I like the idea of Duke having visible Blaschko’s lines that became visible once he got his powers. Since they’re possibly due to cell migration patterns (I think), and Duke’s got freaky meta god blood, they might be a little different and glow when he uses his powers! I think I was also just thinking of freckles showing up when ur in the sun.
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This is your reminder that Robin had no previous association with the main Stranger Things group and joined the fighting for the love of the game and out of boredom.
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posting the tags so i can add this panel bc he also married a woman visibly young enough to be his daughter (although bernard is definitely wrong, dana has to be older than twenty). not illegal but yk. really quick turnaround after janet's death so he clearly just wanted a woman in his life for a sense of normalcy and she was the one he spent the most time around post-surgery. from their time on page you can tell the relationship isn't that emotionally deep
anyways jack's lackluster parenting is far from his worst trait but the kind of man he is definitely factored into who tim is as a person lol
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recurring dead wife flashback where it becomes increasingly apparent that the person remembering her has dishonestly claimed a romantic dynamic to their relationship that never actually existed and erased any conflict that ever existed between them now that she's no longer able to say no to them
dead wife flashback where each time we see her she looks more confused and upset by how she's remembered, then desperate and furious, until she's hammering on the glass screaming to be let out
this isn't how it happened. you know this isn't how it happened. but you still keep coming back, keep disturbing my grave so you can play out your fantasies. voyeurs crowding around my autopsy, straining for the best view; pawing through my entrails like grubby butchers trying to find some golden meaning in blood and shit because you can't bear to face the cold light of truth. you just can't bear the thought of never having really known me at all.
i wanna say "they should be allowed to kill people" about my favorite characters except the issue is that many of them either fall into:
Being nonviolent is an important part of their character, and while it's interesting to ponder what could drive them to feel vindication or relief through violence, them doing so can't truly be construed as a positive development
or
They already do kill people, in fact it is their hobby and passion
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A dutiful daughter disguises herself as a knight and takes up the sword to protect her father's noble reputation and her kings realm. Whether we think of the Chinese or French iterations of maiden warrior tales, the figure-is fraught with tensions. On the one hand the maiden warrior demonstrates the capacities of women to live and fight honorably. Maiden warrior tales grant the heroine ample agency, demonstrating her physical and intellectual strengths; as such, they hint at the arbitrary nature of gender norms in the societies that give rise to such tales. On the other hand the maiden warrior is only allowed to transgress the norms assigned to women for the sake of maintaining patriarchal and monarchical power. In other words, she defends a patriarchal social and political order that upholds, paradoxically, gender norms that limit women's agency. When the heroine restores order by the end of the tale, she abandons her masculine attire to resume her position as a woman, either beside a prince or king through marriage or within the domestic space, taking up the spindle. In both cases she forever relinquishes her sword.
The Revolutionary Undoing of the Maiden Warrior in Riyoko Ikeda's Rose of Versailles and Jacques Demy's Lady Oscar, Anne e. DuggAn
Right. Weakness is a fate worse than death to the Isle kids.
"Right," Ben says, looking carefully away. Eye contact is also a threat. He's got to look away, but stay alert. The most trustworthy position is shoulder-to-shoulder. Looking out, not looking at them. He knows this, now. "Of course not. If, hypothetically, you happened to want painkillers--"
"I'm not dying."
"You're allowed to take a painkiller before you feel like you're dying."
"That's illegal."
"I can assure you that it's not."
Carlos laughs, soft and sharp and aimed mostly at the rubber-coated ground. "Name one law."
Ben moves to hip check him, and stops short of making contact. Friendly roughhousing probably isn't the best idea if he's in pain, and it's an even worse idea if he's refusing to admit it. "Auradon Sovereignties law 56.A7, prohibits indentured servitude without pay, except for punishment after a crime convicted in a court of law"
"I set that bar too low."
"You did," Ben agrees. "I can give you more, if you'd like."
"Sure."
"Auradon Sovereignties educational law, section 16.4.7. Says that all students must be given equal opportunity to participate in school-funded sports."
"Bullshit."
"For the purposes of that law," Ben says evenly. "Competition leagues, such as A.U.R.O.A.R.A. aren't school-funded. The schools can choose to have parents contribute to a private team that just happens to meet on school property."
Carlos looks up just enough to flash him a sharp little smile. "So we're cheating the system. Competing on the R.O.A.R team."
"You're scholarship students. There's a fund. Some generous donor gave a lot of money to make sure that Isle kids-- you guys, and the ones we're going to get out in the future-- can all play on whatever teams you want."
A laugh. Good. He's not in so much pain he can't be distracted. "Is this generous donor in the room with us?"
"The donor set up the fund through an anonymous charity," Ben admits. "And uh, funneled the money through a fundfriend account that was closed a month after."
"Your dad must've been pissed."
"He blames the Charmings, actually. They’re known Isle sympathizers. Chad has a baby sister, have you met her yet?"
Carlos glances up at him. They're still walking on the track, but they're coming around the corner towards where their stuff is, so they'll be able to stop soon. If Ben can distract him enough, he might even win the painkiller argument this time. "M' not allowed off school property, so unless she's old enough to be here..."
"She's at the junior school. Chloe. She, uh, bit me. When we were kids."
That wins him a laugh. "So she's down to commit treason. Sounds like a cool kid."
Ben grins. Chloe really is a cool kid. The sort of little sister that he'd want, if he had one. He’s never resented his parents for leaving him an only child, but it’s hard not to wonder what his life might be like with a little brother or sister. "Yeah. She is. She's really into R.O.A.R, too. I used to spar with her over summer break, when Chad and I would hang out, and one time she saw a close opening and chomped down on my arm. I think I've still got a scar."
Carlos's eyes flicker up to Ben's face, there and back again quicker than a flea hops up and down on a donkey's back.
"I--"
He stops.
Ben keeps talking. He knows some tricks now, and silence has never made any of the Isle kids want to talk more. "Chloe used to get so mad about us being in the military academy all summer long. When we were out on the weekends she'd beg and beg for us to play with her. I think we must've broken fifty practice swords that summer."
Carlos stops. "How old?"
"What?"
His voice grates. "How old were you? When you broke swords. With the Charmings."
Logically, it can't be possible. Ben's never left Auradon, and up until last year, Carlos has never left the Isle of the lost. It shouldn't be possible, but the VKs do impossible things like they're trying to beat the Wonderland record. Before them, nobody had ever managed to get a schoolwide ban on superglue put into place. Nobody had ever heard Fairy Godmother curse before, and now all it takes is a glass and a key to the supply closet next to her office. The VKs make impossible things happen all the time, so why shouldn't that extend to impossible things that hurt them?
Carlos is still talking.
Ben can't listen. There's too much blood in his ears, bounding there like the drumbeats that they'd marched to that whole long, boring summer. Military training doesn't mean a lot when you're ten, eleven, twelve. Even as thirteen year old boys, Ben and Chad were still princes of the realm, and they hadn't been allowed to do anything more than duel with each other and a few of the other junior officers. They'd spent most of their time doing marching drills with their units, attending strategy lectures, and sneaking off to hit each other with their shiny new practice swords.
They'd broken a lot of swords.
The broken pieces went in a bin.
Recycling. That's what was supposed to happen. Their scraps melted down and reforged into more practice swords for more careless, stupid princes.
But he scraps go to the isle.
They wouldn't arm the villains. Not on purpose. They wouldn't give them weapons, wouldn't give them another reason to feel like they should turn on their guards and make a push for freedom. His father-- the King is too afraid for that.
But children's swords aren't really weapons. They're lightweight. Barely sharpened. They break when they're hit too hard, and the pieces can be sharp, but they're small. Nobody in their right mind would think of a broken practice sword as a weapon, not when there's knives and glass and gunpowder to watch out for. It's not so far-fetched to think that a bin of broken metal scraps might have made it into the standard recycling tubs, and from there, out to the isle of leftovers.
".....he grabbed most of them, but there were enough to go around. I got stabbed through the back by Harriet Hook," Carlos is saying. He taps a spot on his chest, where a sword might have come out. "It sucked, cause dying always sucks. We never knew where the kiddy sized swords came from, though."
Ben cringes away from the words without thinking. The icy-hot shame is covering him top-to-bottom, from the sweaty slide of his toes, secure in the clean, bright sneakers that he's always had replaced before they start to wear out, to his head, which feels horribly disconnected from his body. "Me. It's my fault."
Carlos looks up at him. Really looks, turning his whole body into it. "Nah."
"My sword killed you," Ben whispers. He feels--
His stomach is churning worse than it did on the first day of his official rule as king.
"You didn't stab me." Carlos says, and his hands are warm and dry on Ben's arm. They don't make the nausea disappear, but it's harder to feel like his body is disconnected when there's a firm hand squeezing him back together. "Hey. Look at me. You're not the one who stabbed me in the back."
"I let it happen."
Carlos's face is entirely blank. "Right, sorry. I forgot that you were there, and watched Harriet and her dad and their crews grab the little kiddie swords and go on a murder spree. You were totally responsible for not stopping them, because you totally knew about it. How could you do this to me. I'm so devastated."
Princes have no shortage of education. Ben's known since he was a child that the scraps and broken pieces that the good people of Auradon can't use anymore get sent to the Isle, and if he'd thought, for just a moment, about what the bin for broken swords looked like, he might have realized that they weren't being melted down. He might've thought about the consequences of his actions, and spared his friend a little bit of pain.
Ben heaves in a breath that doesn't come quite as easily as it should. "I know. But I'm still sorry you went through that, and I'm sorry I didn't think about where the broken parts would go."
Carlos shrugs, and starts walking again. "We got literal trash most of the time. It was something different to do. And hey, I learned how to rip out a floating rib because of those swords, so it wasn't all bad."
They're almost to their backpacks now. "I think you and I have different ideas of bad," Ben says, steering the two of them carefully towards their things. "Where I come from, dying is considered pretty bad."
"It's like, a little bad," Carlos drawls, flashing his stupid little half-smile up at Ben like he's trying to be funny. "I've had worse. And hey, now that I'm here--"
His eyes are sparkling now, and Ben just knows the joke that's coming is going to be terrible. "No--"
"You can sheathe your sword in--"
"NO--"
Carlos hops back from the hand Ben's trying to slap over his mouth. "This is oppression! My freedom of speech is being violated!"
"You can't make jokes about dying on school grounds!"
"Can so!" Carlos cries, hopping backwards again. "I can say anything I wa--ow."
Ben drops his hands. "Wow."
"It's a new expression," Carlos shoots back, even though the way he's gone stone-still says otherwise. He's still in pain, and Ben let the murder talk distract him from the painkiller argument, and now he's gone and done something extra stupid while trying to hide whatever's wrong. "Anything I wow. It's like. Whatever I can bullshit you into believing?'
"Nice try."
Carlos sighs. "There's no chance you'll drop it, huh."