#ooooh two asks in two consecutive days????

[thetriangletattoo]

.

[joyfulsongbird]

sooooo. I wrote a Thing. all credit to @defilerwyrm for the concept of the mighty nein getting consecuted based on their connection to the beacon and credit to @mightymightynein for coming up with the idea that because molly died in proximity to the beacon, he would then come back in another body. none of these ideas are mine, I just couldn't resist writing out a little thing!! thank you both for your great ideas <3

ao3 link!!

*

Mollymauk Tealeaf wakes.

Not quickly, not all at once, but he wakes nonetheless. It does not feel like coming to, nor is it really the idea we all have of snapping awake one day and coming to the realization that you are not where you belong. He is born again, and born with the name Enna. He is a purple skinned drow, which pleases him that even in the next life he still has a lavender hue to his skin. He looks at himself in the mirror, once he comes to the realization. He looks at his features and tries to rearrange them into something he knew years ago, he imagines this face with horns, these brown eyes with red ones. It is strange, to look at what he knows is himself and it feels correct but at the same time, like something is missing. He grows used to the idea: his name is Mollymauk, he was a member of the Mighty Nein, he died and now he lives again. He does not know why but it takes time in order for him to fully come back to himself.

One night, after he is able to differentiate which memories are from his present life and which ones are from the last, he disappears. He had not been very attached to the family in this present life, they were distant as many parents were and even before his realization, he looked forward to the day he got to spread his wings and leave the nest. This just… pushes things forward a bit. He wraps an enchanted cloak around himself that would protect him from the sun (one that he had stolen months ago, old habits die hard), as that is something he has to worry about now, and sets off into the first adventure of his second life.

He walks and sorts through the memories in his head. Remembers their faces, their voices, the things they did, the way it sounded when they all laughed. On his travels, he purchases a deck of tarot cards. They are not his cards, not as elegant or artistic as the ones he used to own, but they feel good in his hands. His fingers slowly remember how to shuffle the deck, how to flip them between his fingers, and make them disappear, then reappear as if he had snatched them from behind somebody’s ear. He remembers, and it feels wonderful to be able to be a whole person.

His travels are long, he is only going on foot, and he only has so much money. To earn some coin, he gives tarot readings in bars and on the street just like he used to. People goggle at him, differently than they used to. Drows are not all that common, he finds, and it is especially not all that common to find a teenaged drow sitting in a bar with a grin on his face, telling an old man his future with as much confidence as somebody triple his age. As is his nature, people are drawn to him. He had forgotten the electric feeling that buzzes through his whole body when he is surrounded by life like this. It’s a wonderful thing, to feel alive even when you have died twice. And since he has experienced being lifeless twice before (only one of which he can remember his last breath leaving his body), he wants to experience it all again. Nothing wrong with that.

Months go by and he finds himself in Port Damali. He does not know where he is going nor does he have a destination but hopes that someday, fate will shove him near the Mighty Nein again by chance and he will be able to brush sleeves with them in this life too. He sits in a tavern, like he does every day, and tells a young woman that someday her spine will stop aching and that she needs to work less and that she’ll have at least three children. She grins at him and he grins back, already scooping up the three cards she had picked out and is waving his hand absently for somebody new to sit down.

“Do you read tarot cards ‘cause I really, really love tarot cards and I can read them too, you know? You read mine and then I’ll read yours, okay?” it takes him a moment, as he looks at the tiefling sitting across from him. She’s older now, wiser around her eyes but still just as bright in her smile. She’s dressed for the area, in what one could only ever describe as classic pirate garb. Molly smiles at her, his chest aching. It almost pains him to see her again, in this way where she does not recognize him. She leans forward eagerly, legs kicking back and forth under the table. She hasn’t changed.

He clears his throat, not prepared to let his thoughts get the better of him. “Of course! Here, pick whichever cards call to you. Three of them, if you please.”

She happily chooses three, placing them face down on the table all nice and even. Before he can turn them over, she leans in very close. She narrows her eyes at him, “do you know my name?” He laughs, loud and clear. “Let’s see if the cards tell us that, hm?”

Satisfied, she leans away, watching as he flips over the first card. He considers the card for a long time, and Jester watches, enraptured. “You’re a kind soul, aren’t you?”

She nods vigorously. Molly taps his chin in faux thoughtfulness. “You love to draw, am I correct?”

She gasps, “how did you know that? I do!”

“The cards told me.” he says, as means of an explanation. He flips over the next card without further analysis. “Ooooh, interesting. You should not let doubt plague you, you’re far too important to those around you to let those skills go to waste. Don’t hold back, let your chaos run free, my dear.” “That’s what I always say!” her voice rises in excitement and they get several odd glances from surrounding patrons. “You’re so good at this, oh my god!”

He simply smiles, before flipping over the final card. He forces a frown and Jester leans forward again, glancing rapidly from his face and back down to the card. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You’ve lost things,” he says. “But don’t worry, you will find that not all is lost forever. Jester.” She jumps to her feet, her face alight with joy. Joy. He grins. He had been right, then, when he had named her card that.

She runs a small ways over to another table and grabs somebody's arm, dragging a familiar half-orc all the way back to Molly’s table, her words nearly incoherent out of excitement.

“Fjord, look, look! Tell him what you said, tell him what you saw in the cards- I told you, Fjord! It was the coolest thing, he knew my name, he knew it! I swear, look! Look at the cards!” she bounces up and down, her words strewn together as she points at the three cards laid out. Fjord looks down at them, then glances up at Molly who shrugs as he gathers up his deck and slips them back into his bag, finished for the night.

“I don’t know what they mean.” he says helplessly. Jester rolls her eyes, grabbing Fjord’s hand and then grabbing Molly’s.

“I want you to teach me! I’ve been practicing for-ever and I can’t get that good.” She grabs him and Fjord back to the corner table that Fjord had been sitting at by himself. She forces them both to sit.

“Jester,” Fjord says before she can get comfortable. “Could you grab me a drink from the bar?”

“Okay!” she doesn’t seem to question why, just bounces over to the bar and leaves the two of them in silence.

“How did you know her name?” Fjord asks gruffly. “I know it’s not because of the cards. Are you a spy of some kind? Seem a little young to be a spy.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.” It takes him a long stretch of quiet before he can even come up with the words. It hasn’t quite felt real up until this moment, up until he was faced with the ghosts of his past who aren’t actually ghosts. They are very much alive, only aged and more weathered than he knew them last. As he explains, as briefly as humanly possible, he watches Fjord’s eyebrows raise higher and higher. His eyes grow wide and fists clench on top of the table. Mollymauk knows it sounds insane, it doesn’t sound real, by anybody’s standards. There’s an uncomfortable pause after he’s done speaking when neither Fjord nor him know what to say. They are interrupted (maybe “saved” would be the correct word) by Jester returning with Fjord’s drink.

“Why so quiet guys?” she asks.

Fjord opens and closes his mouth, his face paler, “we need to go see Essek.”

[kate837]

I Love You

I completely recommend watching 2x14 Borrow or Rob, and the beginning of 2x15 Draw O Cesar Erase a Coward, before reading this fic. While this fic is AU it does have many similarities and minor details that it couldn't hurt to watch the episode first! Anyways enjoy!!!!!

#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:

Kurt had a day.

Not bad. Definitely not good. Just... A day.

A day he'll never forget actually. It was so full of ups and downs. From Shepherd plunging a knife into Sean's heart, to joking with Jane about whether or not he could handle Rich Dotcom. From shooting Rich to... Jane's date. That hurt. When Shepherd shoved a knife through Sean Clarke, Kurt's adrenaline spiked, he felt so alert for so long, he thought he would throw up. He got the same feeling from Jane. Except it was everytime she moved, spoke, brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, etc. Her admission of her date was too much. Kurt went straight home, got a damp rag, and laid down. Staring at the ceiling.

Though he did have to say, it still wasn't the worst part of his day. He felt bad. Witnessing first degree murder should automatically be the worst part of your day.

But when it comes to Rich.....

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

Kurt and Rich were sneaking through the secret underground tunnels of Jamison College, in order to get into the Deadalus gathering.

"This is interesting." Rich says, while coming to a stop.

"What?" Kurt replies shortly.

"Well this is the door, but the handle's different."

"Different how, Rich?!"

"Wel- well it's not there anymore?? Probably on account of all the hookers I snuck in it." Rich gestures to the handless door.

"Ok, so what's behind this door?" Kurt inquires, looking around.

"The closet. What are yo-"

"Stand back."

Kurt, with a running start, kicks the door in to find himself deep within the walls of a massive walk in closet.

"Aaaaa just how I remember it."

"SHHHHH!" Kurt puts his ear to the door, the one still on it's hinges, just in time to hear the gasps of attending guests and a soft female voice hushedly asking someone to notify security of the discrepancy.

"Shit."

"What?" Rich asks, genuinely confused.

"The guests are getting security to come check out 'the noise in the closet'."

"Oh. What are we gonna do Stubbles? I'm a sly guy but how do we explain that?"

"Oh God, why do you hate me?" Kurt says looking towards the ceiling.

"What? You're acting strange Stubbles, like weirder than normal. I mea-"

Rich was cut off by Kurt's large hands cupping both sides of his face, to kiss him. Without separating he backs Rich against a near wall, mimicking the earlier noise. Rich squirmed at first but expectedly went along with the unexpected.

"Come on Stubbles, you can at least use some tongue!"

"Shut. Up." Kurt snarls. "Actually. . . I need you to make some. . . noises." Kurt says while blushing furiously.

"Security is on their way." Tasha notifies through comms.

"Yeah you guys better get out of there." Reade warns.

"And say what? Oh hey haven't seen you in a while, please excuse my entering through a closet?!" Rich whisper-yells.

"Everyone shut up!" Kurt also whisper yells. "Now Rich I need you to moan a lot. Loudly."

"You could always make me Stubbles!"

"Rich!"

"Kurt what the hell are you doing?" Reade asks, growing increasingly concerned about his teammate's mental health.

"Rich just do it!"

"OOOOH! STUBBLES, YES!" Rich practically screams.

The party guests turn a side eye. But the security, like Kurt hoped, were turning away, figuring that the noise came from two enthusiastic partygoers. Or if the other patrons were anything like Rich maybe more.

Of course Weller didn't know that yet.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

"Ohhh. Now i get it, I can't believe this is working." Reade says, half laughing at the ridiculous noises coming out of his earpiece. "Hey Kurt it's work-"

"Will you shut up?!" Tasha butts in.

"What are you tal-"

"He doesn't know that they stood down yet." Tasha says wriggling her eyebrows. "Hey Kurt most of the security guards stood down but you still have a couple incoming. . . You might need to amp it up a bit!"

Her and Reade try and fail to stifle their laughter after Rich let's out a completely overexaggerated 'UNGH'!

"Come on Stubbles, they're not buying it, you're gonna have to join me if you wanna get out of here."

"Why me? God why me?" Kurt says again looking up.

Kurt let's out a loud and breathless 'Oh God' that completely undoes all of Tasha and Reade's composure. They are hysterical by now. They completely lost it when Rich and Kurt started harmonizing!

"Stop! Stop!" Tasha said. "I can't take it anymore." She pulls herself up from the floor of the van, where she fell from laughing so hard.

"Yeah guys, the security's gone. They're long gone." Reade adds, clutching his stomach.

"Yeah Rich so goo- wait what?!"

"Yeah you're clear." Tasha clarifies.

"You could have compromised this entire op!" Kurt says furiously.

"We all know that's not why you're mad Stubbles. And as the bible states-"

"I swear to God Rich, if you say another word I will shoot you."

"Another word."

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

Kurt flushed red just thinking about it. What was he going to put in his field report?!

He turned to lay on his side to take in the fresh scenery of the wall instead of the ceiling. After laying there for about two minutes, he finally got up to fix himself dinner.

While gathering ingredients, Kurt's mind inevitably wandered back to Jane's date. Everything about it tore at him. What she'd be wearing, what she'd eat, would she cover her tattoos, would she wear makeup. . . . . . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by a phone call.

It was Jane.

A million questions ran through his head. Why is she calling him? Shouldn't she still be out on her date?

He lunged for the phone but then. . . He stilled. Didn't move a muscle. He picked up his phone, turned it over, and resumed gathering ingredients.

Once the phone eventually stopped buzzing, Kurt's inner turmoil came to play.

'Why didn't you answer?! Jane could be in trouble!'

'Be rational Kurt. She's on a date, probably just calling to let you know that she'll complete her paperwork tomorrow, since she's busy.'

'Look, everyone knows you're in love with her, but you can't act like some overprotective boyfriend whenever she's around.'

Kurt shakes his head. He wasn't in love with Jane Doe. Was he?

'Of course you are! That's why you lunged for the phone as soon as you saw her name, but put it down when you realized she was still on a date.'

'No. If I was in love with her, I would have immediately answered.'

'No. You love her so much that you realized that if she's having fun, even with another man, you wouldn't want to ruin that. That's love.'

'What am I supposed to do? I can't love her from afar.'

'This may be selfish but what if I proposed the idea that Oliver is Sandstorm?'

'It could work. But why not just tell her how you feel?'

"Because I'm just not ready yet." Kurt voiced sadly.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

First thing the next morning, Kurt was walking up and down the hallways, over and over again. In order to 'accidentally' bump into Jane on her way to Patterson's lab.

After three consecutive minutes, Jane appeared. She was wearing this loose, pastel green shirt, that roughly covered all of her upper body tattoos as well as bringing out her eyes. She paired it with tight blue jeans, which she almost never wears, and a few silver rings on her right hand.

"Wow." Kurt whispered. What looked like any other outfit, looked stunning on her. He almost forgot to 'bump' into her.

"Jane!"

"Oh, hey!"

"You get Patterson's text yet?"

"Yeah, heading there now."

They walk in silence for a few heartbeats, until they turn into a secluded hallway.

"Jane wait." Kurt says while gently grabbing Jane's arm.

"Kurt, what is it?"

"After you told me last night, about your date. I started thinking. . ."

Jane subconsciously starts to hold her breath. Her expression wreaks of hope.

"Hey! Glad I found you two, Patterson's got something." Tasha pops in.

"Yeah." Kurt says releasing Jane.

Saved by the bell.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

The debrief, while no longer than usual, felt unbearably long. The charged energy from Kurt and Jane's previous conversation still radiated off of them.

While any hope of continuing it was completely shut down by the tattoo clues pointing to three different entities, causing the team to split up completely. Kurt with Roman, Jane with Tasha, and Patterson with Reade.

This was going to be a longgg day.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

The team finally reconvened at about 5pm. They had just finished the field reports. All three of them. It was exhausting.

Fortunately for Kurt his adrenaline spiked right back up about an hour later when Tasha, so graciously, reminded the group that they never filled out the field report for their Deadalus mission. Which caused Reade and Patterson to burst out into a fit of giggles.

"What's so funny?" Jane asked, looking to Kurt, smiling.

Kurt goes wide-eyed. She doesn't know.

This was going to be a long night.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

The team had just finished catching Jane up while writing the 'going to be extremely redacted' field report.

"Wait I'm still confused. If you just wanted Rich to moan, why did you kiss him?"

All eyes look to Kurt.

"We- well I was under the impression that security was going to be charging through the door at any second." He says glaring at the pair of agents who were strategically avoiding his gaze. "And when they did, if they saw us. . . you know-"

"We don't know, Weller!" Patterson howled.

Kurt glared.

"Yeah I kind of want to know how far you were willing to take it Assistant Director!" Reade joined in.

"We're done here." Kurt said as he walked out.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

Jane had just walked out of the locker room to be met head on with Kurt.

"Kurt, hey!" Jane says, surprised.

"Hey."

"Umm. . . I actually wanted to talk to you."

Kurt raises his eyebrows in obvious confusion, cueing Jane to continue.

"When we were. . . Uh you know- outside of P- Patterson's lab. You didn't finish." Jane stumbles through her words as a new wave of nervousness hits her with full force.

"Oh that." Kurt says, grabbing Jane's arm, mirroring his earlier gesture and leading her away from the locker room door.

"Jane, I was up all night and I couldn't stop thinking about it. We need to be careful. Sandstorm feels like it's everywhere."

"You think Oliver is Sandstorm?"

"Yes. . . No." Kurt shakes his head.

"Kurt you're not making any sense." Jane says studying him.

"I know. I know. I just- no I don't think he's Sandstorm."

"Then why did you-"

"I've been trying to come up with reasons of why you shouldn't date him for the better part of 13 hours."

"Kurt wha-"

"And I got nothing, because the only reason is that I love you."

Jane goes wide-eyed. It was as if all the air was sucked out of her.

"I love you Jane."

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

[freedom-shamrock]

Catching Chances - Chapter 12

Also on AO3 Chp 1   Chp 2   Chp 3   Chp 4   Chp 5   Chp 6 Chp 7   Chp 8  Chp 9   Chp 10   Chp 11   Chp 12  Chp 13 Marichat May day 31 - reincarnation

Marinette felt Chat scoop her up, cradling her as he moved.  "Kitt-ty," she mumbled, completely comfortable with him carrying her.  "Where we going?"

She felt his chuckle more than she heard it.  "Bed, Princess. It's late. Way past your bedtime."

She recalled cuddling with him on the couch watching movies.  "You're staying?"

"Yeah," he replied.  "It's our long weekend together, remember?"

"Ooooh.  Yeaaaah."  With the knowledge that he wasn't leaving, that she would wake up to him tomorrow, she was able to relax against him and let sleep claim her again.

The floor was cool under her bare feet as she silently moved through the emperor's summer palace.  In her transformation, the airy skirts and light trailing sleeves of her hanfu had been replaced with a red and black representation of a Jingxi opera huā dàn costume.  Loose vertically striped pants swished around her legs. Two long thin braids hung down against the front of her red shirt while the rest of her hair was coiled at the back of her head in a style she never adopted as herself.  A fan was tucked into her gold accented belt, its long red tassel and the dangling ties of the belt brushing against her pants in a way that was comforting in its familiarity. She'd prefer not to get caught sneaking around at night, but if she was, it shouldn't be a problem.  She was a well-known hero in this guise, and she was effectively masked by white and pink magical opera makeup. Not even her own parents knew of her superhero activities and she'd rescued them twice this year alone.

She paused, seeing a shadow lurking in the room she was heading for.  He was tall, carefully standing at the back of the room, where the open windows wouldn't shine light on him. But her eyes were attuned to the movement, and she saw better in the dark when she was transformed.  She sighed, letting a faint smile grace her lips when she noted the pom on the top of his head. Pausing just long enough to listen, she continued into the room to meet with her partner. She joined him at the back wall.

"Piáo Chóng," he purred.  "I suspected I might find you here."

She reached out and lightly tapped his nose.  His face was concealed behind the magical makeup of the mask of Chong Hēihǔ.  "Of course I'm here, silly cat," she whispered. "I don't deviate from our plans."

He smirked, bowing his head slightly.  "My Lady is so clever."

She loved this relationship, so full of fun and genuine affection delivered in polite social manner.  "I have managed to establish myself among the ladies as sweet and reliable."

He grinned.  "As I said, so clever."  He held out his hand, letting two fingers brush under her chin.

"Ah ah," she said, waving a finger in front of his face.  "No distractions, My Tiger."

He folded his hands together and bowed his head.  "Business first, of course," he said in agreement.  "I have uncovered the first silk strands of the plot against the emperor and his family.  I must unweave them a bit more before I have anything solid for us to work off, but I believe his eldest son is the target."

She swept up one of his hands in her own.  "A thousand blessings upon your family," she murmured.  "Please continue to pluck at those knots." Her fingers ran over the back of his sharp claws.

The world melted away, and she stood beside the Loire River at the besieged city of Orléans, dressed in plate armor that would have felt heavier if not for Tikki.  She held a French banner aloft to flap in the wind while men around her fought. The dull thuds of steel against leather bucklers and shields joined with the sharp crack of bow strings and the shouts of the soldiers.  They were here to free the town of Orléans from its British invaders, to take back French land from the ever expanding British reach. The army had been demoralized after too many consecutive defeats, and losing here was not an option.

Though she couldn't see her partner, she knew the Black Cat was here, following his side of the plan from his place inside the high stone walls of the city.  She could feel his movements as he lurked in shadows, sabotaging the entrenched British forces at every opportunity. Her troops would succeed this day, and she would finally meet her partner outside of the visions her kwami's magic gave her.

The sights and sounds of war faded into the arid heat of the desert, subdued in the dark of night.  The stars were bright in the deep blue black cloth of the sky. She sat cross-legged on the roof of the chapel of the sun, her black-spotted, red linen sheath bunched up around her thighs. The North Palace was quiet tonight, and she couldn't decide if that bode well for them or not.

Her hands fiddled with the red yo-yo that served as her primary weapon as Red Scarab, protector of Egypt.  A faint scratching sound, the familiar noise of claws on brick caught her attention and she looked up in time to see her partner pull himself up onto the roof beside her.

"Good evening, my Panther," she whispered, smiling at him.  The beads at the ends of her many braids clicked together as she moved her head.

He crawled, cat-like, to settle beside her.  The tall gold-lined black ears that came with his transformation twitched and pivoted to catch the sounds around them.  "Lovely Scarab," he said, settling beside her, the belt of his gold-accented, black linen shenti covering his lap. "The pharaoh is unwell.  His mind has taken to madness."

She nodded.  "It is what I feared."

"He has taken to calling the departed mother of his child by another name, and is preparing a great sacrifice to Ra," Panther continued.  "He has acquired a tool of magic." He looked down at his hand, where a silver band wrapped around his finger. "I've not seen its like before.  Plagg tells me that should he cast his spell it will cause great harm and it won't bring back the dead."

Red Scarab nodded.  "Tikki feels the magic.  She worries for the fertility of Egypt and the surrounding nations if it is put to use."

"We will stop him, my love," Panther said, confidently.

She smiled at him.  "You seem so certain, son of Bastet."  She tapped him lightly on the nose.

"With you beside me, I can't be anything else."  For a moment, he closed his bright green eyes, slitted like a cat's and glowing with his magic.  "And perhaps when the threat is past, you will consent to become the wife of a scholar and servant of justice."

She giggled.  "I see you have plans of you own."

"I do," he agreed, leaning over to nuzzle her beaded hair.  "You are welcome to join me in them."

"Then I shall."  The skin of his bare shoulders was warm and soft under her hand as she leaned against him.  She didn't know his true name or identity, and learning his occupation made her far happier than she expected.

Marinette woke with a gasp, strangely both fully aware of who and where she was, yet oddly disoriented from dreams of a hundred past Ladybugs.  In every one, her black cat was by her side. Sometimes things ended peacefully in old age or naturally from illness. They raised children, mourning together for those who did not survive infancy.  In other lives he took a final fatal blow meant for her, and in even fewer she did the same for him.

She was breathing hard, tears leaking out of her eyes to drip onto the duvet she clutched.  She whined, unsure if she was more upset over experiencing Jeanne d Arc's burning at the stake, or the fact that her Back Cat had allowed himself to be captured in cat form, only to be thrown onto the pyre, as self punishment when he couldn't help her escape.

Familiar hands wrapped around her, pulling her to Chat Noir's chest.  He was in the soft t-shirt she'd made for him, and it smelled like him.  Not pungent, but comforting. "Sssh, Mari. I'm here. I've got you," he whispered.  His hands trembled a little, and his breathing almost as rough as her own. "It was just a dream."

She shook her head, unable to speak out of fear that she'd make some horrible howling sound.  It wasn't a dream. She'd bet her miraculous on it. She'd lived the past Ladybugs' lives in her sleep.  She didn't remember all of them, not consciously, she couldn't. But they were all there, to some extent.

Chat kissed her forehead, rocking her in his arms, whispering softly to her until she was calm.  His fingers gently brushed her hair out of her face as she looked up at him from her vantage point resting on his bicep.  "You're safe Mari. I'm here with you, I won't let anything hurt you."

She reached up and brushed her fingers over the edge of his fabric mask.  It was damp and he looked almost as spooked as she'd felt. "Oh Kitty," she whispered.  "My sweet kitty." She bit her lip and tightly screwed her eyes shut, to prevent another round of crying.

"It's time," Plagg said quietly.  He'd taken up residence at the end of the bed.

"I'll get you cheese in a minute," Chat said.

"That's not what I'm talking about," Plagg said with a wry smile.  "You had the dreams. It's time to end the charade."

Marinette reached out a hand to the black kwami, pulling him close to cuddle as soon as he landed on her palm.  "Oh Plagg…" she whispered. How hard had it been for him to lose so many of his kittens?

Plagg purred and rubbed his head under her chin.  "This is what we've been waiting for, Princess. You can tell him now."

"Tell me what?" Chat asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"Why now?" she asked, confused.

"You are each complete now.  You know who you are. Who you were."  He reached out and lightly placed one paw on the tip of her nose.  "You've seen what can go wrong. You understand the importance of caution and planning.  You're ready."

Sniffling a little, she looked back up at Chat.  "I love you."

That brought her a half-smile.  "That's not news, though I'm always glad to hear it."

She shrugged.  "Yeah… I hope you still feel that way after this."  What if he didn't? What if he didn't come back? Tears pricked at her eyes again.  She couldn't lose him. Not again.

"To be fair," Plagg helpfully interjected, looking his chosen in the eye.  "She's been wanting to tell you this for ages. Since she moved here."

"Before," she corrected.

Plagg gave her a glance.  "I stand corrected. She's wanted to tell you since before she moved here.  But we wouldn't let her."

"What?"  Chat said quietly.  "We?"

Marinette put her thumb behind one earlobe, calling his attention to the plain black cabochon earrings she always wore.  "I'm Ladybug."

Chat froze, his eyes positively huge as he stared at her.

"My kwami... Tikki, forbade me from telling you, and… I've felt awful, keeping it from you.  But it doesn't change anything. I still love you. I still want to be with.you." She wanted to reach out and embrace him, but didn't dare intrude upon his space.  "None of this has changed." She gestured between them.

"With all due respect, My Lady, it changes quite a bit," he said.

She flinched, drawing her arms in close to hug herself as she prepared for the worst.

His hand caught one of hers before she could fold in on herself entirely.  "I didn't say it was a bad change, Princess." He brought her fist to his lips, lightly kissing the back.  

She closed her eyes, shuddering in relief.  "I love you."

"And I love you, Marinette."  Moving slowly, he reached up and placed her hand on the knot at the back of head.  "And I know how you feel, exactly. I've wanted to tell you who I am… I've felt so dishonest, Princess."

She offered him a small smile.  "I know you, don't I?" She felt his nod more than she saw it.  "I understand. And I will still love you without this."

"Take it off, please."  His voice was small, as if he expected her to deny him.

She slipped the knot up the back of his head, not looking away from his eyes as she discarded the mask the moment his face was exposed.  "Oh," she whispered, her hands coming up to cup his cheeks. "Oh, Adrien. It's you." It was as though all the pieces of a puzzle had fallen into place, and it was so right.  She beamed at him.  "Of course it's you."  She slipped one hand into his hair behind his ear.

His eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into her touch.  "Please forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive."  All her warm happy feelings fled and she nearly choked on nothing when she realized all the things that had happened to Adrien, when she suddenly knew the name of the man who had abused her Kitty for years.

His eyes snapped open.  "What? What's wrong?"

She ground her teeth together for a moment.  "I want to kill your father," she snarled.

"I told you," Tikki whispered, nudging Plagg, as she settled beside him in Marinette's lap.

"She's being hyperbolic," Plagg dismissed.

"She's not."  The tiny red kwami met Marinette's eyes.  "Don't think I don't see you plotting murder, Marinette."

"Death is far too good a punishment," Marinette snapped.

"I adore you, Princess," Plagg said, happily.

Adrien laughed, lightening the dark mood that had settled.  "Nice to meet you Tikki." He extended one finger to the kwami, chuckling as she hugged it.  "Princess, can you plot against my father later?" When she met his eyes she was surprised by the joy she saw there.  "I really want to kiss you right now."

"Kwamis out," Plagg blurted, grabbing hold of Tikki and flying out of the room.

"But I can plot later?" she asked, massaging his scalp again.

"Yes."  He leaned in to rub his cheek against hers.  "I'll even help."

"Okay," she agreed.  "Kisses and cuddles now.  Plotting later."

Thank you all for sticking through this one with me. I'm so sorry this chapter took so long! If I have time an energy, I'll come back and slap on an epilogue showing the fall of Gabriel Agreste.

Research Notes: China Piáo Chóng (Ladybug) and Hēihǔ (Black Tiger) Their costumes are influenced by Chinese Opera.

Huā dàn is a traditional opera role.  Huā dàn are young maidens, flighty, energetic, and vivacious, they are known for quick movements and a bit of sass.  Their role is there to brighten and amuse. This is a presentation of a well known dance Qiao Huā Dàn by the dance school I volunteer with 

Chong Hēihǔ is a black tiger character from both a Chinese novel and opera.  You can see his  opera mask paint here .

Hēihǔ is wearing a costume consistent with a wu song hero role because it would be better to fight in than some of the costumes used in the wu sheng and other hero roles.  He's wearing this in black with green 

France Jeanne d Arc and Black Cat

She was burned at the stake and a black cat was thrown on the fire, a common practice for the pyre of a witch.  The cat was her partner, who could shapeshift.  He chose to die, allowing himself to be captured for this purpose when he could not free his partner.

Egypt Red Scarab and Panther

Akhenaten's concubine or lover (known to historians as only The Younger Lady), and the mother of Tutankhaten (later Tutenkhamun) has died and he is bereft. He has taken to calling her by his wife Nefertiti's name (it means "the beauty has come").

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Tree

Day 18 of 31 Days of Ficmas.  @doctorroseprompts

@timepetalsprompts bingo - Piper - Sapphic characters

13xRose, with Jenny.

Another short one - I think I’m running out of steam here, haha.  (but seriously)

Ficmas Masterlist 2017, Day 18

AO3

“Rose!  Jenny!  Aren’t you ready yet?”  The Doctor shouted, exasperated with their family.  Less than a minute later they stumbled into the console room, laughing.

“Hold your horses, love, we’re here,” Rose rolled her eyes, kissing her spouse.

They rolled their eyes back. “We’re gonna miss it if you take any longer,” they complained.

“Come on,” Jenny sighed impatiently from the doorway.  “Now who’s holding us up?”

All grumbling, the family made their way outside to head for the town square.

“Where are we?”  Jenny asked, skipping alongside her parents.

“Ember.  They do up a proper Christmas festival.  You’ll see,” the Doctor answered, swinging their hand joined with Rose’s between them.

“Ooh, with the really good hot chocolate?”  Rose lit up.

“Maybe,” her spouse smirked. “You’ll have to find out.”

It wasn’t long before they made their way into the square, taking in the vendors and people. Everything was decorated for a Victorian Christmas.

“Doctor, is it just me…” Rose began, looking around with a frown.

“Yep!”  They popped the letter.  “About a hundred years locally after Kazran and Abigail. Blimey, that was an exhausting week.”

“It worked out,” Rose reminded them.

“True.  And one last day with your beloved – who wouldn’t choose Christmas?”

“Can we get cocoa?” Jenny interrupted, and Rose smiled at her.

“Course love, why don’t you go get some for all three of us?”  She handed her daughter the credit stick, laughing as she darted off towards the nearest vendor.  “So, what’s the itinerary?  I want to know what we’ll miss when the trouble starts,” Rose deadpanned, making the Doctor huff.

“Why must you assume there’s going to be trouble?”

“Because there’s never not. Out with it.”

The Doctor huffed again. “Cocoa, of course, and shopping if you like.  There’s a tree lighting ceremony in three hours.  That’s it.”

“Sounds brilliant,” Rose smiled, before catching sight of a scarf vendor.  “Ooooh!”

-

Two and a half hours later, the three stood in front of the dark tree with more cocoa, waiting for the tree lighting to start.

“This is great!” Jenny enthused, a veritable bundle of sunshine even on a cold, dark day.

“Glad you’re enjoying it,” the Doctor smiled at their daughter.  “Should be starting soon.”

As if on cue, the town mayor stepped up to a podium.

“I’d like to welcome you all to our annual tree lighting ceremony.  As you likely know, the idea of a Christmas tree originated…”

Rose rolled her eyes, leaning against the Doctor as they listened to the history lesson.  The Doctor wrapped one arm around her waist, and they snuggled together to keep warm through the mayor’s droning.

Just as Rose yawned for the third consecutive time, he wrapped it up by dramatically pressing a button, making the tree light up with every possible color light.

Jenny gasped in front of them, and Rose could just see the wonder and awe in her daughter’s face.  They let her explore, getting up close to the tree and looking at all the decorations.  Finally she wandered back to them, smiling widely.

“Can we have a tree?”

“Course!”  The Doctor cried grandly.  “And I know just the place to get one.  Whenever you’re ready to go.”

“Now, please!” Without waiting for a response she took off in the direction of the TARDIS, leaving her parents to follow, laughing.

“There’s no doubt she’s yours,” Rose told her spouse, smiling widely.

“Oh, I don’t know. The way she loves Christmas is all you,” the Doctor replied, swinging their joined hands.

“Let’s say she’s the best of both of us.  Let’s save the arguing for choosing a tree,” Rose teased.

“Well, if you’d just agree that my knowledge and ability is unparalleled,” the Doctor began, and Rose just tugged them along behind her.

“Come on, love.  Let’s go find a Christmas tree.”

[dancekickboxcardio]

Sorting through my photo 📸 art 👩🏼‍🎨. The floor was busy and I didn’t want to inconvenience people. More, there was so much going on what are you processing 💭 plus what do you actually feel like doing. Today closes off my two day consecutive training 👟. I feel good. I don’t feel sore. I am rested. My thighs are still thick but they are a little shapely. Ooooh 😯, scrubbing in the shower 🚿 today. I love ❤️ my new body brush. I told BFF this should be a reason to keep on showing up at the gym 🏃🏼‍♀️ 💪🏾.

Nice legs 🦵🏾. My desired muscular strong bod pin 📍 is lost from my phone 📲. I was cleaning 🧹 up for memory space the other day. Like I told Lorene and Laura, I couldn’t believe how time flew by so fast 💨 and how I have survived 🤭. I was definitely a little into my thing yesterday. It was a Monday to me although coffee ☕️ spills are like an everyday thing. Disaster after disaster ♨️. I should put my planned sched 📆 today. I got 2 PT sessions from the manager. I have ideas 💡 on what to ask. I also got my weigh in. Not entirely disappointing 😔 but I am like yo-yo. Hello 👋🏾, have you been consistent? Mmmmhm, sickness 🤒 and hits and misses on days I should be in. Can I count on you guys to cheer me up 📣🎉 on 5. That’s being at the health club 5 of 7 days this. I was discussing my results with one of the members and she was Mark Consuelo’s client. I think 🤔 I had this incredulous reaction. Vie— Story for another chapter.

Show ups this entire month 📆. This is horrible attendance.

[lajos2-blog]

Part one

Field work Assignment: Nature VS Nurture

I decided to do a narrative with this assignment. Below is the narrative of Lakea "LaQuan" Joseph.

October 19, 2017 7:00 am

*Alarm clock rings*

"Take your birth control and get out of bed girl" is the message that is displayed on an iPhone 7

"Aaaaaah" I don't feel like getting out of bed right now but I'm about to miss my lecture

*pulls off the cover*

(Thought: I'm sorry what is this? A penis???)

I woke up and at 7:01 and I realize that the women that I grown to know and love is gone. I look in the mirror and the reflections shows a handsome brown skin african American male with a connected beard. When I speak and deep toned voice is heard. As confused as I am I think yolo(1), because this has to be a dream. As normal, I take a shower and try to adjust to my new body parts. Feeling refreshed I go to my closet and to my surprise the closet is full of male attire. At this point I began to think maybe I dreamed of being a girl and this whole time I was a man. Well for day one of manhood I have to be fresh so I pull out my buttahs(2), ripped jeans, white polo shirt and my maroon colored cavaliers fitted. Next to my bed I have a Versace watch and a pinky ring (I don't understand how because as a female I was broke). I go to the bathroom to brush my waves and teeth; grab my car keys so that I can leave. When I go downstairs I realize that I am now the owner of two pit bulls which is weird because I use to own an all white Maltese name Princess. The dogs name tags say Rico and Mitch.

7:50 am (running late for class 8:00am start)

"Oh MY GOD!!! Whose car is this??" I scream a loud. I drive a 2016 all black Dodge Charger.

(Thought: so as a male I have a flashy car, fly jewelry and a fresh look ? This is definitely an upgrade from a Nissan Sentra. I can do this)

I get in my car and realize it's 7:51 am and I am running late.

(Thought: well that didn't change I guess male or female I'll always be late).

I head down Belair road, as usual toward Morgan state university and what do I see...cop lights.

7:53 am

"Registration and license please sir"

I'm sorry what am I being stopped for?

"Speeding...you were going 36 mph in a 35 mph lane"

Officer are you serious?!!

(Thought: your a guy now can't sweet talk your way out of this one. Comply and pay later)

Ok officer no problem ....

"Sir whose car is this? Are there any drugs in the vehicle ?"

No sir. I'm On my way to class and I'm actually running late to class which is why I was going one over the speeding limit (ok sassy ...man up)

** I pointed to the morgan state parking pass**

"Ok college boy I'll let you off this time"

8:05 am

Pull off and now I'm doing 30 all the way to MSU(3)

8:15 am

I finally pull up to the new Jenkins building and park my litt(4) car.

8:20 am

Walking is different. I don't have a switch no more.... I now walk with a sway. I don't carry a pocketbook anymore so my pockets are full with my wallet, chapstick and keys. No hair brushes, no perfumes no pads just a wallet and chap stick. As I walk to my classroom I see females in the lobby...and odd enough they seem attractive to me.

(Thought: OK I'm freaking out! I like girls now....like what the heck!! Ooooh yea I'm a boy. I have to like girl ooooor maybe I can be homosexual. That would actually make this process better ...but wait what would my mom say. Wait does she know I'm a boy?? Wait what is my name? How am I going to do a Kahoot! and I don't know my name.)

**phones rings meek mill ringtone*

House of a cutie ....I mean hello?

Boy why you always playing? I want to talk to you about the stuff I'll need you to get for thanksgiving

Ma? (Confused tone)

What boy? ...now listen (talks about thanksgiving list)

Ma! ....what's my name?

"What?"

My name ...

"Laquan are you drunk boy? Stop playing with me!"

Ma I got to go I only have 30 minutes left of class I got to go.

8:35 am

So I walk into class and nobody didn't notice me. Like normally I come in a couple people turn their head and I notice the body language of the men. But nope not as a guy. No excitement....

The student teachers ask us about the material and I don't even feel like raising my hand and honestly I just want to chill in the cut (5). I answered answered one question out of the 30 something they asked.

"What are some gender norms that are laid out by society"

**Slightly raise my hand**

Men being with women

*she stares at me like if I have more to say*

"Ok ...thank you Laquan. Anyone else?"

8:55

"Ok don't forget your chapter test on chapters 7 -9 is on Friday"

(Thought: dang I miss the whole class! Crap what do I do know...I wonder if I have the same job...so I go to work today? I'm so lost right now)

As I walk back to my car I notice that my phone has been going off at least ten times. So I check it and I have 2 missed calls from my sister, 1 from an unknown number, 2 text messages and 5 missed calls from Brit Britt

(Thought: who is Britt Britt?)

*phone rings*

"Hello?" *a very nice attractive voice answers similar to the one I had when I was a girl*

Britt..

"Hey boo are you still meeting me and jay for brunch?"

(So I'm guessing this is my girl? But who is jay?)

Whose jay?

"Boy stop playing...you play to much. Don't forget I live garden at 11"

(Thought so as a male I'm still a joker...thank God because if not there would be a lot of mad individuals. I am poppin(6) I don't usually do brunch...how do I have the time )

10:55 am

I arrive to Olive Garden and there is a female about the age of 22 with a kid by the age of two. The little guys run up to me and calls me dad; on the inside I passed out.

(Thought: how do I have a kid? Like I'm not married....I'm only 24 and I clearly don't have a degree yet. Like what am I going to do with a son....and why didn't I wake up next to this girl this morning....why did I have a kids designed room in my 3 bedroom home.)

12:30

Brunch is over and I kiss lil man goodbye and hug my "baby mother." I head home because I have no clue what to do next. Upon my arrival I get three consecutive calls from a blocked number. When the blocked number calls again I answer.

Yo?

(Thought: so now I answer my phone yo...like is guess no more house of a cutie talking to beauty how can I help you...huh)

[junker-town]

I’m a Falcons fan. Not even 28-3 can break me.

Losing Super Bowl 51 was the bottom. Nothing will ever hurt that bad again.

28-34: 2nd and Goal, James White 2 yard touchdown run, Patriots win in OT

I decided the confetti would not touch me. That was the line I drew; that was the one indignity I refused as an Atlanta Falcons fan. The bags released from the NRG Stadium ceiling the second the review of White’s touchdown was upheld and I started hopping along empty seats, around and through Patriots fans, abandoning the sight of what had happened as fast as damn possible. This manic exit was probably the most athletic feat of my adult life.

The dry heaving started as soon as I got to the concourse. I couldn’t actually vomit -- I hadn’t eaten in seven hours, first because of nerves and then because I didn’t want to miss a single play of this, our coronation! But just in case I stood over one of those trash cans with the recycling dividers on the lid.

I started to gag again.

“Ooooh, oh baby. Baby, you gonna be OK,” a beer lady closing down her kiosk said.

This was the same area in which, two hours prior, I had solicited a high-five from an on-duty Texas Ranger after Tevin Coleman scored Atlanta’s fourth touchdown. This stupefying extension of my white privilege not only didn’t earn me a taser or handcuffs, but the high-fived law enforcement office responded “Man, y’all sure are laying the damn wood,” with a smile.

I wanted so badly to vomit, hoping that would stop the pain in my stomach. If one of the three Budweisers or the $9 bottle of Dasani came up, I decided I could spit it through either the “plastic” or “landfill” holes on the bin.

A stranger in an Alge Crumpler jersey stopped to look at me while he lit a cigarette inside the building.

“Hey man,” he said. “Cursed. We are fucking cursed.”

28-28: Two point conversion, Tom Brady pass to Danny Amendola

Atlanta fans are not cursed. No one is. A sports curse is a stupid, lazy way to explain away the failings of millionaire strangers you’re embarrassed to be emotionally invested in.

Besides, I don’t think Atlanta Falcons fans are allowed to claim a curse. Curses are pacifiers for shitty performing teams who have national appeal, and almost every conversation I’ve had with strangers about the Falcons -- my favorite team in any sport for my entire life -- inevitably arrives at the same question, even after I explain I’m from Georgia: Why the Falcons?

About that: I’m not explaining that anymore, why I care so much about the Falcons I was gagging into a trash can. No one asks people why they vomit in The Meadowlands.

My family is from Georgia; half from Macon crackers and half from Roswell WASPs. That’s it. That’s why I’m a Falcons fan. I don’t have to justify shit to you, Tampa homeowner in a Steelers jersey.

Here’s where we skip the four paragraphs about ennui and Southern pro sports franchises. And we aren’t going to paint a picture of Atlanta based on an out-of-towner’s gross miscalculation that the city is a cultureless void of white collar migrants and no local identity just because you’re scared of humidity and trap music. But there is a fantastic aquarium, you should try to visit that if you get a chance.

28-26: 2nd and Goal, James White 1-yard touchdown run

I shouldn’t care, but it’s hard to ignore that certain fan bases’ misery earns them some kind of certification for national acceptance. For instance, we pause to reflect on the Buffalo Bills losing four consecutive Super Bowls. Woe is the long winter of that city’s Loyal. True. Fans.

Buffalo’s is an “existential pain” and not a joke, because Buffalo is the kind of place a sports columnist can go 20 inches to nowhere with tripe about the hope inside of workaday Springsteen characters roaming the cheap seats. You know, in the America that used to be great, except America actually sucked as much then too, which is why all those people moved South to take jobs.

Now -- If you’re the Houston Oilers, lol, you’re not a city yearning to rally around a championship: Oh no. You’re just some assholes who blew a 34-point postseason lead back when Matt Ryan was 7 years old.

If most people laugh at the idea of an Atlanta Falcons fan base, surely no one is going to respect how bitter a Falcons fan still feels after February 5. But knowing that actually helps, at least for me. The only thing worse than being made to feel like your fandom is somehow invalid in comparison to a Green Bay or Pittsburgh is humping a Super Bowl loss for sympathy points from media and other fans.

The NFL has enough problems without creating its own Cubs fans.

28-20: Two point conversion, James White 1-yard run

The Atlanta Falcons blew a 25-point lead in the Super Bowl. At some point in the proceeding seven months realizing that fact felt slightly less than devastating. That’s it. That’s all the misery you’ll get from me.

As a fan I have chosen to survive this, and not out of some attempt at altruism. Nah. I’m still here, still signed up for 16 games and God-knows-what-else-come-January because it’s all house money now, and forever: I’ve seen the absolute worst thing that could happen in a game to my team. Ever.

Not Eugene Robinson. Not Brett Favre. Not Bobby Petrino. Not Bad Newz Kennels. Not marrying into a Saints family. Not getting my ass whipped by Washington fans on a school bus in Virginia in 1992 for wearing my team’s Starter jacket.

Imagine knowing that your fandom has found absolute bottom. Imagine knowing nothing else can hurt you as much as it already has.

28-18: 2nd and 2, Tom Brady touchdown pass to Danny Amendola

This might actually be the most watchable, most enjoyable Falcons team in the history of the franchise. And in 51 years that’s not as bold a statement as it should be, so it’s even that much more enticing to watch.

A few months ago a college head coach described Dan Quinn’s Seattle-Atlanta defense to me: “I mean, don’t write it like this because it’s not appropriate anymore, but we love it because they can trick you just enough put a ball carrier out in space to flat knock you the fuck out. On purpose.”

I know my silent admiration for that quote is the root of what might end the violent sport of football entirely, but I am a weak person who loses moral calibration every time Keanu Neal tattoos someone.

Go back and watch that Seattle Super Bowl over Denver. If you don’t like defense, if you were weaned on Steve Spurrier or Bill Walsh, go watch that game again. Watch the things a defense can do when it wants to be fluid and graceful and not the 1985 Bears.

In the space between talking about New England, our fan base has managed to develop excitement about the young players designed to overcome the fourth-quarter evaporation that allowed* the Patriot comeback.

(*The preceding statement, however tacitly, technically acknowledges that Super Bowl 51 was not the entire fault of former offensive coordinator Kyle Shanahan. However, it is still the unwavering belief of this writer that Mr. Shanahan should at some point in the near future go fuck himself forever.)

28-12: 4th and Goal, Stephen Gostkowski 33 Yd Field Goal

Julio Jones glides just off the ground. All the time: He even glides when he’s run blocking, when he went in motion in the damn backfield to pull safeties away from a touchdown run by Devonta Freeman in the Super Bowl.

Julio Jones is a 6’3, 220-pound, living action verb whose default setting is “General Lee, midair” and sometimes when I’m having a bad day I watch this play on repeat, because ahahahahahahaha there’s no league policy against using a Kaiju at wideout:

When I watch that clip it occurs to me that my fixation on winning a Super Bowl might cause me to miss the joy of watching what will almost certainly be one of the genuinely fun NFL offenses of the last decade.

Some people ruin their fandom trying to sort their quarterbacks or defenses in the pantheon of greatness. My failing has always been the reduction of every single moment to a binary: Championship / No Championship. That’s always been it. As a fan I have never stopped to appreciate the single moments of satisfaction along the way.

28-9: 2nd and Goal, Tom Brady touchdown pass to James White

I love that Deion Sanders is still the greatest cornerback in history, even if he went to San Francisco. I love Jerry Glanville. I love the Grits Blitz. I love “Big Ben Right.” I love that Michael Vick ran 46 yards for a touchdown in overtime and scared the ever-loving shit out of White America for a decade. Hell, I still love Michael Vick, and I adopted a pit bull and named it after Matt Ryan. I love breaking Minnesota’s soul in 1998 to repay the Twins in 1991. I love Dan Reeves. I love MC Hammer. I love the “Dirty Bird.” None of these things, built over 36 years of my life, were context for what happened vs. New England.

If you met a Falcons fan in a sports bar tomorrow and you couldn’t rile them about the Super Bowl and they still expressed genuine excitement for the 2017 season, you would be terrified of what would be an obvious sociopath. This is the kind of fan I have to be now to keep going. The guy you don’t want to fight in that sports bar because you know they wouldn’t just swing a few times, they’d bite you in the face.

I will bite you in the face. At no point in this Godforsaken experience of losing a 25-point lead in the Super Bowl have I stopped loving the things about this lampooned, derided sports team that makes a grown man dry heave in anger.

If that’s true, if Super Bowl 51 can’t separate me from this stupid team, then I will surely die with them. Because nothing can be worse.

I seriously think we’re going to win the Super Bowl this year.

28-3