into a shrub. She eyes the tag as she does so and tries not to choke at the fact that the Burberry shirt probably cost more than her three month bakery allowance.

She breathes out and slowly surveys him with starving eyes, revelling in the way he squirms under the appraisal of his body and she flattens her hands to his exposed abdomen, running them slowly upwards until they graze his rib cage and nipples.

He gasps, “Ladybug…”

“Make as much noise as you want,” she breathes into his ear, wishing she could rub her thighs together to diffuse the intense arousal she feels, “I want you to be loud for me tonight.”

“Loud?” he gulps.

“Well, all of Paris knows we’re having sex. What’s there left to lose?”

Marinette cannot believe the words coming out of her mouth. Who is this person and what has she done with her common sense?

He gasps as she rolls them onto their sides and leans into him, running her tongue and lips over his collarbones and chest. She nips at one of his nipples lightly before laving it with her tongue, bucking her hips against him. He groans, his eyes fluttering open and he feels hard and urgent against her core, turning her on even more.

He pulls her on top of him and his hands circle her waist, pulling her towards him and her clit is unequivocally throbbing at this point; she's been aroused for hours ever since she watched that stupid video and being around him doesn't exactly help stifle the heat and the itch.

"Up," he urges and she raises her arms, kissing him as he pushes hr shirt up and over her head. He unclasps her bra and she grabs the back of his neck, nuzzling him and enjoying the way her bare chest feels against the texture of his skin. He smiles into the kiss and runs those long, slender piano fingers of his through her hair, seemingly content to hold onto her for as long as he can.

He hooks one of his arms around her body and pushes her back against the grass, rolling a nipple between his fingers and drawing a gasp from her lips, "Our lives are insane," he mutters against her skin and she chuckles breathlessly.

"It could be worse," she admits, pulling back to press a kiss to the side of his neck, "I don't know how, but it could be worse."

"At least we looked good," he clutches her head against his neck and wills her to continue sucking marks into his skin. He’d spent a half hour covering them with concealer this morning but he couldn’t care less about that now, bucking his hips and sneaking his hand beneath the waistband of her shorts.

He pops the button open and slides the zipper down, slipping his fingers beneath her lace panties, "Have I told you how much I love you today?"

She's practically vibrating with anticipation at this point, watching eagerly as he sits up to pull her shorts down her thighs. He tosses them behind him and pulls her panties off as well, chuckling as she waves them around when they get caught on her ankle. He eyes her appreciatively, completely naked before him, and lets his fingers explore her body, ghosting over her inner thighs.

"You haven't," she replies, leaning back into the greenery. She whines as he just barely skims the sensitive skin there, her lips parting in pleasure.

"Let me make it up to you," he purrs, laying on the grass between her legs. He rubs circles with his thumbs on the crease where her thighs meet her hips before slipping back down to spread her knees. He raises one and Marinette catches on immediately, hooking them up and over his shoulders.

Without so much as a word, Chat dives in and cleaves her open with his tongue, pressing it against her clit. Her hips buck upwards from the sod and he grins against her, tucking one hand under her ass to squeeze and sliding the other up towards his face.

"Hng!"

He slips a finger inside her as he strokes her clit with his tongue and pumps them in and out experimentally, drawing the most delightful sounds from her throat. He explores her, his tongue thorough and languid, roaming over her clit with practiced ease, having found himself between her thighs so many times before. It was becoming their default and Chat couldn’t find it within himself to complain, not with the way his cock is reacting. Alone, he’s finding that his fantasies seem to revolve around getting her off this way, coming to the memorised sounds of her rasps and screams.

Marinette’s eyes threaten to roll to the back of her head as he nibbles on her clit, sending her reeling. She gasps his name and fists a hand in his hair, tugging and yanking and he seems to enjoy it, speeding up his movements in a way that’s making her soaked with need and passion and oh, he’s moaning against her clit and she tightens her thighs around his head because ah!, he’s slipping another finger inside her and he’s pumping in and out in fervour and fuck, this feels so good, so good and she’s so close, so close and—

“Oh! O-h! Chat!”

She shudders and can’t help the way her hips react, bucking off the grass and he holds fast, scissoring his fingers and prolonging her orgasm until all she can do is pant and stare in a sex induced daze at the stars above them, her body throbbing in post orgasmic bliss.

“So? Did I make it up to you?”

He crawls back up her body and she slams her lips against his, tasting herself and sending another pulse of heat between her legs. He moans and presses himself against her, still trapped in his perfectly pressed trousers that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

[theconservativebrief]

It’s taken 14 years, but Incredibles 2, the follow-up to the beloved 2004 Pixar superhero classic, is finally in theaters. And though all that time has passed for us, no time has passed for the Parr family, who pick up right where they left off, battling supervillains, struggling to find their place in a world that doesn’t always trust those with exceptional abilities, and squabbling with each other.

In those 14 years, too, Incredibles director and screenwriter Brad Bird has made his mark in other films, from the 2007 Pixar release Ratatouille to his two live-action films — 2011’s Mission: Impossible — Ghost Protocol and 2015’s Tomorrowland. That makes Incredibles 2 his return to animation after 11 years away. And since he’s one of the best animation directors ever (having also directed 1999’s The Iron Giant), it’s tremendously exciting.

Incredibles 2 is a lot of fun, but it also has a surprising number of things on its mind, including a continued wrestling with the role of people who have exceptional talents in a society that still needs everybody to take care of each other and not look out solely for their own self-interest. And yet it’s also a technical marvel — beautiful to look at, with terrific animation and wonderful designs.

So I sat down with Bird, as well as producers Nicole Grindle and John Walker, to talk about the new film — which they were still tweaking here and there when I chatted with them. (Before our interview, they were discussing whether to change one tiny detail before release.)

This interview has been lightly edited for length and clarity.

Todd VanDerWerff

So much of this movie seems like it’s going to put the characters at odds with each other, but you never quite end up doing that. How did you develop that story to build their divisions while still reaffirming their strength as a family?

Brad Bird

Well, they are against each other for a second.

Nicole Grindle

It’s true.

Brad Bird

I think one of the things that people respond to in these movies is that we represent people as having individuality, different ideas. They argue. They all have, I think, reasonable points of view. You understand the kids’ point of view is a little in conflict with the parents’. The parents have little conflicts with each other. They air out these things.

That’s the way my dinners used to be when I was growing up, and still are with my wife and boys, but when push comes to shove, we pull together. I think family doesn’t just mean a biological relationship. It means people that have your back and understand you and people you can be real with.

I think there’s something reassuring about having adversity, but that group, when that comes, pulling together. There’s something hopeful about it, and I think people like that.

Brad Bird (left), John Walker, and Nicole Grindle attend the premiere of Incredibles 2. Kevin Winter/Getty Images

Todd VanDerWerff

There’s some commentary about being enslaved by our screens in this movie that’s quite overt. At first I was like, well, are they talking about smartphones right now, but it does reflect the television paranoia that existed in the 1950s and ’60s. So we’ve been talking about this for —

Brad Bird

For a while.

Todd VanDerWerff

For, like, a century now.

Brad Bird

I don’t think it’s only bright, glowing screens. I think it’s something that can preoccupy you. They had a really cool thing in the Harry Potter books, the pensieve, where you stare at your own life but you don’t participate in it. I thought that was fascinating. That was kind of the same thing, and yet it was done in a way where it was more like a classic old tale.

It’s human. We benefit and are imprisoned by our own intellect. A lot of stories are dealing with the chasm between our intellect and our soul. The intellect helps us in many ways do amazing things, but it also keeps pointing us toward Armageddon or something that’s going to be bad for us or some way to misuse our power, so we’re constantly wrestling with what to do with our own brains.

Our soul is not keeping up with our brains, advancements in our soul. In one way or another we’re wrestling with these things, and have been in storytelling for thousands of years.

Todd VanDerWerff

The design of this film has such a sharpness to its angles and sort of a ’60s “new frontier” aesthetic. It’s present in the first film, but it seems even more heightened here. How did you develop that?

John Walker

I don’t think there’s any conscious decision to change the style from the first film. I think it may just be that we have the ability to render that stuff more vividly. We can do it more accurately to the designs. We couldn’t quite get there on the first one.

Nicole Grindle

We also have some really good character designers. We have Matt Nolte and Tony Fucile. Reprising that role in Matt Nolte and Deanna Marsigliese [a character and costume designer].

Brad Bird

You and Teddy Newton came in and did some guest jobs.

Nicole Grindle

Having all these great designers and the ability to execute on what they were putting out there in a way that we couldn’t on the first film was pretty awesome.

Todd VanDerWerff

The notion of animated characters acting is so important to a movie like this where they’re human and have to be recognizably human. How has this technology advanced from the first film to now, in terms of being able to get a nuanced performance from these characters?

Brad Bird

If we use the analogy of racecars, we have much faster, better, slicker cars, but they’re nothing without really great drivers. I think that’s even more important. On the first film, the models were the best we could do, and they were better than anyone else’s, but the animators still had to break the models in order to get them to do what they wanted to do.

There were things that looked horrible if you rotated them slightly, but if you put them back where the animators had them, they worked for that frame. The animators have a lot of input on how those controls work, so the more sophisticated the controls are, the better able [they] are to capture nuances that they couldn’t before.

We had better cars, and our drivers are more experienced.

John Walker

On the first film, he would give a note, and it might come back halfway done the next time, and it might take two more times before, “Okay. That’s it. Good to go.” This time, you give a note, it comes back sometimes the same day.

Brad Bird

And it would be perfect. Bam.

John Walker

Just, like, stunning.

Brad Bird

That’s just artistry. It helps that they have great tools, but great tools are nothing without great artists who play them.

Todd VanDerWerff

Brad, you worked on The Simpsons all those years, and they never aged. The Incredibles characters haven’t aged either. Animation does that so often. What is so interesting about being able to see characters at the same age in different time periods?

Nicole Grindle

It feels possible, for one thing.

Brad Bird

For me, it limits this concept. If they age up, then their powers are only superpowers. They don’t comment on the part of life that they’re in or their role within a family, and they just become powers, and to me that’s kind of boring.

Todd VanDerWerff

The first movie had so many great superhero one-off names, like Bomb Voyage. This one has even more. How much time do you guys spend kicking around one-off jokes?

Brad Bird

That’s an example of the kind of thing that I’d be stupid to close it off to my ideas. I come to the story guys and I go, “Here’s the basic idea. What do you guys think about …” and the walls get filled with all kinds of wacky things. We laugh and trade ideas, and people pitch things that have no chance in hell of ever being on the screen, and it’s a blast. That’s what makes films fun.

Todd VanDerWerff

Brad, you’re really interested in ideas of exceptionalism throughout all your films. Incredibles 2 is really interested in how we can be exceptional and still fit into a community and into a society. What thoughts were you having about some of those ideas when you were working on this story?

Brad Bird

Oftentimes I just go with, “This seems right, I’m going to go there.” I am told later the implications of what I’ve done.

John Walker

This is reverse-engineering, yeah.

Brad Bird

Yeah. I just kind of go, “That’d be cool.” You know? I bumble around in the dark, and when I find something that feels right, I go with it. I’d love to give you a very scholarly answer, but I just fumble around in the dark, and luckily, I have really talented people fumbling along with me.

Todd VanDerWerff

Do you notice some of those tendencies in yourself when you look back on your work? Even if it’s not this, do you notice other themes you’re interested in and like to explore?

Brad Bird

Kind of, but I’m sort of startled if I find something that is a variation of something I’ve done before. It’s never an intent. I don’t go, “You know, my style is this.” I just kind of go, “This would be great. I don’t like that. I’ll change it to this. Now I like it.” Later on, some sort of pattern emerges.

Hopefully, someday I’ll do a film that isn’t about that and surprise everybody.

Incredibles 2 is showing in theaters.

Original Source -> Brad Bird on returning to the world of Incredibles 14 years later

via The Conservative Brief