Tryna get back into drawing but I’m months out of practice and everything is hard to draw :^) I woke up with the inspiration for this comic yesterday morning so I decided to take a step back and just pop out something simple.
When she’s a teenager, El’s powers start causing her terrible headaches on a regular basis. On those days, Joyce turns out all the lights, fluffs the pillows, and cuddles up in bed next to her daughter, running her fingers through El’s hair until she’s asleep.
On those days, Mike comes over after school to help Will quietly prepare dinner and tidy the house, and he always brings along a collection of El’s favourite candy bars and a heart-shaped balloon.
Ron has had a tiny, surprisingly messy “maybe” scrawled on the inside of his left wrist since he was two months old.
It's—generic. Unassuming. Basic, if he’s being optimistic about it; disappointing, if he’s being honest. Everyone meets their soulmate, eventually. That’s the point. Ron gets that. But he’s spent almost twenty years having to contend with the fact that there’s a decent chance he’ll meet his and never actually fucking know.
Like, his brothers all have unique, wildly interesting words on their wrists. Memorable words. Words that’ll make for great stories at dinner parties, words that won’t get lost in the monotonous shuffle of everyday life, words that they’ll hear and feel and recognize, instinctively and immediately, because how many people are running around saying shit like, “Sorry, but were you one of the divers in that BBC documentary about hammerhead sharks?”
Ron’s just—he’s not bitter.
Or whatever the fuck everyone’s so worried about.
He’s just—sad. Resigned. Tired of asking, like, the hostess at Cheesecake Factory if there’s a wait for a table, tired of watching her bite her lip and study her tablet and murmur, “Maybe,” while Ron’s gaze darts to her wrist and he searches for his own handwriting and doesn’t fucking find it. And it’s alarming, he thinks, how many people he interacts with on a daily basis who can feasibly respond to an innocent question about the weather, or the syllabus, or the sports bar next to Pizza Hut that doesn’t card—it’s alarming how many of them can shrug and say, “Maybe,” like Ron’s heart isn’t seizing in his chest, like Ron isn’t hoping, pathetically, that they’re the one. That they’re his.
They’re never the one.
They’re never his.
And then it’s the summer before he leaves for college, and he’s standing in Lee Jordan’s musty half-finished basement, a crinkling can of Rolling Rock in one hand and a cheesy potato burrito in the other, watching Cormac McLaggen frantically try to dunk his iPhone in a puddle of rapidly melting ice.
“What the fuck,” Ron says around a mouthful of hot sauce. “You alright, dude?”
McLaggen glances up, eyes wide and glassy. “Maybe,” he half-whispers. “I—there’s this girl? We were—dating? Or whatever? And, like. I don’t want to do that anymore?”
Ron takes another big bite of his burrito. Chews. “So…you dumped her?”
“No,” McLaggen hisses, prodding fearfully at his phone’s power button. “I didn't—I, like, tried to dump her, and I thought it would be…okay, since our words don’t match, right, but then she started crying and talking about her cousin’s wedding and her NuvaRing prescription and this puppy she wants me to put a deposit down on and I was, like, man. Man. I cannot.”
Ron swallows noisily. “So…you’re hiding from her?”
“What?” McLaggen huffs. “Dude, no, don’t be ridiculous.” He frowns as the Apple icon flickers weakly on the screen of his phone. “Fuckshit motherfucking—oh, now you’re indestructible?”
Ron hums and crumples up his burrito wrapper, burping into his fist before draining what’s left of his beer. “Want me to just do it for you?”
McLaggen’s phone buzzes several times in quick succession, and he flinches. “Do what?”
“Dump your girlfriend,” Ron says casually. “So there’s less, like, drama. Or whatever.”
And then squints.
And then blinks.
And then grins.
It won’t be until much, much, much later that Ron realizes what McLaggen’s first word to him was.
[ send me a fic title, and i’ll tell you what i’d write for it! no more please ]
Marvel’s first teaser trailer for Black Panther has set the hype-meter high for the film’s February debut, and one of the things we’ve learned from the footage is that the titular hero’s powers aren’t magic-based. Instead, his powers come from utilizing a much more realistic (so to speak) method.
In the comics, Black Panther’s superhuman powers stem from the Heart-Shaped Herb, a plant that only grows in Wakanda. The herb, a plant mutated from a Vibranium meteorite, is part of an intense initiation process for the person who holds the title of Black Panther; the juices of the herb are applied to the warrior’s body. The warrior who survives the process — supposedly only nobility can withstand it — will gain healing powers as well as super speed, strength, agility, and other abilities akin to a super-soldier. Basically, the Black Panther is like Captain America.
In the movies, however, the Black Panther’s powers are much more spiritual in nature. As shown in the trailer, there is a ritual occurring that has to do with the Heart-Shaped Herb and the Black Panther. However, the herb itself isn’t what gives the Black Panther his powers.
“People who read the comics would be familiar with the Heart-Shaped Herb and the ceremonies that surround that,” Marvel Studios President Kevin Feige said to Entertainment Weekly. “That’s partially spiritual. We certainly don’t call it magic, but there’s Vibranium that has been interwoven within that soil and that land for thousands of years, so there are other things going on with it.”
“The Heart-Shaped Herb is how Black Panther achieves his powers. He can fight and-to-hand with Cap, who is a super-soldier, so he has super strength and heightened instincts that give him enhanced abilities,” director Ryan Coogler said. “The Heart-Shaped Herb is what Black Panthers over the generations would consume, once they earn the title, which gives them their physical edge.”
The powers of the Heart-Shaped Herb are things only experienced warriors can handle; if you’re not of the caliber of a Black Panther, like the film’s villain Killmonger (Michael B. Jordan), then you are welcoming in some adverse effects. In the comics, Killmonger consumed the herb and nearly died trying to learn more about its properties in order to overthrow T’Challa, the current Black Panther.
Black Panther, which also stars Lupita Nyong’o, Angela Bassett, Daniel Kaluuya, Florence Kasumba, Danai Gurira, Forest Whitaker, Martin Freeman, and Andy Serkis, will come to theaters February 16, 2018. According to Marvel’s synopsis for the film, Black Panther will revolve around T’Challa coming into his own as king of Wakanda as he protects his home and way of life from forces threatening to destroy his nation and the world.
smiled. “It’s just a holiday from before, back when we could still live on
Earth. You gave gifts to people you loved, like chocolate, or heart-shaped
love you and Daddy. Can I give both of you a gift?”
kissed my forehead. “Of course you can, my dear.”
didn’t know what chocolate was. So I went to the room where you ask the ship’s
computer questions. “Chocolate.
A food product made from the cacao bean. Originally used in the Olmec, Maya,
and Aztec cultures as a drink for the nobility and for ceremonial purposes…”
still didn’t know all those words. So I asked the computer more questions.
think I understand Valentine’s Day now.
the gift was hard. I don’t know how the Aztecs did it every year. I don’t have
chocolate, but I hope Mommy and Daddy like the heart I’m giving them.
Anakin sat back in the cantina and
watched his old master, Ahsoka curled against his side as she too
watched the copper haired master. Obi-Wan was swaying to the music,
perhaps two drinks in when he had gotten up to fiddle With the
The song was making Obi-Wan smile and
“The book of love is long and
The music was making Obi-Wan sing.
The music was making Obi-Wan smile,
sway and sing.
Obi-Wan’s voice was nice, a steady,
wondrous voice. Tones in high Coruscantian, warm and rich as honey as
it slid of their skins, like breathing warm life into their cold
souls. Patrons around the bar had quieted down, as had their
“And written very long ago. Its
full flowers and heart shaped boxes and things we’re all to young to
It was one thing to see Anakin
Skywalker relax. It was another thing to see General Kenobi do so, a
man who was usually the serious one in the field. And here he was
singing, swaying and smiling.
Serenading someone who was no longer
there to hear it.
“But I, I love it when you give me
things. And you, you ought to give me wedding rings.”
Had he been drinking, he would have
choked on it. Anakin stared at Obi-Wan, noting the bitter twist of
Obi-Wan had been in love. No one sang
like that and didn’t love someone with all their hearts.
“And I love it when you give me
things. And you, you ought to give me wedding rings.”
Had it been Siri Tachi? Perhaps Duchess
Satine as Anakin had long suspected?
Carefully sitting up to not disturb the
Togruta beside him, Anakin stared at the others back, wondering,
trying to put the pin to the right heart.
Or perhaps…this heart ache was much
Perhaps Obi-Wan was singing for a much
older heart ache?
Someone he would never again see or
hold and the last memory he had was of holding a dying body.
Perhaps it was Qui-Gon Obi-Wan was
singing for, in a dingy cantina, on the far side of space, after
having engaged in battles.
Perhaps Anakin would never know for
“You ought to give me wedding
But for now he knew that Obi-Wan had
loved someone and that he could sing.