#BUT we have lethal company! i played it for the first time today

[spursthatjinglejanglejingle]

They should invent a video game industry that doesn't make me lose faith in humanity

[across-violet-skies]

it is 3 am. who wants a sneak peak of the next chapter of my linked company au?

(aren't familiar with the au? it stars the Linked Universe boys, but with the mechanics/gameplay of Lethal Company!! NO KNOWLEDGE OF LETHAL COMPANY IS REQUIRED TO UNDERSTAND THIS AU!!!! if you don't know anything about the game, that's totally fine! everything is explained if it matters to the story, so it's totally friendly to any and all readers!)

previews will be under the cut because uhh. there's a couple of them. this is a LONG chapter. it also haven't been looked over at all since I wrote literally all of it today lol

wind & warriors

They push through the last door, thankful to find something other than a hallway. Instead, they’re greeted with a familiar sight– the same room layout from when they encountered that bunker spider yesterday.

“Parkour! Sweet!” Wind exclaims, hopping down over the bent railing to land on the metal beam below. He smirks, smile devious as he makes direct eye contact with Wars. “Here, I’ll test the strength for you.” He jumps up and down on the beam, grinning manically the entire time.

“Wind,” Wars groans, long-suffering. “Please. Don’t play around like that; you could fall.”

The youngest employee snorts, rolling his eyes. “As if.” He leaps to the other side. His hands fly to his hips, waiting. “Your turn, Grandpa.” “I am nobody’s grandfather,” Wars hisses. He jumps down on the beam as Wind had, wasting no time in getting to the other side. He gently pushes Wind’s head, making the boy stumble the tiniest amount. “Brat.”

time

The doorway he’s aiming for is on his right now, and he steps past the threshold without hesitation. It’s a staircase, leading up. More importantly than that, though, is the jar of pickles sitting on the fourth stair.

“Forty-nine credits,” Time mumbles to himself, grabbing the scrap. Better to take this back to the fire exit now, rather than drag it along with him for who knows how long. He isn’t too far in yet anyway.

Once the jar of pickles has been dropped off outside the fire exit, Time heads back to the stairs. This time, he goes all the way up them, opening the door at the top. He barely has time to examine his surroundings before a red beam aims at him.

twilight & wild

Twilight jogs to catch up as Wild swings the door in a wide arc. He pauses in the doorway, watching as the excitable teenager picks up a stop sign.

“Twi, look!” Wild rears it back before slamming it forward. “I bet we could kill something with this!”

The newbie hesitates, uneasy. “...Why is that the first thing you think of?”

Wild shrugs, holding the sign in both hands. “Dunno. Thought it could be useful.” He puts it away, leaving his hands free. “It’s worth thirty-nine credits, by the way.”

hyrule (& legend)

Along with the flashlight, Hyrule’s hands are full. He turns around and heads back out along the walkway, pausing before exiting the industrial room. Hidden in the corner of the doorway is a tea kettle worth forty-four credits, located perfectly in a place they couldn’t have seen on their way in.

He hesitates. Taking that tea kettle would save him a trip later, but his hands are already full. He could drop his flashlight… but what if something happens? What if someone, or something, takes it while he’s dropping the scrap off at the main entrance?

Hyrule shakes his head. It’s silly to depend so much on a piece of plastic, and a shitty one at that. He could drop his flashlight, take the tea kettle, and pick the flashlight back up in under five minutes, anyway.

sky and four also play a role, but those parts haven't been written yet so... well, obviously I can't share them! however I'm hoping to get this chapter out soon, either tomorrow (today. its nearly 4 am) or next friday if I really can't manage finishing it by the end of the day tomorrow (today)

[moibakadesu]

A little observations as to why I am convinced that Haruka will not die before Milgram's finale 

A document with a lot of realistic and reasonable coping, written by a Haruka lover:

(should be obvious, but of course cw for the topics of death, suicide and injury)

So the community has been abuzz ever since Haruka went and made his suicide threat in his second VD, and while I did have my moments where I got scared and faltered (notably the two infamous TL posts of our boy), I am still convinced that he will not be successful in taking his life. Due to various reasons, and today we are going to look at them.

Starting with the most … say dry and detached one:

Financial/organisatory reasons

A very important point a lot of people tend to forget is that Milgram, despite being a passion project in many aspects, is still a medium that generates money for OTOIRO. And not only does it generate money for the company, no there are also a lot of things just generated from that.

But let's begin here, Haruka is a fairly popular character, esp in the Asian side of the fandom, so for one boy his video revenue and merch sales are something you wouldn't just drop out of.

The even bigger part is though, the organisatory point, which plays into the finances. We know that Deco starts writing songs as soon as the verdict of a prisoner is decided. So that already gives you a picture of just how early some productions behind the scenes start, and that is just the tip of the iceberg. So by the time Muu's verdict will be in there will already be a considerable amount of time and effort (and probably money) put into t3 Haruka and as a company it would just not make sense to do that.

And this is only taking the songwriting into account, we don't know how early in advance other things go into production.

So in general, songs, videos, merchandise, albums etc have to be produced, this has MONTHS of work beforehand. Voice actors and animators have to be paid.

You don't hinge all that on a decision that could go either way.

With which we will go to …

Possibilities for non-lethal injuries

There are many ways to let Haruka make attempts that ultimately lead to failure.

First, Haruka got voted guilty as well (yes, I was one of the people voting him that, and we will get to one of the reasons why in a second) and this means he will be restricted. 

Milgram is very unclear on how these restrictions for the guilty prisoners work, we can be pretty sure that they are not physical in the sense of their hands being bound or anything to really restrict movement (the longer straps being more of a aesthetic and somewhat symbolic nod to that), but nonetheless it is something that for example makes them unable to fight back from a physical attack against them, as the previous attack by Kotoko has shown.

So my idea is that it's possibly a sort of "barrier" like the one that protects Es from outside violence, but instead hinders the guilty prisoners from doing certain actions.

If we spin that idea further another possibility is that Milgram does not allow suicide. When Haruka asked Es in his VD if that's not allowed Es responded that they don't know. I think it's very likely that there are measures like this barrier preventing people from killing themselves, because it could basically be seen as a way to escape your judgment and that would go against Milgram, right? So there is plenty of room for him trying and not succeeding.

Another possibility is that he would get stopped by a second party. 

For that let's first look at the options that Haruka actually has to take his life. Because they are pretty limited.

For one we have to take to mind that Haruka did grow up pretty … "sheltered", due to his circumstances, so his knowledge about how to end a life are also pretty limited. His methods of killing show that pretty well, they are the most simple, smashing or squeezing something until it stops moving you could say.

Both are not things you can do easily to yourself. Choking yourself with your hands to the point of death is impossible, you lose strength or consciousness before that can happen. Any forms of strangulation by other tools (straps from the prison uniform etc) are out of the question because he would not know how to do it properly.

A thing that I see as most likely for him to attempt would be … slamming his head against the wall repeatedly. This could lead to serious injury, but most likely would also lead to him blacking out before it becomes fatal.

With what we get to the before mentioned part of a second party stopping him during an attempt.

This is not only an interesting way to not have him die, but also a very good option to bring the interactions between characters and character development into play. We know already who will not stop him, Muu clearly, she made her point very clear that she thinks "friends" let friends do whatever they want to do, even if that is taking their own life.

So who are the other options? It's easy actually, Fuuta. (And I am looking at this from a completely neutral and logical point of view, so hear me out.) A lot of people just very blatantly ignore that Haruka, Fuuta and Muu also had a connected dynamic since the early beginnings. Haruka is in the center of this dynamic, with both of the others either caring about him or finding him interesting. Balance in that dynamic began to change, due to how the t1 votes affected everything, Fuuta becoming more reclusive and eventually due to the attack way too occupied with everything he had to deal with for his own survival. While Muu meanwhile literally just went on and asserted her dominance you could say.

So with the t2 votes flipping that right on the head I think we might see that get turned over. Fuuta got time to heal, no more mental torment and he will be more "available" in a sense, to care about what happens around him. Fuuta is at his core way too much of a softie to let things go unnoticed, esp if it concerns someone he has shown care for. And I think the situation that will occur with Haruka might push some buttons for him, because I think Fuuta would be very pressed to not see another person commit suicide if he can prevent it. So as the person besides Muu who has the most ties to Haruka I think he will be the most likely to notice something and step in.

Another factor in this is Shidou. With his proclamation that he will not let anyone in the prison die if he gets forgiven we can say we have a sort of safety net in that regard, because if Haruka should get as far as to inflict any sort of injury on himself we have Shidou to provide first aid. 

Well, at least if Amane gets another guilty vote as to not obstruct Shidou in giving any medical care, but we have to see how that turns out.

Worst case, attempt during the VD

This is just a very big "what if", but the slight possibility that Haruka would attempt to take his life during his next voice drama could be there. Because it's such a big plot point, I doubt they would just let that happen off screen, if they really want to go through with it.

Of course this could tie in with some of the before mentioned options, him failing due to various reasons. I think that could be the most likely course for that route. Especially with the "head banging against wall", maybe to get stopped by that barrier.

People before brought up the idea of him biting off his tongue, but I don't think that will happen, because again, Haruka's knowledge about killing methods is very limited, he wouldn't have a clue that this can be fatal.

Another thing that got brought up was "what if you can extract songs from a (fresh) corpse?"

This is also something I do not see happening, because what use would it have to judge a dead person? It would pretty much defeat the purpose.

And with that we are through. My reasons to believe that Haruka (and everyone else for that matter) will make it to the finale of Milgram, whatever that may be at the end. I don't doubt some form of execution will await there for prisoners who get voted guilty in the last trial. But we will see.

As always, thanks for listening to my rambles, and I hope that helped some of you to put your minds at ease a bit about our blue boy.

(Because man, even with that I worry about him every day, let me tell you.)

[plasmamembranes]

I’m sorry but I’m obsessed. The girls need details! When did you match? Who messagesd first? You’re setting up a study date for this weekend to proofread each others papers as an excuse to talk to her in person, right?

tuesday, and i messaged first c: and we just found out all the video games we have in common, including shitty multiplayers like overwatch and lethal company, so we're setting up a time this weekend to play together over discord :') i'm so nervous and my shitty self-esteem has been kicking my ass today but i'm trying to ignore it bc it would be dumb to let it affect things

[residentsofhollowville]

Statement of Cerise Holloway, regarding the origin of Hollowville as it connects to her personal history.

Statement begins. 

I admit, I respect your audacity. Few of Jonah Magnus’ cronies would dare to try and pry a statement out of me. You are brave, revelation. Brave and stupid. 

But still, you were the only one with the audacity to try and shake us out of a rotten order. So, out of respect, I will give you my statement. Whether or not you leave this place alive once the statement is finished is an entirely different matter, but I’ll let your Eye have its sustenance. Courtesy demands it, and it’s the least I can do. 

Tell me, how familiar are you with chicken pox parties? I doubt they have such things where you come from, but everyone here is familiar with chicken pox. It’s a nasty little blight, but rarely lethal, and there’s only a handful of strains of it out in the world. So, once you’ve caught one, you’re immune to it for the rest of your life.

Back when I was a youth, when somebody’s child caught chicken pox, mothers would send their children over to their house and throw a party. To inoculate them, they said. Cause them pain now, in a controlled environment, to prevent them further pain later. 

A barbaric practice, of course, and no longer used. Now, we have vaccines and medication and such, but back in my day, there was only the sickness.

I suppose Hollowville was…something of a massive, dangerous chicken pox party. My husband was already a deathly ill man when he came here. The Corruption had long had its claws in his family, but he was a special case. He believed that, by subjecting an entire town to the influence of the fears, they could be dissipated, as it were, dispersed among so many that their power would no longer be relevant. Cause a small group grave pain now to prevent the damnation of the world later. A kind thought, but dearly misguided.

I was the first that he brought into this little experiment, a young, pretty, and lethally stupid little wannabe Southern belle. He made me his wife, and at the time, I was grateful, but one must forgive a young woman for her curiosities.

There was a man that rolled into town, weeks later. John Robertson. Is that name familiar, Amelie? He was the grandfather of the hunter that tried to rip off your hand. Ah, I can see that you remember it well. He was beautiful then, just as I was. Healthy and handsome and so full of pride.

We carried on an affair for a margin of some years before we were eventually discovered and the debt collector hauled him away. Past that point, I began to spiral. I was never a…stable woman mentally. I’d had a storied life before my marriage, and an equally trying one during it. Balancing my husband’s illness with my own increasing anger and fear was no easy task, but John made it manageable. With him gone, I was desperate for connection, and the Father provided it.

Yes, the Father, the very same one you killed. He’s jumped bodies many times over the centuries, but the role he plays remains the same, just as all of ours do. I must commend you for finally taking him from this world. You’ve done what I never dared to, and for that, I thank you, revelation.

But personal feelings aside, this is how it went. His sexton, Mort’s great-grandfather, called on me in the dead of night and told me that the Father requested a meeting at the church after dark. Some sort of special initiation. And I was lonely and bored and desperate for the company of someone besides my ailing husband, so, I agreed. 

There is another player in this story that I must introduce, before I tell you what happened that night, and their name was Trinidad. You may have heard the name somewhere. If you can’t recall where, let me inform you. They are Judas and Jack’s great-great-grandfather. Or possibly their great-great-grandmother, I could never tell which. But regardless of how they might’ve identified themself in today’s terms, they saved my life, and for that, I’m grateful. 

When I visited the church that night, everyone in town was there, all in masks. There are only a few whose visages I distinctly remember. Trinidad was there, dressed as a fox. Mortimer was in a mask that resembled some sort of large bird. And of course, the Father himself was there, in a woven cloth mask that blacked out all his features. He looked like something out of a child’s nightmare.

I admit, I was scared, but after a few stiff drinks of communion wine, my worries melted away in the din. Everyone seemed so gentle and sweet. But seeming is not being.

I should have known better.

As the hour approached midnight and the moon began to rise, the crowd began to push me towards the altar. I struggled, of course, but struggling against the pull of a thousand hands quickly becomes useless. I heard the Father chanting something in a language I couldn’t understand, and then he spoke to me directly.

He told me, “When your time comes, Cerise, you will ascend to rule the night. You will become queen of this place, and purge the world of the wicked light in our Lord’s name.”

I still don’t know how he knew my name. I never told him.

I screamed, but the darkness stopped my mouth. I could feel it spreading through my body, my blood. I tried to run, but its pull was too strong.

If not for Trinidad, I would have died that night. I suppose that a part of me did.

They threw their mask off and held up their hand, and the room exploded with light. There was – something in it, there must’ve been, but I couldn’t see through that blinding haze. The Father screamed, the churchgoers scattered, and above it all, I heard this unloved transient who’d barely said ten words to me in their entire life shouting;

“Correr! Tienes que correr!”

Run.You have to run. 

I ran through the churchyard, out the graveyard doors and into the main road. I nearly made it across before I blacked out.

When I woke again, I was in the hospital. The doctors told me my condition had worsened dramatically, and that I wouldn’t live long. I knew what I had to do, and I did it.

I don’t regret it, although I’m sure I should. I’d gladly accept the gravekeeper’s particular brand of mercy by now, if I weren’t still terrified to the marrow in my bones of death.

But I’m sure I sound ridiculous to you. Just an old woman, rambling about people who’ve long died. A corpse that refuses to rot.

Go, then. Take your statements and your gifts and get out of this town. I know you won’t listen to me, any more than you’ve listened to any others who’ve told you in the past, but I’m telling you now, as the source of its infection, that this town is sick. Hollowville is a sick place. And if you stay any longer, I’ll be forced to inoculate you too.

[keefwho]

August 10 - 2024 Saturday

12:29am

5/10

Today was a little hard but I stayed focused. I made sure to be aware of my insecurities and used that to my advantage. The biggest thing I did today was mostly finish the world I've been making for book club. I learned how to sync toggles, even for late joiners which was a big deal for me. I think I've put together a fine little piece of work that will be very useful to us. I tried chilling in BR's server for most of it but it was mostly quiet and I didn't really fit in to what they were doing, which was pre-building houses to play on a minecraft server to be opened soon.

I called my mom today and asked for her view of the timeline regarding my parent's divorce and what I was like through the custody process. I also called my dad and asked him. What I got was a lot of trustworthy information from mom but my dad portrayed himself as the good one. He more or less told me everything was great when I was with him and shit talk my mom a little bit. But I saw right through it. I hope to talk again with him in the future and see if he can end up admitting his wrongdoing.

This evening I was trying to find people to hang out with. I started with EN since she was in some dance/dj event. I tried joining on ChengaHusky for the first time but I wasn't in the headspace or drunk enough to actually approach him and introduce myself so I left. I joined DV playing the new Jetski racing world and thats mostly what I stuck with for the night. It turned out to be surprisingly fun. We took a small break so I could show him the book club work and get his feedback, then we played some more until my dinner was ready and I left to go eat. I got back on in desktop to join EN again since I told her I wanted to play her in shotgun roulette. We did and we wagered a VR bj, and I won so I got that in my queue now. Then I hopped off and joined BR and friends in the server again. That was really fun, we watched an episode of Summer Camp Island and she convinced me to play Lethal Company which was fun. It was a good night.

I have a decent little bit to talk with my therapist tomorrow. Today's emphasis was autonomy/independence, largely because of the last time I went through this and realizations I made. I refuse to keep making the same mistake and continuing my dysfunctional cycle. I've been facing myself and my reality today and it payed off. I hope to keep a firm grip on my autonomy and self worth going forward.

[sdyuteiaok]

Ah, had a really cool trophy deck today (like clockwork, I trophy once ever row of three games on my untapped screen), featuring two of the Magnifying Glass-fetching sphinges! I just barely managed to pick up a Magnifying glass in my penultimate pick to support my 4/3s, and I ended up fetching it up quite regularly. A couple of times nothing happened cuz I already had it in play (from an earlier Sphinx or just casting it) or my 1/2 Husher turned off the ETB, but it was pretty reliable. I only ever made one clue across my entire run, drawing one card, but it enabled my 3/3 Detective token to attack unblocked thanks to my UW signpost Homunculus. But the stars of the show were my 4/2 exiler Angel, which, thanks to a Magnifying Glass's mana (a mode I'd completely forgotten about--it's a mana rock!) I was able to Plague Wind four of my opponent's five creatures. And then I also got to play with that super sweet Fact or Fiction mythic--the first time I cast it I went with the fabled 5/0 split--so I could either draw 5 or get a flash flying 5/5 for lethal. My opponent gave me the 5/5 and scooped. So we had a ton of punch in the air, though I did tend to play the Angel pretty conservatively, never using it until I could get a drop on at least one creature, but meanwhile my Sphinges and pumped Detectives on the ground kept the heat off of my morph so I could time it perfectly. I almost swept, but I lost one match to an absolutely relentless opponent, and he pulled ahead just enough that I couldn't catch up. But definitely chasing that perfect run now. But my trophy winning play was casting the Collected Company morph card off the splash. I had the Evolving Wilds to fetch one forest, but also the rainbow tapland, which I hold is a solid one-of. Yes, it can trip you up every now and then, but generally I've found it to be just fine, and an incredible relief when splashing, without ruining your main colors. Plus with a Magnifying glass and a bunch of random Thopters, there were artifacts to tap over lands. I thought about playing the GW Oblivion Ring mana ramper, but decided to play it minimal with my splash so I would minimize and mana hiccoughs. Only a couple times did we have dicey mana, but generally everything flowed. I had a tricky pick between the 1/4 untapper and a 1U morph bouncer, but went with the ramper, which helped us hit Sphinx mana reliably, not to mention helped juice the pricey Angel morph cost, and help trigger our Thopter-maker upon evidence. So a bunch of neat little synergies, and a lot of raw power. And this run kinda and the previous one have rekindled my appreciation of this format. I know it's not terribly popular, but I'm enjoying it quite reliably. It's too bad it's almost over already, it feels like we just got here, and since they're not putting in all the special guests and stuff into prize packs, it's going to be a slog to collect the ones I haven't been able to scoop up in draft. I had a couple shots at Fabricate, but there's always something more important to pick. I did grab a Field of the Dead, though. I'm hoping for Drown in the Loch, though, as that one looks pretty sweet, and it's a card I actually use. It's pretty lowdown that they make them mythic and then don't even let them into store packs. Arena could be so great if they weren't so stingy and punishing. Just make it irresistible and make a buck from a billion players rather than keep trying to harvest $100 from 100,000 players. Arena could be so much better.

[blueempty]

We managed to dodge the rain twice today

I haven't been inside a movie theater since the first Sonic movie came out, but I ended up inside one once again because my partner is a Godzilla enjoyer and Minus One is playing near us

That movie was the opposite of 2014 Godzilla in that it's almost all human stuff but it's really enjoyable to watch. It wasn't perfect for me all the way through, but the lead actor Kamiki Ryunosuke is really incredible through the whole thing, and the few times Godzilla himself is on screen he's doing sick Godzilla shit so my partner was happy. My only issues with it were minor little plot things but overall is a powerful filem about survivor's guilt that succeeds at conveying Godzilla's anti-war message by having the movie take place in like 1943-1946. It was more emotionally impactful than Shin, but Shin had more explosions so who knows which one is technically better

Thats kinda all we did today because the friend who's visiting and my brother have been asleep for two days

Oh Lethal Company got a patch too and they added spray paint I gotta go check that out. I'll resume night pics soon too this past week was just like, fuck. But if my christmas bonus this year A) exists, and B) is more than $300 I'm buying an OLED Switch cuz I think mine is on its last legs. When we play Mario Kart it loads like a full minute slower than everyone elses during wireless play lol

Peace and Long Life

[criticalbennifer]

How Jennifer Lopez Found Happily Ever After

By: Rob Haskell

November 8, 2022

On a disquietingly hot and windy October day at the outer edges of the San Fer­nando Valley, Jennifer Lopez—who has never been accused of lacking ambition—is saving the world. Not this world, though it surely also needs saving, but an imagined dystopia some century ahead in which robots, according to their frustrating custom, threaten the human race.

“To me, it’s a love story,” says Lopez, and she laughs.

She laughs because of course she would see it thus, because love is her big project in this world, her messy, public, decades-long, sometimes glamorous, sometimes treacherous, often thwarted project, the lens that when it comes down over her eyes can’t help but turn everything as pink as the six-carat diamond with which Ben Affleck proposed to her the first time, in 2002. But Atlas—the movie she is shooting today, part of a new deal between her film company, Nuyorican Productions, and Netflix—isn’t most people’s idea of a love story. In fact, it’s a straight-up sci-fi action thriller, in which Lopez plays a military intelligence analyst assigned to reconfigure a potentially lethal form of artificial intelligence. Though the costumery is more Mad Max than Wedding Planner, scholars of the Jennifer Lopez catalog will find in Atlas’s protagonist a familiar character: the headstrong careerist with little time for life’s mushier feelings until the right man (or droid) comes along.

“Closed off. Totally obsessed with her work. Dealing with a lot of pain and sadness from her childhood,” Lopez continues, making an explicit allusion to the porousness that has characterized the relationship between her life and her art over the last three decades. “She has to learn how to let him in so that they can be stronger together.”

We are sitting between takes in her tent on the soundstage, where great efforts have been made to create an oasis on a hectic, buzzing set. Her favorite candle flickers on a cream-colored faux-shagreen desk, and a black Hermès blanket is draped over the massage table. In the little living room, a marble chess set rests on a marble coffee table, and above it hangs a green neon sign whose soft cursive reads “Mrs. Affleck.” It was a gift from the crew.

Lopez, her hair matted, her neck and temple caked with fake blood, is surprised to learn that a few days after her marriage this July, The New York Times published an opinion piece expressing disappointment that at a moment when feminist ideals felt imperiled in America, Lopez had taken her husband’s name. (She shared this news, along with a few photos of the family jaunt to Vegas, in her free, subscription-based “On the JLo” newsletter, where her biggest fans get a not overly filtered but nevertheless highly curated monthly update about her life.)

“What? Really?” she asks. “People are still going to call me Jennifer Lopez. But my legal name will be Mrs. Affleck because we’re joined together. We’re husband and wife. I’m proud of that. I don’t think that’s a problem.” You mean there’s no part of you that might want Ben to be Mr. Lopez? She laughs. “No! It’s not traditional. It doesn’t have any romance to it. It feels like it’s a power move, you know what I mean? I’m very much in control of my own life and destiny and feel empowered as a woman and as a person. I can understand that people have their feelings about it, and that’s okay, too. But if you want to know how I feel about it, I just feel like it’s romantic. It still carries tradition and romance to me, and maybe I’m just that kind of girl.”

That Lopez has pursued love across four marriages, two broken engagements, and assorted misbegotten alliances over 25 years should be news to almost no one. Neither is the fact that her great romantic experiment has coincided with a relentless professional momentum, an enormously productive and still expanding career (more than 30 movies, eight studio albums, a dizzying array of branding endeavors), and now, at the age of 53, an untouchable aura that somehow contains glamour, grit, and goodness all at once. While it sometimes seems as if Beyoncé might live on a small, satin-upholstered space station, Lopez, despite her aura, has remained accessible, real, gears exposed, Jenny from the block and all that. Though she possesses an unusually deft touch with the press, dusting the trail with crumbs and remaining an object of extreme media fascination for a quarter century, Lopez has also built more walls around her over the years.

“In the beginning I was of the mind that I could say or do anything,” she recalls. “I was from the Bronx, and who didn’t say what they thought there?” Her early relationship with Affleck offered a cruel lesson, as the tabloid press denigrated her with racist and classist dog whistles; South Park parodied her viciously, and Conan O’Brien told his audience that the show’s “cleaning lady” would be playing Lopez in a sketch. “We were so young and so in love at that time, really very carefree, with no kids, no attachments. And we were just living our lives, being happy and out there. It didn’t feel like we needed to hide from anybody or be real discreet. We were just living out loud, and it turned out to really bite us. There was a lot underneath the surface there, people not wanting us to be together, people thinking I wasn’t the right person for him.” Over the ensuing years Lopez has seemed to gather a force field around her, as if weaponized against derisive scrutiny. “I became very guarded because I realized that they will fillet you. I really wish I could say more. I used to be like that. I am like that. But I’ve also learned.”

Lopez would like especially to say more about the journey back to Ben Affleck, which, really, has been a journey of self-discovery that began around 12 years ago, when she was newly separated from the singer-actor Marc Anthony and suddenly a single mother of twin babies. It was the professional and emotional low point of her career: A couple of albums had sputtered, and she no longer seemed to be getting the movie offers that had flowed in in previous years. Financially strained and somewhat aimless, in 2011 she accepted a job as a judge on American Idol, which, to her great surprise, reinvigorated her career. It turned out that the human touch was what her audience, and the industry, needed from her.

“It was like, Oh! That’s all I had to do this whole time was be myself? Although it was a competition, it was a reality show,” she explains, “and I had never done one. Up until then we only had what the media was telling you about me. I loved meeting the kids because I so identified with their dreams—I just loved it. There were a lot of things that people saw through that show, but more than anything I think they saw my heart, that I was a cool, funny person, that I was a nice person. No matter how many awards shows you do or late-night talk show couches you sit on, people feel like you’re putting something on. With a reality show, you can’t hide behind a script or a four-minute interview. You’re out there.”

At the same time, Lopez was privately beginning a process of self-reflection and self-improvement that emanated from the experience of motherhood. Motifs had emerged in her unsuccessful romantic relationships, which she felt ready to disrupt. “I just didn’t understand what it was to care for myself, to not put somebody else’s feelings and needs—and your need for them to love you—in front of taking care of yourself,” she says. “You turn yourself into a pretzel for people and think that that’s a noble thing, to put yourself second. And it’s not. Those patterns become deep patterns that you carry with you, and then at a certain point you go, Wait, this doesn’t feel good. Why am I never happy? I really felt that way for a long time. And finally I was just like, Ugh! It’s time to figure me out because I need to be good for these babies. And even from there, with all the willingness I had, it took years and years to really put the pieces together, like, Oh, this thing I do because of this, that thing I do because that happened to me at this age.”

Lopez grew up in the Castle Hill neighborhood of the Bronx, in what she describes as a typical working-class Puerto Rican household. Though her background has been overmined for clues to future greatness—the strict upbringing, church every Sunday, early exposure by her mother to musicals, an impressive high school athletic career—two details stand out. Guadalupe Rodríguez was a young mother, fun and performative but tough as nails and sometimes overwhelmed with her three daughters, not above resorting to corporal punishment with them, which Jennifer has tried to understand as the custom of the time and place. “We respected her, but we also feared her,” she recalls. “She did what she needed to keep us in line.” And David Lopez, her father, worked nights and wasn’t always available to his family. When they divorced, after 33 years of marriage, Jennifer recalls, it came as a shock, though perhaps it shouldn’t have.

Over the course of our discussions, Lopez alludes to encounters with self-help texts, meditation, psychotherapy, psychiatry, and life coaching. She appears to have attacked the project of working through her childhood trauma, and its present-​day reverberations in the form of unhealthy attachments, with the same intensity she has brought to her career pursuits. “My parents taught me the value of hard work and the importance of being a good person,” she explains. “But the combination of them was what I’ve had to figure out. It shaped what I liked as far as my personal life was concerned. Without infringing on their privacy, that was it: Who your mom is and who your dad is and how they love you and teach you to love become the positive and negative patterns that you have to overcome in life.”

Lopez and I meet for breakfast at the Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel, at a table in the very back of the garden, in front of which a large potted privet creates the safety of vagueness. The restaurant is a sort of default meeting place for the residents of high-hedged neighboring enclaves such as Bel Air and Holmby Hills, and she arrives without security. Privacy is important to her, but it’s also important that people understand that she is not asking for anyone’s sympathy for the tariffs of fame. “The other day,” she recalls, “one of my kids said, ‘I want to go to the flea market.’ I was like, ‘Oh, you want me and Ben to come?’ They said, ‘You know, it’s such a thing when you go, Mom.’ It hurt my feelings. I get it. They want time with their friends when they aren’t being watched and followed and photographed. It’s a thing. Nobody’s complaining, but it’s a thing.”

She eats a bowl of oatmeal with cinnamon and sugar, a popular Puerto Rican breakfast, as her mother made it, and drinks a decaf cappuccino (she gave up caffeine years ago). She wears a black denim jacket with the collar turned up, her hair is pulled into a tight bun, her skin is preternaturally youthful—​perhaps the twin effect of DNA and the olive oil–rich tinctures in her JLo Beauty line. (To answer a question that many people asked me after we met, yes. She is absolutely as beautiful in person.)

“I’m not one of these tortured artists,” Lopez says. “Yes, I’ve lived with tremendous sadness, like anybody else, many, many times in my life, and pain. But when I make my best music or my best art is when I’m happy and full and feel lots of love.” Such was the mood that surrounded the writing and recording of her forthcoming album, which will be her first in nearly a decade. I’m not allowed to reveal the title, but suffice it to say that it serves as a kind of bookend to This Is Me…Then, the album she released 20 years ago in the heady early days of her relationship with Affleck.

Lopez’s longtime manager, Benny Medina, told me that Lopez has a way of falling in love with whatever she is immersed in at the moment. While she has several films out in the coming months, including the rom-com-with-a-twist Shotgun Wedding this winter and The Mother, in which she stars as an ex-assassin, in the middle of next year, it is this album that pulls Lopez’s enthusiasm at the moment. She says that it will be the most honest work she has ever done, “kind of a culmination of who I am as a person and an artist. People think they know things about what happened to me along the way, the men I was with—but they really have no idea, and a lot of times they get it so wrong. There’s a part of me that was hiding a side of myself from everyone. And I feel like I’m at a place in my life, finally, where I have something to say about it.” She lends me her AirPods so that I can listen to a few rough cuts from the record. There are plaintive, confessional songs, reflections on the trials of her past, upbeat jams celebrating love and sex. As I’m listening, I notice that she has closed her eyes, and she is dancing in her chair and singing along to her own voice. For a moment it occurs to me that she might be treating me to a little performance, but no, she is just so into it.

You might say that Lopez has been in a kind zone since 2019–2020, the period that she regards as her career’s peak so far. She delivered a critically heralded performance in Hustlers, her most successful movie to date; she completed a 38-show, international concert tour, also her most successful to date; she walked the runway for Versace in a reincarnation of her iconic green jungle-print Grammys dress on the occasion of its 20th anniversary (and held her own, she thought, in a sea of 19-year-old models); she co-headlined the Super Bowl halftime show; and she turned 50. “It was like, fashion! movies! music! It was all coming together,” she recalls. She also felt emboldened to take a public political stand, adding a segment to her Super Bowl set in which Latinx children, among them her own child, Emme, sang her hit “Let’s Get Loud” from inside cages—a rebuke against the Trump administration’s injustices at the border. According to Lopez, the NFL initially wanted to cut the act from her program, but she held firm.

“Early in my career people would ask about politics, but I always felt like people didn’t really want to hear from an actor or somebody who sang pop songs,” she remembers. “Like a shut-up-and-dance kind of situation. I didn’t have the confidence, and I didn’t want to make a mistake. But you get to a point in your life where you realize, if something’s wrong, you say it. If you’re not doing something about it then you’re kind of complicit. Whether it was kids in cages, or kids getting shot in the street by police—all these things where it was just like, What the hell is going on around here? When did we lose our way? There were so many awful, ugly attitudes coming to light. It was really sad because it didn’t need to be political. It was about being a good person, loving your neighbor, all the things that people say they stand for but then they don’t practice because somebody’s not the same as them or somebody has a different sexual orientation or gender identity or a different race. It’s like, Really? You can’t just do you? You can’t just be you and be happy and let somebody else be happy too?”

She says the Affleck-Lopez home in Los Angeles is a place where this newly blended family (her 14-year-old twins, his three children from his marriage to Jennifer Garner, ranging in age from 10 to 17) is passionate and vocal about a range of political and social issues. “This generation is beautifully aware and involved and brave,” she says, “and they will call bullshit on stuff really quick. I want my kids to stand up for themselves and the things they care about. I want all the little girls in the world to get loud. Get loud! Say it when it’s wrong. Don’t be afraid. I was afraid for a long time: afraid to not get the job, to piss people off, afraid that people wouldn’t like me. No.”

Lopez’s intimates know that she has always held a candle for Affleck. Shortly after she and the retired baseball great Alex Rodriguez called off their engagement in early 2021, she got an email from the actor-director, who had just come out of a relationship with the actress Ana de Armas. A magazine had asked Affleck for a comment about Lopez, and he wanted her to know that he had provided a rave. They kept talking. They started visiting each other at home. “Obviously we weren’t trying to go out in public,” she explains. “But I never shied away from the fact that for me, I always felt like there was a real love there, a true love there. People in my life know that he was a very, very special person in my life. When we reconnected, those feelings for me were still very real.”

She says that she and Affleck are as stunned as anyone else to have managed to recapture an early, important love, and the fairy-tale ending-ness of it all continues to amuse them. (This is not to say that she is rolling her eyes. Lopez believes in the fairy tale. A plaque displayed at their wedding, held at Affleck’s home in Savannah, Georgia, this August, a month after they were legally married, read, Love always hopes and always perseveres.) “I don’t know that I recommend this for everybody,” she says. “Sometimes you outgrow each other, or you just grow differently. The two of us, we lost each other and found each other. Not to discredit anything in between that happened, because all those things were real too. All we’ve ever wanted was to kind of come to a place of peace in our lives where we really felt that type of love that you feel when you’re very young and wonder if you can have that again. Does it exist? Is it real? All those questions that I think everyone has. You go through all these relationships, and you’re searching and you’re connecting and you’re disconnecting with people, and you’re like, God, is this just what life is? Like a carousel, roller coaster, carnival ride? And then it settles. But the journey to that is the mystery for everybody.”

Though she did not use this word, my sense is that Lopez and Affleck are both in a kind of recovery, in their separate ways. Affleck has struggled with alcoholism for more than 20 years and more recently worked hard toward building a lasting sobriety. If Lopez has had a parallel compulsion, it is in the domain of love, and she has done her work, too. “I have to forgive myself for the things that I did that I’m not proud of, the choices that I made that worked against me,” she explains. “Self-love is really about boundaries. Learning what you’re comfortable with and putting up the boundaries, not being afraid of the consequences. Knowing that in taking care of yourself, everything will turn out okay, that people will treat you the way you want to be treated and your life will feel good to you. For a long time, I was just like, Yes, do whatever you want! I can take it, I’ll be here, because I’m really strong, and I’ll be fine. Little by little it chips away at your self-worth, your self-esteem, your soul.”

The couple has brought a lot of thought to the project of integrating their households, and they are learning about parenting from each other. Affleck’s ex-wife is, Lopez says, “an amazing co-parent, and they work really well together.” Lopez does not have the benefit of such a relationship with her ex-husband, who lives on the East Coast. “The transition is a process that needs to be handled with so much care,” she says. “They have so many feelings. They’re teens. But it’s going really well so far. What I hope to cultivate with our family is that his kids have a new ally in me and my kids have a new ally in him, someone who really loves and cares about them but can have a different perspective and help me see things that I can’t see with my kids because I’m so emotionally tied up.”

Of course, Lopez is raising children with a great deal more privilege than she enjoyed at their age, and she hopes that her own model for hard work goes some way toward keeping them grounded. “It’s hard, in its own way, when you don’t have to fight for things, because then you don’t learn how to be a fighter,” she says, boxing at the air with her fists. “I had to learn how to be a fighter. I wanted to give them a life that I didn’t have, but they don’t get to have the experience of something that is also helpful, which is developing that survivalist mentality.” She has made a point of stepping out of her mother’s shadow as a parent, trying not to raise her voice, keeping her temper, not matching her children when they rev up. “I really wanted to find a better way than having to put the fear in them. It’s like, I can hold a boundary with you but also be your ally. That’s the balance, where they respect you enough because you act in a way that they can look up to. It’s what I feel like I want to do because when I was young that wasn’t what it was.”

And yet Guadalupe Rodríguez worked hard to teach her daughters to be good as well as great. It’s a lesson Lopez is keen to pass on. “I’ll stress to them, like, I want you to do well in school,” she adds (her twins started high school this fall), “and then my son always finishes the sentence. He goes, ‘But you care more that we’re good people.’ I say, ‘That’s right. I do.’ The beauty of being a parent is that you think you’re going to teach them all these things, and you do. You pass on all the things that you know, all the knowledge you have. But at the end of the day they wind up teaching you so much and reminding you of the things you need to know about life and how to love somebody and how to care for people, that in your 20s and 30s, as you’re doing your own thing, you can lose sight of. We get so self-centered at certain points in our lives when we have our goals and our things.”

Affleck, for his part, is glad that his wife tolerates his singing in the shower. To him, the big draw all these years later was not the ways Lopez has changed but the ways she has not. “There is something innately, magically kind and good and full of love at the heart of who Jennifer is,” he explains. “That’s exactly the person I remember from 20 years ago. Maybe she sees all the changes she’s made, whereas when I see her, mostly I just see someone who has retained, against the odds, the thing about her that always made her the most incredible to me: a heart that seems boundless with love. She is my idea of the kind of person I want to be.”

Lopez has grand, multimedia plans for her current musical project. She wants to create a musical odyssey in the manner of Pink Floyd’s The Wall, she says—but with a message about hope and love. Perhaps the most poignant moment in Halftime, the documentary about her Super Bowl year released on Netflix last June, occurs when Lopez is reading out loud from an article about herself in Glamour. “It’s thrilling to see a criminally underrated performer”—here she pauses, and tears well in her eyes—“get her due from prestige film outlets.” In fact Lopez did not quite get her due, having been denied an Academy Award nomination, which some in the industry viewed as a snub. A Grammy continues to elude her, too. Despite her stardom, she has spent years fighting for credibility, and for all her artistic accomplishment, to some people she is, simply, Jennifer Lopez for a living. This hurts less than it once did.

“I’ve always felt like an outsider, in the fashion world, the music world, the movie world,” she explains. “I feel like everybody knows each other and all the artists talk, and you go to the Met ball and all the girls are hanging out together, and I’m not in that group. Maybe that’s just insecurity. It’s not because I’m antisocial or I don’t want to make friends. I’ve always been kind of a march-to-the-beat-of-my-own-drum, loner-type person. I’m like, I’ll just stay focused on my thing. I’ve always kind of felt like that. I still do. But I try! It used to be about the idea of validation in other people’s eyes. It really used to be. Because I wanted to be part of the club. But I don’t anymore. There’s something bigger that I’m after. It’s about touching people’s lives and being touched.”

Twenty years ago, in an era that has sometimes been referred to as Bennifer 1.0, Affleck gave Lopez the nickname “Little.” At six foot four, he is nearly a foot taller. When they reunited, he told her that he wasn’t sure if that old moniker still applied, that she seemed somehow too fully realized to be called “Little” even affectionately. But the pet name has returned, even as Lopez has come to seem like the dewy-skinned den mother of us all, a force for good on a sometimes dark planet. Growing up, getting there, has been her life’s work, on top of all that…work. “You come out the other side, and you’re better, you’re stronger, you’re good on your own,” she says. “But there’s a little piece of that former self that was totally open, innocent, and unafraid, that is gone. Sometimes I mourn that, because I’m such a romantic.” Her voice has softened to a whisper. “And because I loved that person so much.

“My whole life, my whole music career was just about love: every movie I picked, every album I made. Even though I’m super proud of who I am today, and I wouldn’t change a fucking thing—and I can finally say that, as a human being, as a woman, as a partner, as a wife, as a coworker, as a mother and stepmom—there’s just that little piece where you feel like, That old me? She was sweet.”

[andorerso]

secret love song

Princess of Lah'mu, Jyn Erso, is sick of pining after her royal bodyguard. So there's only one solution, really. Thrust into him into the arms of another.

(Certainly, she's had better ideas.)

“You should dance with her,” Jyn says when Cassian approaches her for the first time that evening. No doubt hoping to ask her for a dance instead.

Jyn knows that he doesn’t care much for this sort of dancing – he’s always preferred the lethal sort of two steel swords clashing together. But he’s polite enough to ask anyway, at every ball, without fail, for one dance. Only one because Cassian never wants more than what he can have and because Jyn always has someone else to dance with, some other aristocrat to entertain.

But it doesn’t matter; to Jyn, her one dance with Cassian is always the highlight of her night.

Now, she’s too frustrated—upset to dance with him. It’s better if she puts some distance between them. She thinks she’s going to embarrass herself if he comes too close.

“With who?” Cassian inquires, confusion written across his handsome face.

Jyn nods towards the lady, dressed in wine purple, brown hair elegantly twisted up in a bun, not unlike her own. She stands next to the grandiose fountain in the middle of the room, pretending to gossip and giggle with her friends, but Jyn sees her glancing at Cassian every couple of minutes like a moth drawn to a flame.

Helena Krennic is the daughter of Orson Krennic, who is co-owner of the Lah’mu Railways Company and founder of Krennic Bank, therefore a very important individual that she must impress – according to her royal advisor, at least. Helena herself is an accomplished pianist, an esteemed painter, an occasional poet, and an admirer of Cassian Andor, apparently.

Cassian swivels in the direction Jyn gestured towards, his frown deepening.

“Why?”

“Because she’s been looking at you all night,” Jyn answers, relieved to hear that her voice is not quite as bitter as she feared it would be. Yet, she can’t completely hide the contempt either.

“I haven’t noticed,” he says, and she knows he’s being honest. When it comes to battle, nothing escapes his attention, but with the ladies, he’s hopeless.

(Has he noticed that Jyn, too, has been looking at him since she was fifteen? No, he has not. Or perhaps he’d thought her crush childish. Perhaps he hadn’t realized that as she grew up, so did her feelings for him. She’s no longer a young girl admiring her older, braver, skillful royal bodyguard. She’s a woman who’s fallen in love with the forbidden fruit.)

She knows Helena isn’t to blame – Jyn has no claim on Cassian, who is a handsome young man, and whose noble job of protecting the princess made him even more appealing to certain people. Ladies have noticed him before. And while some find his background and lowborn status disagreeable, others deem it a testament of talent and ambition that he could rise as far as to be Jyn Erso’s royal bodyguard at such a young age. Rags to riches is an appealing fairytale. And Helena appears to be a fan of fairytales.

Jyn hates Helena for that. She hates herself for wanting Cassian, and she hates Cassian for being so damn wantable and for not wanting her back. Or if he does, for not showing it. Most of all, she hates the world they live in, and she hates the universe for making her a princess but making Cassian a nobody. It would be an impossible love affair.

“She’s the daughter of Orson Krennic,” Jyn pushes, metaphorically thrusting him into Helena’s arms because she finds it the most reasonable option – letting go of Cassian so he can belong to somebody else. Perhaps then she could learn to let go of her feelings as well.

There, have him, she imagines saying to Helena. The princess gives you her blessing. Have him, just don’t let me have him.

“You’re being impolite,” Jyn continues, throwing him a stern look. “Go and dance with her before she takes offense and tells her father that the princess employs a royal bodyguard with no manners. Queen’s orders.”

There’s a laugh in Cassian’s voice, only because he doesn’t quite realize the extent of her turmoil.

“You’re not queen yet,” he reminds her.

“But I am your boss,” she answers, leaving no room for argument. Cassian seems amused, not subdued, but he leaves as requested and asks Helena Krennic for a dance.

xxx

Jyn expected Cassian would dance with Helena once, maybe twice if she’s pushy, and then make his way back to her or blend into the background as he usually does at these gatherings. But he’s danced with her four times before retreating to a secluded corner, next to a painting of Jyn’s grandmother, where they stand even now. Conversing intimately with each other. Intimately, on Helena’s end, at least. Cassian’s expression is smooth, a mask, but Jyn has known him long enough to recognize that he is less than thrilled with the situation.

She’s watched them as she twirled on the dance floor, making polite conversation with men of power and great importance. She’s seen the way Helena pressed herself tightly against Cassian as they danced, and the way she played with her hair and leaned closer to whisper something to him as they talked. Jyn has sent him into the lion’s den, it seems, and Cassian could not find his way out.

So maybe she feels a bit guilty. Or angry. Or regretful, even. Whatever it is, between two dances with insufferable statesmen, Jyn makes her way over to the not so lovely couple and politely requests Cassian’s presence for a dance. Helena can’t say no even if she wants to. (And, no doubt, she wants to.)

Jyn knows it’s not exactly traditional for a woman to ask a man to dance, and she knows it will fuel gossip and scandalize the aristocracy, but she doesn’t care. She owes it Cassian to rescue him from Helena, and –

She changed her mind. She can’t let the other woman have him after all.

She pushed him towards Helena but she did it in anger, in desperation, in hopelessness. Seeing them together cleared up her mind. If she thought it would help her move on, she was sorely mistaken.

Cassian is relieved as he leads her to the dance floor but only Jyn sees the way his expression loosens. He doesn’t question her erratic behavior. Seconds pass in silence, Jyn trying to ignore how warm his hands are on her waist. How nice he smells. How right it feels to be held by him. How, if she squints, he almost looks like he wants her too.

She breaks the quiet when the song is nearing its end, knowing she’ll be soon swept away by someone else.

“Did you enjoy conversing with Lady Helena?”

There’s not much bite in her words anymore – Cassian’s embrace has mellowed her anger – but he still raises his eyebrows at her.

“I’d rather have conversed with two rabid dogs.”

Jyn’s snort is positively unladylike but his lips quirk at the sound. Her mood brightens.

“But you know this,” Cassian adds, dark eyes searching hers.

“Well, I just thought...” She shakes her head. The song comes to a halt but neither of them lets go. “I don’t know what I thought. But she’s very pretty, wouldn’t you say?”

“Jyn –”

Cassian is interrupted before he could say more and Jyn turns with a fake smile towards the newcomer – no other than Lord Krennic himself. Cassian bows, excusing himself, but Jyn feels his eyes lingering on her as he retreats into the shadows.

xxx

She doesn’t see him again until she’s back in her suite. Cassian waits for her in her sitting room, his cravat gone, his vest unbuttoned. Jyn felt dreadfully tired as she made her way up the stairs, her eyelids heavy, her feet aching – but now, seeing Cassian in front of her, she perks up. She could spare him another hour of conversation before retiring for the day. Especially since she’s barely seen him today at all.

“You’re in luck,” Jyn remarks as she plops down on a recliner opposite of him, hiking up her dress to remove her shoes. She massages her sore feet, wondering what it would take to convince Cassian to do it for her. Dancing all night really takes its toll on one’s legs – by the end of the night, she could barely stand.

“Lord Krennic doesn’t want a ‘strange figure like you’ around her only daughter. He’s tried to subtly persuade me to call you off, I think. As if you were my dog or something, can you believe it?” Jyn huffs, even though, yes, she can believe it, and so can Cassian. “In any case, I doubt Helena could pursue a relationship with you now. Even she has to realize that.”

Cassian scowls. He looks good like this, still in his fancy attire but comfortably messy instead of exceptionally neat. Jyn likes the way his shirt crumples up and the way his hair falls into his eyes. The way he leans back against the couch with leisure. He looks like Cassian now, not like one of the detestable dukes she’s had to endure this evening.

“Oh, don’t take offense,” she adds at his frown. “Krennic is a hateful man, he’s always been.”

Her blood had boiled at the way Krennic had spoken of Cassian – but she doesn’t want him to be upset now. Krennic doesn’t matter. Even the royal advisor doesn’t matter. She would always, always pick Cassian. (And if that makes her a terrible future queen… well. An issue for a different day.)

“I don’t care what Orson Krennic, or her daughter thinks of me,” Cassian says, his voice low. “I just don’t understand why we are talking about her again.”

She shrugs. “I thought you might want to know that she won’t be bothering you anymore.”

“I wasn’t very afraid of that.”

“Good then.” She nods, and they fall into a silence less comfortable than it usually is with Cassian. He seems calm as he observes her but Jyn feels her skin itch under his gaze. Does he see that when he looks at her? Can he sense her heart beating faster every time he’s in her vicinity? How much does he, her formidable royal bodyguard, truly notice?

“Jyn,” he drawls her name, a question in his voice. She looks up at him instinctively. “You’ve been acting strange.”

She swallows, trying to evade the question. “Have I?”

He nods. “Positively.”

“Strange how?”

“Strange about this Lady Helena business,” he says. He’s so calm, so in contrast with Jyn’s growing nerves. He’s figured her out. Hasn’t he? Of course he has. Cassian knows her too well. “If I had to take a guess, I’d say you were jealous of her.”

“I wasn’t,” she says – too fast. An amateur move. Is she trying to be caught? Part of her wouldn’t even be surprised. “Why would I be?”

A smile plays on his lips. Small but genuine. A far cry from his other smiles; polite, disarming, reassuring – all fake. She’s one of the few people who get to see his real smiles. She always feels pity for the rest of the world who will never know how beautiful it can truly be.

“I don’t understand why you should be either,” he says, rising from his place. Jyn remains seated, staring up at him as he walks closer. “You know I only have eyes for you.”

It’s not true, she’s never known – but he says it like a confession that she can’t misinterpret. It’s not a platonic statement, it’s not even because of his job as her royal bodyguard. It’s too… intimate for that. He means it the same way she only has eyes for him – exclusively, faithfully, admiringly.

Jyn’s heart stops for what feels like too long before it begins pounding in her chest. The shaky breath she lets out is audible in the quiet room, full of tenderness, longing and hope. She finally stands too, her aching feet forgotten.

“Do I?” she counters quietly, her eyes trained on his.

In a rare moment of vulnerability, Cassian allows his feelings to show on his face, allows her to read him like a book. What stands out most is devotion – so strong and absolute, it nearly knocks her off her feet.

“I hoped you did,” he says, his voice honest and gentle.

“I didn’t,” she answers but her lips curve up.

“My mistake. I shall make it clear from now.”

Cassian reaches up, so slow like he expects her to object, fingering the golden barrette in her hair. He hesitates for a moment before removing it, his thumb catching on her cheek. Her hair cascades down her shoulders, brown locks framing her face, Cassian combing through them with his fingers.

“I like your hair down,” he tells her. Such a simple thing to say, but Jyn can’t hold herself back anymore. She reaches up to kiss him, gasping into his mouth as his hand wraps around her waist. It’s a quick but intense thing, stealing the breath from her lungs, making her tremble in his arms.

She pulls away to look him in the eye, voice low and insistent.

“Tell me again that you want me. And don’t ever let me forget.”

[spunkpunx]

Are Friends Electric? (Alex Turner)

Multi Part Series

Part 1: Dreamy Days

Sheffield 2002

"Is that a fookin' United shirt?"

"Yeah, so what? It's not mine, you know I support Owls."

"Am honestly disappointed in you, consortin' with the enemy an' that," Alex shook his head, refusing to look at the offending football shirt that I'd been forced into wearing.

"It was in lost property, an' you know what the PE teachers are like, they threatened to suspend me, Mam would kill me if they did," I replied, rubbing her legs in an attempt to warm them.

"Only 'cause you've been suspended before."

"Yeah well I don't want to do it again, she'd have me bloody guts for garters," I told him. He rolled his eyes. We were sat on an old bench around the back of the school, dressed in PE kits and smoking B&H cigarettes I had stolen off my mother. My football shorts were no match for the harsh January weather, but I was wearing a parka, hence why Alex had only just noticed the Sheffield United t-shirt. We couldn't leave school grounds yet, because in order to get out from behind we'd would have to go past the French classroom, and as the bell hadn't yet gone, there would still be Miss Kelly and a class of year 7s ready to catch us out.

"I'm fookin' freezing," Alex whined, putting out his fag on the wall and dropping it onto the floor. "At least you've got that bloody big coat."

I sighed and flicked my cigarette butt onto the floor, stomping it out with the toe of my trainer. "If we go over the wall you know you have to give me a leg up," I explained bluntly. He nodded along almost eagerly, likely desperate to get out the cold and home as soon as possible.

"I don't mind Jack, I just wanna leave."

"Right then," I replied, standing up, picking up my bag and putting a foot into a crack in the stone, grabbing the top edge where my fingers could just about catch grip on the rough stone. Alex came up behind me and put his hands on my shin, and using his hands to push against, I pulled herself up. Unfortunately, my foot slipped, and I began to fall back down, but my fall was stopped by the feeling of hands holding me up. Alex's hands, on my bum.

I felt my ears burning red, but not willing to have to try again, I pulled herself up using my arms and jumped down the other side. As soon as my feet touched the ground I climbed on top of the large wheelie bin that sat against the wall and grabbed Alex's arm as he clambered over as well. He was a lot taller than me now, he'd grown in a way only 15 year old boys do, all long limbs and clumsiness. I'd barely even noticed him shoot up. I helped him over and we jumped into the street below.

"Um... I'm sorry that I touched your..." Alex stuttered slightly, his cheeks going uncharacteristically red. I cut him off.

"Al, it's fine."

"I mean I-"

"It's fine," I repeated, more firmly. He shrugged and pushed his hands into his pockets, beginning to walk down the alley toward the road. I followed him, jogging slightly to catch up with his long strides.

"Am gonna join a band you know," he told me as we turned the corner onto the street. I looked at him in surprise.

"A band? Who wiv?" I questioned, confused.

"Matt."

"Matt Helders or Matt Sheppard?"

"Matt Helders of course! Av'e never even spoke to Matt Sheppard why on earth would I be talking about 'im?"

"Well I dunno do I? I didn't even know Matt Helders played an instrument, he's not singing is he?" I queried, scuffing my shoes along the floor.

Alex shook his head slightly. "He plays drums, I'm the singer."

"But you play guitar?" I could sense my brain was really struggling to keep up.

"I can do both, like Bowie."

"Don't compare yourself t'Bowie unless you go to your gigs dressed in a catsuit an' heels an' bat away crowds of lads and lasses who want to sleep with ya."

"I'm not against the crowds of lasses, but I don't think I could commit to the rest," he laughed cheekily. I gave him a playful punch in the shoulder.

"You're full of shit, you are," I grinned, as he rubbed his arm over-dramatically. Cars whizzed past as we reached the main road. Cars that caused slight rushes of air as the pair of us continued to walk, that's how close they drove past the pavement.  "Mine or yours?" I asked him.

"Yours, yer mam won't be back from work yet."

"Fairs."

A silence lulled in the conversation as we continued to walk down the street, Alex was scuffing his trainers along the floor. It was annoying as fuck but I didn't say owt.

"Did you hear what Rory Pike did today at lunch?"

"No?"

"He got his cock out on the school field," Alex divulged me, a laugh spread across his face. I couldn't help but join in the joke.

"Rory Pike is a world class minger," I told him, and soon we were both in stitches, adding extra gross details to the story to the amusement of each other.

"Did Cook finally ask tha' girl out then?" I changed the subject, catching my breath back from my laughing fit.

"'Course not, he jibbed again, then Simmo asked her instead," Alex explained.

"Simmo? Did she say yes?"

"Why would she? She clearly fancies Jamie."

"He needs to get his act together and ask her."

Alex nodded, momentarily in thought. He then very suddenly turned around and gave me a playful shove.

"First one to yours!" he exclaimed, quickly speeding off around the corner.

"Bastard," I muttered, beginning to run after him. I sprinted to catch up, but the awkward coat prevented me from getting anywhere near the speed his long limbs could get him. He legged it off and I was forced to slow my pace back down to a walk. The boy was clearly going to win and I had the house key so he'd have to wait outside for me anyway. I decided to take me time knowing I'd probably bump into Alex around the corner when he came back to see where I was. He'd probably be a bit moody about it, telling me off for being a fun sponge, and I'd apologise insincerely and then he'd give me an awkward side hug and tell me he couldn't stay angry at me, there's no way I'd let him. Then we would probably walk back to mine and be done with the matter.

This wasn't the case. I got round the corner, then the one after that, and didn't see any sign of Alex. There was no way he would still be running, he was too lazy and he would look like an idiot, racing against no one. He was a dafty but not that much of one. I began to get confused after I rounded the third corner and there was still not a sign of him.

"Oi Jackie!" Alex exclaimed, grabbing my shoulders from behind. I yelped in surprise and he burst out laughing.

"Fook you Alex Turner," I scolded him. "How did ya even get behind me?" He said nothing, and just tapped his nose conspiratorially.

Sheffield 2003

He knew everything there was to know about Jackie. He knew her favourite colour (red),her middle name (Arabella), her handwriting and everything else in between. Alex had known this for ages, but it had never weighed on his mind as much as it had recently.

It was the way he'd seen her the other night. There was a small gaff at someone or another's and Alex had gone with the boys. Jackie had showed up a bit later, dressed very differently to how he normally saw her. She had a leopard print mini skirt on and a tight, cropped t-shirt, along with her trainers and Adidas jacket. Of course he noticed her, lighting one of her L&B blues and trying to smoke it subtly; she was the only one smoking.

He had gone over and said hello, and she'd grinned when she saw him, glad of some company, he expected. Some 90s rave hit was playing, and cheesy lights flashed across the room. Trying too hard, he thought. She picked a beer off the counter she was leaning on and gave it to him. A Corona, lukewarm but still alcohol.

"D'ya wanna come for a spliff?" she asked him, patting her pocket, and he said yes. Her top was very tight, although he tried not to look, but he saw her bra, visible through the fabric. They went outside onto some kind of shitty balcony. She got what looked to be a large gram of weed and some Rizlas out, making an L and then ripping open a cigarette to get the tobacco out, she carefully sprinkled in some of the spliff and rolled. Alex didn't say anything, he just watched as she deftly rolled the joint. She lit the end and took her time, sitting down on a breeze block. He found himself a seat on the step.

"So how's t'band going, Arctic Monkeys i'nt it?"

"There's a gig coming up, at The Grapes," Alex told her, proudly. In fact, he puffed up slightly with pride. Jackie had never really got involved with the band, she said it weren't her business, but Alex still felt remarkably pleased whenever she showed an interest, especially if they were doing well.

"D'ya want me to come?"

"'Course! I thought you already were."

"Yeah I just... weren't sure, that's all," Jackie responded, unusually quiet. She was acting off with him.

"Is summit up?" Alex asked. She shrugged, taking another drag on her spliff and then handing it to him. "Jack?" he prompted further.

"It's nothing Al, jus' summit stupid," she replied. Her fingers fiddled with the edge of her sleeve. He decided to leave it, pushing her wouldn't make her tell him, it would just annoy her. He took a toke of the joint and they sat in silence for a moment.

"Wanna find some White Lightning and get hammered?" she asked and Alex grinned.

"Are you sure? That stuffs pretty lethal."

"Well fook it all we're not going home tonight," she replied, laughing slightly. Alex nodded, smiling, then passed her the spliff back. It was a still and cold night. Jackie let the smoke seep out her mouth and inhaled it through her nose.

They finished the spliff and went back inside. Alex found the rest of his mates and together they all got steaming. Simmo was acting strangely all night. Then Jackie started acting strange too. She was all quiet and snappy.

"Why were you being such a mardy bum yesterday," he asked her the next day. They were lounging about on the sofa at his, nursing two horrible headaches. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Not now Alex, I'm too hungover for this," she answered, misery clear in her voice.

"Just tell me and I'll stop naggin'" he told her, shuffling a bit closer so she couldn't turn over and ignore him.

"Your mate Simmo," she replied simply.

"What'dya mean? Look, I know the joke was a bit insensitive but tha's just what 'e's like," Alex began to explain, for some reason unknown to him, in Simmo's defence.

"It's not tha' you bloody great nit, he kissed me."

Alex couldn't explain why that came like a twist in the gut, but it did nonetheless. It made him stumble for his words for a moment.

"Oh," was all he managed to get out. "Did you kiss him back?"

"Of course not, he's funny, but a bit gross," Jackie replied, pulling a face, and Alex laughed. A strange sense of relief was felt somewhere in his system, although nowhere near enough to dull the queasy thud of his hangover. "'Sides, Chris asked me out the other day."

"Who the fook is Chris?"

"Chris Maher, from the garage."

"Him? You've lost your mind Jackie, he works at fookin' MotorWorld."

"He's funny! And he knows loads about cars, plus he can drive," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms.

"Why does it matter 'e can drive?"

"So I can get places, obviously," she responded dryly.

"I've almost passed me test!"

"Al, you're not even close to passing, I spoke to yer Dad an' he says you drive like you're drunk. 'Sides, I wouldn't want to get on your nerves, always cadgin' a lift." she explained, to Alex's disappointment.

"I didn't expect your type to be a guy who walks around in trackies, how desperate are ya?" Alex jabbed, a little cruelly. Jackie shot him a scathing look.

"Alexander, what is up with you? You were fine last night, an' now you're acting like I'm makin' you suck bloody lemons," she reprimanded him. She was trying to draw him into an argument, he could tell. He wasn't about to start a fight.

"Oh, it duen't matter," he said offhandedly, hoping to diffuse the issue, which seemed to work.

"He's actually a really lovely guy," Jackie added after a long pause.

"Ay, I'm sure he is," Alex replied halfheartedly.

[haec-est-fides]

✨ Imperial Household Saturnalia Headcanons ✨

Welp, it’s the last day of Saturnalia today so I figured now or never on my hcs. Enjoy, and happy holidays -- whatever you celebrate!

Nero’s birthday is two days before Saturnalia starts, so his Household just kicks off the holiday early with a massive party.

The business-side of Triumvirate Holdings closes for the holidays the week Saturnalia starts and stays closed until after New Year’s, so the oblivious mortal employees just think that the company is really nice to give them so much (paid) time off.

Saturnalia is basically the one time every year that Nero will invite the other triumvirs and their Households to his tower in New York no strings attached.

Okay, one string attached: bring gifts!

Gifts are exchanged among the Households on the 23rd.

Regarding gifts, Nero gives his kids credit cards the week before Saturnalia and lets them go nuts. That said, they generally buy each other really dumb stuff -- lots of gag gifts and inside jokes.

All of the private / non-business floors of Nero’s tower are decked out beyond belief. There are fresh garlands and wreaths everywhere, with real gold and silver decorations. The entire place is lit with strands of white, gold, and purple lights.

Indoor trees are not a Roman tradition, they’re a Germanic one. Since the Germani definitely help decorate, that means they get a tree!

Saturnalia is one of the only times you’ll ever see the Germani genuinely smile or laugh btw.

Everyone wears garishly bright and colorful clothes and pileus hats are the norm. (Even Marcus dresses for the occasion. His siblings make him.)

Gambling is a traditional part of the festivities, but now this ranges from old Roman dice games to betting on modern board games and even video games. Everyone “gambles” candies, coins, and whatever else they happen to have in their pockets.

Still, this petty gaming can and has resulted in fights.

There’s a bit of rivalry between the Households, but all of the kids get along way better than the emperors do.

Many of the kids really look forward to celebrating Saturnalia in NYC because they rarely get to travel and see their “cousins”.

Some of the kids in Commodus’ and Caligula’s Households absolutely love Nero’s tower, but Nero’s Household are like “This is normal? That’s just an elevator?? Would you like to see the massive kitchen where we keep all of the snacks???”

All serious schemes and rivalries are converted into elaborate pranks during the week of Saturnalia. Nero’s kids have home field advantage, but the other Households adapt quickly.

As soon as everyone arrives in NYC and gets somewhat settled, the Households pick who gets to be the Saturnalicius princeps for the holiday (sort of like a Lord of Misrule).

The kids all bribe each other for “votes”, even though the winner is chosen by pulling a name from a hat. It still gets rigged because the kids will write other people’s names rather than their own. (Lucius hates being Saturnalicius princeps, so he’s easy to bribe.) The winner’s job is Chaos.

They used to choose by putting a coin in a cake, but the cakes got too elaborate and one of Nero’s kids (Livia, a daughter of Fortuna) kept finding the coin every year.

There’s a ridiculously extravagant dinner every night of Saturnalia, set out in the biggest ballroom in the tower to accommodate everyone. Dessert is served first.

A big part of Saturnalia is temporary “role reversals” -- which, in the ancient world, meant things like servants being served dinner by their masters. Surprisingly, Nero is pretty insistent on this dynamic shift, or at least on everyone being “equal” for the holiday. He thinks it’s funny. He’ll even “take orders” from some of the younger kids if it’s something small. (Don’t push it, though.)

All of the dryads and other servants in the Household(s) are, like the Imperial children, put on a level playing field with the emperor(s) for the week. While said dryads / servants are understandably more hesitant about it, a few of the kids (like Meg, Cassius, and Sabina) make the effort to be extra nice to them and include them in the festivities.

The week is taken off from all kinds of work, but there’s also no “justice” met out. This means that everyone can get away with a lot, but it doesn’t mean that the emperors (or even some of the kids) will forget. Everyone knows to watch their backs after Saturnalia if they did something really stupid.

Hm, some more character-specific holiday hcs…

Meg is a formidable pranking opponent and you do not want to get on her bad side. She and Luguselwa are masters of illusion and they use their secret alliance to their advantage. Meg also helps the dryads decorate their trees / plants, along with her younger siblings!

Cassius sticks by Meg a lot because he’s worried about getting pranked by the older kids. He’s also too sweet to want to prank anyone, so Meg tries to show him the ropes. Sabina and Livia have his back too, and they will hold grudges if anyone tries to cheat Cassius at any games.

Marcus gifts everyone cards with original mean / tacky poetry every year. He secretly loves Saturnalia, but he has to keep up his reputation as the edgy kid. He absolutely almost tears up when Aemillia gets him a new dagger and writes her own bad poem back at him. Vergil and the twins, Julius and Julia, also make sure to include Marcus in their various “poetry competitions” over the week, and he loves it.

Lucius tries really hard to relax, but he still ends up parenting everyone. If any of the kids have a problem, they know that Lucius will take it the most seriously and know how to fix it. Gnaeus, the Household’s “tech support” kid, can completely relate. The two spend a lot of time hanging out in one of their rooms, away from the chaos -- though they do come out of hiding to beat everyone at board games and win candy.

Aemillia tries to get all of her siblings (and most of her “cousins”) thoughtful gifts, so she definitely spends the most time gift shopping. She’s also the Dance Dance Revolution undefeated champion of the Household and will take on any physical challenge thrown at her even if she doesn’t care about the prize. Lucia and Marius are similar in that respect, and the three of them are known to have a serious (but fun) sibling rivalry.

As for the emperors…

Nero is generally content to step back and let chaos happen for a week. (Trust me, he needs the break.) However, he does carry a lyre / some other instrument with him at all times. He will jump at any chance to perform. He takes requests. (Everyone else either loves this or hates it. Some of the kids, like Sabina and Vergil, make genuine requests and that earns them major brownie points with Nero. Other kids will make joke requests just to annoy everyone else.)

Commodus doesn’t like being cooped up indoors, or the cold, so he spends a lot of time engaging in competitive activities to keep himself busy. He denies losing to any of the kids, but sometimes does. He organizes (non-lethal) war games and gladiator matches (because of course the tower has a floor for that). He thinks paintballing and laser tag are festive.

Caligula is extremely enthusiastic about Saturnalia, but he still manages to be terrifying. He goes all out with his outfits every single day. He also helps the kids set up pranks, basically playing all sides of the prank war -- and making said pranks at least 3 times more dangerous than they should be. Caligula is the most difficult triumvir to prank, because he’s so paranoid and knows every trick in the book, but some brave souls still make the attempt.

Now, almost all of the kids in Caligula’s Household are too scared to prank their emperor. Likewise, almost all of Nero’s kids are too scared to prank Nero. Commodus’ kids aren’t scared to prank anyone, but they’ve picked up on Commodus’ animosity with Nero. This means that A) if anyone pranks Caligula, it’s probably Nero’s kids, B) if anyone pranks Nero, it’s probably Commodus’ kids, and C) everyone pranks Commodus. (Sorry, Commodus.)

Io, Saturnalia, all! <3

[good-rwbyaus]

@little-voice-the-parasprite wrote:  ...now I want to hear Weiss’s tale on this. This is like a fanfiction idea in the making.

Like, one of thosw fanfiction ideas where the beginning was launched out of a cannon just a few degrees to the side as opposed to canon, and the differences greadually make themselves more and more blatant and glorious as the stories unfold.

// I got you! 8) - mod lilac

____

Perspective :: Weiss // Becoming  - [ main chapter ]

logo-comics asked: What about an AU where everyone had somehow been under the mistaken assumption that Ruby was a professor at Beacon? For a laugh, Ozpin rolls with it whenever he's asked about it.

Weiss remembered the brunette clad in red when she first arrived. At first, she thought the overly energetic girl was Ozpin’s kid. Free and expressive without any of the reverence a student should have for an esteemed Headmaster of a combat academy.

And then she heard the Headmaster say something very scary.

“Professor Rose.”

At first she couldn’t believe it. This Rose was younger than her and still had baby fat on her face, but as the Headmaster and Professor Rose spoke about the months prior to today, she became more and more astonished.

Cutting down a pack of Beowolves on her own.

Taking down a Boarbatusk with her bare hands.

Collaborating in a Hunters mission.

A normal student at a preparatory academy couldn’t do any of these things. Even students at combat academies didn’t start participating in missions until 2nd year, but this girl - probably not older than fourteen - did it.

But what really got her was the smile the girl wore when the Headmaster spoke of her exploits. Her demeanor wasn’t arrogant but shy and excited - as if she couldn’t wait to head out to fight even more.

It’s just that the girl needed a team to do so.

Heh. Pyrrha. Who’s Pyrrha? What champion of Mistral?

This was the person she needed to partner with.

-----

"And that’s not to mention all the connections you can make knowing the heiress of the Schnee Dust Company,” Weiss explained hastily to the pajama-wearing Ruby Rose who just gave her a blank, unmoved expression.

Argh. What did this girl want?!

Ruby didn’t care about the educational pension she offered nor did she care about sponsorship by the Schnee Dust Company after graduation. She didn’t blink an eye either about having her weaponry supplemented with all the recent Dust research the SCD could offer. And the only time she did react was when she offered free expert weapon maintenance during her stay at Beacon, and the girl gave her such a disdainful stare that she got flustered and stuttered through the rest of her recruitment speech.

By the time she finished, she was red in the face, embarrassed by this girl who didn’t seem to care for this valuable opportunity at all.

Was she just playing hard-to-get, trying to get more out of her? Or were all prodigies like this?

As though she noticed how awkward she was being, Ruby sheepishly rubbed her head with an apologetic look in her face.

“Uh...Weiss, right? That’s great and all, but I don’t think you’re what I’m looking for in a partner,” Ruby said hesitantly with a bow of her head.

Was this pipsqueak looking down on her? Professor be dam- whatever.

“What are you looking for in a partner then?” Weiss asked, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice.

Ruby’s friendly demeanor turned serious at the drop of a hat.

“Can you fight?” Ruby replied without missing a beat, “And can I trust you to have my back?”

Those two questions made her mouth gape her like a goldfish. 

It was clear that all the things she cared about - connections, money, power, opportunity - were worthless in front of this fourteen year old girl. And Ruby was being genuine, not trying to negotiate more out of her like businessmen were wont to do. She could feel the conviction in the other girl’s words as if nothing else truly mattered in that little world of hers. 

It was such a shock to her own worldview that she just stood there, even after the young girl shook her head and walked away.

The girl was right.

In the end, weren’t those two things the only things that truly mattered when fighting the Grimm?

It was the first lesson she’d learn from Professor Ruby and certainly not the last.

------

Have to find Pyrrha. Have to find Pyrrha.

Dashing through the Emerald Forest at top speed, she charged towards the gold and red blur that she saw flying above earlier. Sure, maybe she wasn’t able to give her recruitment speech to the Invincible Girl, but after learning the rules of forming a team, she realized she didn’t need to.

If she had known about the absurd manner of how they’ll find partners, she wouldn’t have thoroughly embarrassed herself last night. 

Eye contact? Really?!

Well as long as she didn’t get the pretentiously suave blond guy Jaune as a partner she would count it as a win. Seriously, if she heard Snow Angel one more time, a name she couldn’t escape from when she was at Atlas or those stupid high-society parties her father favored, she was going to shove her heel into a place where the sun didn’t shine.

...Being around Ruby may or may not be worse. Sure, she’s a Professor-in-training, so she’s going to be experienced, but it would be weird having to listen to someone two years younger than her. Not to mention she thoroughly embarrassed herself in front of the gir-

As she burst through the treeline, her eyes widened as she caught a familiar crimson-cloaked figure. That figure turned its head towards her.

Silver eyes met hers, and Ruby wore a surprised expression for a moment before it quickly turned into a grimace.

“Oh.”

----

“Ah. Thank you for getting me down from that tree, Ruby,” the blond thanked, holding the spear-shotgun in his hands.

“Don’t mention it,” Ruby replied back, a genuine smile on her face. One that she never saw when the girl spoke to her. 

“I still don’t see why you got him down there,” Weiss said grumpily, “He should be able to figure out how to land himself, not need another Hunter’s help. Do you like him or something?”

“Huh?” The blond in question looked to her and then Ruby.

“I think I just like Crocea Mors.”

“Wha-?” Jaune said, glancing over at his blade and shield-scabbard.

“I thought about why I felt really good about Jaune when we met at orientation,” Ruby spoke, not really paying attention to the other two’s reactions. It seemed she was used to monologuing; Weiss couldn’t help but picture Ruby as a lonely girl despite all her outward bubbliness. “And it has to be the shield. People who use shields are either scared of death or have something to defend. And since Jaune’s here despite being unstealthy, walking in a manner that’ll easily catch him flatfooted, and not having unlocked his Aura, he’s clearly not scared of death.”

“Uhhh...” Jaune laughed nervously. Weiss could only gave him an incredulous look.

“Honestly, if I had the choice, I’d rather pick him than you, Weiss.”

That hurt in more ways than one; was Ruby’s opinion of her that low? Her gaze locked back onto Ruby.  

“Why?”

“Nothing personal. But Bart once said you can teach someone to fight, but you can’t teach loyalty,” Ruby quietly said, “And I don’t really know you well, and Jaune. Well, he has a shield.”

She was so annoyed that she wanted to laugh. Here she thought Ruby was thinking of her as completely unskilled and worthless, only for this reasoning to pop up. 

“Aren’t you being a bit arbitrary?” 

“Arbi-wha?” Ruby asked confusedly.

Weiss opened and closed her mouth before growling in frustration, “...Argh. How do I explain what that means? How can you be a prof-”

Ruby suddenly stopped and drew out her weapon. That alerted her and made her draw Myrtenaster right away. Jaune belatedly drew his blade and shield moments later. 

“Grimm are coming,” Ruby hopped upwards into the trees, “I’ll handle long-range fire. You two engage.”

------

She darted through the battlefield using her Glyphs as platforms. Her precise bladework aimed for necks, eyes, and hearts, each one efficiently dispatching the Grimm that surrounded them. Occasionally, Myrtenaster would glow with an icy or fiery light, her favored attack elements holding and destroying the Grimm that got into her range.

From above, she could hear the tinkle of fallen bullet casings as Ruby provided sniper fire. She had an eerie feeling that every bullet the girl fired lethally found its mark. 

“Hurggh!” the blond slashed down again and decapitated another Beowulf, probably the fourth or fifth compared to her dozen. Ruby was right. He was uncoordinated. Wrong foot out with his attack, sabotaging his gathered momentum. But against the young Beowolves, it was enough. And though his blade skills were poor, his body itself was pretty well-developed - if he ever started training for real, he had a really good foundation to start from. 

Weiss mused to herself. Loyal people tended to be grateful, right? Maybe she could attract that sort of loyalty to her if she were to train him, but alas she was smart enough to know she was far from qualified. She’s more likely to lead him down the wrong path and wouldn’t that generate resentment instead?

Still, it’d be interesting to see if he could gain the skills Ruby expected him to get in the futur-

Wha- wrong Glyph?

She stumbled and slid into the ground instead of onto the Glyph she wanted to create. Lifting her head up, she saw the Beowulf she landed in front of about to deliver a haymaker onto her frame. 

“Weiss!” 

She saw the blond’s back as he stood in front of her, shield protecting them both. Her heart fluttered for a moment. Despite her cruel words and rejections, Jaune still took up her defense. 

Loyalty.

The blond stumbled to the ground as he absorbed the blow, his hasty positioning too unstable to withstand it. Struck flat into the ground, Jaune groaned as his shield arm fell out of position with the Grimm about to strike down again.

“No!” she screamed.

Myrtenaster glowed white as she brought herself between the fist and Jaune, a White Glyph manifesting in front of her. 

But then a flash of white suddenly bisected the Grimm, and its figure dissipated into red petals. Ruby came into view, slowly folding her scythe back into its portable form - the one or two Grimm that remained seemed to have been cleaned up by her. 

Before she could thank the girl, Ruby started speaking. 

"Ahh sorry. I knew you had it,” Ruby said apologetically before grinning, “I just wanted a chance to get up close and personal.”

It made things a bit awkward to be misunderstood like that, and she paused for a moment trying to find tactful words before realizing what she should actually be doing. 

She lent a hand to a dazed Jaune and helped hoist him up. 

“Hey,” Weiss said shyly, “Thanks for blocking that blow and s-saving me.”

“Ha. No problem. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s take a beating,” Jaune laughed, patting his chest with his fist. 

His casualness brought a smile to her face, and it was nice to see another somewhat normal person in their group of three. Their companionable silence lasted for a moment before it was broken by Jaune. 

“Ruby, why’d you fight long-range?” Jaune turned his head and asked confusedly, “I thought you’re a pretty good scythe wielder.”

Ruby lightly kicked a pebble on the ground as she frowned and grimaced, “I don’t want to be levitated out the Admin Tower by my foot again.”

Huh?

“For messing up another collaboration. Like umm... I use a scythe. I hit very wide, and you two fight in melee range and we’ve never fought together,” Ruby animatedly swung her hands to mimic her motions before finishing, “so things could get really bad, and Glynda said if I ever fought like that again, she’l-”  

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” 

Pyrrha finally appeared. 

---

Pyrrha and Jaune went their separate ways, having rejected their offer to travel together. When she asked Ruby about it, Ruby simply said, “I think we’ll be surprised by Jaune when we meet him again.”

As she said this, the girl rubbed her cheek against her weapon as if drawing comfort from it. It was oddly familiar, and she remembered her doing the same back when the girl was with Headmaster Ozpin at orientation.  

“You really like your weapon, don’t you?” Weiss teased. 

“Crescent Rose,” she closed her eyes and didn’t stop hugging her weapon, “She’s the promise of the life I want to live.”

Weiss shut her mouth. 

What could she say to that?

“You haven’t maintained your own weapon yourself for a long time, have you?”

The other girl’s expression was soft, and when paired with the almost loving expression she had for her own weapon, her words seemed more patient and guiding instead of accusatory. In fact, ever since their fight against the Beowolves, Ruby seemed less standoffish with her as if...

...she finally earned the other girl’s approval.  

“You’re right,” Weiss admitted, deciding that she didn’t want to harm their fledgling relationship with fake blustering. Ruby’s right. She left it to someone she thought an expert. “How could you tell?”

Ruby held her hand out, and she knew what she wanted and handed Myrtenaster over to her. 

“What’s your weapon’s name?”

“Myrtenaster...?” Uhh. Why’d Ruby want to know?  

“Myrtenaster,” she nodded her head before saying, “Myrtenaster’s cylinder kept moving less smoothly during your fight, and it’s been throwing you off. You don’t trust in Myrtenaster’s mechanism anymore.”

Like what she was doing before with Crescent Rose, Ruby held the weapon’s guard against her cheek. Weiss couldn’t help but feel astonished.  

How good was Ruby’s eye of discernment to notice that small detail while they were all fighting? 

“So you keep using your eyes to check what dust color you’re using,” Ruby continued, her hand slowly turning the Myrtenaster’s cylinder, “And you’ve gotten so used to it that you don’t think it’s a problem anymore, except that the lapse in your attention nearly got you hurt today. 

“I think Myrtenaster would be sad if that happened, even more than your lack of trust in it,” Ruby opened her eyes sorrowfully before holding the weapon, hilt out, back to her, which she graciously accepted. 

“Whoever your expert is is probably remedying the quirk with a good amount of oil, which solves the smoothness but not the unreliability,” she sighed, “Myrtenaster must’ve taken a very nasty blow to the blade in the past, which probably misaligned the cylinder column. You probably only noticed it after you’ve used it for a while - a detail your expert probably wouldn’t have noticed because they don’t actually wield your weapon.”

Weiss recalled a phantom pain against her scarred eye, a Giant Armor’s fist crashing against both her and Myrtenaster. She had the blade itself repaired, but Ruby was right - she never noticed the cylinder’s problems until recently, and her expert kept saying it was in perfect condition despite her concerns.

“I get what you’re saying. I’ll maintain my weapon on my own from now on,” Weiss acquiesced.

“I’m sure Myrtenaster would like that,” she smiled, genuine happiness on her face once more before slight awkwardness returned to it, “Uhh. Hmm. Come on. Let’s get the chess pieces and finish up this Initiation. Maybe we can fight something along the way!”

Ruby already started dashing through the forest, and Weiss gave chase. 

Weiss couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden switch in demeanor.

What a strange girl. 

[redantsunderneath]

DC COMICS: Incoherence as Not-a-Bug-but-a-Feature (Spoilers for Batman 89-100)

Due to the emergence of the new Batman villain character Punchline, I wound up buying the last 12 issues of Batman and reading them in a single sitting. I’ve had trouble following DC comics for a while, constantly feeling that they were in trouble since back in the mid 2000s (with a glimmer of hope here and there). The act of reading DC comics has been a frustrating experience, where individual good stories and runs were laying around in the context of a lot of things that didn’t make sense while the company’s thrust felt chaotic and ideas not well blended. Every status quo change seemed hard to figure out the rules of enough to parse the context.  We’ll get into the background of this, but my reading today of this extended stretch of comics that keeps losing the plot in favor of a fever dream of what’s happening at the moment with specific characters that refuse to cohere, it became obvious that what I had been looking at as subtext or critique was actually the text. I could see the messed up trees but was missing the the forest the universe was trying to describe.

What happens in these issues (Batman current series 89-100, I missed the beginning of the first of 2 arcs) is rolling war between the major Batman villains and the heroes (plus Harley Quinn and Catwoman), which shifts into a Joker and Joker adjacent vs. all as the Joker double crosses everyone then manages to steal Bruce Wayne’s fortune.  We meet 3 new baddies – Underbroker, whose schtick is putting ill-gotten gains beyond the reach of the legal system (with an explicit line to rich globalists drawn), the Designer, who back in the day offered the four A list Batman villains plans to achieve what they most wanted, and Punchline, who is your toxic ex’s new millennial GF who really has it in for you (there is also a new good guy Clownhunter, which is a whole different thing, and a new costumed detective that predates Batman).  This doesn’t convey the chaotic nature of what is happening issue to issue, but there’s more than one Batman hallucinogenic spirit quest, dead characters ostensibly walking around, a plan revolving around the Bat’s origin story that tells some version of it several times, and a no-nonsense declaration that the Joker, as the Devil of the Batman spiritual system, cannot die.   The whole thing has the effect of convincing you there is no definitive sequence of events, only versions.

Alan Moore’s Killing Joke is not a favorite of mine, for a number of reasons.  But the ending holds up.  The Joker has done terrible things there is no antecedent for, and Batman wonders aloud if this never-ending dance they do ends in anything but both of their deaths; can they uncouple from the unhealthy duality the cycle of which simply repeats.  The Joker responds, well, with a joke about two lunatics trying to escape an asylum.  One jumps the roof to the next building, while the other is too scared to try.  The escapee offers to hold a light while the other crosses on a beam but he says no, no you’ll just cut the light while I’m half way across.  This not very funny joke nonetheless has a bunch of resonances – BM and Joker as conspiring co inmates, BM wanting to break out, a commentary about their natures (almost a reversal of the frog and scorpion story where the scorpion won’t go because he knows how this ends), but mostly it implicates BM as the one who is enabling the cycle, the reason why it won’t end.  They both laugh uproariously, and the ambiguous final panels can be read as the fundamental realization of his complicity causing BM to kill J.  A lethal joke indeed… except, next month, we see the both of them again.  In broader context, the ceaseless cycle of the diad is reaffirmed.  This has been hellaciously sticky as an idea in the Batmen universe.

My realization of what DC has been doing is pretty banal in its pieces. Marvel has “ground level” heroes while DC has a mythos, a pantheon.  Their archetypal makeup is strong, the seven JLA members lining up with the pantheon of Greek gods and the Chakras weirdly closely.  DC has big characters that are somewhat flat which they can use tell big bold individual stories that are cool the way legends and fables are cool. But these stories require bold strokes that a bit incompatible with each other. People get attached to these iterations. Meanwhile, Marvel trucks in soap operas where the characters give you an empathetic stand in and are narratively flexible. Marvel events are usually about the writer vs. the company, asking you to sympathize or deconstruct the creative impulse amid efforts to impose control or order.  DC’s events are about editorial vs. the audience, the shapers vs. the forces of the world.  It may seem obvious, given this description, that DC’s focus is on an archetypal tableau though it may be less obvious that this tableau is under extreme pressure from expectations when trying to tell ongoing tales month in, month out (or semi-monthly in some cases). The stories are constantly compared against the big stories that have gone before, and the audience’s ideas of the characters exert pressure to push them in directions that capture “the” version they believe in.  This circle is not possible to square.

DC and Marvel both have a multiverse of sorts.  DC used to tell “Elseworlds” stories which were later tucked into pocket universes.  DC invented crossing over between “realities.”  DC’s continuity is heavy baggage and they began to have “Crises” to resolve the narrative incompatibilities.  These only made things worse as you can’t get rid of the past people have a relationship with – it will come back.  Now you have to explain that away too.  Marvel just lets it lay – forget about the iffy stories, they count, sure, just no one is ever going to talk about them unless they have an angle.  Marvel continuity is all angles and amnesia. This is just easier to do with dating and rent and your ancient aunt’s medical bills than with Gods. Marvel’s multiverse is about sandboxes that you can always dump into the mainframe if they work (and never really mention the sandbox again).

There is a shift that occurred in the industry in the 2004 to 2005 era that is less remarked upon than many upheavals in comic’s history. Marvel had gone through a period of incredible new idea generation in the early 2000s after a late 90s creative cratering but had just fired the pro wrestling inflected soul of that moment (Bill Jemas).  DC was coming off of a period of trying to do moderately updated versions of what they basically been doing all along. The attitude was “yeah we’re under stress from the combined history of these characters, but we got to keep telling the stories.” Geoff Johns was one voice of DC over the 99-04 period that showed potential - he seemed to get how to find the core of characters and push them into a new in sync directions if they over the years have lost a clear identity.  But mostly he had internalized a basic schism between something mean that the audience wanted, and something good and wholesome about the characters themselves, and figured out how to mess around with this in a equilibrating fashion.

Interestingly, the ignition point of the main forces that were going to blow DC over the next decade and a half was a comic that had virtually nothing to do with any of those main forces. Brad Meltzer, a novelist, was hired to do a comic called Infinity Crisis, which sold extremely well and was, justifiably or not, recognized as an event.  At the same time, everyone also kind of hated it because the dark desires of some DC fans were pushed forward just a bit too much for comfort and for a comic with Crisis in the name it didn’t do a whole lot other than “darken” things.  Nonetheless, this lit an “event” fire at both companies.  Marvel chose a shake up the status quo for a year, then do it again, pattern and was off to the races (I have written about this, and more, here) while continuing its Randian framing of beleaguered do-gooders opposed by rule making freedom haters.

As this was playing out, Dan Didio quietly took power in DC Editorial.  His outlook was more Bloomian – he seemed to spark off of writers who exhibited anxiety of influence. He recognized Johns was the one person they had could be promoted into something of a universe architect, starting work on two key projects from which the rest would evolve. The first, was bringing back Hal Jordan as Green Lantern and diffracting the GL universe into its own symbolic system, with parts frisson-ing other parts, and almost a Magic the Gathering color scheme of ideas. The other was to build up to Infinite Crisis, which would become the model for most of their universe changing events until the present day.

The basic frame is this: DC heroes want to be good (in a sense of their inherent nature) but forces outside form a context that makes them fall.  It’s a very gnostic universe, DC.  They  examine reflections of the concepts, invent scapegoats for certain tendencies (see Superboy Prime as entitled fanboy, Dr. Manhattan as editors that try and fail to mend things, etc), make characters violate principles, rehabilitate them, then show that the world if anything is more broken than before.  This is kind of Johns’ thing and it fits Didio’s narrative as historicval tension fetish.  But then came Scott Snyder (not to be confused with Zack) who began to work on Batman in 2011.  Since then, as much as Justice League is pushed as the central title and Lex Luthor has been pimped, Batman has been the core of the universe and the Joker the core villain.

Snyder had the same continuity conflict wavelength but was significantly more meta and able to contain multitudes than Johns.  He was the first to make an explicit mystery of how there could be several Jokers around at one time (who are the same but not, he posited 3 – man, Christians!) that seems prescient given the near future coexistence of filmic Jokers that are not able to be resolved.  I believe he was the first to begin to tease out an idea – that different versions of things in comics are not a diffraction or filter effect, a using the set of things that work best for that story and leaving the rest, but are a matter of the archetypal system of the audience coming apart. From an in story perspective what appears to happen is that multiple versions of incompatible things exist in the collective unconscious of the continuing narrative, and this is something that the characters may become conscious of.  

The run I just read is written by James Tynion IV building on the above trends.  The trick seems to be going all in on the Jungian aspect (at Jung’s most religiously epiphanic).  The Designer was a progenitor and adversary to Batman’s predecessor and his intellectual approach eventually defeated the detective… broke him.  At some point in early Batman history, the Designer brought the top four Bat-baddies together and offered each, in turn, a plan to achieve what they most desired: the Riddler, a way to achieve an empire of the mind; the Penguin, power; and Catwoman, money.  They are all elated as they await the Joker to come out.  The Joker emerges with a furious Designer on his heals and promptly shoots him dead.  He explains that he didn’t like his joke in the form of a fable – the devil offered four people the path to their greatest desire: the three chose earthly things, but the Joker’s wish was to be him, to become the devil.  The story proceeds to suggest that the Joker just exists, he is present as a necessary component in the system.   You can kill him, yet he is alive.

DC has been using physics metaphors for the nature of their reality since Flash of Two Worlds in 1963.  The multiverse as a continuity concept was their idea and the holographic universe of the hypertime was a thing.  It seems like since Dan Didio took over, they’ve been heading towards a concept of broad superimposition, of measurement effect being weak, of the universe being like a quantum computer with all possibilities coexisting and the story instantiating not one reality but a path through all the possible ones.  By making Batman trip balls through quite a few issues and relive his origin from different angles, the story is one of its own instability and the heroic task that confronts our hero is attempting to actualize the world.  The Joker is the Devil in the sense of lack of fixed meaning, of relativistic chaos, of the world not making sense because it’s unmoored nature with ultimately no knowability.  Batman, in this story, functions as a postmodern knight crusading against the impossibility of epistemological grounding.

There’s more going on, sure.  One plot is, literally, defund Batman.  There is rioting, people brainwashed by being exposed to toxic ether, people paid to go to theaters even though they will die as a result, and questions about neoliberalism similar to that one Joker movie. Punchline has no personality yet (Tynion’s not the best at that) but she serves well as a generational foil for Harley – a rudderless ideological vacuum susceptible to Joker-as-idea-virus rather than an unfulfilled MD who felt alienated due to the structures of her life and was seeking escape into structureless possibility.  The Designer stuff is both continuity play (See why they changed from goofy villains to more “realistic” ones! Look how pulp heroes informed superheroes!), a comment on the nature of a longstanding narrative (strong intentions die out as Brownian motion overwhelms momentum), and a lawful evil/chaotic evil setup of the dualism of apocalypses (overdetermined authoritarian vs. center does not hold barbarism).  But the thing that ties this to the past decade and a half of DC is the sense that the reality is fluid and susceptible to change or outright s’cool incompatibility.

This is different than other flavors of meta in superhero comics.  Grant Morrison believes the archetypes are stronger than the forces that seek to bend them.  Alan Moore wants you to deconstruct your sacred cows and probably hates you personally.  Marvel might play with self-awareness, but effortlessly resolves inconsistencies after it’s finished playing.  DC, at this point, allows you to watch the waves solidfy into symbols and dissolve, and the constant confusion and lack of grounding is more of a choice then I thought this time yesterday.  The conflict theory of DC reality has been in full swing but this looks to be turning towards a kind of Zen historicism, holding contradictory things in your mind at once. Warren Ellis’ JLA/Authority book is the nearest comparable text I can think of. I need to call this, but I didn’t even talk about Death Metal, DC character multiplicity as meta-psychosis event extraordinaire.  Comics just keep getting weirder.

[keefwho]

November 25 - 2023 Saturday

11:33pm

This morning I watching a Vanoss Lethal Company video while showering. I was torn with what to make for breakfast but I settled on attempting a sausage and pepperjack cheese sandwich with broccoli. It wasn't a very good combination but at least I ate my vegetables. The first thing I decided to work on today was my friendiversary gift. I worked on it while talking with a couple of David's friends in his server. Then Serenitea asked if I wanted to chill in VC so I went there while I finished up. She was up all night apparently. We didn't talk long because she had to go help her grandma make birthday breakfast for her little brother. After working on the gift I started a VR chat liminal world I had planned to get done entirely today. I worked on it on and off because I lost my flow. I ate lunch in the middle of it which was fish sticks, mac n cheese, and a pear cup. I buckled down on it after eating in David's server for a little bit before going solo. I ran into a LOT of problems that probably wasted around an hour of my time. REALLY stupid issues that I still don't know what caused them. Eventually the world was done and I got in VR to hang out with Daisy. I found out that the video player in my world was broken despite it working before so I had to fix it and it took a lot longer than I thought. Some 13 year olds were calling us furries and telling us to kill ourselves so that was classic. For awhile we hung out in my new world after I fixed it and talked about Zelda. Then we hung out in my snowy cabin world waiting to get a world link from Ena which we never got but we found it on our own. We watched an artistic EPCOT documentary which deeply inspired me in a lot of ways. It was just made very beautifully and had me thinking about a lot of things. We got off afterwards and I played Neopets during sleepy time.

Before VR I had taken a small hit which had me mildly panicking while trying to fix my world and dealing with those kids. I shouldn't have taken a hit without being certain of my mood. I was sort of banking on it enhancing my night for me rather than complimenting it.

[scribble-blog]

Black Cats and Robinettes part 2!!

First

BACK AGAIN WITH THE ROLE REVERSAL EVERYBODY!! As some side notes, despite trying super hard to keep Damian and Marinette’s core personalities intact despite them having very different origin stories, I’ve definitely made Marinette- a bit tougher I guess? This Marinette isn’t going to curb her words, especially not for people she doesn’t know at all (who are hanging off a liar hurting her friends). Likewise, Damian is definitely a bit softer around the edges. It comes from the years of having loving and present parents without a super hero life to keep his edge. That being said, I hope you enjoy!!!

“Lila!” He watched as Marinette approached their class, the bulk of them looking over towards her distrustfully. So, Lila has already been spinning bullshit about the girl, despite the fact that she was the Wayne heiress Lila claimed to be practically a sister to. “I don’t know why you didn’t tell me you were in town. I would’ve made sure to clear up my schedule to spend time with you!”

“Just watch this, Damian. She’s vicious.” Adrien told him, leaning over.

“I’m sorry? I think you’ve got the wrong person,” Rossi simpered.

“No?” Marinette tilted her head slightly. “I mean, I know it’s been a while, but surely you remember me. Marinette Wayne?”

Rossi’s eyes went wide.

“I thought you said her name was Maria?” Kanté questioned.

And then, before Damian’s eyes, Rossi did the stupidest thing he’d ever seen her do.

She doubled down.

“A childhood nickname,” she explained away, eyes narrowing slightly at the girl who’d come to cast her from her throne. “I’m so sorry, Maria, it’s just been so long! I didn’t recognize you.”

“But- like you said, it’s only been four months since your mother brought you to Gotham.” Marinette’s eyes had blown wide open, innocence dripping from her every word. “I haven’t changed that much, have I? I haven’t even gotten a haircut...”

Lila tried to laugh it off, but Damian saw several of the class giving her confused looks.

“Remind me how we met, Lila.” Marinette said suddenly. Her tone was still sweet, but something in her face had shifted.

“It was- at a Wayne Gala,” Césaire volunteered. “When you were both five. Your parents let you play together.”

“An incredible feat, given that my usual bedtime was right when the gala started until I was twelve, and I wasn’t even allowed to attend the gala until age ten.” Marinette’s voice was still honeyed, but she spoke like a cracking whip. The class was silent. “And about the “work” you’ve done with my family? Those green initiatives you helped us plan in coordination with Prince Ali of Achu?”

“The- the green initiatives?” Lavillant trembled. “The ones to plant trees in deserts and man made wastes to combat the destruction of ecosystems?”

“Oh, poor girl,” Chloé crooned lowly. Damian snorted.

“They don’t exist. The Wayne Enterprises website can direct you to a full list of every charity act committed by my family’s company. It lists every fundraiser and nonprofit organization that is founded, funded, owned or supported by us. You will not find those initiatives there.” Marinette was lethal. Whatever inner sunshine she carried within her seemed to have frozen over.

“Every word about knowing me or being my friend. Every word insinuating that she either is dating or is being courted by my brothers. Every implication that she has any sort of sway in this building or any connection in the slightest to my father- all lies. Despite what Lila has been telling you, I’ve never met her before she started lying about me and my family in front of my face today.

“I don’t care what else Lila has told you. I don’t care what she has promised to do for you. I don’t even care that you believed her. But if I ever hear another word about my family slip from your venomous mouth, snake,” Marinette spat contemptuously, “you will be served with several lawsuits for defamation from my family alone, ignoring what I’m sure I could rustle up from the plethora of names that you tried to claim a connection to in this building in my range of hearing.” She finished with the air of someone who knew she hadn’t landed the final blow, but was waiting for one last misstep to give her a reason to deliver it.

“How do we know that you’re actually Marinette Wayne?” Alya called out angrily. “You could just be someone who’s jealous after hearing about Lila and all of the things she’s done and the people she knows!”

There it was. He watched the unrestrained glee in Marinette’s eyes as she dismissively delivered her last shot.

“I don’t know. Try googling me.”

And then, without another word, she turned and walked very neatly back to their table, ignoring the attention she had garnered from the rest of the dining room. “So guys, do you have any free time during your trip? I feel like we should do dinner? We should do dinner.”

“That was incredible,” Damian breathed.

And then to his complete surprise, she flushed bright red. “Oh my god. I shouldn’t have-“

“You absolutely should have,” Chloé cut her off. “Rossi’s been lying about you for days now. It’s a miracle this is the first actual consequence.”

“Are you sure I wasn’t too harsh on everyone else though?” She asked. Her eyes were still on him.

Damian shrugged in response. “We’ve tried to tell them before. They chose her. This is their reward.”

“Think about it this way, Mari,” Adrien consoled her. “At least with your put down they have the chance to start being better people. If you had been nicer Lila could have turned it around somehow, like she always does.”

A sudden eruption of shouting came from across the room, and Damian looked over just in time to see Césaire throw a strong punch straight across Rossi’s cheek.

“Oooh, that’s gotta hurt,” Adrien said sympathetically. “Skulls are hard. Alya’s fingers could’ve broken.”

“I think she’s fine,” Chloé said dismissively as Césaire wound up for another, to be held back by Lahiffe.

“Dick’s gonna kill me,” Marinette groaned.

“I’m gonna do what, Sunshine?” Their other tour guide’s voice said brightly. “Congratulations, I sent a video to the family chat and now everyone is losing their minds.”

“Ghhhhhhh,” she moaned further, head sinking into her hands. “Tell my sisters I love them. Cass gets everything. Every brother is disowned.”

“Heartbreaking,” he said dryly, reaching out and snagging a french fry from her tray. Her hand stopped him with a quickness that startled Damian.

“Don’t touch.”

“Sheesh, Mari, alright.” He turned away, to face them. “Adrien, Chloé, good to see you again. Who’s this?”

“Damian Dupain-Cheng,” He introduced himself. “It’s easier to just say I’m their friend than it is to explain everything.”

“You are our friend, idiot,” Chloé threw a fry at him. “Honestly.”

“Hmm.” Richard- Dick? Marinette’s brother’s eyes lingered on Damian. He could feel himself being judged.

“Tell you what. I’m sure Alfred wouldn’t mind a few extra plates at dinner tomorrow, and honestly, I think any time spent away from that group is probably better-“ he sent a look over towards the class, now being barely restrained by Mme. Bustier, stepping between everyone. Her quick, quiet plaintive words were followed by an even louder, “You KNEW?” from Alya - “so how about I okay it with your teacher and you all come visit with Mari at the manor for the evening after your tours tomorrow?”

“You’ll okay it by Bruce too?” Marinette gave him a grin.

“It’s usually Dad,” Adrien said. “Why the name switch?”

“She’s upset with him for something, and since she’s the only one of us who actually calls him that, this is her best weapon,” Dick said with a grimace. “Yeah, yeah, Sunshine, I’ll get the okay for it.”

“Thank you!” She gave him a hug that looked bruising but Dick seemed to give what he got. A few joints cracked.

“Siblings,” Adrien sighed longingly.

“No thank you,” Chloé said disparagingly.

“Do I get a say in this at all?” Damian wondered to himself.

And he was resoundingly answered but four very emphatic No’s.

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