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see-arcane · 1 year

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Meward

Summary: Within the mad and macabre months caught in Dracula's fangs, we have seen wolves and bats and rats forced to work toward evil results.

Now let's see the difference a cat can make.

For a proper visual for the eponymous Meward, head to Tumblr user @myroomismytardis' amazing blog and take a look at all the cat-ified characters from classic literature on display. Jack Meward, the little black cat with the gigantic eyes, is just one of many fine furry friends in The League of Extraordinary Kittyfolk. Thank you for making such an inspiring design, friend.

Ao3 link here

“Intolerable, unacceptable, and utterly, irrevocably insufferable. That’s you, you pretender. Yes, I said it! Pretender! Fraud! The most insidiously false example of your kind there ever was or will be! No, don’t you dare deny it. These last few weeks have been more than proof enough that you are entirely unsuited to the task required, to say nothing of your whole line. Nay, your full genus. And look at you there gloating! As if you were as proud to disappoint your bloodline as much as me! You little cad!”

Dr. John Seward had been standing outside the door with two attendants for the past five minutes listening to this and similar diatribes concerning some unknown traitor to a joint cause. There had been insults flung their way and apparent insults implied in silence as the man scoffed and gasped over his affronted sensibilities, stalking the room as he did. So far there had been rants and rancor and richest ire thrown about in such a way as to make the most churlish heirs pale before their fathers. Indeed, there was such a lilt to Renfield’s aggravation that it spoke of an almost paternal disappointment. He had worked and he had slaved and reared this unknown other up with his own two hands, and for what? Disobedience! Abuse! Mockery!

And so the ramble would circle around again.

John passed a glance to the men bookending the other side of the doorframe as if he might read an explanation on their faces. But no, his own confusion was reflected there. It was a strange twist in a madman already so full of sporadic facets, but this one doubly so for its seeming divergence from the major habits of his illness. Whether he was plying John for bait and animals to feast on for power’s sake or hailing the sudden religious apparition he had crowned with the imagined ability to bestow nameless gifts, there appeared to be a central focus on acquiring new strength for himself as constant motive. An impetus that always involved turning his gaze upward to cozen or coax for boons.

Now here he was inventing some entity to berate; an accomplice responsible for deceiving him or spoiling some goal outright. It wouldn’t be an entirely shocking result in other patients. Even ordinary prisoners of long sentences were known to either seek out or manifest some subordinate other to exercise authority over. But Renfield, he of the legion of flies, spiders, and birds, oh my, was already a veritable Cronus lording over a throng of tiny lives at his mercy. Perhaps he’d assigned some personification to one them..?

But no. That way laid the issue of many a new farmer or butcher who found themselves abruptly unable to take the blade to whatever livestock they’d made the mistake of naming and petting as they fattened.

“Look at this!” Renfield suddenly barked, stomping his way to another corner of the room. “Just look how simple I made it for you! Sitting there, whole and ready, and still you go for only a sip and nibble of what’s brought in the other way! Disgraceful. Wholly disgraceful. What? Oh, don’t you pretend it’s a matter of inability. You’re well past drinking alone. Yet even with what you’ve gained, still, still you are a mere mote. A speck. A crumb among the veritable giants that slink and prowl so efficiently on their lonesome. I could flick you right back out, do you know that? I could! You are that laughable a specimen!”

Renfield stalked and stomped and huffed. Then, in a conspiring tone:

“In fact, I will. I will flick you out. But not by the way you slunk in, oh no. You’ll not break in again, you cheat, you burglar of time and effort. There are authorities about who can deal with you in expert fashion. You are evicted as of today. Oh? Think I’m bluffing?” There was a sudden pounding against Renfield’s side of the door, so quick and heavy it rattled the thing in its frame. “Doctor! Get Dr. Seward here at once! There is an intruder in my room! Doctor!”

The attendants looked to him. John nodded. When they unlocked the door, Renfield was in his usual safe distance from the threshold, his arms crossed in a manner that seemed more fitting for a landlord smug at the sight of the police coming to remove an itinerant tenant.

“Well, what fair timing that you were passing by.”

“So it was. I heard you have someone here you want to be rid of?”

“Most expediently. I have tried, Dr. Seward. Most earnestly and most fruitlessly I have tried to wring the results and compliance I’d hoped for from this lost cause of a fellow inmate, but I can try no more. The cause with him is hopeless because he is hopeless. Mad I may be, but at least before him I did not suffer the madness of one trying to grow a tree from a beansprout or, more aptly, trying to yield a full harvest from a field of salt. If ever there was an entity made on this Earth who could order their very anatomy to be an instrument of sabotage, it is the preening villain who has imposed on my hospitality and patience.

“Weeks! Nearly an entire month I have tried to make progress with the thing, and I’ve barely an ounce of proof to show for it on him! And his stubbornness! His stubbornness, or else sheer weak-willed cowardice in the face of instinct, has frustrated me as I never thought possible for so insignificant a creature to inflict! I cannot tolerate his presence any longer and I plead, no, demand you excise the lout before I am forced to take my own measures.”

John nodded cautiously at this. Inwardly he was ticking over the possible responses he might have to make to appease the man without sparking some new fury. Did he expect them to pantomime carrying out an invisible intruder? If so, where were they meant to grapple the air? It was as John was pondering this that his eye happened to fall upon two glints of color shining under Renfield’s bed. A pair of emeralds twinkling in shadow.

“Renfield—,”

But his patient had followed his gaze already. With a mix of triumph and irritation, the man darted down and swiped at the dark. Then plucked a piece of the dark away as if scooping up a ball of cinders. The cinders mewed thinly.

“Ah, thought you could hide from your ousting, did you? Think again. This is the criminal himself, Dr. Seward. A thief of potential and promise and, as you can see, a clear failure as a cat. Look!”

With his other hand he gestured to the corner of the cell nearest to the door. A freshly dead bird laid there. As did a small saucer that looked to be of the kind used for the patients’ meals, with some bits of nibbled food still present.

“Again and again, he chooses the plate over the prey! I tried only giving him birds, but he refused anything more than a sniff before he went sulking and starving away. I had no choice but to suffer his spoiled wants and feed him from my own meals or else lose the opportunity entirely. An opportunity that was itself a lie. He is too small, Dr. Seward, and he seems determined to remain so despite my best efforts. Even if he were a veritable rugby ball of a cat it would not matter, for he has no lives in him but his own useless nine! Oh, I know, I know, you will say, ‘But he is only a kitten, Renfield, growth takes time, Renfield, even stray cats will turn to scraps before they deign to hunt, Renfield!’ I tell you, he is an exception. He conspires, Dr. Seward. With his own body, he conspires. I shall suffer him no more.” Then, in a voice so small John almost did not catch the addendum that seemed almost to choke him, “I cannot risk it.”

Before he could register it, John found Renfield had cut the distance between them and thrust the tiny handful into his custody. The attendants tensed to act behind him, but Renfield shot just as quickly away to make a show of glowering out the window with his back to the lot of them. His arms were crossed again and his hands gripped his elbows so tightly they shook.

“Take him away, Doctor. Foist him on some pampering lady or other with room in her reticule for the ridiculous little thing. I wash my hands of him.”

“…Of course. I’ll see what I can do. Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Renfield.” The kitten gawped up at him. Then tried to turn and wriggle to face Renfield. Another half-mute mew escaped. Renfield bristled at the sound.

“Get it away, Doctor. Please.” John gestured to the attendants. They all retreated into the hall, locking the door after them. Almost the instant the bolt slid home, there was another shout, “Dr. Seward! Doctor, are you still there? There is one thing more! It’s important!”

“Yes, I’m still here,” he called through the door. “What is it?”

Then, quite clearly, so that the attendants could hear it too and only half-succeed in stifling their grins when they caught it: “His name is Meward.”

“…Pardon?”

“Meward. Doctor Meward in full, but we know each other well enough to dispense with titles.” John would swear he heard a smile in the man’s voice. “That’s all, Doctor.”

This was, naturally, not all.

Not when word of ‘Dr. Meward’ had circulated first through the staff, then the patients, and even to the occasional visitor to the asylum before the week was out. For reasons that defied logic, Dr. Seward found he did not have the heart—or, more pressingly, the appropriate opportunity—to donate the creature to another caretaker. He had thought perhaps there was a chance that Lucy might take him on. It really was a spectacularly pitiful animal and so was prone to pulling heartstrings with the power of his massive evergreen stare.

In fact, he had expected himself fully in the clear when he made a somewhat red-faced return to the Westenra estate in tow with Arthur and Quincey. Lucy, at first showing a slight pale strain under the ruddy vigor she had shown on their last encounter, had bloomed anew with delight on seeing the scanty mound of fur in his palm. Her jubilation doubled on hearing the creature’s regrettably unchanged name.

“Oh, that is a perfect choice, absolutely perfect!” she cooed as she cradled the bundle now purring in her hands. “He’s got much the same eyes as you, John.” But as soon as the compliment dared to light a blaze in his cheeks, her next words doused it: “I do wish I could keep him all to myself, but my mother always falls into hacking fits around cats. I’m afraid I can’t have him here.” She looked plaintively from Meward to John to Arthur. “Maybe..?”

“The dogs are amiable enough,” Arthur admitted, if sheepishly. “Though they’d need to get acclimated. They have a habit of chasing after any little thing that moves. But I’m sure once they got used to each other it would work out well enough.” An unspoken, ‘Maybe,’ hovered at the end of his words and glowed doubtfully in his face.

It was much the same as Quincey’s expression had been when he admitted, “Well, sure, I had a few old mouser cats as a boy. Only, I don’t claim to know anything about raising a kitten. I wouldn’t trust myself not to botch it, Jack.”

Regardless of these snags, Lucy spent the visit thoroughly enraptured with Meward to the point that she took one of her own hair ribbons off her head for him to play with. Once he’d tired of it, he allowed her to fasten the thing about him as a collar.

“You can’t have him going around bare, John. Otherwise they won’t know he’s anything but a stray. You must get him a proper collar soon.”

John had promised to look into it.

Some short and endless months later, the ribbon would remain. Meward would be too fond of it to let it go. Likewise for John.

But that was for later.

For now, John had to reconcile with his tiny shadow. More, with the unignorable fact that his presence seemed to have a positive effect upon the atmosphere of the asylum. Almost irritatingly so. What had begun as him simply running out of friends to trust with the animal, combined with his not having any personal home staff to entrust with the minding of him on top of household duties, was now a matter of ‘improving morale.’ So he languishingly informed his phonograph. Whether in his office or in the hall, Meward’s perching on a shoulder or chasing his feet seemed at once to quell anything from ire to melancholy to simple boredom in onlookers.

Often with shouted cries of, ‘Afternoon, Dr. Meward. And associate.’ Or else just, ‘Hello, Doctors,’ always nodding first to the kitten. Renfield appeared to be in much repaired spirits upon catching wind of this, now demanding to speak with ‘his’ doctor before offering any word to John.

“Ah, see?” he hummed to Meward as the animal stared at him. “Is it not wise that I shooed you from your lacking status as a failed catalyst for my purposes? Clearly your chicanery has endeared you to the medical profession.” Renfield gestured broadly at John. “You even have your own nurse.”

The obvious jab did not land as well as it might have on an earlier date. He had too much of curiosity and worry for the man to feel any real brunt of insult now. From the increasingly wild swings in his mood to the lapses of haunted lucidness, R.M. Renfield now stood nearly even with John’s distress for Lucy’s condition. Though if even a fraction of Arthur’s worry proved as true as his latest message implied, his own worry was due to triple. Laconic though Quincey may be, it was Arthur who was the fellow of infinitely fewer words in their trio. Whenever he deigned to offer a phrase in speech or text, it mattered. For the moment, he shelved such thinking in favor of his patient who sought to agitate to hide agitation.

“And have you anything you wished to share with doctor or nurse tonight, Renfield? You seemed upset over something from what the attendants implied—,”

“No!” Renfield gnawed his tongue so hard that it bled. He sucked at it, his face convulsing between exultation and concern. “No. I was mistaken. Or, no, I cannot say. And I cannot say why I cannot say. Never mind.” He gnawed, sucked, paced. Meward turned his owlish gaze up to John. A small paw swung gingerly at his mouth while his tongue flicked out and tapped his black nose. As he did, a whiff of briny breath puffed out on the air. Memory prickled. John cleared his throat.

“I’ve discovered something he likes to hunt. Other than bootlaces and pens.”

Renfield slowed in his pacing.

“Oh? What is that?” He cast a sidelong glance at Meward, who paused in his assault on John’s lapel to gape back. “He certainly doesn’t look much bigger. Though I suppose his coat is better.”

“As it should be. He’s taken a liking to fish.” He coaxed Meward’s claws out of his shirt collar and moved him to another hand. “It’s only an occasional treat, but he seems to be aware enough of where it comes from that I have caught him trying to prey on market displays of seafood when we’re out. Which I believe shows a clever choice on his part. Marine life is consistently healthier for the plate than any cattle or pork. And,” he was careful not to look directly at Renfield, but in a nigh scheming way into Meward’s eye, “they are almost always bloated with the nutrition of animals they’ve eaten prior to finding themselves in the fisherman’s net.”

Renfield’s pacing slowed to a stop.

“Is that a fact?”

“It is. I don’t often go poking beyond the edges of medical sciences, but recent reading from a French naturalist, Professor Pierre Aronnax, has been most illuminating. While hardly all of the ocean’s livestock are carnivorous, the bulk of sea life we collect for our own dinner is redolent with underwater hunters of little lives versus the farmland’s bevy of coddled cows, pigs, and hens.” He still did not look up any higher than Renfield’s frozen feet or Meward’s glistening stare. “Which is all without mentioning the miracle a man devours whole every time he treats himself to a crustacean. Lobsters especially. Not only are they fellow omnivores, but this Aronnax fellow theorizes that they may have properties suggesting an extraordinary longevity. It is only a hypothesis, he writes, but he believes that if the creatures are left to their devices without a fatal attack by a predator, they can live well over a hundred years.”

“Do you take me for a child?” Renfield snorted. “I am well grown out of such fairy tales as immortal beasts. Especially supposed immortals one can boil and set on a platter with a side of butter sauce.”

“Not immortal, simply endowed with an anatomy that lasts longer than the expected norm. I found it a strange supposition myself, but he makes a fair case, especially in tandem with the examples he’s put forth in the article—,”

“What article would that be? Some journal of quackery? You must not believe everything you read, Doctor.”

“I don’t. I only thought it an interesting concept, and one with impressive enough evidences that it was worth wondering about. Imagine tucking into a bit of shellfish only for taste’s sake, not realizing you were eating an animal who might have had more than a man’s whole lifetime ahead of it before you swallowed it all down. It is almost sad to picture.”

“Yes. Terribly.” Renfield fidgeted another moment. From the corner of his eye, John saw he was eyeing the window suspiciously. Perhaps searching. Apparently satisfied, the man donned one of his more familiar sycophant performances, sidling near enough that the attendants stood up straighter. Then, “Again, Dr. Seward, what article might you refer to? I am certain it will at least be good for a laugh and it would be such a welcome diversion from the usual softcover twaddle I flip through…”

John provided a copy of Aronnax’s piece a quarter of an hour later. That morning, he heard that Renfield’s latest crop of spiders had disappeared—flung out the window in a skittering spray that nearly scared a pedestrian out of their wits when a harvestman landed on his shoe. Not long after, Renfield had started wheedling the attendants to ask the kitchen if there wasn’t any seafood to come on the menu. Summer’s seasonable window was well past, he knew, but he had just now been struck with a terrible craving for seaside cuisine. He would trade every spider in the world for a crabcake and every bird for a lobster tail.

Hearing this, John had looked to Meward. The kitten had his own paperwork to ponder on the desk now; quite blank, but he refused to leave John, his forms, his pen, or his beleaguered hand alone until he had his own work to attend to. His unblinking eyes lifted up to find John’s.

“My thanks for the consultation, Doctor.” He set down his pen. Taking the sign, Meward trotted across the desk and bunched himself up under his palm. “A brilliant idea.” Meward purred his agreement.

A note was made to make inquiries as to budget and ability in getting the kitchen a stock of fresh seafood. He would see to it once this trouble with Lucy was taken care of.

Lucy’s trouble was taken care of. Twice.

R.M. Renfield’s only once.

It was not until after the Harkers’ trouble was seen to—this time finally, finally by seeing to the end of the one seeding trouble all along—not until after Quincey Morris went into the ground as a last miserable toll, that John could bring himself to visit any of the graves alone. Lucy’s. Quincey’s. Renfield’s.

On visiting the last’s simple plot, John brought along Meward in his coat. No longer quite a kitten, but still petite enough to fit in an inner pocket. The cat stared wonderingly at the marker for a time. He then paced away, seeming to search for something among the other graves. He returned on dainty steps with that something in his mouth. A dead bird. He laid it on Renfield’s plot and then curled himself around John’s leg, staring up.

If asked, even by Van Helsing, he could not have explained why this was the moment that burst the dam anew.

Nor why this eruption was so horridly raw compared to his past collapses. He had wept whole oceans since the loss of Lucy, it seemed. For twice dead Lucy, for Mina and her damned undying, for Quincey bleeding his life out on the snow, and now, here, last and so criminally considered least until it was too late, Renfield. Renfield who had died as a man neither comprehended nor heeded in his last desperate throes. Renfield who had died to shield a young woman he had befriended for all of an hour over simple kindness and equal regard. Renfield who Dr. John Seward had never healed, only housed or hindered or harkened to for study’s sake.

He crumpled to his knees there among the dead who’d died ill and insane for lack of understanding. Face in his hands, all the horror and hate of self folded back on itself a hundred times over. Arthur did not need his shoulder. Van Helsing did not need his confidante. The Harkers did not need his brave face. His staff and his patients did not need his professional posture or imposture. Nothing was needed here, for no one was alive to need anything.

So out it came. All those deepest acidic tides of unshared grief that could never be dared in the audience of friend or phonograph or the fierce eyes of those who saw and judged the faintest failure of mind as failure of soul, because that was what he was, a failure of psyche and ability who was nothing, who could do nothing but look on, be a warm body, a recorder of others’ misery while he sat and stared and failed and failed and failed them—

A warm ball of fur was worming its way onto his lap. Then up under his jaw, trying to squeeze itself between his hands and his tears.

John looked down. Meward looked up. Blinked once, slow. Then resumed trying to grate himself against John’s face and hands and neck and anywhere else he could reach, purring like thunder as he did. John snuffled and swallowed back another hoarse noise. He laid both hands on the cat to stroke him. Minutes passed on and on until they became an hour. John picked himself up, cat in hand.

“Thank you, Doctor,” he breathed, pausing to tidy the skewed ribbon. “You have a true talent.”

Meward mewed. It was a purely affected sound. The kind he made either to win another round of petting or a treat or a dash of catnip. John supposed he could pay for his services with a medley of all three at home.

A year later, with the asylum behind and the future ahead, the private psychiatric practice of Dr. John Seward was making elated waves through the medical grapevine. It was recommended by most anyone in the Purfleet area—likewise for even the most distant neighbors—that Dr. Seward was the man to go to before anyone started throwing around panicked thoughts of sanitorium stays or the druggist or a mesmeric cure. Go to Seward first, comes the suggestion from all walks.

Talk to him. Talk until you’re blue. Let him hear it all, however strange, however haunted or haunting, and he will neither balk nor sentence you to a straitjacket. Dr. Seward actually listens. More, he keeps confidences. He lays out alternatives the patient themselves might take before being flung headlong to the pharmacy or a locked room. Talk. Be heard. Be helped.

And don’t mind the cat staring in the corner.

He is a colleague and he’s there to help too.

#taking a break from tormenting Jonathan Harker for fluffy kitty fic time :3c #Now Back to the Horrors #really though little bitty Jack Meward's design is ridiculously charming #I made my own plushie of the little guy I loved him so much #and now he's got his own fanfic #fanwork turducken #jack meward #meward #jack seward #john seward #r.m. renfield #dracula #my writing

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miscelliteeous · 5 months

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So I have a new hyperfixation character and it is The Spot from Spider-Man, and that led to me coming up with a Spidersona, a universe for them, and several side character/villain reimagines (plus my OC I already ship with Doc Ock, killing two birds with one stone here!). And while I don't have anything drawn yet due to my wrist getting injured, I do have a lot written down that I want to share!

-Spidersona Detailed Profile-

Name: Blythe Basile

Alias: Shutterbug

Age: Thirties

Height: An even 5ft

Weight: Classified

Occupation: Fashion photographer

Powers:

Spider-sense, reflexes/agility, wall climbing, major jumping ability, super strength, (aka standard Spidey powers). Also: photographic memory, enhanced vision, a natural webbing released from the fingertips that can't be swung from but can slow down or catch others

Weakness:

Fear of heights, Shutterbug is short, handsome men

Location:

A much, much more fashionable world's New York Garment District, which takes up most of NYC now

Backstory:

An orphan found abandoned on the doorstep of a fashion boutique, Blythe was taken in and adopted by the owners, Marianne and Rainier Basile, who unfortunately both perished in an accident when Blythe was ten. Rainier’s sister Maylis stepped up to take care of them, and she quickly proved to be a kind and caring adoptive parent, sharing with Blythe a love of photography.

Similar to many others, Blythe was an awkward geek in high school and a loner, and what little respect and status they had was gained through their roles on the photography club and as photographer for the yearbook committee. Bullying was common, but despite everything Blythe graduated early.

After graduation it was like they flourished, gaining a mentor in one of the most decorated photographers in the world; LeBene, a former wartime photojournalist turned nature photographer who taught them everything he knew and was almost like a father figure to them. Their entry into the photography world, and LeBene’s care, gave Blythe a sense of confidence, fashion, and style, and they no longer felt awkward and alone anymore. LeBene often told them "Always put people before the art. Use your camera for good." Blythe was overjoyed when LeBene and Aunt Maylis began a romance.

On one of their first solo assignments, Blythe was sent to shoot photos for a "Men of Science" beefcake calendar at a nearby laboratory. In the middle of photographing a lab technician holding a strategically placed folder, there was a sharp stabbing sensation on the back of Blythe's thigh, though they didn't see what caused it. Despite the pain, Blythe continued to work, until collapsing at their studio apartment and sleeping for three days. Still, they did at least manage to get a boyfriend out of the experience, and a foothold in the photography industry.

It didn't take Blythe long to realize they were developing superpowers and they designed and crafted a suit to photograph themselves in for fun. Instead, Blythe wound up saving someone's life, and found that they actually make a pretty good hero. As they started their heroics, they also started to move up in the world, and was hired at a famous fashion magazine. Unfortunately, with the increase in costumed crime and a beginners workload, Blythe and their boyfriend decided to mutually break up, and Blythe attended the wedding of LeBene and Maylis by themself.

The increased pressure at work and on the streets, began to cause Blythe to care less and less about the duty they had willingly taken up. Long story short, one day when Blythe put protecting their camera over stopping a criminal, that criminal happened to run over LeBene, who died in Blythe's arms. From that day forward, Blythe vowed to not only stop crime, but also to only use their camera for good (and fashion). Using their powers and photography skills, Blythe takes down both supervillains and corrupt capitalists.

Personality:

Takes photography very seriously and always has at least one camera within arms reach. Mildly boy (or well, old man) crazy, in that they sure do like getting grabbed by their middle aged enemies an awful lot (though they do always get the upper hand on the bad guys in the end). Blythe still has an incredibly geeky side, and has to hide it while mingling amongst the fashion elite. Hardworking, dedicated, and very good at helping others feel comfortable and safe.

Misc:

Has no idea they were EVER bitten by a spider and would be horrified to find out.

Their boss is J. Jonah Jameson, head of the magazine! He’s tough but fair and considers Blythe to be a good person but thinks Shutterbug is tacky and boring.

By “a more fashionable world”, think like Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure fashion in a golden art deco-inspired city. Very in-your-face style.

Blythe doesn’t like touching things without gloves.

Their favorite camera was LeBene’s, and it is only used on the most special of occasions.

Their studio apartment is actually pretty small and cramped, with the walls covered in photographs, unintentionally making it look like a damn serial killer lives there instead of a superhero.

They’re working on not going heart eyes over their villains, but so far they’re having no success.

Despite being a fashion photographer, Blythe is terrible at telling what they look good in, luckily their best friend, Graham Stacy (a fellow photographer at the magazine), helps them with shopping.

Mostly uses their organic webbing for ease of photography. It doesn’t show up on camera, so it can be very useful.

Typically goes by they/them but is fine with any pronouns and prefers to be called a girlfriend when being dated as opposed to partner/enbyfriend/etc. Being called she/her by citizens whilst in costume just means it’ll be harder for others to connect Shutterbug to Blythe.

Despite their fame, Blythe doesn’t have a social life and spends what little free time they have watching old horror movies and playing video games. They’re still majorly geeky, it’s just usually hidden.

Not nearly as book-smart/scientific as most other Spidey-types, and by far the worst at math in the entire multiverse. Yes, that includes the car. Spider-Mobile can do math better than them.

Drinks an ungodly amount of coffee and caffeine, but doesn’t suffer from it because of a pre-existing mutation the spider had where it could handle caffeine.

Villains:

Doctor Octopus- During an experiment gone wrong, shy and reserved Otto Octavius was forever fused to a set of rose-gold robotic tentacles he created and he’s making it everyone else's problem. He’s very charming and sadly taken, but also very ruthless (with a new god complex) and one of Shutterbug’s biggest and most intelligent foes.

Melusine- An act of corporate sabotage that destroyed her life's work caused Mima Marsh to lose her legs and her career. She turned to crime as a way to get vengeance on those who caused her loss and the world itself. Flies around connected to a very classy mechanical mermaid tail and has robotic flying fish minions. Locked down Doc Ock as her partner fast.

The Spot- Johnny Ohnn was one of the scientists posing for the calendar, and he and Blythe briefly dated until work became too hectic for them both. He was in a lab accident while working on portals and forever changed into a being of portals and turned to a life of crime after losing his job. Blythe thinks they can still work things out. (He’s getting his own section too because he’s a major character)

Electro- An electronica musician in the wrong place at the wrong time, Max Dillon became more electricity than human, and of course turned to a life of crime, but he still makes pretty good music on the side. Tries to not kill anyone, though he’s not always successful. His crimes mostly include breaking into power plants to turn them into giant music machines.

Vulture- After being forced out of the company he created, Adrian Toomes stole an invention that allows him to fly and make life hell for those who planned the hostile takeover. Ironically he’s a kinder person after becoming a criminal and regularly donates to charity. Blythe would let him be if he wasn’t swooping at people on the streets.

Mysterio- Illusionist Quentin Beck lost his stage in Las Vegas to a pop star and decided to try his luck in NYC. Having no luck there either, he decided to put his skills to use in a less legal way. Has an ego even bigger than Doc Ocks. Teams up with Electro a lot and their fights are actually a highlight for citizens.

Lizard- Dr. Curt Connors injected himself with lizard DNA on a dare from his science buddies and transformed into a big lizard monster and roams NYC’s sewers. Still pretty intelligent, he just eats people now and has a lot less morals. Has an ex-wife and son that he still tries to visit once a month, but they’re less than pleased when he tries to make them lizards too.

Kraven The Hunter- Sergei Kravinoff comes from a long line of furriers, but when NYC’s biggest buyer decided to go fur-free, he decided to seek revenge, using skills learned from the other half of his family; notorious big game hunters. As stylish as he is deadly, he hates Shutterbug for always getting in his way, while they’re kinda low key jealous of his style.

Shocker- Herman Schultz is a mercenary with vibro-shock gauntlets who views villainy like his old construction job, very 9-to-5 blue collar. Doesn’t hold a grudge against Shutterbug for foiling his crimes, and is down to team up with others at any time, though few take him up on the offer. A pretty chill guy when he’s off the clock.

White Rabbit- Model and heiress Lorina Dodson was disinherited after a very embarrassing scandal. In a rage, she paid Shocker a ton of cash to get her a ton of rabbit-themed weapons that she uses for criminal mischief and making her parents mad and dressing like a Playboy bunny. Always down to let Shutterbug take a pic or twelve during fights.

-Spot Detailed Profile-

Name: Johnathon “Johnny” Ohnn

Alias: The Spot/Spot

Age: Late 30s-Early 40s

Height: 6’3” (before Spot)/7’ (as Spot)

Weight: 210lbs (before Spot)/Unknown (as Spot)

Occupation: Scientist (before Spot)/Criminal Mad Scientist (as Spot)

Backstory:

The only son of Patty and Albert Ohnn, Johnathon was a shy, awkward kid, who grew into a shy, awkward (and lanky, his growth spurt was very generous) adult but one with an autism diagnosis that explained a lot to him.

After graduating from college, his brilliant mind was quickly snatched up by Alchemax Laboratories, and thrown into a number of projects, proving himself a reliable and efficient member of the team.

Whilst working on a small scale project, Johnathon decided to put himself out there and sign up for a “Men Of Science” calendar that was being done to raise money for a new coffee machine in the break room. He was surprised when he showed up and found out it was a ‘beefcake calendar’.

The photographer shooting the event noticed his discomfort and offered to shoot his page during lunch on a closed set, and he quickly agreed. During that photo-shoot, he felt surprisingly relaxed, confident, and comfortable. Though still the most covered up in his photos, wearing a lab coat and strategically covered boxer-briefs, he was actually proud of how they turned out, and exchanged phone numbers with the photographer, who he learned was named Blythe Basile.

One phone call turned into having lunch together, which turned into dinner, and quickly they started dating. Johnny, as Blythe called him, was experiencing a massive positive boost in confidence and his personality, he even became friendly with his co-workers. But after about a year, things quickly took a turn.

Blythe was hired at their dream job as a fashion photographer for a highly popular magazine, and Johnny’s project (studying and trying to create a teleportation device) was approved by higher ups. As work began to pile up for them both, they agreed to a mutual break-up, at least until things became less hectic, which they did not.

While about to make the breakthrough of his life, and possibly one of the biggest discoveries of all time, a portal opened, which was the plan, but what was not expected was that the Vantablack portal would pull him inside and vanish. He had entered a strange dimension of darkness and light, where he was trapped and studied the unusual properties of the location as best he could.

For three weeks he was gone without a trace, before emerging, transformed and changed by his experiences, in his lab. He was shocked to find no one believed who he was, and he was shunned by everyone he met, losing his job, home, and even his parents were horrified and refused to believe him. He didn’t bother contacting Blythe, as he didn’t want to experience that painful rejection again.

With no other choice, Johnathon, now calling himself The Spot, decided to work at stealing lab equipment from various labs to try and find a way to turn himself back while hopefully keeping his abilities. Unfortunately for him, Shutterbug stands in his way.

Misc:

Has no idea his most hated foe is Blythe and would be horrified to find out.

Not able to access the multiverse, he’s not THAT powerful, he’s more connected to a pocket dimension and anywhere in the one universe he’s from.

Casually dated others before Blythe but never got past second base before.

Like Blythe, his vision was fixed by his transformation. Despite his eyes no longer seeming to exist. He’s never figured out how that works.

Much more of a trypophobic design than most Spots have, with a small cluster of spots typically forming around where one of his eyes used to be, before it forms into one big one and migrates on his face while another cluster starts appearing.

Technically a genius! He just doesn’t have the confidence to assert himself as much as ones like Doc Ock or Melusine.

Would let Blythe put his hair up for him before work, but after they broke up he started leaving it down again.

Gamer boy, puzzle games are usually too easy so he mostly plays FPS games and has ridiculously good aim after years of practice. It’s his main source of stress relief.

The tea to Blythe’s coffee, this Spot has a soft spot for matcha and Darjeeling, but will drink any kind except sweet tea.

Has a bad habit of being condescending and talking down to others but is working on it.

#spidersona #spidersona oc #lite work #the spot #johnathon ohnn #blythe basile #its fun taking concepts from Spider-Man and turning them around into something different!#I HAVE a design planned for Shutterbug/Blythe but its only a concept made on gaia online until I can draw my interpretation #when my wrist heals #selfship #not tagging every character because dang thats a lot #should tag these two though since they're included #melusine #otto

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theproloser34 · 8 months

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Aight, so with Spider-Man 2 coming out on PS5 soonish, I’m gonna rant about a discourse that’s been happening on twitter (and maybe tumblr, haven’t seen it yet) about black hair in video games. This all comes from the new hairstyle they gave Miles Morales in the game

Now, it ain’t a bad hairstyle. I think it fits him quite well. But people online quickly noticed that this haircut is part of a trend currently with black video game characters. It seems to be the go-to hairstyle for some

Now, it’s easy to see why this hairstyle because super popular lately. It’s because of one dude, Micheal B Jordan in Blank Panther. Like dude rocked it and looked so hot doing so. Damn near almost had me getting that hairstyle too.

But I wanna defend the big use of this hairstyle for two main reasons. First, it works well from a character design perspective. Since it is such a newer, trendy haircut, you can get a sense of the character being more fashionable, more trendy, you can tell they care how they look and how they carry themselves. It also works for younger characters to give a difference on how the culture has changed with hairstyles (if there happens to be another black character that has an older hairstyle)

Now for Miles specifically, it works because it is digging into the old trope of “character grows out hair as they grow into themselves.” Miles in the first game rocked the Super Smash Bros Afro, which I mean… nerdy kid, a little insecure, doesn’t really know how/even want to clean up himself. Like I get it, been there myself

In Spider-Man Morales, he actually cleans up a little. Gets a nice fade going to signify his new responsibility. So now a year later, starting to grow the baby dreads just makes sense

Now the other more selfish reason why I’m defending this hairstyle trend is… JUST LET GAME DESIGNERS LEARN HOW TO ADD ONE MORE HAIRSTYLE TO THE THEY CURRENTLY GIVE BLACK MEN. Like this discourse forgets that for as long as I’ve been alive, most games got 2-4 of the same hairstyles for black people. A fade, cornrows, Rasta dreads, and then Afro which sometimes if’s just at a stupid length. So, imma let them add one more and overuse it, because I just need something new.

Plus I haven’t seen this cut yet in a character creator. Most character creators only got like 2. The Sims 4 got like 6 with all the dlc. Baldur’s Gate 3, even with how great it is, only had like 3-4 black men styles. In Japanese games, I might be lucky to get two. Monster Hunter Rise practically only has the stupidly large Afro. Like, that’s just not ok. Video games still have a long way to go for black character customization. So I’m happy if we at least start getting a new trendy one in games more often. Cause at least it’s still a start.

To end this rant, I’ll leave y’all with an RdcWorld clip that just contains my feelings

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#video games #miles morales #spider man 2 ps5 #black hair #rant post #character design #like I just want 6 in character creation #is that too much to ask?#why yes I want Jheri curls in my game #give me the hightop and the braids too #Youtube

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fbfh · 2 years

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spider man!leo x reader hcs

wc: 1.1k

genre: fluff, crack, angst if you squint

au: super hero au, spider man!leo, mcu crossover

pairing: spider man!leo x gn reader

warnings: brief mention of tragic backstories, general spider man fare, spider man kiss, I can't decide if spiderman is one word or two, not proof read

song rec: I think I used this in another spider man realted post but spider man too: 2 many spider men - the unbreakable kimmy schmidt soundtrack, hero - monsta x, this might be obvious but when can I see you again - owl city, and metropolis - owl city

a/n: this is mostly an outlet for the 24/7 looping footage of Leo flying around as spider man I love him fuck me with a chainsaw

tags: @avashaye @perseajohnson @afidiofobia @thatmultifandomloser @yelenabel0vaswife @almostjollypizza @Fictionalcomforts @lizziebitch33 @jacksondeeznuts @justbookworm @urmum-xoxo @Asunnyhunny @shellosisbae @anything-forourmoony @i-dont-remember-a-lot @chasingpj @1dpjohoohp @mystic-writings @babiesimagines @dreamerball @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @dustyinkpages @yesv01

After a devastating tragedy left him with no parents and his world completely upside down, Leo Valdez, a dorky teenager from Houston somehow finds himself living in queens new york with his aunt

As if this wasn’t enough changes to handle all at once, it’s also easily a week after he got bit by that stupid spider before he actually notices he has…

Superpowers, he guesses

He really has no idea what else you’d call it

He thinks it’s really fucking annoying at first

Most notably it made all his sensory issues way worse

For a while he views it as another annoying inconvenience he has to deal with

It’s when something happens

When there’s a minor robbery like 2 blocks away from his apartment that he realizes oh shit

Wait

I could do something about that

He can prevent bad shit from happening

He can stop people from hurting

Which is all he's ever wanted

With several all nighters and a lot of hyperfocus he comes up with a costume, weapons, even a name

His grades in chemistry class suddenly shoot up

Pun intended

So he can figure out how to make webs

Once it clicks he's like how has no one else figured this out yet

It's so obvious

He gets his homework done so fucking fast

Cause he also has to learn to sew for his diy costume

Settling on a design was hard

He learns he is definitely not a fashion designer

Eventually he decides to pay homage to his favorite vine

Once this boy hits the streets???

It's on

He's so good at adventuring and super heroing and saving people

It's easily one of his two favorite things

The other one being coming up with new weapon ideas

It takes so much self control not to use webs as a stim toy

He is the CE FUCKING O of battle banter

You thought the other spidermen were quippy???

Leo is 100000 times worse

He basically can't shut up during a fight which has made for some hilarious news footage

There are compilations on YouTube of spiderman roasting criminals for 3 minutes straight, spiderman being an icon for 7 minutes straight

And his personal favorite

Spiderman being the face of gen z for 11 minutes straight

Whenever people at school notice he's way more distracted than usual

Which has been a lot more lately

He's like yeah just adhd things lol

Instead of having to tell them that he’s a semi nocturnal crime fighting arachnid lad

When he’s finally contacted by Tony Stark?????? He loses his fucking SHIT

He has encyclopedic knowledge of Stark industries

So when Tony motherfucking Stark takes one look at his web shooters and starts praising him

Tells him he has real potential, he’s onto something kid

Then tells him he wants him to start training to help the avengers and possibly eventually become part of the team???????

God he loses his fucking SHIT

His aunt is so fucking proud of him for getting an internship with tony stark

Every time he either comes up with something or works with Tony on something Tony’s like wow

Maybe I should start an actual internship for gifted stem kids

Cause this boy gets so much serotonin from being a friendly neighborhood spiderman

Whoever you are to him

His best friend, Tony’s kid that he definitely has a crush on, the cutie from his compsci class, the hot barista he always hopes he’ll run into

Even just a civilian who’s paths happened to cross

Jesus he’s down bad for you so fast

If you know him out of costume he probably gets really nervous to talk to you

In spite of how much he wants to

If you don’t really know him outside of the whole super hero thing

Oh my god

He will show boat and pull so many stunts as spidey

Cause god damn he wants to impress you

If you don’t already know his secret

Motherfucker the temptation to tell you is so fucking strong

Regardless of how or when you find out

You end up being his most trusted ally

He’s rescued you more times than either of you can count

The feeling of him pulling you close to his chest just in time to keep you out of harm’s way

Especially by yoinking you closer with his webs?????

Adorable!!! Heart fluttering!!!!

And god after a battle or fight when you’re all (probably) back at stark tower

And he just pulls off the mask

And his hair is all mess????????

His cheeks are all flushed???????

So fucking cute

God he’s so fucking attractive

It’s not fair

And fuck me he’ll spider man kiss you every chance he gets

You’re walking home one night and you pull out your phone to check the time

You get a glimpse of the one and only spider man lowering himself upside down behind you

You put away your phone

“You know, you should really be more careful walking home. All the creeps come out at night.”

You turn to him, gazing at his red and blue attire, the eyes of his mask moving as he talks

You suppress a grin

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want some weirdo in brightly colored spandex to follow me home, and sneak up behind me, and start talking to me out of nowhere.”

“Yeah, that guy sounds like a real freak.”

“Oh, definitely.” You muse

“You know, I don’t think a thank you from saving me from hooligans when I’m out in the middle of the night, spider man, would be out of place…”

You chuckle, stepping closer

You pull his mask up, pressing a warm kiss to his lips

He caresses your jawline, and you feel the sleek, textured fabric of his suit against your skin

After you eventually pull away, it’s silent for a moment

You’re taking each other in, being in this moment together, the noises of the city providing a familiar background track

He’s smiling, and you can see it, his mask still pulled up

“... that works too.”

You both descend into giggles

He makes sure you get home safe

He usually does

You wave to him outside your bedroom window one more time

He reciprocates the gesture, then shoots a web onto a nearby building, zipping off into the night

You let out a sigh, watching him quickly melt into the darkness outside

He may be your friendly neighborhood spider man

But you and him both know he’s really your friendly neighborhood spiderman

#leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #heroes of olympus x reader #heroes of olympus #leo valdez headcanons #heroes of olympus headcanon #marvel au #spider man au #god i have never wanted to kiss so BAD

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riddle-me-ri · 9 months

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For the hyperfixation ask: 💕

Cuz I'm curious!

💕: Tell us about one of your favorite characters and why you like them!

Oh gosh, um...where do I start, and with what fandom umm...hmm. So I'll just uh chose one for each and give a wee description lol.

Also spoilers for Across The Spider-Verse!

Batman: Although I adore a lot of the Rogues, the Riddler became my favorite because I just...related to him and his insecurities? In most iterations, he's trying to prove himself to an abusive father (sometimes mom) figure that couldn't give two shits about him and he's spent most of his life trying to prove to someone-- anyone his worth. And for someone like me who spent most of her life pleasing others to validate my worth...it was just easy to see his struggle and relate.

Into/Across The Spider-Verse: Oh gosh...this is so hard, I love the Spider-Gang so much I swear...but I think I'll use this as a chance to explain why Miguel is one of my favorites The absolute contrast he poses from the other Spider-Men is interesting. I adore the way the filmmakers told us so much about him in such a short time frame. He wasn't always cold, or aggressive...he's been traumatized, he's seeking redemption in one of the most controlling ways. I doubt he sleeps and he's only eating so he can continue to fuel himself for his intense workouts so he can always be the strongest, fastest, etc. I don't agree with his theory (it's very clear Miles is a clean slate), but I can't blame him entirely for freaking out at the idea of the spider-verse collapsing. He's just a really rich and complex character that isn't right or wrong and ambiguous characters like that are fairly difficult to write well.

American McGee's Alice/Alice Madness Returns: As much as I just wanna say Alice (a young woman taking back her mental health and trauma and finding her inner healing? Yes please!) but I absolutely love Cheshire. He's a smart-ass, and fairly brutal...but he's honest and while his delivery is brash...he does care for Alice. His design is one of my favorite Cheshire Cat designs of all time and his voice is AMAZING

Fables/The Wolf Among Us: I fucking adore Bigby Wolf. I'm a huge softy for the gruff, tough exterior types but genuinely have a heart of gold. Bigby is another character that's just rich in complexities and the man is doing everything he can to do the right thing and be better but is constantly having his past thrown back in his face and yet as easy as it is to give in he doesn't (not unless...necessary anyway). This makes him perfect for choice-based video games, do you wanna prove he's changed or just give in to the wolf that lies underneath? Also, also...you should also know that your girl is a huge, huge, huge, werewolf fan. I fucking love werewolves so that was an instant plus lmao sorry vampire-loving mutuals lmao

#ri rambles #ri answers #hyperfixation asks

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theuntitledblog · 6 months

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Spider-Man 2 (PS5) - REVIEW

SYNOPSIS

Peter Parker and Miles Morales are struggling to balance their lives respectively as Spider-Man and each are put to the ultimate test when Kraven the Hunter designates New York City as his new hunting ground.

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Spider-Man 2 is a game I've waited a long time to get my hands on following the experience I had with the 2018 game which I described as "a joy to play". Spider-Man 2 doesn't stray too far from that established formula as tonally and aesthetically it's near enough identical while other mechanical aspects such as combat, web slinging and levelling up are also very familiar. Like any sequel, it offers up new elements including a larger open world, web gliding, new side quests, missions, abilities and suits. The balancing of 2 Spider-Men works seamlessly within the game as is the switching between both Peter and Miles depending on the mission you're playing. Both are compelling in their own right, charismatic and enjoying great chemistry with Miles in particular getting more out of this larger game and keeping the story more grounded with his side missions. Each also have their own Skills Tree abilities to unlock as well as a shared one that you need to work through to increase your move arsenal and develop. Gone are the Suit Powers of the previous game in favour of Suit Tech upgrades while the number of Gadgets to acquire and use have also been reduced and in some instances have been merged together as you progress. It's a generally familiar set up but accessing gadgets and abilities via either the L1 or R1 button does make combat more straightforward than switching between equipped gadgets.

The PS5 format allows for an improved performance and it certainly makes for a more refined gameplay experience rather than radical overhaul or progression but where the game truly shines is with its story. Spider-Man 2 tells another enthralling story that blends gaming with cinematic scale set pieces and confrontations with incredibly personal stakes. As an overall experience, I can't honestly say that I preferred Spider-Man 2 over its predecessor but it is a game filled with plenty of 'WOW' moments.

The game is a technical marvel with incredible graphics, instant load times and a smoother control system. On paper this screams superiority over the last two games yet throughout my runtime I couldn't help shake the feeling that something was missing. You have both the 'Just the Facts' and 'The Danikast' returning during free roam sections but there were less of them. A far more subtle and perhaps personal observation was that Crime reports that were previously called out on the Police radio channels now pop up through the in-game FRND app which made the city feel less lived in for me. The 2018 game itself wasn't exactly groundbreaking with its open world and some of the side content was pretty standard stuff but it did at least provide breaks in the gameplay with time trials, puzzles, stealth missions and other challenges that offered up more variety to the gameplay. This is something I felt Spider-Man 2 was sorely lacking at different phases of my play through especially when not all of the side content was fully available did my options feel limited with some parts of the map having nothing to do. An unexpected consequence for me is that it took me out of the experience rather than having the more immersive experience I had with the first game.

Most of the side content in Spider-Man 2 is primarily combat focused with only a few tasks such as the Emily May Foundation, Prowler Stashes and Unidentified Target chase missions (a challenging highlight) offering up non combat based challenges. It's not exactly like these other options aren't in the game because they are, my issue is simply there's not enough of it. In fairness the combat in Spider-Man 2, like the previous games, is excellent and has seen improvements with smoother controls, more challenging enemies with even more enemy types to overcome. However given the increased size of the map, I found it noticeable that there seemed to be less content outside of the main story. One of the more unusual aspects late on in the main story I noticed was how suddenly leveling up awarded you 2 Skill Points rather than the standard 1 point you recieve all game long. It's almost as if the developers realized that they had run out of content and doubled it to ensure you can unlock everything. It felt rather strange and as a whole, I found the game somewhat disappointing and feel the developers could've done more.

Spider-Man 2's greatest selling point is undoubtedly the story which brings both Kraven the Hunter and Venom into the Insomniac Spider-Man series for the first time and neither disappoints. The story takes its time moving its various pieces into play so that when the big dramatic moments do occur, they feel rightfully earned and pack a mighty, emotional punch. Spider-Man 2 is also a significant set up in terms of incorporating gameplay into large cinematic set pieces and boss battles against the likes of Sandman, the Lizard, Kraven and of course Venom. But the most notable change in this regard is with the difficulty level which goes hand in hand with the refined combat thus ensuring that Spider-Man 2 is not just about cinematics. Each boss battle resulted in death several times and required me to improve my anticipation and response time to enemy attacks making my triumphs all the more rewarding and improving the overall experience.

OVERALL

To say that I'm disappointed with Spider-Man 2 would be a disservice to the overall quality of the game because it is a very good game that I enjoyed playing. But I think more could've been done to make better use of a larger open world, more variety could've been added to the gameplay to make it a more rounded experience. The characters and story however are oustanding, Spider-Man 2 delivers plenty of thrills, satisfying moments and leaves you eagerly anticipating the inevitable third game.

4/5

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mrminority · 8 months

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Spider-Verse Showdown Essay

This was for a scholarship, but I also just really love Spider-Man

Tobey, Andrew, and Tom are all Spider-Man in their own way. Each actor brought something different to the table, something either beloved like Tom's final suit design, or something much more controversial like Bully Maguire. These three are the spiders mentioned in the "best Spider-Man" debate. People would ask, "Tobey, Tom, or Andrew?" However, to quote Shamiek Moore, "Nah, Imma do my own thing."

In 2018, Shameik Moore entered the running for best Spider-Man and hit the ground running. Just as RDJ and Hugh Jackman are Iron Man and Wolverine, Shameik is Miles Morales. He perfectly embodied the struggle of being a black kid burdened with great expectations, not only from his own family but from society. In his films, he is challenged with the question of what it means to be Spider-Man. The first film has Shameik gain a sense of confidence as he accepts that he is Spider-Man, coming into his own and using his unique experiences, history, and skillsets to save the day. The second film has him challenge those who resist his acceptance. His existence. Those who are against a Spider-Man other than Peter Parker. Despite decades of Spider-Man comic book history and the many continuities and canon events, Shameik refuses to be like the others. He is unashamed and unapologetic about who he is, something I wish kids like me heard much earlier in their lives.

In a time when the world focused on the live-action adventures of Tom Holland, I was waiting to see my Spider-Man. As an Afro-Korean American, I didn't have many superheroes who I could relate to. Of course, I had favorites (everyone loves Iron Man, right?) but a black kid could hardly relate to tech billionaires or blonde-haired thunder gods. I'd have to imagine myself as these characters, playing pretend with all sorts of costumes and toys. I was an Iron Man and a Hulk, but I was almost always Spider-Man. My brother and I would swing around the city fighting the likes of Sandman and Doc Ock. At a time when there were hardly any black heroes, we had to pretend to be people we weren't. We may have been these marvelous characters, but we weren't our own heroes.

I can still remember the day my father called me and my brother over to take a look at his computer. On the screen was an article about Spider-Man, yet Peter Parker had been dead for months in the comics. As I looked above the spider logo, I saw the young face of a black kid, no older than thirteen. With a smile on his face, my father said proudly, "The new Spider-Man is you two." From that day on, Peter Parker was a bygone memory. I finally had a hero to look up to. A hero I could relate to.

Shameik Moore is Spider-Man. Miles Morales is Spider-Man. He was a kid who not only looked at me but lived like me. Now I don't have spider-sense or good Spanish linguistic skills, but I am creative like him. I am smart like him. I am (debatably) funny like him. Out of all the Spider-Men in all sorts of media, Shameik's Miles Morales resonated with me the most. I am beyond grateful for him to be my Spider-Man and will live by his words: "Anyone can wear the mask".

#spider man #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #miles morales

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the-life-of-spider-sf · 10 months

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Alright, alright, I know you’re probably sick of hearing about the whole ’guy gets bitten by a radioactive spider’ rigamarole by now, so I’ll just skip that part. Hi, my name is Ryan McCrimmon, and I’m a university student trying to juggle homework and trying to keep my city’s non-law-abiders from harming the innocent.

Spiffing ain’t I? Anyway, in my universe I’m the one and only Spider-Man….well, except if I’m in the presence of any alternate Spider-Men, then it’s Spider-SF. Yes you read that right, SF. as in San Francisco instead of New York City. That’s not the only difference either. Don’t tell the other Spider-People, but I managed to learn the responsibility I have as a hero without losing a family member or a best friend. In fact my best friend Maya is very much aware of my identity (I wasn’t as careful that day, oops) and is basically my Yoda when things get stressful.

Anyway, I’m sure you’re wondering about how my webs work, and honestly I still am too. See, like that one Spider-Man that looks like the dude from Jake and the Fatman, I make webs inside my body, but I’m not sure how they generate. My only guess is that somewhere in my body is a gland or organ or something that turns the food I eat into the material my webs are made out of. Overall, being Spidey isn’t that bad. Sure I have to lie to my peers and my family, but even though it hurts, the knowledge I’m protecting them is enough to get through it.

As for my suits….

oh god you do not want to get me started on that first suit. It was a stupid idea I cooked up while stressed about what I was going to do to pass this art assignment, and then Maya went and made it. Sure I wasn’t going to turn down an idea made by the only at-university friend I’ve ever been able to make and did use it for a while, but let’s be real, black is so not good for hot weather, and I had the luxury of being bitten right as it was starting to turn from spring to summer. Luckily she understood when I told her about that, and she help me design and make an improved version.

I decided to go for a two-tone look this time, something Maya was a little hesitant about, but still allowed. I bet you’re wondering about the orange and black. Yes, they’re the Giants’s colors, but it’s mostly because I wanted to represent my hometown in a subtle way. Bonus, there are little holes in the wrists for the webs to come out of.

Okay, okay, I’ll backtrack. We all know I was bitten, but where was I bitten? Well, I was short on cash, what university students aren't, so I volunteered for this study to make a quick buck or two. Little did I know, the “study” involved injecting spiders with some sort of enhancing serum or whatever that supposedly could be transferred through a spider bite to improve bodily function. Apparently this study was supposedly done to make something for both amputees and to find a way to improve eyesight in people who needed glasses. Well, that part they got right, but I can only guess something within the spider’s DNA mixed with the serum so now not only do I not need glasses anymore I can stick to walls and make webs. Fun times right? Well, I got two grand out of it, mainly because the “scientists” figured out what it did to me and wanted to shut me up, so there’s that.

Now, the big question: How do the media and the law enforcement treat Spider-Man? I skirted around this for a little bit, but actually we’re on pretty good terms. I mean, there’s always those who don’t like something new in the city, but as for the news and police and stuff, we’re pretty tight. Might help that unlike most Spider-men, I try to not harm as much as I can. I know, I know, ‘how is that any different from the mantra of the other spider-people?’ My point is I’m not out there breaking ribs or tossing people around with webs wrapped around them, I mainly just knock 'em out and leave it to the police. Of course, that’s just the small-time thugs. Haven’t met any of my universe’s versions of the big bads yet, but I know when I do I’ll try to be responsible and make the right call.

(Unmasked Ryan art by scribbling-scientist)

#spiderman #spidersona #rp blog #oc #marvel #tobey maguire is in jake and the fat man

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snootsnoot-fiction · 3 years

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Your Gentleman

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: None really

A/n: My first marvel fic yay!!! I love that it’s Bucky as well☺️ This is a birthday gift for my dear friend who I love @inthatmomentwewereinfinite 🎉🎉🎉 you’re honestly one of the nicest people on the planet, I hope you have the best day you can ❤️

Summary: You haven’t seen Bucky in years…

The life of one James Buchanan Barnes was quite the tragedy. At least for the most part.It was a long, involuntary life, but to say he wouldn’t be the least bit grateful for the majority time skip would be a lie. Oh, there were things “Bucky” Barnes missed of course, but there was plenty to make up for it.

The man thought he would lead a simple life; serve in the war, get married with Steve as his best man, maybe even die of old age. A far cry from the fate that really awaited him, for he found himself being part of the Red Skull’s experiment. An experiment that began his journey as who would infamously be known as The Winter Soldier.

~~~~~

You were quite the artist to say the least. You lived and enjoyed a fairly quiet life as well. That’s not to say your talents weren’t sought out, for you were also quite the fashion designer. Sometimes you would simply consult. Create and draw up a design for someone else to make. Occasionally you would make the pieces yourself. It was an interesting way of making money, and you were happy to keep living your quiet life - your involvement usually kept secret in some way at your request.

Needless to say, one of the biggest things you ever worked on was the new suit for Captain America. You found his tale fascinating. You knew of the man, but it wasn’t until you heard he was back that you looked into him a little more. Strange things seemed to be happening more often.

The detail of his best friend’s supposed ‘death’ was another thing that interested you, but all anyone could assume was he actually was dead now. It didn’t stop you from wondering though.

You did work on occasion for people such as The Avengers, but aside from that, you were a normal citizen. So to say you were surprised when you caught the eye of Mr Barnes in modern day was an understatement.

Recognising him immediately, you weren’t sure what to do. He looked beyond exhausted, and it was clear to you he was trying to keep his head down. The man carried on, and despite thinking you probably shouldn’t, you followed. The next thing you knew, a cold arm was pinning you against a wall as the one and only James Barnes stared at you. Up close, his eyes looked even tireder, and you could see just how rough a state he was in.

“Why are you following me?” He huffed out. Anyone could see how tense he was. Almost afraid.

“I’m no-one I swear! I just recognised you and got curious… you’re Bucky?” He slowly let you go, but remained tense. “I don’t even know what happened… you look awful…” you frowned slightly as you gave him a proper look. You really had no idea what was going on, but you felt bad for him. Whatever happened to this man, you were glad to not know right now.

~~ a few months later ~~

You wondered how people would react to finding out about you helping ‘The Winter Soldier’. The thought made you nervous sometimes, but you knew what you were doing to be right. Something in you from the moment you met him told you he himself was at no fault, but of course, not everyone would see it that way.

The day you met him, you had ended up giving him a fresh change of clothes that would help him to blend in more. You had offered more, even a meal, but trust would take time to build, and he didn’t want to stick around you too long.

‘Too many innocent people…’ was all he muttered before giving thanks and leaving without a word.

‘I’m happy to help…’ you hadn’t been sure if he even heard you, but surprisingly it wasn't long before you saw him again; with time, the two of you built a sense of trust. Bucky would never stay too long, but when he did you would allow him to use your own facilities if he needed, You would make him a warm meal almost every time, and give him another fresh change of clothes if he needed them.

Trust takes time though, and you didn’t know much of the story of why he was even here. You didn’t want to push or pry, but you couldn’t help but wonder sometimes.

Today was the day you’d learn.

The old soldier hesitantly stepped into your home. It always made you frown a little to see just how hesitant he was; whatever it was he was hiding from, you wish he didn’t have to.

“I know you don’t like to, but I made my sofa up for you just in case-”

“Sofa? The couch?” You went a little red and chuckled nervously.

“Yeah sorry, I didn’t grow up here..” and for the first time, you saw him smile. It was little, but it was there. It made your heart flutter just a bit, causing you to smile.

“I might take you up on that.” His words were quiet as he walked in to see the couch. You had set a single, plump pillow on one end, and laid your biggest blanket over the piece of furniture. Bucky had been so hesitant to talk even one word to anyone, nevermind taking refuge from someone, but he couldn’t even remember the last time he had a nice place or spot to sleep. Not only that, but you seemed genuine to him. Deep down he knew he could trust you. Your smile widened.

“Are you hungry?” At your question, he looked back at you with a small nod. The tired look in his eyes made you want to really look after him, but there was only so much you could do and you didn’t want to startle him.

That night, you sat on opposite ends of the couch as you ate a freshly cooked meal, some sitcom on the TV. Eventually you decided to ask him what had happened to land him here. There was no pressure to answer of course, and you were more than willing to forget you asked if he didn’t yet feel comfortable to tell his story… but he did. You listened patiently and quietly as Bucky talked about The Winter Soldier.

Little did you know just how far you had already fallen for this man.

~~ Avengers Civil War ~~

After hiding for so long, Bucky had to admit there was something refreshing about now being out in the open.Of course, the circumstances were most unfortunate, but whatever happened, he would no longer be in hiding. Therefore he wouldn’t be putting you in any more potential danger. The two of you had grown quite close, and if anything happened to you because of him, well.. he didn’t like to think about it.

People like himself existed and had been used to assassinate King T’Chaka, and now the group his best friend Steve had put together were trying to get to the guy behind all of this. Unfortunately Tony Stark had created an obstacle for them. The old soldier could see that both men were somewhat regretful, but firm in their beliefs. Before he knew it, the fighting had begun.

Bucky and Sam Wilson had hidden in the airport terminal to start when this kid in a red and blue costume came at them. Sam knocked the kid away, so Bucky ran after them, and when he reached them, he saw an opening and threw a chunk of metal at the weirdly flexible kid. Naturally this kid was able to throw it right on back before being tackled by Wilson again.

Reaching the both of them just in time, Bucky ran between them as the spider kid flung himself at Sam, landing both the men in the floor below and his metal arm in some sort of.. webbing. The old soldier hated the fact they ended up in this position because of a child who didn’t even sound as though he had hit puberty yet. That’s when the kid was thrown out the window by the little robot bird.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier?” he growled at Sam, genuinely annoyed with the guy.

“I hate you.” Bucky merely scoffed at the response. They were in the middle of something big, but for a brief moment he found it funny that Steve’s new friend was this guy of all people.

Despite all this, you were still there. In his mind. With everything now in the open, he hoped your part in all of this was still in the dark. He just wanted you safe. To live your life.

~~ present time ~~

To Bucky, it almost felt like his past had repeated somewhat; to skip from one time to the other was confusing and frustrating. At least this time around it wasn’t as far into the future as the last time.

For you, however, it was a lonely experience. With The Snap, you had stayed behind. You lived out those five years. You had found a connection with this older guy you absolutely adored, and then you find out he was snapped out of existence along with half the planet. Lonely was an understatement, especially at the start.

At least he didn’t physically die - a fact you turned out to be grateful for when suddenly all those who had been Snapped were back. Of course, you knew the type of life Bucky led beforehand, so you were still worried, but you hoped with time he would contact you again. That hopefully things had finally calmed down at least somewhat in the world now.

Meanwhile, in the last five years you had moved to New York. With half the world gone, work had been a difficult adjustment for everyone, and you decided to start your own little business in The Big Apple; a prime area for you. It was just a little fashion/clothing business, but it turned out well enough to keep you afloat. Business got quite busy when everyone reappeared. It was stressful at first, but you managed to hire a few other people that helped. You were even able to start taking a little time to yourself occasionally in all due time. Eventually it became the norm.

With business and the world calming down, Bucky Barnes had been on your mind recently. You wondered where he was, if he was alright.

You were in your store. It was a weirdly calm day today, so you sat on a chair behind the main cash register. You heard the door open, but by the time you looked up, the person had disappeared behind one of the clothing racks. You thought about keeping an eye on them, ready to get up if it looked like they needed assistance.

“I got ‘im.” One of your workers said from behind you, offering a smile as she walked past you.

“Thanks.” You smiled back, watching her hover near whoever the customer was before looking back down at the book in your hands. You seemed to get quite into the book, because before you knew it, a shadow stood over you, but you didn’t notice until he spoke.

“Hey..” the voice caused your heart to stop as your ears perked and a weird yet pleasant shiver flew down your spine. You knew that voice. You knew eventually you would see him again, but it was still a surprise.

Slowly, you closed the book, and your eyes dragged up until they were on that same face you had last seen way over five years ago now. His hair was short now, but it was him alright. It was Bucky.

The man offered a small smile and wave as you stared at him. You had no idea what to do.

“Uh.. this your place?”

“Yeah…”

“You’ve done well.”

“I’ve had a lot of time.” Your responses were automatic. Your mind was blank.

“Uuhh..”

“Bucky?” You stared at him with wide eyes, your voice triggered a slightly wider smile on his lips as he nodded.

“It’s been a while.” His words made you scoff loudly.

“You’re telling me!” The both of you chuckled. The last five years had felt so long for you, but the two of you were already falling back into your old dynamic.

“... Listen Y/N.. all that old stuff.. The Winter Soldier stuff… it’s gone now.” His words made you smile for him. You knew how much his past had troubled him. You doubted it was completely out of the way, but you knew what he meant.

“No more hiding?”

“No more hiding.” Bucky smiled, a look of genuine relief on his face.

Just then, a group of teen girls walked in and your smile disappeared for a moment.

“I’m at work. I’m the boss but I still gotta work, we can’t..”

“I know a place we can go to later if you want? Catch up?”

“I’d love to! I close up around six today, we can go after then.”

“Perfect! I’ll come back and we can walk there together.” You smiled and nodded, too shy to say anything else right now. Bucky smiled before turning around, looking back at you as he opened the door to leave. You gave him a little shy wave.

You spent the next few hours constantly thinking about Bucky and finally being able to see and talk to him again. Excited was an understatement. You were happy. Bucky was back. You were always too shy to say anything about what you felt, but absolute adoration was another understatement when it came to that man.

The clock had finally struck six. Your employees were now leaving, and you decided to check the store, make sure everything was alright before closing up. The same employee that had helped out earlier that day came up to you as you picked up your things.

“Your gentleman caller is waiting outside.” She had a knowing smile on her face. She even seemed kind of excited and she stood there and waited as you blushed.

“Thank you..” you attempted to avoid her gaze as you packed the rest of your things in your bag.

“I’ll tell him you won’t be long.” At that, you offered her a smile before she left and you took a moment to relax before following.

Bucky wasn’t right there as you left through the front, but when you turned back around after shutting and locking the place, there he was just a couple feet away from you. A small flower bouquet in his hand. Your heart melted at the sight.

“I know you’re not much of a flower person, but I wasn’t sure what else to do.. You know… with the time gap and all.. But these are your favourites.” Bucky looked almost nervous. You shyly stuck your hand out to take the bouquet, your fingers brushing against his as you did.

“They’re perfect, thank you.” A small smile tugged at your lips again as you looked at them before looking back to the man in front of you.

“I’ve missed you Y/N.”

“Me too.. You that is! I’ve missed you, not myself.” You blushed as Bucky chuckled at your flustered self. He then held out an arm.

“Shall we?” You hesitated before taking hold of his arm with your free hand, a feeling of happy warmth washing over you.

“We shall.”

Tagging; @blondekel77 @book-hoardingdragon @mandosmimi

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan fluff #bucky barnes #bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes fluff #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier fluff

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mask131 · 2 years

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Mieruko-chan Ghosts Analysis (Chap 12, 13, 14)

The storage room ghost

This one I have to admit I have a bit of a hard time analyzing because of just how bizarre this creature is. This spirit has such an inhuman and twisted look... He visibly hangs out in the storage room of the gymnasium from Miko’s school. The place notably has a small infestation of “little old men” ghosts caused by Julia: we learn there that these entities like dark and damp places (which fits Japanese folklore where darkness and water are two attracting factors of the supernatural) and we find a confirmation that they are attracted to all small shiny pieces, to the point bottlecaps are enough to attract them.

However what Julia misses is of course the giant ghost looming over the two. Here we get a second confirmation of the “hierarchy of powers” between ghosts. Just like the fortune-teller godmother could see ghosts but not the “hanged man” spirit, here Julia can see clearly the “little old men” but not this enormous being ; and just like the “chain-around-the-neck” ghost, this one is powerful enough to break the protective bracelet with its mere presence.

In term of behavior we don’t have much, beyond the creature getting a very unhealthy interest in Julia when it understands she might “see”. In terms of appearance, the creature is, as I noted, gigantic, filling the entire room and looming over the girl. It has many long limbs, several pairs of arms and at least one set of legs. It is crouched and there is some strange sort of swelling or growth in the middle of its body - the multi-limbed design and the strange bloated abdomen makes me think of a spider’s appearance, if the big abdomen was in the front and not on the back. The most defining feature of the crature however is its head. It is... square. Something we never saw before. We find back an unusual set of eye and mouth distortions, a classic mis-matched face. But quite interestingly there is also a strange “beard” growing out of the monster’s head... not made of hair but seemingly made of white-like worms growing out of holes in its flehs... though among these worms (others grow out of its enormous left eye) there is a few round dangling things looking almost like eyeballs out of their eyesockets. What an irony it could be - it is missing one eye and yet three good ones grow in its “beard”.

Overall the creature shares the “damp” feeling of the place described by Julia - with its crackling face like an old wall, the saliva dripping from its broken mouth, the strange fleshy bits and white worms oozing (and seemingly melting) from it “chin” like pus or mold... There is something deeply dirty about this thing.

The deceased husband

This entity is actually a confirmation that creepy-looking ghosts are not all always naturally evil and that some can be good.

Case in point, this man. The deceased husband of a widowed woman, who wanders around her repeating endlessly the code number of the safe where was left their most precious belongings. Its only goal is for his wife to find back the wealth he had planned for her to have - and once this is done, he actually disappears and leaves (which also confirms that some ghosts have a “purpose” to fulfill in the Mieruko-chan world and leave once their unfinished business is taken care of).

Even more: we see that the ghost apparently is somehow aware of Miko’s abilities as he approaches her in hope she will transmit his message - he even thanks her when she fulfills his unfinished business. But again, we see that there is a huge miscommunication problem, as the ghost can only repeat the numbers endlessly without actually explaining what they mean. And as I said prior, miscommunication, not understanding each other, wrong interpretations, the impossibility of a dialogue are all recurring themes and underlying motifs of the Mieruko-chan manga.

In terms of appearance we can’t see much of the ghost because it is almost constantly wrapped in shadows, but we can guess a few creepy features such as creepy teeth and empty eyesockets - however the facial distortions are definitively not as severe as other ghosts we saw. The face still looks human, the mouth doesn’t seem “broken” in any way, his clothes and hair are perfectly normal... If you didn’t look closely at his face you wouldn’t know it is a ghost. It does seem as a result that the more warped and distorted a ghost is, the more tied to this world or unwilling to go it is.

The waiting line (2)

We find back the waiting line from a handful of chapters prior, visibly still at the same place, still working the same way: except here the ghost of the deceased husband, now free from its unfinished duty, got in the line and is currently beating eaten by the “devourer”. The devourer itself looks like a different one, but overall we keep the same idea : a very big humanoid with a huge mouth that swallows the souls waiting in line. We even have the same “second mouth behind the head” thing - except this time it is a whole face, as we see clearly empty eyesockets at the back of the head. The eye are still rolled up, and the only massive difference would be that it has less holes than the other devourers.

Putting aside simple aesthetic considerations here, this moment confirms a theory people had about the waiting line back then. The “devourers” are somehow here to allow the ghosts with no more ties to this world and no more unfinished business to “move on”. When a ghost is done with its haunting, it waits in line and gets devoured. We see prior that an “exorcism” of a ghost by a kami involved being devoured. Here it might be the same way, the fate of the ghosts who have done their time here.

The motif of the deceased leaving this world by being devoured is actually, quite funnily enough, a Christian motif that was popularized by medieval art. The door or entryway to Hell was depicted in medieval paintings as the gaping maw or fire-filled mouth of a huge dragon (usually said to be Leviathan). This resulted in the expression “the mouth of Hell” to describe a gateway to Hell. I can only draw parallel to this situation where the souls ready to go out of this world also get devoured mercilessly.

The running ghost

CORRECTION: Forget what I xrote before it was utterly silly. I thought it was the ghost of YOU KNOW WHO’s mom, but looking back at it the ressemblance is just superficial (the faces are drawn a bit the same).

The rest of the body doesn’t correspond either - so it is safe to assume this ghost is different.

So let’s just do a quick look over... This ghost confirms once again that ghosts can be photographed (and that people with the sight can see them on photographs, something we already saw with the fox-kami). It also confirms the idea of “moving ghost” we saw before: ghosts are not all tied to a given place or people, many of them simply wander around streets and buildings, ending up at random places - or in this specific ghost case, running around to random places.

And I don’t have much to add...

#mieruko-chan #mieruko chan #ghost #japanese ghost #manga #horror manga #design analysis

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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years

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apartment 4d

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2,621

summary: There’s nothing Bucky loves more than the widow down the hall and her son.

warnings: Tiny bit of angst and some cussing. Mostly fluff.

a/n: Thank you so much to @indyluckycharlie for commissioning this! I hope you enjoy!

Bucky Barnes was a simple man. He loved his family, Steve, his apartment, and you.

You, the pretty widow. You and your son, Eugene, lived in 4D, right down from where he lived in 4A. After your husband had died in the war, you’d been forced to move since you couldn’t afford the nice house you once had.

And maybe he’s sick. He’s gotta be, considering the fact that you had lost your husband in the same war that he’d been fighting in, that he’d lost his arm in and almost his sanity with it. He’s gotta be sick, right?

Because otherwise he wouldn’t dream of coming home to you and Eugene, of sweetly kissing your cheek. He wouldn’t want to teach Eugene how to tie his shoes and shave his face when the time came.

Speaking of.

A grin spread over his lips as he came up the stairs and saw you trying to unlock your front door while also holding your baby boy on one hip and your groceries in the other. Your son, clad in a cute little outfit that looked almost like a sailor’s uniform, whined as he tugged at your hair.

“Baby,” you cooed, wincing as you tried to not get upset. It had been a really rough day and him pulling your hair was just making it a little harder since you were trying to open the door. “Please don’t pull Mama’s hair.”

“Hey, you want some help?” Bucky called out from the top of the stairs, his hand still holding onto the rail.

His voice breaking the silence startled you, judging by the way that you jumped and dropped your keys. “Oh, uh… That’d be lovely. Thank you,” you said, giving him an exasperated smile as he came over and grabbed them from the ground.

“Here, let me help,” He said after opening the door. He grabbed some of your groceries, though he couldn’t take all of it since he’d left his experimental prosthetic at home. Howard was still tweaking the design since it hurt if he kept it on too long.

“Thank you,” you breathed out as you managed to get inside and you set Eugene on the floor with a few of his toys. “Today has just been a nightmare. Eugene gets overwhelmed so easily and the supermarket was horrifically packed…” A snort. “I’m sorry. I’m rambling. You probably have things better to do than listening to me complain.”

But there was almost nothing that Bucky would love more than to listen to you complain about literally anything for the rest of his life. “No! No, don’t worry,” he insisted as he stepped towards you. “I don’t mind…”

Your eyes felt hot as you tried to fight tears, your cheeks flushed. “Sorry… I hate crying…” God. Here you were, crying in front of a man you hardly knew.

“You really don’t have to keep apologizing,” he insisted as he set the groceries he was holding on the kitchen counter.

The dark green countertop was a stark contrast to the white wood of the cabinets and a compliment to the soft green walls. It wasn’t light enough to be mint, but not dark enough to be forest. He could see the care that you clearly put into your home just from the kitchen, considering the fresh greenery that framed the circular window, a potted plant sitting on the sill.

Eugene was talking animatedly to his toys in the living room, completely unaware of their conversation in the kitchen.

Somehow, even with the nightmare you had claimed to be through, you still looked absolutely stunning. There was a stain from what he suspected might’ve been Eugene’s lunch on your chest, and the victory rolls in your curls were starting to fall. Your fiery red lipstick was a little smudged in the corner, and before he could even stop to think, he reached across the counter top and gently wiped it away.

“There,” he breathed out, his voice barely audible. There was a sparkle in the depths of your eyes that he wanted to capture and hold onto forever. A kiss at the corner of your lips.

And he didn’t deserve such sweet things. Not after everything he’d done.

He couldn’t stain you red with his sin, put a traitor’s ring on your finger.

“Thank you,” you breathed out, your eyes locked on his.

And it was like he suddenly forgot his own argument.

He’d fall to his knees at the altar of your love and beg for forgiveness. He’d repent until he was repenting his own name and etching yours into his heart.

“Mama?”

And your son. He’d do everything he could to love him and show him what a real man was if you’d let him.

If you’d let him love the both of you.

“Yes, my love?” you asked as you scooped him up and placed him on the counter.

The spell between you two hadn’t been broken, just… momentarily suspended. There was still the magic that came from a moment clinging to the air. The domesticity of it all was so apparent as your eyes met his for just a second.

“Can Mr. Bucky stay for dinner?” He asked, tripping and stumbling over his words like any toddler would.

A honey sweet smile spread over your lips as you looked up at him. “Well? Can Mr. Bucky stay for dinner?” You asked.

And he did. He stayed for dinner. And then stayed for dinner the next night and the next.

Bucky stayed for dinner seventy-two times before you invited him to stay the night.

You two had shared a lot in the last few months. You’d completely fallen for him, somehow letting all your walls down.

The sheets softly rustled as you climbed into bed, your heart pounding. You’d made sure to wash them that same morning, wanting them to be fresh for when he came over.

Your nicest nightgown, a shift made of soft blue silk, slid against your skin as you peered up at him, watching as he slowly undid his shirt. The metal of his prosthetic gleamed in the soft light coming from your bedside lamp. Warm orange light lit up his face and made him look like some sort of Donatello sculpture.

“Um… This isn’t too pretty, so I understand if you don’t wanna look,” he said, his hands visibly shaking.

“I can handle it,” you insisted, inhaling sharply when he let his shirt fall from his shoulders.

The left side of his chest was a spider web of pink scar tissue. It stretched halfway across his chest and almost down to the waist of his pants.

Bucky grimaced as he reached up with his flesh hand and undid his prosthetic, biting his lip to keep from crying out. It disconnected, and he carefully set it to the side. What was left of his arm was even more scarred up, though it had clearly been operated on to make it easier for the prosthetic to be attached. “I told you it’s not pretty,” Bucky grunted.

But you simply opened up the blankets for him to crawl in, watching as he toed off his shoes before letting his pants fall to the ground. “All of you is pretty, James,” you murmured as he climbed in beside you. Your hand found his cheek, your thumb running over the soft skin. He’d recently shaved and the stubble had yet to grow back.

“Not as pretty as you, darling,” He said as he wrapped his arm around you to pull you to his chest. His lips pressed to yours in a happy sigh, your foot running up his leg.

“James?”

“Mmhm?”

“I was thinking…”

He was still kissing you, though his lips had migrated from yours and were giving attention to your cheeks and your neck. “Yeah, baby doll? ‘Bout what?”

“Halloween is coming up…”

A kiss to your chest.

“Yeah…”

His hand sliding up your thigh.

“And I was thinking…”

His nose nudging against your collarbone.

“Mmm…”

His thigh moving between yours.

“What if you came trick-or-treating with Eugene and me?” You asked, flustered beyond belief. Bucky and you had started getting frisky a few weeks after you met—it wasn’t like you were a blushing virgin, after all—but he still managed to get you all worked up in a matter of seconds.

He leaned back, his blue eyes wide. “Really? You’d want that?” He asked curiously. “But… But we haven’t told him that we’re… you know.”

“I know,” you said reassuringly as your fingers ran through his shortly cropped hair. “But… I want to tell him.” You kissed his forehead, your leg hooking over his waist. “My… My husband wasn’t a kind man. He didn’t hit me or anything like that, but… He wasn’t good. I didn’t know men could be good until you came along.” Tears pricked your eyes as you cupped his cheek, letting his head rest against your chest. “I want you. And I want Eugene to know what a good man is. I want him to be a good man like you.”

He nodded, sniffling as he nuzzled further into your neck. “I want you. And I want him. I wanna be your family. Your husband.”

“Let’s start with trick-or-treating.”

It was a few weeks until Halloween, but Bucky went all out. He got his mom, Winnifred, to make the three of you matching outfits, making you look like a scarecrow family.

“Thank you for doing this,” you said softly to the older woman as she helped you get Eugene into his costume.

“I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing,” she insisted quietly, taking a deep breath. “You know… They told me he was dead. I got a telegram telling me that my son was dead because he fell from a train.” Her blue eyes, so much like Bucky’s, were already glassy with tears. “And then one day… He just wasn’t dead anymore. He was on my doorstep with nothing but the clothes on his back and one arm less than when he’d left.”

Your heart ached for her, for the mourning she had done and the grief that still clearly lingered in her heart. “I only got a telegram, too,” you said after a few minutes, letting her do your hair. “When they told me my husband died… I just got a telegram. And the last thing…” You coughed to clear your throat. “The last thing I said to him before he left was if he signed up to go fight in a war while leaving me at home pregnant, then he wouldn’t have a home to come back to.”

“We all say things we don’t mean,” Winnifred said kindly, her calloused fingers gently twisting your hair into an updo. She placed little pieces of hay here and there to match your costume. “And I’m sure he knew you didn’t mean it.”

Your eyes drifted to the living room, where Bucky was sitting with Eugene on his lap as he read to him, already in his costume. “I’m lucky to have Bucky.”

“He’s lucky to have you, too,” Winnifred said with a smile. “I hadn’t seen him smile or laugh in months… and then all of a sudden he’s coming over for Sunday dinner and talking about some girl he met that lives down the hall…” She took a step back, finishing up. “There. You’re all done and ready to go.”

It was rather chilly outside, but you weren’t really paying attention to the weather. Your heart was too warm from watching Bucky walk with Eugene, hand in hand as he helped him go to each house to get his candy. His sweet little, “Twick or tweat!” made you grin every time.

You didn’t get back to your apartment until almost ten at night, and it was way past his bedtime. Giving him a bath was an adventure as you both worked to get him all cleaned up in a mess of splashing water and bubbles. Eugene found it hilarious to try to get the both of you as wet as possible, his cheeks flushed with delight.

“Okay, buddy. Story time, okay?” Bucky said as he tucked him in, the both of you sitting on either side of him. “You get one book and then you gotta go to bed. It’s real late.”

Eugene nodded, his eyes starting to droop. Now that the rush had faded, he was quickly becoming more and more sleepy. You gave it about five minutes before he was out like a light.

“The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams,” Bucky said softly. “There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white. He had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen. On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of the Boy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming.”

Your eyes were soft as you watched him, your fingers scratching your son’s scalp as he listened as intently as he could. What had you done to deserve Bucky? What God had you pleased so much that he deigned you worthy of his presence?

His voice was like deep velvet as he continued to read, smooth as molasses. And if you weren’t careful, you were sure to fall asleep just like your son was.

“One evening, when the Boy was going to bed, he couldn't find the china dog that always slept with him. Nana was in a hurry, and it was too much trouble to hunt for china dogs at bedtime, so she simply looked about her, and seeing that the toy cupboard door stood open, she made a swoop. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘take your old Bunny! He'll do to sleep with you!’ And

she dragged the Rabbit out by one ear, and put him into the Boy's arms.” Bucky grinned down at Eugene as he saw his eyes start to flutter shut, continuing to read, “That night, and for many nights after, the Velveteen Rabbit slept in the Boy's bed. At first he found it rather uncomfortable, for the Boy hugged him very tight, and sometimes he rolled over on him, and sometimes he pushed him so far under the pillow that the Rabbit could scarcely breathe. And he missed, too, those long moonlight hours in the nursery, when all the house was silent, and his talks with the Skin Horse. But very soon he grew to like it, for the Boy used to talk to him, and made nice tunnels for him under the bedclothes that he said were like the burrows the real rabbits lived in. And they had splendid games together, in whispers, when Nana had gone away to her supper and left the nightlight burning on the mantelpiece. And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night long.”

“I think he’s asleep,” you whispered as you looked up at him, having snuggled down in the bed. The moonlight lit up the room, giving a halo-like glow to everything around the two of you.

“I don’t mind,” he said, his arm sliding around both you and Eugene, bringing you two close as he continued to read.

You stayed awake for as long as you could, a faint smile on your lips.

"’Wasn't I Real before?’ asked the little Rabbit. ‘You were Real to the Boy,’ the Fairy said, ‘because he loved you. Now you shall be Real to everyone…’”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

No, It's Definitely Funny

Prompt: Can I request a second part to "Let's Call It Funny" where Bucky, Sam, Steve, and Peter unite forces to confuse and concern all the other avengers (with at least one instance where two or all of them respond to something by pretending to jump off a building?) Love you! -Auggie

Does it count as being back on my bullshit if I never left?

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: none, unless you need a warning for gen z humor

Pairings: it's still found family hours

Word Count: 2259

Peter’s gonna be honest, he may or may not have some competition for the funniest person in the Tower right now.

Because let’s look at the list here:

Traumatized? Everybody and their private jet’s worth of vintage and designer baggage needs therapy.

Queer? If you think Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, or Sam Wilson is straight, you need to tell them everything they’ve ever done to make you think they’re straight so they can stop doing it immediately.

Superhero? Yeah, okay, shush, now you’re being stupid.

Neurodivergent? Have you seen the way these men behave? Definitely the model of Perfectly Normal Person™, what on earth are you talking about, absolutely 100% Normal™.

The only things he’s still got going for him that the others don’t are high-schooler and trans. That’s not a lot when it comes to the fact that hey, two of them are from the Great Depression—let’s be honest, they’re the OGs when it comes to fatalistic humor—and they’ve all got years of practice.

Sure, Peter’s got some trauma-given raw talent, but it’s not refined by years and years of throwing yourself off of buildings and out of planes to avoid having conversations about your emotions.

The day Aunt Nat dropped all of SHIELD’s files on the Internet and Peter found out that Steve yeeted himself out of a plane—without a parachute!—to avoid Nat’s prodding about getting a date was the best day of his fucking life.

“Don’t you go stealing my moves there, kid,” Steve had scolded playfully, winking over the rim of his mug.

“Try and stop me, I dare you.”

“And this is why,” Tony had sighed, looking every bit his 79 years—“Hey!”—as he watches this interaction go down, “you have a parachute built into your suit.”

“I’ll just wear my old one, don’t worry about it.”

“That heinous thing that’s just a cut-up old hoodie and goggles? Peter, no, that thing is being held together with safety pins and hope!”

“I mean, me too, so it’s fine.”

“Peter!”

“Also, like, it’s the one I almost got crushed to death in, so it’s got the emotional trauma seasoning already.”

“Wait—“ Bucky had sat up— “you almost got crushed to death by a building? Sheesh, kid, you’re really flirting with the reaper, huh.”

“It wasn’t so bad, I had training from the years and years of carrying the weight of my sins crawling on my back.”

“At least ask Death for his number next time, he’s not returning my calls.”

“Sergeant, I swear to God—“

“Actually, Death uses they/them pronouns, I asked when I met them last weekend.”

“What the fuck did you do last weekend?”

“Really? Oh cool, well, can you get their number for me? We had a date back in ’45 that they missed.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.”

“Tony, why are you screaming? Not keeping dates is a very serious matter.”

“Trust me, I speak from experience, Tony, it’s not a good habit to get into.”

“You should respect your elders and not scream while we’re talking to you, mister.”

“All of you shut the fuck up.”

See? On one hand, it’s great to have more partners in this venture of making Tony’s hair turn grey—he’s that age, it’s bound to happen any time soon now— “One more crack about my age, kid, I swear.” — but on the other hand, Peter is seriously losing his massive lead on funniest person in the Tower.

The other thing he’s worried about is Sam’s ability to make it so the others can’t actually worry about him.

Because—listen, Sam Wilson is a fucking national treasure and all you fuckers better acknowledge that. It’s no secret that the Captains take turns going out with the shield, all of them answer to ‘Captain America’ because that’s what they are, but no one—and Peter will never say this under threat of death because he does not need any more of the Steve Rogers’ Puppy Dog Eyes™, thank you very much—no one does it better than Sam.

And that means that Sam fucking Wilson can turn a fatalistic, self-deprecating joke into a motivational speech that doesn’t feel disingenuous or cliché at all and everyone is too busy processing the philosophical revelations they’re having to scold him for his, frankly, outstanding sense of humor.

It’s not fair and Peter can’t do it.

He tried. Once.

Didn’t go very well.

No, he’s not gonna talk about it, let’s just move on.

Sam has offered to catch him a couple of times when he gets himself a little too deep into the Mamma Spider™ or Iron Dad™ trap of feeeelings, and he gratefully scoots out of the way when Sam sits down next to him and just makes another joke.

Sam is also a fantastic role model for the brand of ‘I’m going to the store and only have twenty bucks, stop asking for your will to live back’ jokes.

“Hey, Pete!”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go, bodega run.”

“Can we pick up some hopes and dreams, too, all of those got scribbled out in fat red Sharpie yesterday.”

“I said bodega run, not Court of Miracles run.”

“But Sam~”

“Listen, kid, if you manage to find your hopes and dreams in this bodega, keep an eye out for your childhood innocence, that might be on the next shelf over.”

“Deal.”

“Do you two need some more therapy appointments?”

“Only got fifteen bucks, man.”

“I’m literally a billionaire!”

Peter eagerly studies under this pinnacle of humor and keeps his worries to himself.

Because if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, and Peter’s sense of humor is wonderful, but he is a tad intimidated by the amount of variety the others have got going for them.

“You’re a fucking terror, Spider-ling, that’s what you are.”

“Not true! I was ‘a pleasure to have in class.’”

“Oh, is that why you’re taking ‘Little Shit’ lessons from Barnes and Rogers?”

“And Sam! Don’t forget Captain Wilson, he is an invaluable part of this team. I’m surprised at your ignorance.”

“Pete—no, that’s not—“

“I’m ashamed for you, Mr. Stark.”

“Listen here you little shit—“

Anyway…

Steve and Bucky have a habit of telling these like, really awful jokes that have Peter in stitches for half an hour. It’s not fair and he doesn’t get why they’re so funny because they aren’t, and yet here he is, laughing anyway.

It’s probably some combination of Steve’s perfected innocent face that he wears when he has to do interviews and Bucky’s habit of not giving a single solitary fuck. But they’re able to make the worst jokes with completely serious expressions and it’s not fair.

“Hey, can you guys come help me with something?”

“Sure, Peter,” Steve says instantly, bounding over with his 95-year-old Golden Retriever energy as Bucky trails behind him like a cat that’s sitting in your lap because he wants to, not because he likes you or anything, “what’s up?”

“I have a history project on WWII due tomorrow and I haven’t started it yet.”

Bucky snorts, taking a swig of coffee and sitting down on the floor. Which, same. “You got your eulogy planned?”

“Drafted, sighed, notarized, but Aunt May said no so I gotta do this.”

“Well, if Aunt May says no then I guess that’s that.”

Tony, from far away in another part of the Tower, has a sickening feeling that May Parker has once again proven that she is the most powerful parent and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“I, um,” Peter mumbles, fidgeting with his pen, “I want to be respectful of your boundaries, and if you don’t want to talk about anything then—“

Because it’s one thing for someone to make jokes about their trauma and another for someone else to go poking and prodding at it.

“Hey,” Steve interrupts softly, nudging him with his knee, “first off, thank you for saying that and we appreciate your respect, but we got you. You worry about enough, sweetheart, let us take care of ourselves.”

Peter gives him a look.

“When it comes to this,” Steve amends, having the decency to look a little sheepish, “we’ll take care of ourselves.”

Bucky scoffs. “Uh-huh.”

“We will, Buck.”

“My therapist will be real happy to hear that.” He looks up at Peter and winks. “Besides, what good is our trauma if we don’t pin it up and display it for good grades?”

Peter huffs, the joke undercut a little by the way Bucky knocks his foot against Peter’s and Steve’s arm stretches over the couch behind him.

Peter has to resist the urge to lean his head onto Steve’s shoulder, because then Steve’s hand will come up and ruffle his hair and Peter’s eyes will droop slowly closed as he loses himself in the warmth and safety of Steve’s embrace and then Steve will lean down to press a kiss to his temple and—

Right. Homework.

“What’s it on specifically,” Bucky asks, clearly spotting the temptation on Peter’s end, “home front? Overseas? Time period?”

“Uh, it’s an analysis of total war.”

“Like, how much of the country was devoted to the war effort?”

“Yeah, basically. It’s talking about how the Nazi War Machine made their war total and how that extends to a lot of other countries, but also about the reasons why the war was fought—“

They delve into a conversation about total war, Peter pointing out how Italy’s motivation for territory keeps it from being a total war on their part, Bucky speaking to how the different dynamics worked in various countries and the fallout, Steve bringing up how much of the home front was devoted to bringing attention to the war being fought overseas. Then, of course, as is inevitable, they devolve into storytelling.

Peter’s notebook—with notes! He did his job!—is set aside as he gives in to the need to let Steve cuddle him on the couch. Come on, the man is warm and big and gives good hugs, how is he supposed to not? Bucky sprawls out on the floor, leaning back on his hands as he smiles fondly.

“You know,” he remarks casually, “I fought a Nazi in my pajamas once.”

Peter blinks sleepily. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, though how he got in my pajamas, I have no idea.”

Peter snorts. Then he giggles. Then he’s collapsing into Steve’s side, positively sobbing with laughter.

It’s not funny.

It’s really not that funny.

But here he is, fucking dying, and he doesn’t even have the wherewithal to welcome the sweet embrace of oblivion.

“Okay, note to self,” Bucky murmurs when he’s calmed down a little, wiping away tears, “sleepy spider likes corny jokes.”

“Just don’t break our baby spider, Buck, Momma Spider would kill you in cold blood.”

“Listen, if Natasha Romanoff kills me, don’t prosecute. That’s on me.”

Peter can’t do corny jokes. He really can’t. He just sounds like he’s a recording so old it’s unintelligible and it’s bad. He has a reputation to maintain here!

However, there is one sense of humor that Peter is very eager to learn and adopt, and hey, it might actually be Iron Dad™ Approved!

It’s a rookie mistake, asking Bucky Barnes for a hand, but in his defense, Peter was left unsupervised and was distracted.

“Hey, Bucky, can you give me a hand?”

“Sure thing, Peter.”

Something nudges his arm and he looks down. It’s Bucky’s metal arm, bumping up against his elbow.

It’s a cheap joke. It’s bad. It does not deserve Peter’s laughter.

He snorts anyway.

“That’s on me,” he says after a second, “you know what, that’s my fault.”

“What, is this not what you meant?”

“No, no, you’re fine.” Peter scruffs a hand through his hair. He looks down at the prosthetic again. “Well, that’s disarming.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to snort. “You gotta hand it to me, though, it’s a good joke.”

Oh, it’s on.

“No, no, of course, I understand. You really can’t let an opportunity like that slip through your fingers.”

Steve chokes on his next sip of coffee. “Stop making the kid shoulder the burden of making puns with you.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Don’t palm this off on someone else, Steve, you’re as bad as he is.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Peter shrugs. “You just gotta knuckle-down and find the right one.”

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to reach for puns?” Bucky hefts his arm.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say a lot.”

“Jeez, Pete, good one.”

“What, are you not finding them humerus?”

Sam’s gone, Steve shortly after. Bucky just grins proudly at him.

Then there’s a massive thunk from behind them. Peter turns around to see Tony slamming his forehead into the counter.

“You are all going to kill me,” he mutters, glaring up at them, “all three of you.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. Stark, Captain Barnes would never hurt you.”

Tony raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“After all,” Peter grins, gesturing to Bucky who is doing a very good innocent face—he must’ve been taking notes from Steve— “look at him, he’s completely armless.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker—“

Okay, so maybe it’s not Iron Dad™ Approved.

Oh, well.

#dragonbabbles #marvel #the longest running con in the mcu is people thinking steve isnt an extra hoe #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #peter parker #tony stark #steve rogers #sam wilson #bucky barnes #fic

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