#never draw them as old men so let me throw up a two-page comic HELP | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zukofenty · 4 years

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always be my maybe

➜ Summary: The one where Zuko and Katara could never quite get their timing right. Especially when the universe throws a lost condom, thousands of miles, and a baby in their way.

“I will literally french braid my pubic hairs and never open my pussy to anyone ever again if this condom doesn’t kill me. Please don’t let it kill me.”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, Celebrity Chef!Katara, Doctor!Zuko, Love, Rosie!AU

AO3 @zutaraweek

“Go a couple rounds, leave Zuko’s dick up in a casket!” Toph screams into the microphone, undeterred by the various guests who stare up at her, mouth open and half-chewed, dry-as-fuck chicken spilling out. It wasn’t her fault, really! As soon as Zuko handed the mic off to her, he basically gave her free reign to spit a Megan Thee Stallion verse in his honor. “Sing with me, bitches! Look up the lyrics on Genius.com, Cheryl!”

“Sit down !” Katara squeezes out from clenched teeth, ripping the device out from the girl’s grip.

“I didn’t even get to the chorus, you fucking whore .” A bridesmaid nervously plucks the mic from their table and avoids eye contact with both of them. “What’s going on with you, bitch?” Toph asks quietly. She could tell Katara’s been doing her fake smile for the last twenty minutes. The girl was practically going to break her face open with how hard she was grinding her teeth.

“Just thinking.” Katara wants to smack herself in the face, pinch a nipple and bring herself to reality. Everything felt too real, and Toph could sense it. She’s the type to somehow sense when Katara shifts in her seat a certain way to covertly satisfy a cooch itch, and then buys her Monistat the same day.

She hates that she could never hide any emotion from her. Toph could always figure out the puzzle pieces that were Katara. One of the few to know the real her, besides Zuko.

Sometimes Katara thinks the younger girl knows her better than him. At least now. Especially now.

“About?” Toph takes an experimental sip from the wine glass, and gags. The juice tasted like Gatorade and cum. “Why the fuck would anyone want a dry wedding? Weddings are the only time you get to see your alcoholic uncle vomit all over the bride’s shoes, and then your closeted aunt has to wipe up the puke and her reputation from the floor while thinking of her secret girlfriend at home watching Tiger King .”

“That example was extremely specific and extremely unnecessary.” Katara brushes a crunchy curl, doused in hairspray, from her eyes.

“Sorry, I got distracted. I had dick on the brain, or whatever Rihanna said,” Toph mumbles, risking a bite of the chicken.

Katara turns to see him at the couple’s table in the center of the extravagant wedding, and sighs. “And for your information, I was just thinking when will he penetrate my esophagus? You know, just girly things.”

Toph has the gall to slap the girl on the cheek.

Katara holds her stinging face, eyes narrowed in an unspoken threat for fucking up the parts of her face she didn’t set with powder (she was going for a dewy look, sue her). “Not fair! You were the one who called my throat the baby chute earlier today!”

“Ok, throat goat. One, he’s getting married. Two, you’re sick.”

“My therapist will most likely cosign that,” Katara sighs. Toph holds Katara’s hand and leans her head on her shoulder as they watch Zuko mingle with guests.

This is the happiest day of his life.

Her best friend of twenty odd years was getting married. He looked so handsome, so happy. A suit that looked like it would cost someone’s rent and a half casually hugging his muscular frame. A blinding smile on his face, cheeks flushed from champagne and excitement.

When he turns her way, his smile grows impossibly wider. Toph clinks on a champagne glass with a fork, breaking it a la Princess Diaries , and Katara could feel the stares of nearly everyone in the room, ready for her speech.

It should be the happiest day of my life, too.

Right?

Katara thinks she wants to cry.

Now, how come none of those Judy Blume, coming-of-age books have a chapter on how to write a Best Woman speech for your best friend getting married to another woman, even when you were struggling with the fact that you might have been in love with him for the past two decades?

Bitch, what the fuck do you even start that Google Doc with?

Does she start at 4 years old? When Katara thinks Zuko is an annoying piece of shit?

But, you know, he’s her piece of shit.

Guys have hepatitis, or cooties, or whatever Sokka said, she couldn’t exactly remember. All she remembered was Zuko sucked. He stole her crayons and made fun of her Hello Kitty backpack on the first day of school. He was the stupid one, not Hello Kitty . Never Hello Kitty . She’d shoved his face into the playground’s wood chips, threatened to cut off his peepee for breathing down her neck with his retainer breath, and even stuck his head in between two slices of white bread and lovingly referring to him as an ‘idiot sandwich’ (Sokka let her watch too many Gordon Ramsey hosted shows while their dad was working late).

Zuko and Katara were practically inseparable ever since.

Or 10, when you were asking for trouble if you fucked with Zuko.

He was a tiny kid, glasses too big for his head. Hair shaggy, clothes too oversized for him (just the way he liked it). His dad had tried beating it into him that it showed weakness by not making waves, not being loud and proud. But, he was quiet by nature. For him, it was just easier.

Not stirring the pot, being the observer, looking in from the outside. He was just Zuko , he liked Wonder Woman comics and figuring out what other words besides BOOBIES he could spell with his calculator instead of actually doing his math homework, because he was bad at math. Bad at everything, really. Everything but band class. Even if he did hate that stupid fucking tsungi horn.

His mom would hide his report cards from his dad, especially the ones noting how shy he was (Mrs. Kim had used the exact words ‘very antisocial, very easy to bully’). Even when Ursa would ask him to try, try to make friends outside of Katara, he was always a stubborn little thing. Something you got from your father , she would say, the smile slipping off her face just the slightest.

It was just more fun being by himself, the only exception he made was Katara. He spent his recess scribbling down a plot for a Love Amongst the Dragons Fanfiction and listening to Katara’s iPod he’d steal from her, just because he could , after she snuck it out from her backpack for the 10 minute break they had. It was the iPod she spent the last two Christmases saving up with Sokka for. Zuko insisted he could master Ludacris’s rap in Usher’s “Yeah!” and practiced the Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays she had custody of the device.

Some days, Katara would sit beside him in her signature puffy blue jacket, struggling to fold herself to fit on the blacktop beside Zuko. The patented jacket her grandmother forced her to wear every single day obstructing her abilities. He snickers, but keeps quiet, content with plotting out a story that he would hopefully get to type out on the school library’s computers if his mom picked him up late again. She usually did, much to the dismay of the ladies at the front office. They typically hissed at him (which made him cry, to which they would have to offer him a cherry Otter pop so they wouldn’t face a lawsuit) and called his mom words he couldn’t repeat without getting in trouble (“Whore”).

Katara would babble on about her day, sometimes thinking of ways for his characters to die a painful death, or cooking up Fanfic plots for Beyoncé and Britney Spears to find love among the chaos of a zombie infestation. She always insisted she brought the creative range to their friendship. Some days though, Katara forgets all about him and plays handball with all the most popular girls in school.

Zuko’s jealous.

(Sometimes.)

She’s my best friend! He wants to scream in their faces. At the end of the day, he thinks he’s going to lose her. The day she realized she was too good, too cool for the likes of him.

“Chan, stop it!” Zuko squeaked, his notebook snatched from underneath his nose. The boy was always picking a fight. Your dad buys you a Motorola flip phone and suddenly you think you’re the shit.

The boy sneers at Zuko, flipping through the pages. “What do we have here? Are you drawing Shrek with boobies? You’re gonna jack off to that later, freak?”

Before Zuko could get a word in and defend his honor, Chan’s entire body was shoved to the ground, a dainty foot cased in a light up, white Skechers sneaker pressing into his face. Zuko couldn’t help his glee as Katara could barely be peeled off and stopped from repeatedly slamming Chan’s face into the hopscotch chalk court. “It’s all ogre now, bitch!”

She made sure to pin her detention slip to her Bratz backpack with pride. Zuko buys two treats that day from the student store before he walks her home.

“You’re my best friend, forever and ever,” Katara declares, head held up high. Zuko saw through it, though. He knows she’s scared of what Hakoda has to say, what Gran Gran has to say. So, he holds her hand tight, trying to relay his gratitude in the touch.

He licks at his Spongebob popsicle. The eyes had melted off and looked more like someone’s worst nightmare than an icy treat. Katara had wanted his cherry Otter pop, and he happily handed it over. “Pinky promise?” He holds out his finger.

Katara hooks her finger around his, dwarfing his tiny digit. Her outstretched smile stained orange. “I’ll break yours if you ever forget.”

At 15, Katara came to the realization that men have the emotional intelligence of a Souplantation crouton (may Souplantation rest in peace).

Growing up, with their dad and grandma always at work at their store, Katara was always in charge of cooking. No matter how many times she’d try to get Sokka to do it, he always insisted he was far too busy with taking out the trash, killing bugs, hating women. So, she was stuck with it, and honest-to-Rihanna, really liked it. Not that she’d ever let Sokka ever get the satisfaction of knowing it. It was her time to be alone, gave her the space to pop in a Cheetah Girls CD and pretend she won Masterchef with the struggle meal straight out of a Spam can she had to pound on a few times to get it to squeeze out from its gelatinous casing, or a whitewashed recipe she tried replicating whenever she catches a Rachael Ray rerun.

Though, Katara’s favorite time was chopping up the green onions under Ursa’s careful eyes, a hand always just there in realign the knife just in case she’d carelessly cut the green onions too big to garnish. Then, Ursa would then take out scissors because nobody had time for that. When his dad wasn’t home, Zuko’s mom opened up their doors across the street to the siblings, rambling about the next big painting she was planning as they scarfed down a home cooked meal.

Zuko was similar to his mom in that regard. They were the type of people who managed to make everyday moments larger-than-life, made it infectious, too. When it’s nighttime and he’s snuck into and snug in Katara’s room, he’d tell her dreams too big for anyone’s comprehension. Sometimes he dreamed he had tits that would leak chunky chicken noodle soup. Sometimes he’d ramble until her eyes are flitting shut and he’s left talking to himself and measuring his hand with hers, securing the leg she instantly throws over his waist. He’d like to think he was her only exception in the Souplantation crouton narrative.

Her bed is starting to smell like him, too. His favorite Costco brand shampoo and conditioner that he leaves in her bathroom, permeating her nostrils when she pulled him close. She even let him put up a Drake poster right next to her plethora of Rihanna ones, but only after he let her draw a penis on both his and Drake’s face. What he didn’t account for was her using a permanent marker, or the fact he couldn’t scrub it away from his cheeks for the next two days.

It was easy like this, just the two of them.

He’s there for all the birthdays and Halloweens and Christmases that left her not quite feeling whole. When things were hard, when things fucking sucked, when she wanted nothing more but to die. He was there, (stupidly) holding out his hand and willing to be the eye to her hurricane.

At 15, Zuko decides Katara feels home.

At 18, Zuko had already been Katara’s many firsts.

He was her first buffet partner, and brought back his Justin Bieber haircut just to pretend he was 12 so they could qualify for children's rates and a complimentary Oreo cheesecake because they were always celebrating his “birthday.”

Her first clubbing partner the second she turned 18, rubbing her back when any Beyoncé song with a Jay-Z feature came on because the second he cheated on Beyoncé, he cheated on everyone in the Beyhive. The first one to have to hold her as she hurled on his shoes, the first one to have to take her to get her stomach pumped.

The first person she tried to roll a joint with.

“I don’t need to learn that.”

Katara purses her lips. “And why not?”

He gestures to his face. “I’m too pretty. Only ugly bitches know how to do that . ”

Sokka thinks he needs to intervene when he hears Zuko’s tsungi horn case being chucked across the room .

The first person she (almost) fucked.

His family life was, for lack of a better word, fucked up. Katara had been witness to the drinking, the drugs, the crying. The nights where she sometimes didn’t know if the person standing in front of her was Zuko. She just wanted one night away from it all, just one night out on the town.

“That was kind of terrible,” Katara admits easily, wincing because she was sure he spilled Papa John’s garlic dipping sauce in his shitty Corolla’s air filter last Tuesday. He tried positioning his arm naturally underneath her head while their half naked bodies were pressed together, but he ended up smacking off her glasses. He even had the audacity to contently sigh as though he accomplished something, rather than just tangle her hair and give her a tension headache.

She felt lied to! Cheated! Bamboozled! Hoodwinked! All the Shrek and Y/N stories on FF.net could not prepare her for the fact that there weren’t any tongues fighting for dominance, or any mouths that tasted like cinnamon or musk or shit like that. It was just retainer to retainer and smelled distinctly of her awkward friend (cheese). It was sweaty and a lot of weird humping and felt like a visit to the gyno.

“Hey! I thought it was pleasantly average.” He clears his throat. “You know, besides the fact you farted mid-insertion and I started crying after 20 seconds.”

“You mean right after you came, right?” She says matter-of-factly.

He glared. “Is it my fault you have a gorilla grip pussy? Is it?”

“Zuko, you’re so fucking — ”

“What happens when you put a hot dog in the microwave for 2 minutes?” He crosses his hands and folds them over his lap like a professor waiting for a volunteer to answer the equation on the board.

“So in this metaphor, are you calling my pussy a microwave?”

But in true Zuko and Katara fashion, it was clumsy and a mess and could be erased with an emergency Burger King outing where they ate in silence and pinky promised never to speak of it again.

She wonders if Zuko should’ve been her first date to prom, too.

She wants to stop feeling so bothered . She couldn’t quite pin it, but lately everything he did frustrated the shit out of her. How he was taller than her now. How he didn’t need her to fight his battles because he goes to the gym now and wears a fake Gucci belt because he’s just so cool (brooding Asian guy is the trend, and Zuko thinks he’s the blueprint). How he said yes to going to prom with Mai, the prettiest girl in their grade.

“Don’t look in there!” Katara yelps, a blush creeping on her cheeks.

“Why?” Zuko questions, taken aback. He was entirely too comfortable in her room.

“Um. Maybe I don’t want a freak going through my dirty underwear pile!” Her eyebrows are halfway done, and she only has one eyelash glued on. She was stressed, scared her dress might not fit with how many of Sokka’s cookies she stress-ate because she just wanted the night to be perfect .

“Relax, what are a few discharge stains going to do to me, huh? If anything, it gives your pussy some much-needed personality.” Zuko wasn’t going to stop until he found his fake Gucci belt in Katara’s closet.

“Zuko!” Katara screams at the top of her lungs.

“Do I have to remind you about the time you broke our friendship bracelet while masturbating and I dug the bead out of your vagina like the good friend I am?”

She shoves him back from the closet, crowding in his space. That belt was going to remain in its rightful place. “Oh, fuck you! I took the fall for you when you opened your laptop in history class and forgot to exit from your “VIBRATING PANTIES” porn tab!” She pushes him before plopping on her bed.

Katara buries her face in her pillow at that point, too entirely embarrassed and body too hot to continue to look at his nonchalant face. He doesn’t quite remember when exactly Katara became so cute .

Pretty? Definitely. Fearless? For sure.

But blushing Katara, embarrassed Katara, cute Katara?

He thinks it’s because they rarely saw each other now, despite his patented place in her bed. His band, Hello Zuko, was aiming for at least a few dive bar performances to build a reputation, especially with their new title track “Tennis Ball.” Katara was a familiar face at their town’s soup kitchens.

“Where are you going?” he would sleepily mumble as he tried taking his midday nap before late night performances.

Katara’s hands are full with ingredients, swaying side to side and eyes red and drowsy. “Trying to temper chocolate. Why? What’s up?”

She never misses a performance, though. Comes to them with a sparkly poster doused in glitter, and t-shirts with his face on them and everything. He never misses a fundraising event, making sure to bring a steaming thermos filled with tea because Katara was never the type to remember to take care of herself, and always buys out her fundraising goodies (even her overbaked brownies.)

He pulls her up by her ponytail, cupping her face in between his hands.

“You look cute.”

“You look like the human equivalent of toeless socks,” Katara mumbles, face squished in between Zuko’s hands. “Why are you giving my clit piercing a kiss kiss right now? What do you want?”

Zuko shakes her head in between his hands. “Pinky promise me you’ll drop all penises to dance with me if they play any Usher song?” It was like he was in fifth grade all over again. “Call me a Nissan because I just want you Altima-self.”

She lets out a cackle, the sound nearly deafening. “Don’t worry, the DJ will get us falling in love again in no time.”

“Do you have to go with Jet?” He asks, pouting. He lays his head in her lap, too entirely preoccupied with picking at her pilling sweatpants to look at her questioning eyes. They promised they were going to be each others’ dates at the beginning of the school year. It was more fun going to dances with Katara. She knew how to do the worm and every lyric to every Rihanna song out there (but she refuses to sing any with Chris Brown parts).

“What? You know I like my men stupid.” She runs her hands through his locks, undoing the crunchy gel job that Iroh had painstakingly spent time on. Zuko didn’t have the heart to tell him it made him look like a youth pastor.

“You do like your communal meat thermometers.” He wants to keep the hurt out of his voice.

She shoves him off her, getting up to put on the dress hanging off her closet’s door handle. “You’re going with Mai, remember?” She yells through the closed closet door.

“But the thing is, I’m not planning to fuck her afterwards at the shitty hotel like it’s some type of CW show with some old bitches playing teenagers!”

“Just say XOXO, Gossip Girl .”

He still resents her for getting him invested in Blair Waldorf’s headband collection. “It’s not my fault Jet looks old. He looks like he’s at least 27 for fuck’s sake!” His face grows more distressed as he spits out each word. He only said yes to going with Mai after finding out Jet asked Katara using some shitty poster that said “my heart is always running when I see you” with a box of Nike outlet sneakers after English class.

“I think you’re just jealous that I emptied my intestines for someone who is about to be in it within the next three hours. When have I ever done that for you?”

Zuko’s about to retort something until Katara slams open the door, flooding his eyes with a dusty blue, curve hugging dress that did weird things to him. Like make his heart beat out of his chest, and his throat all dry when he’s searching for the words to say. Looking for the right words that say he thinks it’s impossible someone’s smile could make sunsets brighter, make the stars twinkle even more, make the unthinkable just a fingertip’s grasp away.

“Can you see the outline of my underwear and/or desperation from the back?” Her spin has him bumbling like an idiot.

He wishes it was Katara that night. Letting him shyly press his sweaty fingers into her waist as Katy Perry’s “E.T.” pierced their eardrums. He knows she would have pinched his nipples as punishment, all things considered. But the fluorescent lights of the disco ball would’ve highlighted how her pretty flush would dust her cheeks, and he would hold her close to his beating heart despite her complaining her foundation would stain his Target dress shirt, and everything would make sense.

“Did you cum?” Jet was absolutely pretty with an oh-so fat horse cock. Too bad he was like the Justin Timberlakes of the world, and always spoke unprovoked.

Katara scoffs. “Yeah, I came to my senses.” She flicked his forehead. “How would I do that? Tell me. How the fuck would a few thrusts and you panting your Sweet and Sour sauce breath in my ear get me off?” She shoves the sweating boy off her. “Can I say jk and will it make me a virgin again?” The hotel room had scratchy sheets and smelled like a waterpark bathroom.

He groaned. “I’m sorry .” He’s completely unremorseful. “Your tits smell like Cinnabon’s cinnamon rolls and I couldn’t help myself!” Katara is about to cut his dick off for breathing in the same vicinity as her, before a gasp stops her entire world.

“Zuko!” she screeches, opening the hotel door with the same devastation as when Britney Spears discovered Ryan Seacrest wasn’t gay painting her features.

“You know what they say.” Zuko’s smirking, entirely ignoring Katara fuming. “Chlamydia is the powerhouse of the cell.”

“You’re. A. Dick!” She says in between smacks to his head. Jet makes a speedy exit, still pantsless and clutching his suit to his chest, while Zuko mouths a ‘ call me’ to Mai, who amusedly waves goodbye to Katara.

“Oh god, this is exactly like the bead incident all over again.”

“ You’re not helping! ”

“Maybe we’ll find Atlantis up there too,” Zuko murmurs, concentrating on positioning the hotel’s mirror under her legs.

“Please, Rihanna. Have mercy on me.” Katara’s hands are in prayer mode as Zuko turns on his phone’s flashlight. “I will literally french braid my pubic hairs and never open my pussy to anyone ever again if this condom doesn’t kill me. Please don’t let it kill me. All those times I took an extra gummy vitamin were a joke . I never wanted to die, I just wanted to feel a little thrill in my life. Please—”

Zuko screams when the squelch of the condom splatters onto the mirror.

“You’re wearing underwear under there right?” He likes the look of his blazer draping over her, buttoned to look like a chic, oversized dress and not because it was the easiest thing to throw over Katara to run and grab Plan B.

“No, because I would obviously let my fat cooter out, cute and bare and vulnerable in a Walmart.”

“A simple yes would have sufficed.”

She’s reaching for the box and wincing at the price when she feels a gentle nudge on her arm. “Ma’am, your entire pussy is out in a Walmart,” the employee breathes out pathetically.

“I am well aware.” She ekes out.

The employee eyes her up and down with a gaze that practically calls her a whore . “Please put her away.” Zuko’s face grows beet red as he tries holding back a laugh.

It was always easy like this. When the world was just Zuko and Katara, holding hands in her driveway while they watched the sun rise in his shitty Corolla. She’s still wrapped up in his blazer, he’s since loosened his cheap tie and his hair is sticking every which way. She likes his smile, especially now that it comes so easy.

He’s smiling a lot more now that his father is gone. Ozai essentially told Azula and Zuko to fuck off , and ran off to some big city to steer a hospital with too many controversies and too many white guys at the helm. Iroh came back from his meditation sabbatical, enthusiastic to take care of the siblings. Zuko seems a lot happier with Iroh around, and even spends nights sleeping in his actual bed. (Katara’s a little hurt, but keeps that to herself).

She wishes she could bottle up these moments with Zuko up and just hold them in her hands. Moments when they were still young and curious and still had time to wait for life to figure itself out. She wants to find a way to make these a permanent fixture, instead of memories that would fade with age. “Let’s get out of here,” he offers up, eyes starry.

“Yeah?” She folds her knees up to her chest, and he taps her under her chin to level their gazes.

“ Republic City . We can make something out of lives. Medical school, culinary school. Get out of this shithole. Get away from our past.” His smile is contagious. “Best friends, forever and ever, right?”

She’s so pretty, her wide eyes sparkling as they take in the rays of sun. She returns his smile. “Best friends, forever and ever.”

Katara remembers how Ursa would say Zuko always dreamt too big, his heart always wanting so, so much .

“It’s a blessing, but more of a curse,” she would note, with the wisdom only mothers are capable of possessing. Sometimes, Katara selfishly thinks the day Ursa left hurt her more than it hurt Zuko. They were impossibly close, to the point where Zuko even had to intervene when Ursa started siding with Katara during their arguments (he knows in his heart his Mother’s Day macaroni portrait of her was better).

She would wonder how the world could let her live like this, dangling something she’s always wanted right in front of her face, only to snatch it away. Wonder if it was easier to die, than live with a hole in her heart that seemingly doubled in size overnight.

“Zuko, please look at me.”

He’s mad, she could tell. With his pout and the way he was forcibly trying to squeeze his eyes in a glare. He’s been sitting in the same spot in her bed, eyes trained on tutorials on how to convincingly persuade your doctor to give you an adderall prescription and “who bit Beyonce” conspiracy videos.

“Well, what if I just wanted you to respect my privacy! For the first time in 15 years! Maybe I needed space!” She yelps after twenty minutes of the silent treatment.

Zuko sends her a look that has her freezing up on the spot. “Katara, you had a whole baby .”

She felt thoroughly scolded, but she was stubborn. “And? What about it?”

“You had an entire one, and didn’t even bother to tell the godfather? When was I supposed to find out?”

Katara didn’t think that one through, to be honest. It was easy to forget, in between diapers that smelled like a fish sauce and an expired Vagisil smoothie, and balancing work. She lays down beside him, thoroughly exhausted after putting her little girl, Yue, down for a nap. “One, who made you the godfather? And two, I guess we’re just not close like that.”

“Look, I literally have your social security number memorized, and have practically given you a Pap smear. You really want to say ‘ we’re not close like that ?” He sends her a look that has her resolve faltering the slightest. “You did your pregnancy announcement like a Sailor Moon transformation sequence with before and after pictures of you being pregnant, and you didn’t think to fucking tell me?”

Katara gasps. “I had you blocked !”

“Azula’s a snitch!” He also got a glimpse of the photo of Katara in her hoe time dress that barely fit over her belly with the caption: how the mighty have fallen . He pauses, sucking in a breath of air for strength. The hurt flashes in his eyes and the only thing she could think to do was wrap him up in a familiar embrace.

At 19, Katara is so incredibly lost, and just wants her best friend by her side.

He’s busy, the summer before everything Republic City. Everytime she tries their house, Azula answers, rolling her eyes while clad in a Harry Styles shirt, because it’s a girl’s rite of passage to go through a One Direction phase and wear badly made merchandise from Hot Topic. He’s usually busy packing, or fucking Mai until she sounds like a car alarm during Fourth of July fireworks.

“Azula, no . You cannot kidnap Mai’s younger brother and trade him in for concert tickets to send a message.”

“Not even for floor ones?” Katara’s glare summed up her answer. “I used to look up to you,” Azula retorts, returning to her stan Twitter.

She waits, waits, waits. The moans keep coming and she just rolls her eyes. Her stomach churns, mainly because she thinks Mai called Zuko’s dick The Pussy Penetrator every time he hit her g spot (you know what, good for her). But also because her scholarship to the university was less than she expected, and Hakoda didn’t want to cosign on a loan. She just wanted her best friend to be there for her.

She feels sick, sick enough to vomit in one of Iroh’s plants, while Azula rubs small circles into her back.

“You should’ve swallowed,” Toph reminds, bundling Katara’s thick hair into a ponytail as the girl hurled up her California roll. She’s so exhausted, she even leans her head against the Walmart toilet bowl, five positive pregnancy tests tossed carelessly beside her.

“Think it’s too late for that,” Katara grits out. “What are you doing?”

The last thing she expected was Toph’s hands gathering together in prayer formation. “Praying to Rihanna your period comes.”

Like many people her age, having a mental breakdown during a pregnancy scare and praying for a miracle in a public restroom was normal. But for the first time in her life, besides the time Rihanna willingly twerked on Drake at the 2011 Grammys, Ms. Robyn Fenty herself failed her.

“Fetus deletus that bitch! Fuck them kids !” She brings herself eye-level to Katara’s stomach. “Read the womb, bitch!”

“Did you just call my unborn baby a bitch?” Katara’s eyes are bleary from the smell of vomit and her future going down the drain.

“You should’ve kept that bitch-baby in the drafts,” Toph sweeps the stray hairs from Katara’s watery eyes. “My cousin saved up for her abortion by running a pyramid scheme. I can get you her number.”

Katara wanted to die. “I think I’m just going to crawl in this toilet and die. Call my brother if I don’t get flushed down all the way.”

“Again, I’m just a Walmart employee,” Toph snickers, helping the girl up. She’s rarely left her side since then. Their friendship just works, a pair of fuckups. The girl with the accident baby, and the Walmart security guard trying to figure out her own shit after running away from home.

“I should’ve been there!” Zuko reminds, tone heavy with betrayal.

Katara remembered the few moments before he boarded the plane to Republic City. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to tell him to not get on the flight, to keep holding her like he did at the entrance of the gate. She had a kiss ready on her lips that he wasn’t ready to give, backing away when their faces were too close, when she was too close. He just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving with regrets.

“I should’ve been there holding your hand, letting you call me names, and fighting nurses if they breathed too close to this precious angel,” Yue holds his pinky with her little fingers, almost as though it was a natural reaction. His heart simply seizes up at the gesture, and he holds her tighter to his body. She was wailing after waking from her nap, colic crackling her throat for the last three months and causing her middle of the night wakeups to be painful and frequent. But with Zuko, she’s all calm and perfect and polite and beautiful and angelic.

“Didn’t know you liked kids this much,” Katara shrugs. She leans in, and Zuko throws his free arm around her.

“I’ll have you know I am the resident expert in telling children’s stories,” Zuko insists.

“Like?” Katara quirks up her brow.

“Like Rumpleforeskin, the mythical man who can weave majestic golden fleece from the ends of his pubic hair.”

She smacks him upside the head. “You’re disgusting .” She curls in deeper into his embrace. He had that twinkle in his eye that could mean he was going to masturbate to this moment in the shower later, or he was in love. It renders her breathless every time

She hopes when he looks at her he doesn’t see the eye bags, or the titty milk leaking everywhere, or the permanent crease in her brow. She hopes he could still see her, underneath it all. When she was just Katara .

“I guess, not telling you was just my way of keeping our dream alive.” She pauses, stroking Yue’s barely there hair. “I keep thinking that one day I could find the time to go to Republic City, and I don’t know. Get a chance to just be me .”

“Do you regret it?” Zuko’s rubbing circles into her back until she gets sleepy and her heart feels too full.

“I don’t know.” She tries, quiet, almost ashamed. “I don’t know.”

At 21, Katara feels like she’s at the top of the world.

Not only did she get promoted from girl wearing a dumpling costume outside handing out 15% off coupons that only worked if you left a Yelp review, to a server in a shitty dim sum restaurant, she was also accepted in the culinary program at the local university. It wasn’t Republic City per say, but Yue could attend the nearby preschool and go to the university-run childcare program afterwards while Katara was working.

She even got a hold of Jet, who refused to disclose his location or job. But judging by the copious child support mandated by some judge who hated men as much as Katara did, he was doing well. He sometimes Venmos Katara a few extra dollars on Yue’s birthdays.

Sokka and Hakoda, while hesitant to the little girl’s presence early on, spoil her absolutely rotten. When they think Katara’s passed out after her 14 hour days, they’re red in the face, screaming at Zuko over the phone about who was going to get Yue the Peppa Pig Playhouse (complete with flashing lights) she always talks about.

Hakoda even tries at therapy, wanting to be there for the apple of his eye. Sometimes, Katara’s hurt he never tried for her, tried in her childhood. She’s happy for him, nonetheless.

(Mostly) everything was working out.

“How are both my girls doing?” Zuko would always sing-song during his nightly Facetime calls. Yue would scream and snatch the phone from Katara’s hands, delighted at the sound of her one and only Uncle Zuzu. He’s an extravagant gift giver, regularly sending Yue glittery Hello Kitty and Wonder Woman backpacks. He even buys her a whole iPad for her fourth birthday, already coming with child safe settings on and YouTube loaded with her favorites (namely, Barbie: Fairytopia ). He’s guilty he couldn’t come home, but then again, he rarely ever did. Too consumed with work, grad school applications.

Katara can’t help but feel her heart pulse the slightest bit faster during those calls, even if she shuts it down as quickly as it comes.

He’s so good to her .

She used to cherish those moments he used to tell her secrets, dreams, everything in those hours early in the morning before high school would start. With approximately 3,209 miles between the two of them, she wakes up to texts instead.

Zuko: I dreamed that I was being held at gunpoint by one of those thicc caterpillars from A Bug’s Life , and if I didn’t finish the MCAT in approximately 20 minutes, they would shoot me in the face. The dump truck ass of those ants were the bullets

Katara: Please block my number

Zuko: No. <3

He’s all gentle smiles and eyes squeezing into little half moons just like Yue’s after he plays a game of Facetime patty cake and messes up on the beat just to hear the little girl laugh.

The next month, Zuko had decided enough was enough . He missed his girl.

His hospital, for the first time in a year, was letting him have the weekend off. So he books Katara a ticket straight away, because he thinks he’s going to die if he has to be around people who don’t know who Megan Thee Stallion is.

“Boys only speak two languages. English and emotional manipulation,” Toph reprimands, hugging Katara so tight she could barely get in a word. “Please remember that.”

It was her first time leaving her hometown in her life, her first time on an airplane for God’s sake. She’s jittery though, the cushioned seats Toph somehow upgraded her ticket to (after covertly whispering with the gate attendant) doing nothing to alleviate her nerves.

When she jumps in his arms in baggage claim, he breathes in deep. Her hugs have always warmed his insides, and he didn’t realize how much he craved it until he was greedy, pressing into her and refusing to let go despite her many protests.

“Come here often?” he mumbles, smiling into her shoulder.

Her cheeks grew hot at his touch. “Occasionally.” She whispers back.

He decided there and then in front of Gate 3 they needed to make up for lost time as quickly as possible.

The college party is entirely too sticky, entirely too messy for a proper (extremely) late 21st birthday celebration. Her crop top and big earrings and glittery eyeshadow and endless curves has Zuko wondering how much he’s missed in the last few years. When she hugs him close to her and screams out Nicki Minaj lyrics, he doesn’t remember her being so soft and even prettier. Beautiful. Breathtaking, knocking the wind out his lungs if she as so much blinked.

She looks like any 21 year old, without a care in the world, just figuring out their life. He wonders what this version of Zuko and Katara was.

Maybe they got to go to Republic City together. Maybe they work in the same building, and are just letting steam off from work. Maybe they loved each other. It was dangerous though. He feels as though she’s caging him in, that grip on his heart sparking up again without his permission. Her fake lashes he saw her glue on in the airport bathroom flutter about, hands coming up to accentuate her words every time she tries to scream something in his ear over the pulsating music. He just grips her waist harder between his hands, holding her tight.

In a perfect world, all she saw was him. She wishes it was him. She sometimes thinks she sees Zuko’s eyes in Yue. She sees his smile. She sees his heart.

While they’d spent the entire night stumbling through the city, his girlfriend was home. Barefoot, pregnant. Looking like the cover of some women’s lifestyle magazine, stray curls escaping her bun to frame her face in all its angelic glory. Glowy and flawless and every bit beautiful. Different from the girl Katara caught crying in the kitchen. “You can hate me all you want, you can talk shit about me all you want. But I love him,” Jin insists. “I’m his girlfriend , for fuck’s sake.

Katara has to stop herself from recoiling. She had a specific vision of their future. One that included doing taxes together and matching sweaters and teaching him her new macaroon recipe and Yue balanced on his lap.

But one look at Jin, and it becomes glaringly obvious how little she fit in with his new life.

“I don’t hate you, Jin.” It’s every bit sincere, but the girl doesn’t look convinced.

Jin rolls her eyes. A pointed look freezing Katara in her place.

“Ok, I might’ve complained once or twice about your VSCO filter choice.”

“Yeah, Zuko sent a screenshot of your texts to me instead of you by accident.”

“God, you know he always fucking does that? To be fair though, M05 is too orange and is not a good look on anyone. You can do better, I know you can.” The two girls laugh. It was devoid of any genuine emotion, just meant as an attempt to fill the empty space between them. “If I had known. Fuck, if I had just known, I’m sorry, Jin.” She had no idea Zuko had a kid on the way, that they were still living together and determined to co-parent while their relationship was in a weird limbo. If she was Jin, she would’ve kicked someone’s pussy and made a scene and set something on fire. But Jin wasn’t that type of girl. Jin was soft and pretty and looked like she smelled like an interior designer's perfectly bleached asshole.

“Do you love him?” Jin seemed to shrink into herself, small enough Katara might miss her in a blink of an eye.

Katara couldn’t quite decipher the meaning behind the question. She thinks she’s too scared to.

Katara doesn’t know how to respond. She didn’t trust herself to speak. This Zuko wasn’t the Zuko she knew. She loved the Zuko who would steal people’s Netflix passwords off of 4chan, and cosplay as Todoroki at Anime Con to make a few bucks. Not the one who can afford sky rises in the big city.

He didn’t even tell her that his big internship in the city was for his father’s hospital, and he was next in line to running it. “You’re a lawyer with health insurance and your own Netflix account! You’re good for him, Jin.” Katara falters the slightest. “I just want to see Zuko happy.”

“Me too.” Jin says quietly.

“Whatever, fuck Zuko !” She tries at extending the olive branch. “I can’t believe you’re preggers!” She puts a gentle hand on Jin's belly, and her vagina immediately winces. “You know, your vag will never look the same, and you might grow a third boob in your armpit.”

“You’re lying .”

“Yeah, a lump of breast milk can form there, too!” Katara is about to scroll to the photo in her phone when Jin laughter breaks through the night.

“I hope your dick gets bitten off mid-blowjob!” She whisper-screams, struggling with her suitcase until it smacks all at nearly every corner and edge. She was just making noise for the sake of making noise, but it made her feel better.

He didn’t expect waking up to a charge on his card for a flight booked in the last ten minutes, or Katara shoving his good mixer in her suitcase.

“You hate it don’t you?” He always loved it when Katara went into Hulk mode anytime a bully dared test her protective nature. While it was never entirely directed at him, he now understands exactly why Chan peed his pants. Katara was terrifying .

“What?” Zuko’s confused, rubbing an eye booger away.

“You loved it when I’m crying over Jet, crying over something, fucking something up in my life. Being mad at the world. You hate that I’m better, and making something of myself now!” She’s angry and grasping at straws.

Zuko furrows his brows, not sure where to progress from here. “Ok, run that by me again?”

The air vanishes when her stare cools over to absolutely icy. “There’s nothing else I can give. So what the fuck do you want from me?”

He laughs, all hollow and almost mocking . “You know, I was afraid of you coming here.” He lies.

She stops in her tracks. “What the hell do you mean?”

“I thought...I thought you wouldn’t get this new me, because it’s different!” He protests. “See, this is exactly the reason why! You’re mad I can afford real Gucci !”

Katara recoils, looking embarrassed for him. God, were men so fucking stupid, and so proud of it, too. “Are you fucking serious.”

Zuko’s frustrated, running his hands through his hair. “What the fuck are we doing, Katara?”

“You tell me!” She demands. “I’m not that kind of girl, Zuko! I’m not that kind of girl that is going to break up a fucking engagement, or whatever the fuck you weirdos are doing!”

He throws up his hands. “I’m not happy! We’re not happy.”

“What? You think now that you’ve sold your soul to your piece of shit dad and you can buy jewelry that won’t turn your fingers green that I’m going to fuck you?”

“No! I’m not saying that—”

Katara scoffs. “Then what the fuck are you saying? Grow up, Zuko. Grow the fuck up and just leave me the fuck alone .”

“You’re still Katara.” He throws his hands up in the air, trying to stop her. Even if he felt like his entire world was falling apart, there was one thing he would always be certain about. “I’m still Zuko. The same Zuko who loves you .”

Katara turns her head, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset. “The thing is, this isn’t you, Zuko.” Katara says with finality. “It isn’t you .”

When she gets home, she spots it right away. On their dining table, white paper folded neatly, Yue was the type of little girl who looked to both sides of the street before crossing, repeating it two more times to be safe. She always took extra care to make everything even, never a wrinkle in sight on her homework.

The Crayola family portrait that brought to life everything she’d imagined and more. Katara doesn’t have the heart to look for longer than a second.

At 27, Katara’s pretending that it’s the happiest day of her life.

She didn’t think he would listen to her, you know, men rarely did anything right. Zuko, though, heeds her warning and only calls exactly two hours before Yue’s bedtime like clockwork. There weren’t any surprise texts to wake up to anymore, no more evidence of Zuko in her life. She doesn’t even find out about Jin’s affair with one of those Axe commercial guys until months later.

When she goes to unblock his number and text him, to try and talk to him, she gasps. She sees those grey iMessage bubbles, and she’s ashamed her heart splutters, awakening a feeling she thought she’s dampened. She puts her phone down for milliseconds, before checking it again and again and again. She finally threw the damn thing across the room when a week passed.

She thinks it’s for the better, especially when she was sure she finally got things right with Jet.

“ We’ll make this shit work together.” Jet reassures, gathering her close to him she could see every little detail of him. “Like Kanye said, ‘you’re a MILF, and I’m a mother-fucker.”

She covers her ears, pushing him into the restaurant’s glass door. “No thank you. No more non consensual reciting of Kanye verses.”

“Yeezy, breezy, beautiful, baby. Get into it.” Jet winks, and Katara feels herself gagging again.

Then again, Katara always had a thing for stupid. And for three easy payments of $Penis.99, he had an all access experience to her pussy and her trauma.

“And he bought me those carrot cake cupcakes I always look at when we go to the supermarket but I never want to chance it because it could have raisins instead of nuts and I think I hate raisins more than I hate white men named Nathaniel.”

Toph jabs Katara in the forehead. “Wow, he spared $5 on some dry pastries, and your pussy was suddenly screaming pick me, pick me !”

“They were gluten free, too,” she points out. “Plus, my pussy doesn’t scream!”

“Oh right, my bad! It whispers!”

“ Toph !”

“Last night I heard it go wash me! Wash me!”

It felt good with him, though. It felt good to see him help Yue with math homework, making dinner in their little kitchen, pressing kisses to her in the morning despite her breath smelling like Khloe Kardashian’s earring backing pussy. Someone to come home to.

“Piece of shit, I’ll fucking kill you!” She was punching him over and over again until her knuckles were ripped raw, sitting straight on his throat. Beating him stupid in the middle of her shift. He thought he could get away with it. With Katara now stuck in the kitchen as one of the head cooks, and the fact he had a reservation in one of the private rooms for him and his secretary to go over...numbers, he didn’t think much of it.

Too bad Toph was too invested, and had a friends-to-lovers storyline to live vicariously through.

“Scram, fuglies!” Toph screamed to other customers who had already started chanting “WorldStar!”

Katara lost her job, lost her mans, lost a section of her eyebrow because Toph accidentally tried helping and swung the wrong direction.

“Catch me outside, how ‘bout that!” She yelps triumphantly, despite the fact Katara was cradling her own bloodied face.

And here she was, about to lose her best friend, too.

She accidentally Facetimed his old number, and spent the last hour mulling over her feelings with an executive of a porn studio who picked up mid-shoot. “Just tell him you love him!” The balding man is exhausted.

“What do I even say? Do I tell him, ‘I think I’ve always loved you?’ Is that too cheesy? You know that feeling when your heart just—Oh my fucking god! Is that Sandy Cheeks from Spongebob ?!” She screams, slamming her hands over her eyes. The squirrel’s melons-for-tits would never be erased from her memory.

He only has fear in his eyes when he looks at her. “You didn’t see anything.” Robert bites out, promptly hanging up.

In her post-Jet purge, she realized she wasn’t the type of ex dead set on destroying his things. After all, she was selling his light-up keyboard to pay for Toph’s birthday boob job. Her residual anger was instead, spent hacking away at the drawer he always kept locked. Until she found it.

A letter from him.

“ I’ve always been afraid that our friendship would’ve spilled over until all I could do is categorize it with four simple letters .” Katara whispers, eyes frantically scanning the paper. “And I’m done being afraid .”

“The four letters he’s talking about is D-U-M-B B-I-C-T-H . Dumb bitch. The ‘bitch’ is silent.” Toph insists. “I can’t believe you let a balding bum, whose credit score tanked because he invested his entire savings in Shake Weight Milkshake making machines, knock you up instead of Zuko.”

“It was innovative at the time,” she whispers.

“Fill the void in your heart, not your pussy.”

She's whipping out her shitty MacBook Air, and praying his email still worked. But when she calls all she sees is her.

“You told me to come to Republic City and find him!” Mai exclaims, holding up her hand where a big ring blinding the fuck out of her.

She feels her heart crumble at the same time she crushes the letter in her hand.

“I did do that, didn’t I?” Katara winces. The time the model stopped by in their hometown, Katara was still happy and getting her pussy pounded regularly and let that shit get to her head. She thought it would be a blessing in disguise, and wanted to help Zuko out, too.

"Fuck."

Their wedding looked ripped out of a 2014 Basic Bitch Pinterest board, and she’s definitely sure she couldn’t be happier.

“Why is her name spelled like ‘Mai’ and pronounced ‘May?’ Like, shouldn’t it be spelled like ‘Mei?’”

“Katara, you’re just being a bitch,” Toph reminds while Katara stares at the sign with their wedding hashtag in front of the photobooth with all the ‘YOLO’ signs and 2013 mustaches.

“I am well aware!” She asserts, chin jutting out.

Mai’s New York Fashion Week ready body was gorgeous, perfect in Zuko’s hold.

Katara wished life was like a rom-com. Where she could burst through the doors, declare her love, piss on him in her ugly, big bridesmaid dress and mark her territory once and for all.

But life wasn’t a movie. Life was just this shitty piece of dumpster fire shit and was always fucking her over like the Target self-checkout line camera.

What could she do? Deliver some long-winded speech about how she would go to realign the stars in the heavens if it meant a chance to rewrite their fate? That she hoped she visits his dreams before his mind could settle into reality, the same way he visited hers and overstayed his welcome every single time? Make everyone uncomfortable and wonder if they boned?

Then again, she was never going to be the one to block her best friend’s blessings. Not on the happiest day of his life.

“I think this is the happiest day of my life.” Katara says seamlessly.

Zuko sees it though, sees right through her and has to stop himself from reaching out to her.

“It wasn’t ever easy being Zuko’s best friend. I mean look at him now, getting married to someone perfect . He’s not even in the same ballpark, league, or hell, stadium porta potty as her!”

Zuko ducks his head with a brief pout that breaks Katara’s heart. Everyone laughs in spite of him, until he joins in, too. “You know, it’s easy to pretend that finding love is easy. You could find love in all the little things in your life. All the people, all the details. It’s easy to say you always, completely, truly love someone. Because that’s what we want love to be, right? At the surface, sure.” She folds the flimsy paper she had on hand, nothing was written on it anyways. “You want it to be perfect.”

“But the love everyone works so hard to get, is the love that’s hard . It’s the love that isn’t safe. The love that challenges, excites you, the love that will never have limits. The love that’s messy and beautiful all at the same time.” She looks at him, truly looks at him for the first time in years and all she could do was smile.

“It’s easy to find love, but it’s near impossible to find a soulmate.” She raises her glass. “Join me in a toast to the bride and groom. I wish you a lifetime of happiness.”

And while everyone is gathered out on the dance floor, she’s sobbing pathetically and smearing the winged eyeliner she worked so hard to perfect on the car ride there. Trying to stop any of the pain from consuming her.

She’s out on the rooftop of the venue, the cold air whipping her face as she tries lighting up a blunt.

“Are you getting high at my wedding !” Zuko is incredulous, and shocks Katara enough to drop the joint off the roof.

“On all things Fenty Beauty, bitch what the fuck?” Katara wipes the tears from the corner of her eyes.

“The flower girl wanted to see her mommy.” But Katara sees right through Yue’s little act. Pretending to sleep so she could be held by Zuko (me too, girl. Me too).

It felt dangerous, the way she could toy with his heart, his own personal defibrillator shocking it back to life. She’s pretty even with red-rimmed eyes, with the fake smiles he knew was trying to appease him to leave her alone. If anything, all it does is make him want to kiss her until her troubles are gone.

He wanted to do a lot of things at that moment. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin, tell her that above all else, he missed his girl the most. But, he had everything on his plate and then some.

“The chicken was dry as fuck.” He blurts, wiping the sweat from his face. Only Katara could send him back a few decades. “I wish you could’ve catered it.”

“Yeah?” She laughs and wants to call him out for stalking her company’s Facebook page. “Remember you tried my new recipe and you vomited all over the front row at your fourth ever Hello Zuko performance?” She misses his messy hair, when he didn’t look so clean cut and rich bitchy.

“I didn’t know you weren’t done cooking it!”

She shoves his head, and he joins her, dangling his feet precariously off the roof.

When she’s here with him, when he has her in his hold for the first time in years, he sees his whole life with just a glimpse in her eyes. And all he wants to do is build a machine and reverse all the time that’s passed them by.

“I made a mistake.” Zuko breathes out, eyes nervously darting around.

As sure as he was that Nicki Minaj deserved a Grammy, he was sure he loved her.

“W-What?” Katara blinks at him.

“I made a mistake, Katara.” He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck, carding his hand through his hair. Looking every bit devastatingly handsome. “I realized something. After the speech, after just, everything.”

“I realized I just can’t have my cake and eat it, too.”

Just like that, just with the way he built her up, it comes tumbling down.

“So what are you saying?” Her heart was on the verge of cracking in half and he didn’t even know it. Because all he could pin her with a look she couldn’t read, and she thinks if he was a smarter man he would’ve at least pretended that it hurt him to hurt her.

But it did.

It broke him, ripped him in half to see her face turn to steel right before his eyes.

“What I’m saying is, after all these years.” He doesn’t have it in him to face her. “I think I have to finally let you go, Katara.”

#Zutara #Zuko #Katara #Zutara Week #atla #zutara fanfiction #avatar the last airbender #zutara week 2020

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lifeseverchanging · 5 years

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MMX #6 (SPOILERS)

Mr. and Mrs. X Issue #6 - The bottle issue we have all been waiting for! I managed to sleep through past the midnight hour this time around but not without waking up at 5:30 a.m. and realizing I should use the small amount of valuable time before the workday began to read this issue! I had wanted to wait until I bought the floppy from my LCS so I can read it from the pages of the book to try to avoid my usual knee-jerk reaction from my groggy sleep deprived reads during the wee hours of the morning. But, yeah right. Like that happened! What? Like I suddenly grew self control? out of NOWHERE? No sir, not I.

Before we begin I want to explain that I am ridiculously emotionally invested in our heroes story. Since I was a child and long since before I could really comprehend what romantic love actually is I had fallen in love with the idea of the kind of love that exists between Gambit and the untouchable Rogue. After the many years of heartache and heartbreak we are witnessing the best times Romy has ever seen as a couple. Their story is being written by a person who truly loves the pair and what that does is makes the expectations incredibly high from the diehard fans. We are the ones who held out hope and turned to fanfic when Romy was barely a memory in the Marvel universe. The hopefuls who kept the torch lit throughout the darkest and most desolate of times and we are a thirsty bunch who won’t let even a drop go to waste.

So away we go! The book opens up at GAMBIT AND ROGUE’S APARTMENT in Manhattan. Bobby arrives to the party on time and is the first guest to Rogue’s dismay.

We can clearly see trouble is lurking ahead from the loft windows.

CAT SPOTTING: I spy with my little eye a Fiagaro and an Oliver and Figaro again!

Rogue takes advantage of Bobby’s on time arrival and terrifies him into helping cut the cheese and refrain from making fart jokes. Our hostess is clearly flustered and behind on schedule when the doorbell rings again... (Loving Gambit’s third party dialogue)

CAT SPOTTING: Remy picks up Figaro and bravely holds him again his shirt (if you have cats you know what I mean) RING SPOTTING: Gambit’s ring, ahh!

Remy’s father, Jean Luc, makes his appearance however Tante does not. Jean Luc drops some foreshadowing of things to come with this comment about Tante demanding a visit from Gambit and Rogue in New Orleans.

Naturally Rogue is utterly sweet to JL (if you have ever read a fanfic by the name of “Treading Water” you will understand why this embrace between Rogue and JL caused me to shudder) and Remy gets all of the blame about the spontaneous wedding not allowing any of his family to be there.

CAT SPOTTING: Figaro Jean states he can’t stay but needed to warn Remy of the pending attack.

aaaand in comes the party crasher.

Love this little moment between husband and wife... “Wild Horses couldn't stop me” - Rogue

@cajuncajole spotted that something was missing. See: RING SPOTTING below

RING SPOTTING:

And the uninvited guests quickly goes back out.

Rooftop fighting ensues where the unknown t’ieves point out that their King doesn’t even recognize his soldiers. This is certainly going to lead us into the Guild issues Kelly has planned after the Mojoverse arc.

Rogue is a complete bad ass who joins the fight up on the roof with no regard to not having her powers but she quickly finds herself in a bind of which Remy helps get her out of. RING SPOTTING: Rogue!

It’s important to note that this scene draws out how well they know one another and why Gambit and Rogue have always made a great team and just how much trust they have in each other.

Love that the card he throws is none other than the QUEEN OF HEARTS (The card he gives to Rogue)

RING SPOTTING: Rogue!

Quite the flashback to X-Treme X-Men days!

Though it doesn’t stop Rogue from becoming infuriated and ready to nip this fight in the bud because they have guests arriving and a party to host!

Rogue is going to have to pull out the big guns and take a much needed break from that collar.

This is now probably my new favorite phrase: HOO BOY! Remy leaps off of the building in his bad-assery ragin’ cajun kind of way.

The comical moment where Laura and Bobby are a witness to his jump while Rogue knocks all of the thieves out with her new powerset. I can already hear the Gambit-only fans being peeved over this but simmer down, they need to get back to their party and this is the quickest way!

Then we have the amazing loft view/party scene.

CAT SPOTTING: Lucifer at the top of the loft, Oliver and Figaro down below watching the party goers.

One of my favorite moments of the party scene was certainly when Bishop retells the pie story and Rogue corrects him on the type of pie it was (she baked Boysenberry!). I also loved when Remy threatens to push Kitty out the window while standing directly behind her as Lorna, Jean and Angel were discussing how impressive Remy’s amazing rooftop jump was.

Sidenote: TIL Bobby is cheap. I truly wish we had focused more on the party in this issue but alas we move along to the party winding down (Remy threatening Bobby not to freeze anything - I wonder what exactly?) when suddenly Belle pops in as an invited guest. I can’t say unexpected because because we all saw the preview and knew it was coming but Remy certainly did not see it coming. She’s there to warn him that the Guilds are after his crown after he married the “Princess o' all tings good an’ honorable”. Remy defends his new bride against his ex wife however Belle won’t be deterred and has the balls to let him know exactly how she feels. I noticed Remy didn’t close the door in spite of her presence.

I wasn’t a fan of the scene where Remy looks like a little kid who just got scolded but this last shot was lovely... and it transcends into the next scene where we find an upside down Rogue in the fetal position taking a much needed break from that collar.

Speaking of unexpected... Magneto pays Rogue a visit. Though it makes no sense why Rogue summoned him at all it is incredibly unclear as to when she contacted him.

This panel got a lot of people talking... some were mad (raises hand), some didn’t mind or care at all (mainly due to the fact that there was no real sense that these two have romantic feelings for one another) and others are claiming this is proving Rogue still loves Mags and trusts him more than Remy. (Bullsh*t)

Listen, aside from the obvious parallel Kelly was going for with the “Exes” the main problem with this scene is that she makes it seem as if Rogue doesn’t trust Remy. It makes her look as if she will confide in a person like Magneto over her husband, her best friend and partner in life. After mulling over this GD scene for about 48 hours I finally did some real soul searching to make sense of this panel. Kelly knows that continuity should not be ignored so I think she felt compelled to make an attempt to shut that R and Fapneto ship door as best as she could.

Did this moment belong in this particular issue? I think not... I feel as if this panel was removed and more party panels were shown people would have loved the hell out of this issue. I think Kelly really didn’t want to leave the ex situation one-sided and she felt as if she needed to prove that the only thing left between the two of them is friendship.

Like it or not, Rogue is the kind of person who wants to stay friends with people that matter/mattered to her. DO most of us feel the need to stay friends with our exes? NOPE. Do some? SURE. The point is that we as humans are complex creatures who do stupid things from time to time. People are pissed because Rogue is naive enough to call on her ex around a time she ought to be embracing her new marriage/husband instead of confiding in her old friend (and boy do I mean “old”). Rogue is the kind of idiot who would feel the need to apologize to the man she shot down that she didn’t tell him about her wedding in person but there is also probably some need for her to confirm that he has drifted back to the darkside because as a friend she would care about that too.

The upside? There was no hint of romantic love between the two of them. Magneto for once isn’t bad mouthing Gambit and is in fact saying good things about him. Rogue SAYS IT ON PANEL that she does not want to scare off Gambit with her warped powers. She even gushes to Mags about Remy’s approach of their relationship... smells like nothing but friendship to me. There was no hint of jealous ex talk in anyway but some folks will never be convinced. Anyway, with Mags out of the way I can only hope he won’t make any further appearances in this book because he’s the reason I quit reading comics in the first place and I don’t want him anywhere near our newlyweds. Ever again.

Rogue’s comment above about not being sure how many more surprises she can take is what makes the moment when Mags shows up seem like she hadn’t called on him right then and there. (~B’s 2 cents) Then of course she runs (literally) into Beast who provides her with another surprise. A pleasant one. (lol, love Gambit’s playing cards in the closet... I sure hope he buys in bulk from Amazon). RING SPOTTING: Rogue (yeah I just love seeing the rings)

Beast comes through for Rogue and makes her a new and improved power inhibitor tennis bracelet. You know she was totally kidding about the design but good ol’ Beast doesn’t know any better. Whatever, it works and is a much needed upgrade from that collar that made Rogue look like a poor puppy. The concerned expression on Beast’s face as he embraces her does make me worry a bit. Or maybe it’s just sympathy that Rogue has to be confined to a power inhibitor at all.

The look on their faces. Yeah, hosting is a shit ton of work especially when exes show up. How exhausting!

I loved the moment between Remy and Rogue here that they both acknowledge that they need to talk (Hoo Boy, don’t they!?) but that it can wait... you know, for science reasons.

Unfortunately they spot a gift they had missed... (speaking of spotting - CAT SPOTTING: Lucifer!)

... and they’re immediately warped into Mojoverse. I thought it was funny that Kelly took a stab at herself with the last page. Ahhhh, those uniforms... In my perfect version of this book we would not have addressed the Magneto thing so soon (but I am glad it’s out of the way) so we could have had a little more party and an indication that the newlyweds get a moment to test out that new bracelet *wink* before jumping right into the next crazy arc with Mojo. All in all the bottle issue of MMX was a fun one that had a lot of fun callbacks to the past (some not so fun) and the change of art was a breath of fresh air! (even if Rogue wasn’t the most flattering - at least Belle looked gorgeous). THINGS I LOVED: Cats and Rings! Gambit and Rogue’s fancy loft Seeing the X-Men party Silly humor Rogue got her new power inhibitor bracelet THINGS I DIDN’T LOVE: Magneto

I think Kelly has a game plan that is not entirely visible at the moment but I’m ready to dive into whatever it is she has in store for all of us next.

MMX #7 is out the first week of January!

#Kelly Thompson #David Lopez #mr and mrs x #mrandmrsx #gambit and rogue #rogue and gambit #Marvel Comics #romy

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donutpwns · 7 years

Text

Journey to the Roots - Part 6

Part 5 - Part 7

They’re doing the talking in unison thing again. Great. And the eye thing, that’s back. Lovely, this is just what Stan needs. He says a prayer to all the gods he doesn’t believe in anymore as he moves in the circle to recheck the knots because he’d rather not get stabbed again. He’s going to be limping for a while as is. Or risk them hurting themselves or Ford going crossbow happy again.

“OH HO HO, TIED UP, HUH? WELL ISN’T THIS CUTE!” the twins laugh that fucked up laugh that sends a shiver down his spine. His brother isn’t handling it much better what with the way he’s twitching next to them. “MAN, THIS HAS TO LOOK VERY MESSED UP TO AN OUTSIDER! TWO GROWN MEN WITH SMALL CHILDREN TIED UP! IT’S HILARIOUS!”

Ford’s got a notebook in one hand, repeatedly tapping his index finger against the paper impatiently. “Stanley, are you finished?” he is pointedly not looking at the kids which seems to just amuse them as they wiggle in their seats.

The knots are secure as they can be; Stan wishes they had zipties or duct tape instead. That’s the stuff you wanted to use if you didn’t want people escaping. Which, you know, screwed up thought to have about kids, but what was to be done. Stan takes one last moment to use the last bit of rope to tie the kids’ hands together, making sure they stay in contact even if they try to pull away. Stan doesn’t know what would happen if this weird connection thing was broken while he and Ford were in their heads, since that was apparently what they were about to do, but he’d rather not find out.

“Alright, Poindexter, say whatever stupid nerd words you need to for us to do the thing.”

Ford's face pinches in a way that would be comical in any other situation. “Put your hand on Dipper.” He orders as he places one on Mabel’s head. The gesture is distinctly lacking the affection Stan had seen before; it was good to know that Stan wasn't the only one fond of the kids relatively quickly, despite Ford having attempted to murder them.

A glow surrounds them as Ford begins reciting the spell. Stan feels a warm tingling run across his skin; not unwelcome given how cold this damn house is. It’s making his eyelids heavy and he can see the kids’ heads beginning to nod as their eyes begin to glow with a pale blue light.

When he blinks, the living room is gone and instead he’s staring down a twisting hallway. The pain in his leg is gone as well.

It’s like a library. The walls, as far Stan can see, are lined with shelves upon shelves of books of every shape and size. None of the shelves seem to fit together, each set a different shape, size, and color, like they’ve been forced next to and on top of each other. The books are all different too and seem to have no order; some upright, some on their sides or leaning diagonally to against another, some are even backwards with their spines to the wall. A librarian’s nightmare; it makes him think of Ford’s house.

He grabs a book at random, tugging it off its shelf and being surprised to see that it appears to be homemade. A scrapbook, like the kind his ma used to make with their school photos and Ford’s report cards and pictures of Stan’s boxing matches. The cover is scratchy with glue and glitter, clueing him into the identity of the author. When he opens it, the inside isn’t paper with pasted images but instead plays a moving image that takes up the full page.

It’s Mabel, laughing as she chases Dipper with colorful candy worms hanging from her nose. He’s laughing too even as he runs from her with screams of how gross she is. She tackles him and then they’re wrestling as she tries to force him to eat one of the worms. True siblings. It's almost painful to watch even as a small smile tugs at his mouth.

“It’s their memories. That’s what the mindscape is, Stanley.” Ford is at his shoulder, watching the younger set of twins laugh with a tired look on his face. He has a gleam in his eye though, “Their connection must’ve forced their own personal mindscapes to fuse. Fascinating.”

That’s not the word that Stan would’ve used to describe two minds forced to mold into one. Perverted, maybe. Twisted. Twins could share almost everything but their minds should be their own. No matter how much he missed his brother, how much he missed their old bond, he’d never want Ford in his head. It messes with him, the idea of the kids in his head like they'd said. Even now there are thoughts and memories he wouldn't want anyone to see, who knows what he'll add to that in thirty years. He hopes they didn't see anything too bad.

“Have you done this before, Ford?” he tries to imagine it, either his brother or his own version of this place but nothing comes to mind. He doesn't know Ford anymore and has spent a good portion of the last several years trying not to know himself. A place built around his own mind seems like a scary place to be; he didn't even like being in his own head metaphorically.

Ford shakes his head, moving to trail his fingers over some books on another shelf. “Never anyone else's, just my own. Bill likes to find me in my dreams, when my body is too worn down to work.” his mouth clamps shut as soon as the words leave him, as if he's just remembered who he is talking to. He shakes his head, “We just need to find Bill before he can do too much damage.” And with that they start walking.

It feels like hours that they just walk, taking the occasional turn. Ford keeps his back to him and keeps muttering to himself. Stan’s not sure what he wants to say but feels like he should say something. They were just walking; wouldn't it be the perfect time to talk? Even if just to make a plan. How much does Ford know about Bill, about what’s going to happen? Did Dipper tell him whatever it was that Mabel was too scared to tell him?

A book falls from a shelf, clattering loudly to the floor behind him. Stan turns to stare at the item; this one isn't a scrapbook, but a small leather-bound book. When he picks it up he can see a golden image of a pine tree on the front. Was this one of Dipper’s memories?

Casting a look towards his brother's retreating back, Stan says fuck it. The twins lost their memories, right? Maybe this is one of them; maybe it'll help them figure out how Bill got in their heads. That made sense, right? Right. He nods to himself and opens the book. Anything is better than just walking aimlessly.

Mabel has her ear to a door, dressed in a long night shirt. Stan can hear, muffled by the door, the sound of Ford's voice, though it's gruffer than normal, “Okay, Stanley, here's the deal. You can stay here for the summer to watch the kids. I'll stay in the basement to try and contain any remaining damage. But when the summer’s over, you give me my house back, you give me my name back, and this Mystery Shack junk is over forever. You got that?”

Did that mean that Stan and Ford don't make up? Stan had thought…if they lived together in the future, didn't that mean they had gotten past it all? Thirty years and still Ford hasn't let go of it? Does he get his brother back only to have them still be at odds? From the sounds of it he's only around to watch the kids. Was he still homeless in the future, only staying with Ford as a convenience? Just something to make Ford's life easier temporarily before being booted again?

Mabel’s voice draws his attention back to the memory and out of his own head. “Dipper, you don’t think we’ll turn out like Stan and Ford, do you?” she sounds so nervous, that's what catches Stan’s attention, watching through the pages. The twins are each sitting on beds now.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they used to be best friends but then they got all stupid. Can you promise me you won’t get stupid?”

Dipper laughs, “Not stupider than you, dumb-dumb.” Stan hears the sincerity behind the teasing, the love mixed with a child’s fear. Fear of ending up like their stupid uncles. Stan sincerely hopes they never do. Hopes they can always reach for each other.

“Stanley, we don't have time to be pawing through each of their memories. We need to—" Ford comes over, face shifting from irritation to surprise as the journal replays the memory. Mabel has left her bed to listen at the cracked door again. Ford's words ring out, the promise that the end of summer will be the end of Stan’s time there.

Stan’s own voice sounds out next, punctuated with “as far as I'm concerned they're the only family I have left.”

Ford’s got that set to his jaw, the one that always made him look so much like their dad. Stan used to tease him about that when they were teenagers. Now it didn't seem so funny. Nothing really seems funny anymore.

“Heh, guess we never really get better, huh, Sixer? Stubborn old men.” Stan tries to joke, tries to shove down the bubbling black mass that's trying to crawl up his throat, the words he's sat on for ten years. This wasn't about him; it was about the kids, that's what he needs to focus on. He snaps the book shut and moves to put it back on a shelf.

Then Ford speaks because of course he does. “I suspected you must have apologized or something, if we were together in the kids’ time, but I guess I was wrong. How irresponsible am I in the future that I have you watching them?” he says the last part quiet, like he's speaking to himself and not Stan.

It still sets Stan’s blood to a boil; the wriggling black mass crawls to settle in his chest, constricting over his heart. He holds the book to his chest. “Just as irresponsible as now, it seems. Putting the kids in enough danger that I don't want you near them.” He thinks of Ford pointing that crossbow at them with a crazy look in his eyes.

Ford scowls at him and that just makes Stan feel smug. “Yet you're the one still staying at my place in the future.” He shakes his head, “There isn't time for this. We can argue about this later."

“I think we should argue about it now.” Stan throws back, childish but determined. He wants a real reaction out of his brother. Wants to force him to take him seriously, to acknowledge him. “Would you have called me for help with this...this Bill stuff, if the kids weren't involved?”

Ford's face shifts and he looks away, looking uncomfortable. “I may have considered asking you to take some of my research away. As far from me as possible.” He shakes his head again, the dad set back in his jaw, and rubs at his eyes under his glasses. “We don't have time for this. I'll indulge in your insipid desire to fight about this once we've handled Bill, Stanley.”

As far away from him as possible. That's all Ford had ever wanted from him, wasn't it? Distance. And if he could hide something he didn't want anyone to see then that was just a bonus, right? Because no one ever gave Stan a second glance, a second thought.

“Insipid, huh?” his throat is tight, he has to scrape the words out. But once he does the dam breaks, “Because I'm the dumb one, right? The one with no future, the one just clinging to your coattails. Just a dumber, sweatier version of you!” Stan’s breathing is heavy and his eyes are burning. “You think I didn't hear any of that, Stanford? You think it was a surprise for me when Dad threw me out? Well, guess what, I'm not as fucking stupid as everyone thought!”

Ford looks affronted, fists clenching like he has a right to be mad, “I never said you were st—”

“You never had to! I was right outside the door, Stanford! When the principal was telling Ma and Dad about how worthless I was and you couldn't be assed to say a word in my defense. I thought at first it was cause Dad was there but no, you just cared about your damn school.” he fists a chunk of his own hair in frustration. He could still hear it; hear his Ma being the only one that cared what happened to him while Ford didn’t care. Then you better visit me on the other side of the country! “You were the one person that was supposed to see that I wasn't the piece of shit everyone else saw, but that's all you ever saw. I was just a big dumb convenience to have around, ready to be ditched at the first chance. It took me a long time to get that you never gave a damn about me. But hey, maybe I am an idiot, cause I was hoping you'd prove me wrong. Hoping things would be better but you're still a selfish piece of shit. That's the Pines’ legacy: pieces of shit.”

Ford takes a deep breath and— oh. Oh that's not fair. “You think I don't care?” Ford shouldn't be allowed to have that look on his face, like he's the one that's been hurting for ten years instead of Stan. He wasn’t the one that got left behind. “Is that what you've thought this whole time? That I didn't care about you? You're my brother!”

Stan scoffs and looks away if just to not have to see that look on his face. It's not fair. “That didn't seem to matter back then. Or anytime in the past ten years. And this,” he shakes the journal in his hand, “proves that it never will. But at least I get smarter about it.”

He wanted to save him, that's why he came here. Wanted to prove something, maybe to Ford or himself. See what I can do. Don't throw me away. But if thirty years can't heal this then Stan’s sure nothing can. He'll never get that back and once this is all done then it's just going to be Stan again. Alone for thirty years while he waits for Dipper and Mabel.

“Stanley—” Ford starts but Stan is done. Even a gambler like him knows when the odds are too bad, knows that sometimes you have to fold. He doesn't have an ace in his sleeve this time. His throat is tight enough to threaten to cut off his air, his chest empty now that the black thing inside of him has been released.

“Come on, Ford. We’ve wasted enough time. The kids are waiting.”

-----------

It took me a long time to get that you never gave a damn about me.

Is that really what Stan thought? That Ford didn’t care about him? Sure, he was angry at his twin, had resented him for the majority of the last ten years but…he hadn’t really ever wished ill upon his brother, had he? Sure, he’d had the dark, hateful thoughts right after Stan had been thrown out and sporadically throughout college but…he never actually wanted his brother hurt. Stan was the Alpha Twin, strong and silver tongued; he’d said he didn’t need anyone and Ford had believed it.

Stan is so dirty, so greasy and filthy beneath the clean jacket, cheeks sunken and dark bags under his eyes. The way he’d barely flinched when he’d burned his wound shut. What has Stan done to warrant that, to be able to do that? It strikes him for the first time that he's never thought about what Stan has been doing the past ten years; he's never wanted to think about it, has always shoved thoughts of Stan as far away as possible. The thought makes him uncomfortable now that he's face to face with his twin, the heat of Stan’s anger filling the small space.

Stanley had betrayed him; Ford had a right to his anger, his resentment. West Coast Tech was more than he'd ever thought to dream of; of course he'd jumped at the chance for it. Stan was supposed to be happy for him. What was a stupid childish dream compared to something as real as a prestigious college? The chance to have his own future, not half of one. The chance to be a singular individual instead of half of a set. Hadn't Stan ever wanted that too?

I was right outside the door, Stanford!

Ford could barely remember them talking about Stan in that meeting; he'd been so excited and focused on his own future. One son that'll be in Glass Shard Beach forever. Was that what the principal had said? Preposterous. Stan was always meant for a bigger life than their home town. Ford had known that even back then. Had trusted that fact any time an inkling of worry for Stan had brushed his mind. It was so obvious it hadn't needed saying.

Hadn't it?

His brother’s shoulder brushes his as he pushes past to resume their walk down the hallway. Ford wants to grab his brother to stop him; wants to explain this all away but he can't find the words. He wants to know what leads up to the conversation in the book, what Stan will want his thanks for. What happens to them in thirty years? How does Bill end up in Stan's head? The idea of Bill hurting Stan, the thought that he already has, boils him from the inside. No matter how he felt about his twin, no one was allowed to hurt him. Especially not Bill. Never Bill, never Stanley. Ford wouldn't allow it.

So you're the only one allowed to hurt him, Sixer?

A chill runs down his spine as the words echo around inside his head and he spins around, frantic as he looks around. He knows that voice, the one that’s been tormenting his sleeping and waking hours. It no longer bleeds into his own internal voice as it once did; he can hear the differences now. This voice is poison. He can hear the faint echoing laughter, louder than the whisper; he’s vaguely aware of Stan stopping ahead of him in the hall.

He swallows thickly, fingers tapping at his sides. “Show yourself, Bill! I know you’re here!” of course Bill couldn’t resist messing with him, prying into his thoughts. As disturbing as it was, it was at least opportune for them. Easier for them.

The laugh is even louder. “OH ALRIGHT! YOU CAUGHT ME, BUDDY. TURN AROUND, BOYS.”

They turn together and there he is. Bill is floating in front of them but it’s not the Bill Ford knows. A long, jagged crack runs down the center of him, like a broken vase that’s been pieced back together, and a rip is torn through the stupid top hat he wore. Still he has that insufferable cocky look to his eye as they stare each other down and he twirls a cane in one hand. He touches the end of it under Ford’s chin before he slaps it away.

“That’s Bill?” he hears Stan say from behind him, voice filled with disbelief. “This is your conman? A broken triangle with stick legs and a bowtie? Really, Ford?”

Ford feels his neck heat at Stan’s words. Stan doesn't know how charismatic Bill can be, the way he can target exactly what you want and promise you just that. He looks simple and that's part of the trick. He ignores his brother in favor of squaring his jaw and glaring at the demon. “You've looked better, Bill.”

“I'D SAY SO HAVE YOU BUT THAT'S A LIE THAT GETS ME NOTHING. THEN AGAIN, ADD A LITTLE GRAY TO THOSE TEMPLES AND I'M SURE SOME CREEPS ON THE INTERNET WILL DIG IT.” Bill holds his middle as he laughs at his own joke, the cane having vanished without Ford seeing it do so.

Master of the mindscape.

Ford swallows thickly, wishing he had one of his guns if just for the symbolic safety. “What do you want with the kids, Cipher? I know you, there's always an end game.”

Bill begins moving around them in a circle; Stan’s shoulder presses to his as he moves in closer to keep a distance from Bill. Ford presses back, just a bit, but never takes his eyes off Bill.

“HEY DON'T GET SHORT WITH ME, FORDSY.” his eye moves in a way that Ford has learned to read as a grin, the bottom lid taking up most of the singular eye. “I WAS INVITED HERE, SAME AS YOU.”

Invited— That meant the kids had made a deal, didn't it? How could they? Dipper said he’d been tricked before, that he knew Bill made bad deals. What could have happened to cause them to do it? And both of them, it shouldn't have been possible. If Bill could do it with two people…Ford was suddenly reminded of the various times Bill had offhandedly suggested telling Fiddleford. Ford had thought it was for just another body for Bill to use when even Ford's was too exhausted to work. But could this be what he wanted? No, it made no sense, splitting himself. Bill was broken; this couldn't have been what he wanted.

Bill let out a sigh that sounded like a parody of dreamy, propping his hands right above his bowtie. “I FORGOT HOW YOU LOOKED, ALL IN YOUR OWN HEAD. FOND MEMORIES.” He claps his hand, moving in three quick circles around them, too fast for them to turn with him. “NOW, FOR WHAT I WANT, OHH IT'S SO SIMPLE. YOU'LL LOVE IT, FORD, REALLY I'M DOING YOU A FAVOR, TAKING IT OFF YOUR HANDS. SOMETHING COMPLETELY WORTHLESS AND UNWANTED. YOU WON'T EVEN MISS IT.”

Ford thinks about his single remaining journal, the one he was going to ask Stan to hide away, and the machine that sat in his basement. The tingle of fear that Dipper may have gotten down there while Ford hadn’t been paying attention, that Bill may have gotten to it, resurfaces. “I'm not giving you the portal, or any of my journals, Cipher.” He forces the fear out to keep his voice steady.

Bill waves a hand and makes a sound that sounds like a blown raspberry, despite his lack of a mouth. “OH I DON'T NEED THAT ANYMORE. OLD NEWS. BOOORING, GET WITH THE TIMES, STANFORD. THAT’S SO THIRTY YEARS AGO. NO, WHAT I WANT IS…”

There's a burst of energy that sends Ford slamming backwards into one of the shelves, several books clattering to the floor. One falls opens and the air is filled with the sounds of water splashing and people laughing. There’s the smell of lake water coming from the pages. When Ford looks up, his heart threatens to choke him.

Bill has Stan backed up against the shelves across from where Ford fell, the cane back and shoved under his brother's chin. “I WANT STANLEY.”

Ford scrambles to his feet, ready to run over because Bill is not allowed to hurt Stanley but Stan holds a hand up. His brother doesn’t look scared or agitated, like he was not ten minutes ago when he was yelling at Ford, but looks almost bored with the situation. “And what do you want with me? I ain’t exactly the prime beef of the Pines’ twins, you know.”

“OH I KNOW YOU MUCH BETTER THAN ANYONE, STAN. I’VE KNOWN YOU LONGER THAN YOUR OWN BROTHER HAS AND I KNOW JUST WHAT YOU CAN DO.” Bill practically purrs the words, which just makes Ford’s insides boil and twist even more. He pinches one of Stan’s cheeks. “THAT’S WHY I WANT TO MAKE A DEAL WITH YOU, STANLEY. YOU SHAKE MY HAND AND I LET THE KIDS GO BACK TO THEIR OWN TIME.”

“No!” Ford tries to rush forward to try to forcibly pull his brother away from the demon. The breath gets knocked out of him as soon as he takes a step and he finds himself being lifted off the ground. It feels like something is clamping down on his chest; he has to remind himself that he doesn’t really need to breathe in the mindscape to squash the panic down. “Stanley, he’s not—“

Ford’s own voice cuts him off, radiating from Bill himself. “I’m giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life, and you won’t even listen!”

Stan does react to that, Ford sees it, the smallest flinch before he looks away. “…I’m listening.”

ffffffff�� Ƕ2

#journey to the roots #gravity falls #kainichivonwrites #stanley pines #stanford pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #bill cipher #this is also on ao3 if anyone prefers to read it there

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pluckyredhead · 7 years

Text

Daredevil 101: Typhoid Mary, Part 1

Hello, friends! With Miller back off the main Daredevil book for good after “Born Again” (though not done with Daredevil forever, as we’ll see), it’s time for Ann Nocenti’s run (mostly with John Romita, Jr. on pencils), which is most notable for introducing the villain Typhoid Mary.

In recent years Nocenti’s Daredevil has been lauded as an underrated gem of DD canon. I...disagree. I find her run to be a real slog to get through, boring and histrionic by turns, and frankly deeply misogynistic. Because she’s a woman, I keep second-guessing that last judgment call, wondering if there are nuances here I’m somehow missing, but so far...yeah, to me it’s just virulently sexist. She’s definitely consciously doing stuff with gender, deliberately subverting some norms, but in the end I think it falls flat. But let me know what you think!

CONTENT WARNING: Dubcon, attempted sexual assault, sexual violence, infidelity, child abuse, ableist depictions of mental illness.

In the aftermath of “Born Again,” Matt was left disbarred and homeless, squatting in a tenement in Hell’s Kitchen with ex-junkie Karen and working as a short order cook at a diner, but very happy about it. He’s totally content to let that state of affairs continue, but Karen is not:

Like. Can we just appreciate Karen for a moment here? You saw her last week, she was barely walking upright. Now she’s applying for grants and opening a legal clinic/drug addiction hotline while Matt’s obliviously flipping burgers in his blousey-waisted pants. She’s amazing.

Matt throws a big whiny tantrum about how that part of his life is over now Karen!!! Don’t you understand!!! but gets with the program eventually.

He also wanders off to the park and chats with a little boy who is sailing his toy sailboat:

As Matt’s radar-sensing, though, a truck dumps chemicals into the water - chemicals that have a very bad effect on poor Tyrone:

Matt rushes Tyrone to get medical assistance, but it’s too late - he’s permanently blinded. Matt, naturally, is very personally affected by his case and determined to help his family in any way he can.

Meanwhile, the clinic is bustling:

I like this because it’s really the first time we’ve seen the Hell’s Kitchen community form around Matt. This is the closest the comics ever get to what N&M looks like at the beginning of Season 2, I think.

I also want to point out the little kids in the first panel: the Fatboys, a little gang of skateboarding urchins who hero-worship Matt, Karen, and Daredevil. I love them so much and want them to show up in the comics again. Here’s another little bit with some of the more central ones:

So cute!

Meanwhile, what’s Foggy up to? Well, he’s gotten an extremely plush job in a corporate firm that, unbeknownst to him, is owned by Fisk. Unfortunately for everyone concerned, it’s the same company that dumped the toxic materials that blinded Tyrone, and Tyrone’s family is now suing. So Foggy goes to check out the company’s usual waste disposal site:

Foggy is horrified by how disgusting and irresponsible Kelco is, but they’re still his client, and he still needs to defend them, even though Glori thinks that he shouldn’t and that Matt wouldn’t. (Matt probably wouldn’t. It is, however, literally Foggy’s job.)

Okay, you’re saying, but where’s the character this post is named after already?

Here you go:

...Yeah. Welcome to the late 80s, folks!

That narration on the side, by the way, is part of why I’m not a fan of Nocenti’s writing. It’s...it’s pretty incoherent, huh? There’s a lot of that in her run. It’s worse in the dialogue.

I also want to talk about the art for a second. Starting a couple pages up we’ve got John Romita, Jr., one of the artists most associated with Daredevil thanks to this run and his work on the Miller-written miniseries “Man Without Fear.” I can’t really say that I like Romita’s work but I find it really interesting. His shapes and poses and choices are all really blunt and strange and striking. (I feel similarly about Miller’s art, actually.) He’s also one of those artists whose attempts to draw aggressive male power often come out very, well, fetish-y (his Frank is a straight-up sexy bear). It winds up working really well for this story which is in a lot of ways all about sexual dominance and gender roles.

Anyway, Typhoid Mary has a split personality: “Mary Walker” is sweet and innocent, and “Typhoid” is a sadistic killer, who comes to New York and starts mowing down criminals because eh, why not. (Matt isn’t particularly troubled by this, even though he freaks out whenever Frank does it.) Mary has no knowledge of Typhoid, somehow, but Typhoid hates Mary. Typhoid is also telekinetic, pyrokinetic, and has some kind of pheromone powers that give her limited mind control over men. Oh, and her heartbeat and scent are completely different between the two personalities.

Basically, she’s a random assortment of powers and physiological quirks that target Matt’s weaknesses specifically. It’s preeeetty contrived. Plus she’s her own madonna/whore complex, compounded when contrasted further with patient, loving, good girl Karen.

She’s also sexually dominant, which is portrayed as extremely transgressive and dangerous:

Yeah, she fucks this random guy in a burning warehouse next to a bunch of corpses. On top, because Typhoid is evil you guys!!! Siiiigh.

Meanwhile, Matt is trying desperately to teach Tyrone to use his other senses the way Matt does:

Matt’s using a milder version of what Stick did to him as an attempt to jumpstart Tyrone’s “abilities,” but Tyrone doesn’t have Matt’s abilities, so this is basically just Matt breaking into a disabled child’s hospital room in the middle of the night to berate and imperil him. On one level it’s an interesting contrast to Miller’s argument that anyone can do what Matt and Stick do - that they don’t have special abilities, they’re just tapped into their awareness more than ordinary people. On the other hand...Matthew, stop. He’s clearly projecting, but...STOP.

(Tyrone also displays an acceptance of his own blindness in that last panel that Matt never has - he always speaks of his blindness in terms of his powers being a compensation for it, and in Nocenti’s run in particular he’s extremely self-loathing about being “a blind man,” which Nocenti for some reason thinks is one word. “A blindman.” It’s weird.)

Meanwhile, Fisk has heard of Typhoid, and thinks she could be useful to him:

This is one of those strategems that you’re like “Okay, okay,” when you’re reading it and then you think about it and you’re like “...Wait. Why is the ruler of crime in the largest city in America hiring a street person to break someone’s heart?” JUST SHOOT HIM, WILSON. This is so silly.

So Typhoid sets off to win Matt’s heart:

THIS DIALOGUE IS TERRIBLE. NO ONE TALKS LIKE THAT. UGH.

Again, I’m so frustrated by how contrived the Mary/Typhoid split is and how the rules change in order to make the plot work. This is definitely Mary - we see Mary later, unaware of Typhoid’s interference and very much in love with Matt - but Typhoid’s the one who gets them the job working with Tyrone, who makes up the story about a blind father, who uses her poorly-defined powers in the first panel to compel Matt to sit with her. It just seems lazy to me.

Matt is captivated, and uses his work “helping” Tyrone (he is now serving as a “ghost lawyer” for Tyrone’s father and the affordable baby lawyer they’ve hired) as an excuse to see Mary and, well, basically begin an affair with her:

1. MATT THERE IS A TERRIFIED BLIND CHILD YOU ARE NEGLECTING YOU SELFISH PIECE OF SHIT

2. MATT YOU CHEATING BASTARD

3. MATT I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LET STRANGERS HEAR KAREN CALL YOU “BIG M,” SHE SHOULD BREAK UP WITH YOU JUST FOR THAT

Seriously, Matt is The Worst. It’s unclear how far he and Mary go (though he does discuss leaving Karen for her), and also, to be fair to him, unclear how much of this is happening of Matt’s volition, given Typhoid’s powers. But then, Mary’s consent is just as dubious as Matt’s. This is all so fucked up.

(I should also note that a few years after this plotline, after Karen has left him and they’ve painstakingly rebuilt their relationship for the second time, he cheats on her again with Elektra, this time in full control of his body and mind. So Matt You Cheating Bastard still stands.)

Meanwhile, the Tyrone v. Kelco case finally makes it to the courts, and Foggy is finally confronted with his old friends:

You know, Karen, you’re awfully high-and-mighty there for someone who last saw Foggy when you showed up on his doorstep as a strung-out junkie and then broke a lamp over his head and disappeared, leaving like a dozen dead bodies on his street.

Look. I freely admit that I am biased in Foggy’s favor and tend to give him more of a pass than I should, and the narrative is very, very clear that he is in the wrong in defending Kelco. Though Foggy is right that the legal system only works when everyone has the right to dedicated legal counsel doing their best to win, Matt and Karen are also right that sticking up for a company whose willful neglect caused massive environmental destruction as well as the blinding of a little boy is not exactly Foggy’s most shining moment. (Matt also makes the point later that Foggy should’ve known he was working for Fisk, but I think a suicidally depressed, recently divorced lawyer who just lost his livelihood and whose partner was just disbarred probably isn’t gonna look any job offer horses in the mouth.)

But Karen and Matt both act like Foggy has committed some horrible personal crime against them when Foggy stuck his neck out for both of them in “Born Again,” did everything he possibly could to help him, and they both disappeared and from what I can tell didn’t even bother to let him know they were alive. By the time of this story Foggy knows about the clinic and that they’re together, but it’s not clear how - legal scuttlebutt?

Basically, Matt and Karen have a lot of nerve, and if there’s anyone who owes anyone else a personal apology here, it’s not Foggy.

While Karen is snubbing Foggy, Daredevil is finally battling Typhoid, who he does not recognize as Mary (even though, ironically, a sighted person probably would):

Oh, I forgot, she also disrupts Matt’s radar. Sure. Whatever. *throws hands up in the air*

Anyway please note Matt calling her “bewitching” and Mary’s seductive dialogue and pose in the second panel.

Matt’s attracted to and repulsed by her simultaneously. She’s hot, feverish, burning - desirable and sickening at once. He’s confused by her dominance before violently rejecting it. She’s screwed up the gender roles he’s used to - dominant and submissive, pursuer and pursued - and it’s literally making him ill even as it fascinates him. (It’s worth noting that Mary, who he’s enchanted by, is totally helpless and submissive around him, constantly begging him to hold her and guide her and make her feel safe.)

Again, if this had been written by a man, I’d write it off the combination of the madonna/whore complex and the transgressiveness of female domination instantly as gross misogyny. Since it wasn’t, I can’t help feeling like Nocenti was trying for...something? Some subversion of what are very, very old comic book tropes? (“Nice lady with villainous split personality” has been around since the 40s, for example.) But maybe I’m giving her too much credit.

Up next: Matt and Foggy reunite, and Typhoid kills Daredevil!

#daredevil #daredevil 101

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