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peterparkrr · 4 years

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Father & Son

By @peterparkrr for @ephemeralstark (I loved all of your prompts! I tried to combine them! I really hope you enjoy <3)

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, James Rhodes & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: James Rhodes, Tony Stark, Peter Parker, other Avengers briefly

Summary: Rhodey’s certain about two things. The kid is definitely Tony’s son. The kid is also Spider-Man OR Rhodey meets Peter and tries to become the best uncle that he can be.

ao3 link

There’s a boy standing in front of Tony’s couch.

Rhodey stares at him, narrowing his eyes a little. The kid’s frozen in an almost comical position, legs spread wide, one hand swung in front of his body like he knew that someone was coming and tried to make an unsuccessful quick escape.

“Who are you?” Rhodey asks.

The boy blinks once and then lowers his arms slowly until they are hanging limp at his sides. He turns and cranes his neck to try to look down the hallway. When he faces Rhodey again, there’s an uneasy smile on his face—not unkind or shifty, just unsure.

“Er, hi, Colonel Rhodes.” He taps his foot a few times, then glances over his shoulder again. “How are you?”

Rhodey tilts his head to the side. The boy’s voice is familiar. He’s definitely heard it before, but can’t quite place it.

“I’m doing well.” He leaves a pause between each word as he takes a few equally slow steps across the room. “Who—”

“That’s good. Really good. I’m good, too, but actually—” The kid starts shoving the assortment of notebooks, pencils, and loose paper scattered on the table in front of the couch into his backpack and then points toward the hallway. “I should go. So you can, you know, use the room.”

He’s from New York, that much Rhodey can tell. The accent isn’t obnoxious, but it’s definitely clear. Tony probably bumped into him at a scholarship event, or even just on the street outside, and decided to recruit him into his little collection.

It wouldn’t be the first time. There’s one in Tennessee that gets a ridiculous amount of presents on Christmas and some time in the Spring (when Rhodey assumes is his birthday). Then there’s the kid-genius at MIT that Tony waved through a bit of legal trouble after she got caught in an Iron Man-type suit of her own design. Rhodey’s met her a few times, when visiting the campus with Tony. There’s also the spandex-clad wonder who helped out at the airport last year. And that was definitely a kid, no matter how many times Tony dances around Spider-Man’s age. Rhodey knows the difference between a child’s and a man’s voice. It was far too high, almost squeaky at times, enthusiastic and—Rhodey glances at the kid in front of him now—an unmistakable New York accent.

A hand comes down on the kid’s shoulder and he jumps, just a little bit too high.

“Woah there, just me,” Tony says, squeezing once before looking across the room at Rhodey and quirking an eyebrow. “Well, well, well, look who finally decided to drop in.”

“I have to work, Tones. I have a real job. Not everyone has a multi-billion dollar company to pawn off on their girlfriend.”

“That’s—not exactly accurate. Pepper likes responsibilities. It’s a gift.” Tony looks Rhodey up and down, analytical, like he always does these days. He stops at his legs and clicks his tongue. “Braces. Any adjustments? I’ve got a new set downstairs. Should be even more intuitive.”

The kid’s staring at them, too. There’s a very specific combination of interest and guilt etched into his features that Rhodey usually finds on Tony’s face. In fact, it’s also there now, albeit a little more concealed.

“You don’t have to keep doing this. They’ve been perfect for months.”

“Functional, yes. Awesome, maybe. Nowhere near perfect yet. But they will be soon. I’ve got an assistant now.”

Tony sticks his hand in the boy’s hair and smooshes it down, almost absentmindedly, before shoving his whole head to the side. The kid’s reaction is delayed, as if he forces his head to move rather than naturally rocking with the impact of Tony’s hand.

“Well, part-time assistant. Glorified coffee-fetcher.” Tony waves a hand at the kid, who only seems mildly affronted by the ‘coffee-fetcher’ thing. “This is Peter, by the way. I’m glad you’re here, Rhodes. Been meaning to introduce you two.”

Rhodey’s eyes linger on Tony’s hand. It settles on Peter’s shoulder and stays there. The whole thing is natural, like that’s a typical place for it to be. As if this boy—Peter—is comfortable with it there. But it’s more than comfortable, because Peter’s looking at Tony like he’s maybe the most important person in the world. It’s not the usual idolization that Tony tends to get either. This is deeper, like they know each other, really know each other. They’ve both got matching lop-sided grins and if Rhodey squints, that’s not where the similarities end.

Every person Rhodey knows has a story—or fifty—of when Tony has said or done something that has rendered a whole room silent. He has a knack for it. Just like he has a knack for getting on people’s nerves and creating some, admittedly, cool gadgets.

It doesn’t happen to Rhodey as often these days. You know a guy for thirty plus years and it becomes hard for them to shock you.

But now, all Rhodey can do is gape, eyes shifting back and forth between the pair in front of him.

Tony’s smile fades into something more concerned, a by-product of whatever he must be reading from the surprise on Rhodey’s face.

Then the elevator door opens. This time, Peter isn’t the only one to jump, they all startle and turn towards it at once, like they'd been caught at the scene of a crime rather than merely standing in Tony's living room.

Sam and Steve walk out of the elevator, engrossed in conversation. It stops short when they realize that the room isn’t empty.

“Tony, James.” Steve nods, then his eyes widen when they reach Peter. “Oh, hello.”

Sam squints at them. “Who’s the child?”

From the look on his face, Peter takes more offense to that than anything Tony said about his role in the lab.

Tony sniffs and shrugs, shifting his body an almost imperceptible amount so that he’s a half a step in front of Peter. His stance is pseudo-relaxed, something clearly defensive in the tension in his shoulders. Rhodey takes it as a cue and also moves, just a little bit, to try to obscure Peter as much as possible.

Things are better now than they were last year. The team’s back together—no hard feelings, for the most parts, but trust is hard to regain.

“This is Peter. Intern.” Tony elbows him. “Look, it’s Captain America and the Falcon. Aren’t you starstruck?”

“Oh! Yeah—so cool.” Peter starts to salute then winces and crosses his arms. “Mr. Falcon, Mr. America. It’s an honor.”

Steve’s eyebrows are furrowed in that particular way—’constipated puppy’, Tony likes to call it. Rhodey has to agree. Although, he thinks Tony finds it sort of charming, which is where Rhodey draws the line. It would be cute on a toddler, not so much on a grown man. “Why is an intern in your penthouse, Tony?”

“I missed the part where that was any of your business.”

“That’s not—I was just curious—”

“Well, don’t be.”

Peter starts to squirm uncomfortably. When Rhodey makes eye contact with him, he averts his gaze to the ground.

“Oh, okay. I get it,” Sam says, rubbing a hand over his chin. “He’s not really an intern, huh?”

Both Tony and Peter tense even further. Rhodey finds himself doing the same.

“Jesus, Stark, how old is he? Sixteen? Did you just meet him?”

“W-what?” Tony splutters.

“He’s your kid, right?”

Tony looks lost for a moment, then one of his bright, press smiles drifts onto his face. It always shows up when he's about to tell a lie, and suddenly the pieces all click into place in Rhodey's head.

Before Tony can speak, he steps forward, shoving Sam good-naturedly and shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous and you know it. No one would wait sixteen years to slap Tony Stark with a custody case.”

Peter peaks out from around Tony. "I'm seventeen!"

"Strengthens my argument," Rhodey says.

Sam snorts. “Then how do you explain Stark hanging out with a small child?”

“Small child,” Peter repeats in a murmur, lines creasing his forehead.

“He hangs out with quite a few small children,” Rhodey says.

Steve starts to look at Rhodey like he’s wandered into an alternate dimension, which isn’t too far of a leap given their particular line of work.

Sam just shrugs. “Somehow, that’s worse. Very strange.”

Tony frowns. “No—it’s—I’m a good mentor, right Pete?”

Peter beams up at him, smile so wide that Rhodey’s sure it must hurt. “Right.”

Rhodey’s certain about two things. The kid is definitely Tony’s son. The kid is also Spider-Man. How Tony managed to get himself a souped up child is beyond him (and he prays that it’s not Tony's own doing, a lab-experiment gone awry or even more terrifyingly gone right), but he hopes that he’ll learn the story one day. He’s an uncle now, after all.

~~~

Rhodey’s phone starts to ring, a picture of Tony flashing on the screen. Or, it’s a picture of a picture, really—an old one from college that’s framed at his mom’s house.

He grabs his phone from the nightstand and admires the image for a few seconds, reminiscing about simpler times, before picking up.

“H—”

“Rhodey! You haven’t heard from Happy recently, have you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Hello, Tony.”

“That’s my name. Heard from Happy? I can’t get a hold of him.”

Rhodey leans back in his bed, crossing one leg over the other. “Nope. You’re the mutual friend in this situation, you know. Happy and I don’t really hang out without you.”

Tony hums. There are muffled footsteps and Rhodey envisions him pacing.

“Why do you need Happy?”

“He’s supposed to drive Peter home.”

“What, are you—afraid of his mom or something?”

“Aunt,” Tony corrects.

“Aunt,” Rhodey echoes.

That’s something he didn’t see coming. He wonders if the poor kid lost his mom before knowing that his dad was Tony Stark. He wonders how Tony even found out about him. He almost asks, but bites his tongue. It seems like something that Tony should bring up when he’s ready.

“Aunt,” Tony confirms again.

“Alright, so just drive him to the aunt’s place. It can’t be that bad.”

There’s a long pause. “That’s not really what we do.”

“Oh come on, how scary can she—”

“And besides, the kid’s asleep. I don’t want to wake him up.”

“Okay.” Rhodey tries to keep his voice calm and void of annoyance, because his Tony may be a genius, but he’s also the biggest idiot on the planet. And sometimes idiots need patience. It's his duty, both as a best friend, and a newly realized uncle, to provide that patience. “Then tell his aunt that he fell asleep and that he’s staying over for the night.”

The pause that follows is even longer than the last. There are more scuffling footsteps and then he whispers, “but he’s asleep in the lab. Laying on the desk.”

It shouldn’t be this difficult. Rhodey holds the phone away from him so that Tony won’t hear him sigh. “Then wake him up and tell him to head up to his room. Or put a suit on and carry him if you’re that worried about waking him up.”

“What?”

Rhodey counts to three. “Then wake him up and tell him to head up to his room. Or—”

“Room—he doesn’t have a room,” Tony interjects.

It’s Rhodey’s turn to hesitate. “Peter doesn’t have a room at the tower?”

“No,” Tony replies slowly. “Do you—you think he should have a room at the tower?”

Rhodey tries to come up with any possible reason that Tony would think that his son shouldn’t have a room at his place of residence. The only thing that comes to mind is daddy issues. He’s not even sure if that covers it.

“I’m going to take your silence as a yes?” Tony asks

If he needs logic and numbers, Rhodey will give him logic and numbers. Whatever it takes to spell it out to him.

“How many days does Peter spend at the tower?”

“Two—sometimes three. It depends.”

“Okay. Does he stay late often?”

“Yes. I told you, Happy drives him home.”

Rhodey rests his head in his free hand. The kid can’t have been in Tony’s life for much more than a year—either that or Rhodey’s severely lacking in the observation department—and somehow Tony’s managed to twist their relationship into something that defies any sense. Peter clearly adores him based on what Rhodey saw at the tower, and yet Happy’s carting him between his houses and he doesn’t even have a room at his dad’s place.

“I bet this isn’t the first time he’s fallen asleep while over at yours, right?”

Tony hums in agreement.

“So don’t you think it would be easier to have a room for him to crash in? And then it won’t be so much travel back and forth for the kid. It’s probably weird enough without all of that. He has a lot going on.”

“Yeah,” Tony murmurs. “You’re absolutely right. Okay. Room. FRIDAY? Jot that down. What would I do without you, Rhodey? You’re the light of my life. Have I told you that recently? Best thing to ever happen to me. I love you.”

Rhodey jabs at the end call button.

A text pops up a moment later. Rude of you to hang up when I’m being sentimental.

Rhodey pulls up the contact picture of the dorky little boy he used to share a dorm room with before typing back. I love you, idiot.

He receives a string of hearts a minute later.

~~~

Tony’s voice filters into Rhodey’s earpiece. “It’s not moving.”

Steve’s follows. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Tony answers. “I’m going closer.”

Rhodey watches him approach the metal orb. He looks like nothing more than a red dash from here, shooting across the New York skyline.

He glances to his left, where Spider-Man is standing, hands alternating between fiddling in front of his stomach and swinging at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He hasn’t been his usual chatterbox-self since Tony flew off to scout the sphere from up close.

Rhodey shakes his head. “Be careful. You’re making Spidey nervous.”

The red mask turns to him, eyes on it even wider than usual. “I’m not nervous!”

“Don’t get too close to it, Tony. We don’t know what it can do,” Steve adds.

The words are barely through the comms before the sphere shifts, a flash of green light shooting off its surface. Tony dives and rolls out of the way.

“Oops,” he says. “Made it angry.”

“It’s hostile,” Steve says.

“It’s impressive.” The red blur twists around and then flies closer to the orb again. “Unknown metal, FRIDAY can’t find a match. Dense, too. Shouldn’t be able to float like this with no propulsion. And smooth, laser came right off the surface, no—shit.”

Rhodey takes a step closer, even though it doesn’t do much to shorten the distance between him and Tony. “Shit?”

“It’s a diversion. You guys have to get to Manhattan. Something’s landed. Accounts say it appeared out of nowhere.”

A video pops up on Rhodey’s HUD. There’s a giant metal ship, the outside smooth like the orb, but it’s not spherical. There’s pavement torn up around either side of it and at least one car crushed beneath it, headlights sticking out from the debris. There are civilians running on the outskirts of the disturbance.

“We’re on it,” Steve says. “Tony, stay with the orb. Send for help if it tries anything funny.”

“Fine,” Tony replies after a few seconds. “Leave Underoos here, too.”

“Done. Everyone else, let’s go.”

“What? You guys wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t told you about the sphere!” Peter protests.

“Exactly,” Tony replies. “The sphere’s yours, so stay here and help me watch it. From the ground.”

“But Mr. Stark, that’s basically telling me to do nothing!”

“Bingo. Keeping you out of trouble.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest, huffing in indignation.

Rhodey shoots Peter a sympathetic look. Then the full extent of the opportunity to gain Peter's favor dawns on him. “Sorry, kid. If it were up to me, I would let you come with us. Remember that, okay?”

"What," Peter says.

"Just, remember that." Rhodey turns to take off. "See you."

By the time they get to Manhattan, the scene has changed drastically from the footage. The ship has opened up, revealing countless robots in different shapes and sizes, all with the same smooth surfaces as the orb and the ship.

They get to work. It’s harder than it should be. Most of the guns on Rhodey's suit do nothing to the metal—only the strongest blasters inflict any damage. It’s nearly indestructible.

“Er—guys?” Peter’s voice breaks through the chaos. “Something’s—oh my god. Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark?”

Rhodey looks up. The orb is alight, a green haze surrounding it. Tony’s suit is nowhere near it. Rhodey scans the rest of the sky, catching a glimpse of it just before it disappears below the tops of buildings.

“Tony?” Rhodey tries.

There’s no response.

Someone curses over the airwaves.

“Spider-Man?” Steves says. “Do you have eyes on him?”

“It happened so fast,” Peter mumbles. “I saw where he fell. I’ll—I’ll get to him.”

Rhodey exchanges a glance with Steve. He bites his lip and glances back up at the sky, doing a double take when he realizes that the orb has disappeared.

“Hey, Steve.” Rhodey points. “It’s gone.”

“Spider-Man,” Steve says. “Where’d the orb go?”

When Peter's feed crackles into Rhodey’s ears, it’s filled with the staticky sounds of fast movement and heavy impacts.

“What’s up? Did someone say my name?” The kid asks, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, I’m a little busy.”

Steve looks at Rhodey, eyes wide through his mask. “What does that mean?”

There’s a sharp thwip over the comm’s and more scuffling, then silence. Rhodey can’t see Steve’s eyebrows under the mask, but he’s pretty sure if he could, they would be up to his hairline.

“I’m on it.” Before waiting for a response, Rhodey takes off. There’s no angry Steve voice on the comms, so he assumes that it’s the right move.

It takes him less than five minutes to find Peter. He��s tipped off by a trail of webs, hanging from buildings, leading him to an alley.

He lands a few feet away from it, peering inside. There are about a dozen orbs, like the giant one in the sky had split into pieces. Each is varying degrees of shattered or plastered to the wall by web lines that stretch across the alleyway like streamers. Rhodey swivels his head back and forth a few times before forcing himself to tear his eyes away.

Tony’s down—suit collapsed in an unceremonious pile. Peter’s pacing in front of him, clearly agitated, leaning over every few steps and murmuring something that Rhodey can’t quite make out.

He takes a step forward, ducking under one of the webs. “Hey. Alright over there?”

Peter’s head jerks to the side. His shoulders rise in a shrug and he looks back at Tony. “He isn’t moving. I hear his heartbeat though.”

Rhodey’s own heart clenches. He makes the rest of the way into the alley and crouches down next to Tony. He mutters a call for medical as quietly as he can, in an effort to keep Peter calm. It’s probably useless seeing as the kid just told him he can hear heartbeats.

Peter settles down next to him, brushing one hand over Tony’s suit.

“I also meant you,” Rhodey clarifies. “Are you alright? Looks like you had a handful here.”

Peter looks up at him, brow furrowed, until the state of the alley seems to sink in. He shrugs again. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m—er—pretty strong.”

Rhodey laughs. “Yeah. I got that.”

“I’m more worried about Mr. Stark.” Peter looks back down at him.

Rhodey double-checks that his comm’s are off and then brings his faceplate down. “You don’t have to do that, kid, I know.”

He freezes. “You—know—?”

“All of it,” Rhodey says carefully, before adding, “Peter.”

The kid flinches and scoots away. “Did Mr. Stark tell you?”

“Not exactly. It was just sort of—” ‘Obvious’ isn’t the right thing to say judging by the way Peter’s eyes are blinking rapidly, like a skittish, caged animal. “I figured it out. Look, I won’t tell anyone. But you can drop the whole ‘Mr. Stark’ thing in front of me.”

The nerves seep out of Peter, replaced by confusion. “What? I always call him ‘Mr. Stark’.”

Really, nothing about Tony’s handling of this situation should surprise Rhodey at this point. Somehow it still does. Tony always seems to defy expectations.

“He makes you call him ‘Mr. Stark?’” Rhodey tries to keep his voice as even and nonjudgemental as possible in case Tony decides to wake up, or Peter tells him about it later.

“Oh, no. He always tries to get me to call him something else. It just doesn’t feel right, you know?”

“Ah,” Rhodey says. It’s a relief. One less piece of sense that he’ll have to talk Tony into. “Yeah, I understand that. I bet it’s an adjustment—all of this.”

“A lot has changed in the last year and a half, Colonel Rhodes, let me tell you. Sometimes I think it’s a dream but—” Peter gestures up at the pattern of webs and then down at Tony.

“I bet.” Rhodey bites his lip, trying to decide whether to say more. “I’ve known him for a long time. He’s made some mistakes. And he’ll probably make a couple more, but he’s a good guy. You can trust him.”

“I know that.” Peter’s response is automatic and sure. Rhodey can’t help but smile.

It’s possible that Tony’s doing just fine at the parenting thing. Even if he didn’t think to give his kid a room in his building.

~~~

“Look at this footage, seriously, do you see that?” Tony has FRIDAY pause it and then rewind a few seconds. “Watch.”

The video plays for the third time—Peter swinging around the alley, webs flying in every direction so fast that Rhodey can barely track where his hands are. He watches him grab one of the orbs and smash it between his fists.

“Do you know how durable those things are? I’ve been running tests. They’re stronger than any metal on earth. Make my suit look like aluminum fucking foil.”

Rhodey turns to Pepper. “How many times have you had to watch this?”

“Lost count around thirty.”

Tony scoffs, and then proceeds to replay the video once again

“Proud dad,” Rhodey says, smirking when Tony throws one of his middle fingers over his shoulder.

“It’s not a bad look.” Pepper leans over to wind her arms around Tony’s neck.

“Both of you, quiet. Maybe if I get the impression that you’re paying attention, I won’t have to play it again.”

Rhodey chuckles and tilts his head so he can get a clear view of the screen.

~~~

“Upgrades.” Tony moves his arms in a certain way and the wall slides aside to reveal a new version of the War Machine armor. “More fire-power, since I know you’re into that sort of thing. Also implemented a stealth mode. Peter helped me out.”

Rhodey smiles over at the kid. He’s met with a forced grimace. Peter'll warm up to him eventually. Rhodey will make sure of it. If Tony can manage to shape himself into a dad on such short notice, then Rhodey can definitely get a handle on being an uncle—ideally a cool uncle.

“He helped me with a new set of braces, too,” Tony continues. “Speaking of, those are—”

“I told you to quit with the braces.”

“And I believe I told you that I wouldn’t—doesn't matter, we’ll get to those later. Pete, do you want to do the honors, show him what we’ve done?”

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark.” Peter doesn’t move from his position—sort of slumped against the wall adjacent to the case that the new armor is in. “You can show him.”

Tony glances at Peter and then shrugs, turning back to the display. “If you say so.”

He launches into an explanation, gesturing wildly as the suit fires an impressive sequence of advanced weaponry. Despite the demonstration, Rhodey finds his attention divided, focusing on Peter more often than not. The kid closed his eyes as soon as Tony turned away from him, leaned his head back against the wall. He looks pale, but somehow flushed at the same time—his skin is a deep red high on his cheeks, but almost gray everywhere else. It could be the lighting, but—

Rhodey grabs Tony’s shoulder and yanks him closer, cutting him off mid-sentence. He points at Peter, who doesn’t seem to have noticed the lull in conversation.

Is he okay? Rhodey mouths, because even though Peter seems out of it, he still has freaky super hearing.

Why wouldn’t he be? Tony mouths back.

His eyes are closed.

Well maybe he’s— Tony makes a pillow with his hands and mimes sleeping on it. Tired.

Why would he be so tired?

Tony’s lips form a string of words too long for Rhodey to decipher. What?

He tries again. No difference, except Rhodey thinks he sees the word 'spider'. He shakes his head.

Tony huffs and starts over. Rhodey grabs his shoulders and shakes them. Slow down. Less words.

He rolls his eyes and starts moving his mouth in exaggerated slow motions.

Nope.

He wipes his hand over his face and tries again.

Not getting it.

“Oh, come on,” he hisses. “He’s a vigilante at night, a student during the day, and his metabolism matches, if not exceeds Rogers’!”

“Hey.” Peter cracks his eyes open and lifts his head off the wall, voice croaky and rough. “Are you guys talking about me?”

“Nah, some other super-kid,” Tony says.

Peter chuckles, and lets his head fall back. “Don’t let ‘em replace me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, would we, Rhodes?”

“Nope,” Rhodey says quickly. “Never.”

“Good,” Peter whispers, eyes drifting shut.

Tony glances at Rhodey, as if looking for an answer. He doesn’t have one, tries to convey that with a pointed look.

“You look kind of tired, bud,” Tony ventures, throwing up a confused hand in Rhodey’s direction. “You hungry?”

“No,” Peter mumbles. “M’good.”

“You, Peter Parker, are not hungry?”

“Nope.”

Tony’s face fades into something akin to horror. “You were right, Rhodey. He’s broken.”

“Oh my god. He’s not ‘broken’, you big drama queen.” Rhodey hits Tony lightly on the back of the head. “Just, go over there and do something.”

“Do something,” Tony repeats. “Helpful. What exactly should I do?”

“I don’t know? Feel his forehead?”

The state of horror increases. “I’m calling his aunt.”

Tony tries to dart past Rhodey, but he catches his arm on the way. “You can’t always call the aunt when things get tough!”

Tony yanks his arm away. “Why not!?”

Rhodey hesitates. “I mean, you can. Actually, you probably should—”

“Exactly!”

“But you also need to—” He moves his head in Peter’s direction. “You know.”

“I do not know!” Tony runs his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up at all angles. It matches the wild glint of uncertainty in his eyes.

“Actually, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. “Do you mind if I sit down for a minute? Sorry.”

He sinks down the wall, hugging his legs to his chest and resting his forehead on his kneecaps.

“Oh—what? What's happening right now?" Tony walks over and hovers above the kid. “Did you get hit by anything on patrol last night?”

Peter’s head shakes ever so slightly.

“Tones, I think he’s just sick,” Rhodey says.

“He heals broken bones overnight, he doesn’t get sick.” Tony kneels next to him, gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder and then taking it right off. “Right?”

“Don’t get sick,” Peter agrees. “At least, I don’t think so. Haven’t since I got bit.”

“It's been less than two years, hasn’t it?”

Tony nods. Peter’s head gives a pathetic little lurch.

“This is probably just the first bug that’s gotten to him since it happened,” Rhodey says. “I think you’re just sick, Peter. What’s bothering you?”

The kid raises his head. He looks worse than he had when he’d been standing—beads of sweat on his hair-line dampening the strands into messy curls stuck to his skin.

“Not sick,” he says. “I just have a headache. It’s not that bad.”

Tony brings his hand up to Peter’s forehead with more confidence than he exhibited at the prospect a few minutes ago. A surge of pride goes through Rhodey—it’s simple, but it’s good. More proof that his best friend will be great at this eventually. “You feel hot, kiddo. At least by your standards. FRIDAY, check him over. Look for anything funky.”

The scan completes a few minutes later, coming back with nothing but a fever.

“Well,” Tony says after he reads the results aloud. “Working theory is that you are a little bit sick, Pete.”

Peter shakes his hanging head. “Not sick.”

Tony smiles. “Sure thing. Like I said, only a theory. We can always improve it later.”

That seems to mollify the kid. He nods a little and sighs, resting his head back on his knees.

“Why don’t we get you up to your room? Bed’s gotta be better than the floor. And a pillow’s gotta be a whole lot better than those bony knees.”

A grin tugs at Rhodey’s lips as he watches Tony help Peter to his feet. He follows them into the elevator and then down a few hallways.

He stays at the edge of the room, leaning on the door frame, content to watch. Tony walks with Peter over to the bed and waits there as he settles into it.

“Are you sure you don’t want any food? Water?” he asks.

Peter’s head shakes, barely visible to Rhodey over the sheets that are pulled up above his chin.

“Rest up, then. Get better soon. I’ve gotten used to having a lab assistant, so don’t ruin that for me.”

“I won’t. I’m not even sick!”

“Uh huh. Yup. Definitely. Go to sleep anyway.”

Tony shakes his head, fondly, and walks back out of the room past Rhodey.

“You’re good with him,” he says as he eases the door shut.

Tony twitches a little, a slight stutter in his stride, before he goes back to walking. “Well, I do try to be a decent human being occasionally.”

He’s pleased by the compliment, Rhodey can tell. But, he’s never been good at accepting that sort of thing. Sometimes it’s better to let it be, but others times, Rhodey likes to press it.

“I’m proud of you, man.”

“Alright. Weird, but alright.”

“I’m serious, look at you! Even got him the room. It looked nice.”

Tony stops in his tracks, spins around slowly, and then looks up at the ceiling and over at each wall. “What’s going on? Is this a prank?”

“This would be a pretty awful prank,” Rhodey points out. “Listen, I’m just saying that I know this can’t have been easy—finding out about the kid, making the decision to meet him, taking up an active role in his life. I’m impressed. You’ve changed a lot since college, Tones. For the better.”

“You lost me. I’m just teaching a high schooler some lab stuff, some superhero stuff. It’s not a big deal.”

Rhodey throws his hands up. “It is a big deal! He’s your son, that’s a big deal!”

Tony’s mouth falls open. He closes it as his eyebrows knit together, and then it drops open once again. “I don’t get it. You don’t sound like you’re joking.”

“Joking? I’m just trying to pay you a compliment, man. Take it so we can move on.”

Tony starts massaging his temples. “I’m sorry, you think Peter’s my biological son?”

“What? He—he is. He is your son.”

A grin rises slowly on Tony’s face and then he’s laughing, full body, doubled over, one of his arms strewn across his stomach as if he’s trying to contain it.

Rhodey crosses his arms over his chest. It’s not hard to infer why Tony’s laughing. It is hard to rationalize how he read the situation so horribly wrong. He runs through the last couple months, scrambling to put the memories in a new perspective. It's hard to separate anything about Tony and Peter from father and son.

“I don’t understand,” Rhodey says. “I called you a ‘Proud Dad’ a few weeks ago.”

“I thought it was a joke! The whole team jokes about Spider-Man being my kid.”

“But, I told Peter I knew everything!”

“He thought you meant his identity.”

Rhodey rubs his hands over his head. “I asked him why he calls you ‘Mr. Stark’”.

Tony frowns. “He didn’t mention that part.”

“I—you got him his own room! In your tower!”

“You told me to! Pepper thought it was weird when I told her how much you pressed about it—should I take away the room? Is it too much?”

“Take away the room—“ Rhodey mumbles. “No, dumbass. He’s sleeping in it right now."

“This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.” Tony points at him. “Hilarious, but ridiculous.”

“It’s not just me! Those ‘jokes’ the team has been making—” Rhodey puts air quotes around the word and shakes his head. “Not jokes. Do you know how much work I’ve put in trying to get them to dial it down because I didn’t think you and Peter were ready for everyone to know?”

“They think—wait, Peter or Spider-Man?”

“Both? Mostly Spider-Man.”

“Oh my god.” Tony stares off to the side, as if he can’t quite comprehend the conversation. “Why?”

“Well it’s an easy mistake to make! You’re really protective—“

“Because he’s a child!” Tony interrupts.

“And the way he looks at you. It’s obvious, even through the mask. It’s like—“ Rhodey trails off, unsure if it’s what Tony wants to hear.

He narrows his eyes. “Like what?”

“I don’t know—“

“You clearly do. Just say it.”

“Like he looks up to you, man.” Rhodey shrugs. “Like you mean a lot to him.”

Tony’s silent for a moment, goes back to staring at the spot just to Rhodey’s right. He sniffs once and then wipes his hands on his jeans.

“Right. That’s—nice. A little sappy for my taste.” There is the smallest trace of a smile, but he sniffs again and it disappears. “Well I’m going to go call his aunt, then call Bruce and see if we can whip up some kind of painkiller for him. Do you mind hanging out by his room, in case he needs anything?”

Rhodey looks at him, deadpan. “You hear that, right? You hear what you sound like.”

“Shut up!” Tony calls without looking back.

Rhodey laughs and walks back down the hallway. As soon as he gets close to the the room, he starts to hear Peter’s voice from inside.

He pulls the door open a crack.

The mound of sheets shifts slightly on the bed. “Mr. Stark?”

“Nope,” Rhodey says. “It’s me.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t miss the disappointment in Peter’s voice. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Rhodey walks in until he can see some of Peter’s head sticking out from under the sheets—he’s curled up on his side, face tense and twisted in pain. “Anything I can get for you?”

“I don’t know.” He burrows a little deeper. “Do you think Mr. Stark is going to come back soon?”

“Yeah, he’s just trying to make something to help with the pain. And call your aunt. She’ll be here soon, too.”

“Good. I, uh, I can’t sleep. Everything hurts,” Peter confesses. “I think I might be sick.”

Rhodey sits on the edge of the bed, chuckling a little. “Oh, really?”

“Don’t tell Tony or May, okay?”

Rhodey perks up. “Your secret’s safe with me, Spidey. I’m cool, you can trust me.”

Peter blinks a few times. He meets Rhodey’s eyes and then nods. “You are pretty cool, Colonel Rhodes.”

Rhodey bites the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from smiling. He waits until Peter's eyes are closed before breaking into an all-out grin and pumping a fist.

Peter might not be Tony’s biological son, but Tony’s not Rhodey’s biological brother either. That's never stopped them before. He can still be Peter’s uncle. In fact, he thinks he might have just cinched the coveted cool uncle position he was trying to get.

#friendly neighborhood fic exchange #irondad #spideyson #tony stark #peter parker #fic #irondad fic #my stuff

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mcchipisfried · 4 years

Text

DEArtfest Day 14 - Enemies to Lovers

Calling out @octopunkmedia for today’s prompt!!

I’m kidding I did write something but this was my basic reaction to reading the prompt. Also I will be making a drawing AND writing something for two other prompts so look forward to that...

(one might be an actual piece and not just a comic...)

Gavin sat at his desk, his coffee cup empty because he refused to be in the same room with an android for longer than two seconds. His day started as well as any other day did for Gavin Reed, with him waking up feeling like shit, drinking one cup of coffee at home, then another once he came into work, barely being able to stay awake while also having his new android partner quietly looming over his shoulder, tablet in hand, every so often glancing at him with what only could be described as a very displeased frown.

“Hey fuck face, could you fuck off to the next recycling bin and do your job there instead of leaning over me like some kind of fucking bodyguard?” Gavin said, turning to look at the android behind him, and watched as his frown seemed to deepen, probably in more displeasure towards Gavin’s words.

“Detective Reed, I believe for our partnership to function properly we must become at least comfortable with each other being in the same room. As for my presence, I was simply reviewing my scanners and noticed that your vitals are, simply put, terrible and it is my belief that you should go home before-”

“Oh so the fucking android is worried about my health now? Pretty ironic considering what you were made for. Why don’t you just fuck off and mind your own fucking business. Go one, wait somewhere else like the good little android you are and wait for someone to give you your next orders.” Gavin said, interrupting the android. Turning back around and facing his computer, ignoring the dirty looks he got from Tina and Chris as the RK900 promptly turned to walk towards the break room.

The RK900 sat at one of the tables in the break room and continued to look through the previous scans he had done of the Detective. They showed he was low on energy, yet had an accelerated heartbeat, most likely due to his over consumption of caffeine. He pushed his scans aside and instead focused on the tablet in front of him as he continued to silently work. If the Detective wouldn't cooperate with him in the future then he saw their partnership only ending with one of them physically hurting the other.

Before long, he looked up as Officer Chen came into the break room, asking if she could sit next to him. He nodded and focused on her presence as it was obvious she had come to talk to him.

“I’m sorry about Gavin. I know he can be pretty harsh but he’s not so bad once you get to know him a little, and even then he’s still kind of an ass-”

“I am sorry to interrupt you Officer Chen, but I am not interested in your apologies on behalf of the Detective.” Nines said. Looking back down at his tablet, he continued.

“He is an insufferable man child who insists on holding my designed purpose over my head as if my deviancy means nothing. I understand his prejudice stems from his own insecurities and interactions with Connor but it is still infuriating to be treated like this.” The RK900′s LED swirled, from yellow to a deep red. He felt the officer reach over to put her hand on his shoulder, smiling at him in understanding. He realized how rude he sounded and nodded at her, his LED returning to its yellow color.

“I won’t be returning his threats in any way but I will not let him continue to berate me as if i was still a slave to my programming. The only positive about this situation is the fact that this partnership will end once Lieutenant Anderson and Connor return. I might not have a purpose, I’m still trying to figure that out for myself, but I do know that I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again. I want to protect androids and humans, including Detective Reed.” He looked at the officer next to him, a silent understanding between them.

“Well,” Officer Chen stood from the table and started to turn to walk out of the break room. “I just hope Gavin doesn’t try to do anything stupid. He’s all bark, hardly any bite. Just...don’t kill him, alright? He’s an asshole but he’s the only asshole I can stand in this place.” she said to the RK900 before making her way out of the break room.

“I’ll try not too.” The android said going back to look at his tablet before looking up once more to see Detective Reed stopping in his tracks as he saw the RK900 sitting in the break room.

“Fuck this shit.” The detective said, before turning back to return to his desk.

“These are going to be some very long months” the android thought as he looked back down at his tablet, finally alone to work in peace.

“Nines, I’m gonna need you to fuck off right now before I decide to switch you out for Connor.” Gavin said, obviously joking as he continued to chew on his last slice of pizza. He had managed to eat a whole box of some of the best fucking pizza in all of Detroit because fuck it if he gets fat, not like he’s really interested in getting laid any time soon. In fact he could go the rest of his life without getting laid so long as it kept Nines pestering him like a mother hen, with a concerned look on his face. He liked having Nines pay attention to him. He didn’t know why, but he assumed it was because it had become a lot easier to get under his skin since their partnership began. By not taking care of himself he got to see some very interesting expressions from Nines besides his usual cocky smirk and neutral face.

“Detective, I know you seem to find yourself quite charming in many ways but I highly doubt Connor would want to spend more than two minutes as your partner, no matter how nice he is.” Nines said, clearly amused by Gavin's assumption that he’d ever be able to actually get rid of Nines. He had become quite attached to the Detective over the past few months as partners, even if he still found him to be irritating, especially in the way he handled his personal health, he would never be able to picture himself being partnered up with anyone other than Gavin.

“I can already see that you’re desperately trying to be like the Lieutenant by gaining some weight, although he has lost a lot of his previous weight and is in fact quite healthy. Might even say a bit attractive, in a roguish kind of way if that's something people are into.” Nines smirked as he saw Gavin scowl at this and slam the pizza box that was on the table shut.

“Excuse me? Tin Can I would NEVER let myself go to the point of even looking remotely like Hank? And attractive?? Something must be wrong with your fucking eyes if you think Hank fucking Anderson is attractive in any way, shape, or form because I am ten times more attractive than he is!” Gavin sputtered out, clearly set off by Nines’ comment.

“Tell me Detective, does the possibility of me finding anyone attractive bother you?” Nines asked, clearly enjoying the reactions he was getting out of Gavin now that he had distracted him enough to take the slice of pizza and throw it into the trash.

Gavin hardly took notice, now riled up by Nines’ question.

“Listen here Tin Can, I don’t know what the fuck you’re insinuating but the only reason I even care is because I am obviously more attractive than Hank fucking Anderson so don’t go thinking you can get away with saying dumb shit like that. I refuse to be partnered up with an android with clearly faulty eyesight.”

Gavin and Nines continued to argue, jumping from topic to topic, not noticing the two officers who looked on from the other side of the break room, whispering among themselves and wondering if Detective Reed and Nines were actually friends or not. Their continued eavesdropping into the Detective and Nines’ conversation did nothing to answer their questions.

Gavin opened his eyes as he felt the sunlight that filtered in from his window beginning to warm his face. He groaned and closed his eyes, feeling the side of his bed for a body but only found cold sheets. That’s when he noticed the smell of coffee and a much lighter smell that mingled beautifully with the smell of coffee. Eggs. His stomach growled and urged him to follow the heavenly smells that were obviously coming from the kitchen.

Once he made his way out of the bedroom he found Nines, at the stove making breakfast. Making him breakfast. His heart squeezed inside his chest at the image before him. He smiled lazily and made his way over, hugging Nines from behind and looking over his shoulder to see exactly what he was making.

“Good morning, Gavin.”

“Morning Tin Can, whatcha making?” Gavin asked, as he began to smell something sweet emanating from the kitchen table.

“I thought since we made that Red Ice bust a couple days ago, that it would be nice to treat ourselves this morning. I made you breakfast that I had hoped I’d be able to bring you to bed and later I was hoping you’d join me in going to the library. They have just started accepting androids for library cards and I’d like to get one for myself.” Nines said, before turning around and kissing Gavin on the cheek.

“Holy shit what did I do to deserve you? And you can totally serve me breakfast in bed, just let me go back so I can lay down. Also I love you, but I refuse to leave my bed today until after 3 PM.” Gavin said, as he sauntered back to the bedroom to wait for his breakfast. In bed.

Nines chuckled and went back to cooking, drastically reducing the amount of sugar in Gavin’s coffee and making sure to bring some fruit for Gavin to eat. They were definitely treating themselves today but he was still going to force Gavin to have a balanced breakfast even if it killed him.

That’s it! Probably one of my my longer ones but I really enjoyed writing this one.

#fanfic #detroit evolution #reed900 #enemies to lovers #deartfest

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lawyernovelistpersonal · 4 years

Text

Fall of Laketown Remix 4/7

*Bard climbs onto a bell tower and starts shooting at Smaug*

Bain: Da!

Tilda: Da!

*Bard keeps shooting at Smaug but it has no effect*

Kili: He hit it! He hit the dragon!

Tauriel: No.

Bofur: Yes, he did. It didn't make any difference, but he did hit it.

Tauriel: That's a little nitpicky, don't you think?

Bofur: Just saying.

Kili: He did, he hit its mark, I saw!

Tauriel: These arrows cannot pierce its hide. I fear nothing will.

Kili: OK, question: How come you know more about how to take down dragons than I do? Given my family history, you'd think that how to kill dragons would at least have been a subject of discussion around the place as I was growing up, even if it weren't an active part of my education.

Tauriel: That's irrelevant; I know more than you because I have to be the smartest person here.

Sigrid: Do you know about black arrows?

Tauriel: ... Sure.

Fili: You don't, actually; you just said nothing would pierce the dragon's hide.

Tauriel: Shut up.

Sigrid: Regardless, I know all four of these dwarves do, since their leader went out of his way to blame my great-grandfather for the destruction of Dale and Erebor. Which was entirely unnecessary, by the way.

Bain: Yeah, and I mentioned that thanks to him Smaug has a loose scale.

Kili: Excellent point. And that means that maybe we don't even need a black arrow!

Tauriel: Well, if you know that then so does your father, and if that were what it meant then he clearly can't shoot straight, so is it that or do we need a black arrow which we don't have?

Sigrid: Well, he can definitely shoot straight, so I guess we still need the black arrow for some reason.

Bain: Man, I was really hoping that there was a reason I brought up the loose scale.

Sigrid: I guess it really was just to prove that our great-grandfather got some sort of consolation prize, even though it was ultimately worthless.

*Bain notices the boat where he left the black arrow*

Bain: Huh. That's convenient. I thought for sure someone would have taken that boat by now, with all this going on.

*he grabs a hook and swings off the boat*

Bofur: What are you doing?

Fili: Come back! Bain! Come back!

Bofur: Bain!

Tilda: Hey, Sigrid?

Sigrid: Yes?

Tilda: How come we're not trying to call him back?

Sigrid: The movie's decided we've dropped out of existence again, I guess.

Fili: Come back here!

Bofur: Bain!

Bain: I'm going to get the black arrow! It's just there!

Fili: Why didn't you say so?

Sigrid: Better yet, why didn't you mention before that you'd hidden it? I thought the Master had confiscated it when Da was arrested!

Bain: I didn't think it would matter!

Sigrid: Did you tell me anything when you got back?

Bain: Uh... gotta go!

Tauriel: Leave him! We cannot go back.

Tilda: Bain!

Sigrid: Leave him? You're seriously going to just abandon my little brother to die?

Tauriel: We have to let him go because he needs to get the black arrow to your father to kill Smaug. By not bringing him back I'm making Smaug's death possible; you're welcome.

Sigrid: We established earlier that you don't know what black arrows are or that they're the one thing that can pierce a dragon's hide, so you don't know that!

Tauriel: Look, Sigurd -

Sigrid: Sigrid, actually.

Fili: Ironic, really, since Sigurd famously killed a dragon with a sword.

Sigrid: I thought you were meant to be compassionate!

Tauriel: How am I not being compassionate? Look at me getting everyone to safety!

Sigrid: You're coldly saying to me and Tilda that we have to abandon our father and our brother to burn to death! Could you at least pretend you care about how traumatic this is for us, even if you don't give a damn about his life?

Tauriel: Are you main characters?

Sigrid: No...

Tauriel: Then your feelings are irrelevant.

Sigrid: You are a horrible person.

Fili: What's more, who exactly put you in charge?

Tauriel: Pardon?

Fili: It was already an issue, but now it's a serious issue because you're ordering us to do something morally wrong. Since when were you in charge?

Tauriel: Since I was the main character, now get back in your plot hole!

Bofur: Fili, I agree with you, but she killed several orcs without breaking a sweat, none of us have weapons, she clearly has no regard for life, and there's Oin, Kili, Sigrid, and Tilda to consider. I think you need to keep your head down because I suspect she'd kill any of us just as easily.

Tauriel: Of course I care about life! I'm compassionate!

Kili: I think I should remind you about the way you refused to give me a dagger to defend myself when I was being attacked by spiders, implying that until you saw how hot I am you were OK with letting me die.

Tauriel: Whose side are you on?

Kili: Just saying.

Fili: Do you care about anyone other than yourself and Kili?

Tauriel: Well, I've got to say I don't see you jumping out to go get the kid either.

Sigrid: His name's Bain.

Fili: I have to stay and look after Kili.

Kili: I can walk!

Fili: No you can't.

Tauriel: Any of the rest of you?

Bofur: I'd love to, but the movie seems to have decided my only role is comic relief. I don't even know what the point of me being in Laketown at all is.

Oin: I'm old and deaf except when the movie forgets. I don't really know what the point of me being on this quest is.

Sigrid: Plus I suspect both of you have joined me and Tilda in having dropped out of the universe.

Kili: Question.

Fili: Kili, be quiet.

Kili: No, seriously, what's wrong with this picture? Tauriel's healed me, so why am I still lying in the bottom of this boat being ignored by everyone? I'm supposed to be the romantic lead in this film. Why am I not an option for going to help Bard?

Fili: Maybe she hasn't actually completely healed you.

Kili: I'm going to walk to Erebor tomorrow.

Fili: ... Just get some rest, Kili.

Kili: I'm actually serious. I really ought to have a role - or at least a real line - in this scene. And I'll tell you another reason: I'm supposed to be an archer. These movies have repeatedly gone out of their way to draw attention to that, and for what? Why can't I be involved in the scene where my ancestral enemy is taken down through archery, especially since the black arrow was right there? Surely there's a reason it was separated from Bard to begin with, especially since Bain was able to just find it again with no effort?

Sigrid: That's a good point. Why couldn't Da have just had the black arrow if he was going to need it? Why does Bain need to risk his life for this?

Fili: I agree. Kili obviously can't get involved in a fight right now -

Kili: True love, Fili!

Fili: - But why was the black arrow separated from Bard if not so that someone who has been set up as a badass and an archer can go and get it to him and help, as opposed to a child?

Tilda: Elves are good archers, right, elf-lady? That's a good reason you could have gone to help him.

Kili: Not to mention all the awesome parkour we saw you doing in Mirkwood. You'd even have a better chance of getting past crowds, fire, and canals than any of us.

Tauriel: How did this become about me again?

Sigrid: I'm sorry, isn't everything? After all, you're the main character.

Tauriel: You know what? I'm getting Kili out and that's what matters. Anyone who has a problem with that is welcome to get out and walk.

Tilda: *crying*

Tauriel: OK, look, Tilly -

Sigrid: Tilda.

Tauriel: Whatever. It's going to be fine. Your father and brother are both going to survive without a scratch on them.

Tilda: You don't know that!

Tauriel: Yes I do, because if Bain were killed then it would mean I'd just done something awful, and that can't happen, so he's going to be fine.

Tilda: That doesn't make any sense!

Tauriel: *handwave* It's going to be fine.

Sigrid: *handwave* Asshole.

#Fall of Laketown Remix #What the hell are these characters doing?#Informed ATTRIBUTES!#Movie? PAY ATTENTION #Technical incompetence #I have questions #Protagonist-centred morality

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buzzdixonwriter · 4 years

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My Five Most Influential

Someone asked: Who are the most influential writers in your life?

Good question.

The broad answer is that one gets influenced many different ways by many different sources. I enjoy poetry and song lyrics because they find ways of conveying the strongest emotional content in the most concise manner, music brings a sense of dramatic rhythm and fulfillment, the visual arts suggest ways of subtly adding many insights to a single strong idea, etc., etc., and of course, etc. (and that is also an example of a creative influence in my work).

But…to boil it down to those whom I most consciously made an effort to emulate, we find ourselves facing five creators that primed the pump.

This is not to say others whom I began following after them didn’t wield a lot of influence (thanx, Ernie, Bert, Jack, Bob, and Hank!) but these are the foundation of everything I’ve done in my career.

(And to those who notice a lack of diversity, I know, I know…but to be honest I have to acknowledge the truth, and the truth is for whatever reason, by chance or by choice, by fate or by fortune, these five dominated my sensibilities. I trust that I’ve grown and expanded my horizons since then, but they’re the hand I got dealt.)

. . .

Carl Barks

I loved ducks as a kid and my grandmother and aunt would always bring me a passel of duck-related comics when they came to visit.

There were some Daffy Duck comics mixed in there but while I know I looked at and enjoyed them, none of them stick in my mind like the Donald Duck and Uncle Scrooge stories of Carl Barks.

Typically my grandmother would read these comics to me and I’d imprint the dialog and captions in my brain, replaying them as I looked at the pictures over and over again.

Barks never wrote down to his audience, and his stories covered a vast array of genres, everything from straight domestic comedy to oddball adventures to screwy crime stories.

Donald and his nephews encountered dinosaurs more than once (another big favorite of mine), and Uncle Scrooge setting out to explore the asteroid belt in order to find a new home for his fabulous money bin was another tale I loved literally to pieces, but A Christmas For Shacktown remains my all time favorite graphic novel.

I’ll concede there are better graphic novels, but none of them warm my heart the way that Christmas story does.

Barks showed it’s possible to combine heart (not to be confused with sentimentality or =yuch!= schmaltz), vivid characters, and strong, intricate narrative. His plots where typically filled with unexpected twists and turns but his characters were always deeply involved in them, not just along for the ride.

He’s one of the greatest storytellers in the 20th century, and his work remains timeless enough to last for several centuries to come.

. . .

Ray Bradbury

The first Ray Bradbury story I remember encountering was “Switch On The Night” in its 1955 edition, read to my kindergarten class towards the end of the school year.

This would place the event sometime in the spring of 1959.

“Switch On The Night” captivated me because it was the first story I’d ever heard that showed what could be seen in the dark that couldn’t be seen in the day.

Even as a child, it made me realize the night wasn’t scary, but contained wonders and insights we miss in the harsh glare of day.

I don’t recall if the kindergarten teacher told us the name of the author, and if she did it didn’t stick, but boy howdy, the story sure did! Did it open the doors of the night for me, or was I already inclined to be a night person and it simply confirmed that as a valid identity?

I dunno, but I’m typing this right now at 12:24am.

And the thoughts Bradbury planted in little Buzzy boy’s brain stayed and grew and flowered, as you can read in my poem, “The Magic Hours Of The Night”.

The next time I encountered Ray Bradbury’s writing was in grammar school, certainly no later than junior high. I was already interested in science fiction by that point, and had read “The Pedestrian” in one of my school English books (we weren’t taught the story in class; the teacher skipped over it for whatever reason but I read it anyway then re-read it and read it again and again).

Anthony Boucher’s ubiquitous 2-volume A Treasury Of Great Science Fiction was in my grammar school library and in it was Bradbury’s “Pillar Of Fire” (which I would later learn was one of his alternate Martian Chronicles and a crossover with Fahrenheit 451) and in that story he offered up a veritable laundry list of outré and outlandish fiction to be tracked down and read, authors to dig up and devour.

Oh, man, I was hooked.

So of course I began looking for all the stories and writers Bradbury listed in his short story but I also began looking for Bradbury’s own work and before you could say, “Mom, can I get a subscription to the Science Fiction Book Club?” I’d read The Golden Apples Of The Sun and A Medicine For Melancholy and R is For Rocket never once dreaming that at some point in the future the roadmap Ray plopped down in my lap would eventually lead to us being co-workers (separate projects, but the same studio at the same time) and friends.

There is a beautiful yet deceptive simplicity to Ray’s work, and even though he wrote his own book on writing (The Zen Of Writing) that has lots of good insights and professional tricks & tips, he himself wasn’t able to explain how he did it.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a good Ray Bradbury parody.

I’ve seen parodies that clearly are intended to evoke Ray Bradbury, but only in the same way a clumsy older relative might evoke Michael Jackson with a spasmodic movement one vaguely recognizes as a failed attempt at a moonwalk.

But, lordie, don’t think we didn’t try to emulate him, and while none of us fanboys ever came close, I think a lot of us did learn that less is more, that the right word carries more impact than a dozen paragraphs, and that there’s magic in even the most ordinary of things.

And of course I discovered the film and TV adaptations of his work, and in discovering them I also discovered that there are some things that just can’t be translated from one media to another, and that the light, effortless appeal of Ray’s work on the page (paper or pixel) can at best be recaptured with a good audio book reader but even the best dramatic adaptions -- even those by Ray himself -- are cold dead iron butterflies compared to the light and lively creatures flying about.

So eventually I stopped trying to write like him, and instead picked up the valuable lessons of mood and emotion making an impact on a story even if the plot didn’t make much logical sense.

Decades later I would become a fan of opera, and would learn the philosophy of all opera lovers: Opera doesn’t have to make logical sense, it just has to make emotional sense.

Ray Bradbury, opera meister.

. . .

H.P. Lovecraft

As noted above, Bradbury’s “Pillar Of Fire” tipped me to numerous other writers, first and foremost of which turned out to be Howard Phillips Lovecraft.

Okay, before we get any further into this, let’s acknowledge the woolly mammoth in the room: H.P. Lovecraft was a colossal asshat racist.

He was a lot of other terrible things, too, but racist is far and ahead of the rest of the pack.

It’s a disillusioning thing to find people one admired as a youngster or a teen later prove to have not just quirks and eccentricities and personal flaws, but genuinely destructive, harmful, and offensive characters.

I’ve posted on that before, too.

How I wish it were possible to retroactively scale back that hurtfulness, to make them more empathetic, less egregiously offensive (in the military sense of the word), but that ain’t so.

We have to acknowledge evil when we see it, and we have to call it out, and we have to shun it.

Which is hard when one of its practitioners provides a major influence in our creative lives.

Here’s what I liked about Lovecraft as a kid: He was the complete opposite of Ray Bradbury.

Bradbury’s instinctive genius was in finding the right word, the simple word that conveyed great impact on the story, drawing the reader into the most fantastic situations by making them seem more familiar on a visceral level.

Lovecraft achieved the exact opposite effect by finding the most arcane, bedizened, baroque, florid, grandiloquent, overwrought, rococo verbiage possible and slapping the reader repeatedly in the face with it.

If Bradbury made the unreal real, Lovecraft made the weird even more weirder.

And let’s give this devil his due: The Strange Case Of Charles Dexter Ward and The Dunwich Horror are two masterpieces of horror and serve as the bridge between Edgar Allen Poe and Stephen King, not to mention his creation of Cthulhu and other ancient entities existing beyond the ken of human knowledge…

…oh, wait, that’s where the story simultaneously gets messy yet provides a convenient escape hatch for fans.

While Lovecraft created Cthulhu, he did not create the Cthulhu Mythos.

That was primarily the invention August Derleth, a writer / editor / agent and H.P. Lovecraft’s #1 fanboy.

Lovecraft had some loosely related ideas in his stories and several themes he revisited repeatedly (in addition to racism).

He also had a circle of fellow writers -- including such heavy hitters as Robert “Psycho” Bloch and Robert E. “Conan” Howard -- who picked up on his ideas and, as way of a tribute, incorporated them in some of their stories.

Derleth took all this and Lovecraft’s unfinished manuscripts and short ideas he jotted down and turned it into a whole post-mortem industry, linking all of Lovecraft and other writers’ tales.

And he did a damn fine job of it, too.

So much so that the Cthulhu Mythos has taken on a life of its own, and pretty much anybody can play in that cosmic sandbox now (including Big Steve King and a ton of Japanese anime) and so Lovecraft’s works have an enormous influence on pop culture…

,,,but Howard hizzowndamsef can be -- and is -- cancelled.

Derleth and various biographers downplayed Lovecraft’s virulent racism for decades, and I don’t think Ray Bradbury was ever aware of the scope and tenor of Lovecraft’s bigotry when he name checked him in “Pillar Of Fire” and other stories.

In a similar vein Bradbury didn’t know -- because thanks again to overly protective literary executors, nobody knew -- just how big a racist asshat Walt Whitman was, either. It is one thing to call shenanigans on a Bill Cosby or a Harvey Weinstein or a Donald Trump because their egregious behaviors were noted long before they were held accountable, but quite another to do so on a creator who died while hiding their most awful behavior from thousands if not millions of fans who felt inspired and uplifted by their work.

It’s one thing to call out a contemporary bigot and not support them by not buying their work, it’s quite another when their bigotry has been shielded from view and fair minded, decent people have used their work to draw inspiration into their own creativity.

Of course, I had no way of knowing all this when I was in junior high and seriously began tracking down Lovecraft’s work.

He possessed a flair of the horrific and unearthly that to this day is hard to match (but easier to parody). He was a tremendous influence on my early writing (truth be told, I zigzagged between Bradbury’s stark simplicity and Lovecraft’s overarching verbosity, giving my early oeuvre a rather schizophrenic style) and the ideas he sparked still reverberate to this day.

If only he hadn’t been such a giant %#@&ing asshat racist …

. . .

Harlan Ellison

In a way, I’m glad neither Harlan nor his widow Susan are alive to read this.

I cherished Harlan as a friend and greatly admired his qualities as a writer.

But damn, by his own admission he should have been thrown in prison for aggravated assault on numerous occasions (he was courts martialed three times while in the Army).

We’re not talking about arguments that spiraled out of control until a few wild punches were thrown, we’re talking about Harlan by his own admission stalking and ambushing people, knocking them unconscious or causing grievous bodily harm.

We’re talking about sexual abuse and humiliation.

We’re talking about incidents he admitted to which if true put people in life threatening situations.

And yet ironically, in a certain sense Harlan (a bona fide Army Ranger, BTW) was like the U.S. Marine Corps: You’d never have a greater friend or a worse enemy.

I became dimly aware of Harlan in the late 1960s as I started diving deeper into literary sci-fi, transitioning from monster kid fandom to digests and paperbacks. Harlan first caught my attention with his macho prose (years later a similar style also drew me to Charles Bukowski) in stories like “Along the Scenic Route” (a.k.a. “Dogfight on 101”) in which Los Angelinos engaged in Mad Max motor mayhem but soon it became apparent the macho posturing was just a patina, that the heart and soul of much of the work reflected great sensitivity and often profound melancholy (ditto Bukowski).

Harlan was a fighter, and again by his own admission, he acknowledged in his later years that he was not a fighter because his cause was just, but rather sought out just causes because he knew he would be fighting regardless of his position, yet possessed a strong enough moral compass to point himself in the direction of a worthy enemy…

…most of the time.

He hurt and offended a large number of innocent and some not-so-innocent-but-certainly-not-evil people.

He also helped and encouraged a large number of others, people who had no idea who he was, people who had no way of adequately reciprocating his kindness and generosity.

He defended a lot of defenseless people.

He also mistakenly defended a lot of terrible people.

If someone tells me Harlan was a monster, I’ll agree: Monstre sacré.

What made his writing sacred was that no matter how outlandish the situation, Harlan dredged up from the depths emotions so strong as to be frightening in their depiction.

Skilled enough not to lose sight of humanity, outlandish enough to conjure up ideas and emotions most people would shy away from, Harlan hit adolescent Buzzy boy like an incendiary grenade.

Unlike my first three literary influences, Harlan was and remained active in the fannish circles where I was circulating at the time. He regularly wrote letters and columns for various fanzines, including a few I subscribed to.

In a literary sense he stood, naked and unashamed, in full view of the world, and that willingness to go beyond mundane sensibilities is what made his work so compelling.

He certainly fired me up as an adolescent writer, and proved an amalgam of Bradbury and Lovecraft that got my creative juices flowing in a coherent direction.

I don’t think I ever consciously tried to imitate him in my writing, but I sure learned from him, both in how to charge a story with emotion and how to fight for what’s right regardless of the blow back.

I loved him as a friend.

But, damn, Harlan…you could act so ugly...

. . .

H. Allen Smith

Who?

Most of you have never heard of H. Allen Smith, and that’s a damn shame.

I’d never heard of him either until I stumbled across a coverless remaindered copy of Poor H. Allen Smith’s Almanac in a Dollar General Store bin in Tennessee in the late 1960s (it was a memorable shopping expedition: I also purchased Thomas Heggen’s Mister Roberts and Let’s Kill Uncle by Rohan O'Grady [pen name of June Margaret O'Grady Skinner]).

Reading Smith’s editorial comments (in addition to his own essays and fiction he edited numerous humor anthologies) I realized I’d found a kindred soul.

Smith had a very conversational tone as a writer; his prose seemed off the cuff and unstructured, but he slyly used that style to hide the very peculiar (and often perverse) path he led readers down.

He sounded / read like a garrulous guy at the bar, one with a huge number of charming, witty (and delightfully inebriated) friends in addition to his own bottomless well of tall tales, pointed observations, and rude jokes.

Of all the writers mentioned above, that style is the one I most consciously tried to emulate, and one I seem to have been able to find my own voice in (several people have told me I write the same way I talk, a rarity among writers).

Smith was hilarious whether wearing an editor’s visor or a freelancer’s fool’s cap. If you know who H. L. Mencken was, think of Smith as a benign, better tempered version of that infamous curmudgeon (and if you don’t know, hie thee hence to Google and find out).

Compared to my other four influences, Smith didn’t need to add the fantastic to his fiction: The real world was weird and wacky and whimsical enough.

A newspaper man turned best selling author, Smith became among the most popular humorists of the 1940s-50s-60s…

…and then he died and everybody forgot him.

Part of the reason they forgot is that he wrote about things that no longer seem relevant (TV cowboys of the early television era, f’r instance, in Mr. Zip) or are today looked upon askance (and with justifiable reason; the ethnic humor in many of his anthologies may not have been intended as mean spirited, but it sure doesn’t read as a celebration of other cultures, viz his succinct account of an argument following a traffic accident between two native Honolulu cabbies rendered in pidgin: “Wassamatta you?” “’Wassmatta me’?!?!? Wassamatta you ‘Wassamatta me’? You wassamatta!”).

I’m sure I picked up a great many faults from Smith, but Smith also had the virtue of being willing and able to learn and to make an effort to be a better person today than he was yesterday, and better still tomorrow.

I’ve certainly tried applying that to my life.

Smith’s style was also invoked -- consciously or not -- by other writers and editors, notably Richard E. Geis, the editor of the legendary sci-fi semi-prozone, Science Fiction Review (among other titles). Smith died before I could meet him, but while I never met Dick Geis face to face we were pen pals for over 40 years.

Geis certainly sharpened specific aspects of my writing style, but the real underlying structure came from H. Allen Smith.

Smith’s work is hard to find today (in no small part because whenever I encounter one in the wild I snap it up) but I urge you to give him a try.

Just brace yourself for things we might consider incorrect today.

. . .

So there’s my top five.

With the exception of Carl Barks and Ray Bradbury, none of them are without serious flaw or blemish (though Smith seems like a decent enough sort despite his fondness for X-rated and ethnic humor).

In my defense as an impressionable child / teen, I was not aware of these flaws and blemishes when I first encountered their writing (primarily because in many cases efforts were made to hide or downplay those aspects).

The positive things I gleaned from them are not negated by the negative personal information that came out later.

I can, for the most part re the more problematic of them, appreciate their work while not endorsing their behavior.

Ellison can only be described in extremes, but his fire and passion -- when directed in a positive direction -- served as a torch to light new paths (his two original anthologies, Dangerous Visions and Again, Dangerous Visions, pretty much blew the doors off old school sci-fi and belatedly dragged the genre kicking and screaming into the 20th century).

Lovecraft I can effectively ignore while finding entertainment value in the Cthulhu Mythos.

But I must acknowledge this isn’t the same for everyone.

For example, as innocuous as I find H. Allen Smith, if a woman or a member of a minority group said, “I found this in particular to be offensive” I’d probably have to say, yeah, you’re right.

But I can still admire the way he did it, even if I can no longer fully support what he did.

. . .

By the time I reached high school, I’d acquired enough savvy to regard to literary finds a bit more dispassionately, appreciating what they did without trying to literally absorb it into my own writing.

I discovered for myself the Beat generation of writers and poets, the underground cartoonists of the late 60s and 70s, Ken Kesey, Joseph Heller, Philip K. Dick, Ursula K. LeGuin, and a host of others, some already alluded to.

Some, such as the Beats and Bukowski, I could enjoy for their warts and all honest self-reflection.

Yes, they were terrible people, but they knew they were terrible people, and they also knew there had to be something better, and while they may never have found the nirvana they sought, they at least sent back accurate reports of where they were in their journeys of exploration.

By my late teens, I’d become aware enough of human foibles and weaknesses -- every human’s foibles and weaknesses, including my own -- to be very, very cautious in regarding an individual as admirable.

While I will never accept creativity as an excuse for bad behavior, if a creator is honest enough and self-introspective enough to recognize and acknowledge their own failings, it goes a long way towards my being willing to enjoy their work without feeling I’m endorsing them as individuals.

It’s not my place to pass judgment or exoneration on others bad behavior.

It is my place to see that I don’t emulate others’ bad behavior.

Every creator is connected to their art, even if it’s by-the-numbers for-hire hack work.

Every creator puts something of themselves into the final product.

And every member of the audience must decide for themselves if that renders the final product too toxic to be enjoyed.

#how this writer's mind works #writing #Carl Barks #Ray Bradbury #HP Lovecraft #Harlan Ellison #H Allen Smith #influences

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cami-chats · 4 years

Text

Iron Man in a relationship with Tony Stark? Yep.

Fandom: Marvel

Pairings: Tony Stark/James Rhodes

Warnings: None

Summary: James Rhodes is Iron Man. It makes the secret identity less confusing, and if you asked Tony, he'd say that Jim was better at it anyways.

Relationship between Tony Stark and Iron Man! the headline proclaimed. The byline read 'Sexual favors to keep the Avengers funded or just sexual harassment from another boss? More on Page 6!’. As with all gossip rags, there was a grainy picture taking up the majority of the front page. Tony's head was tilted up, arms wrapped around the neck of the Iron Man armor as they kissed. Iron Man's face was completely unrecognizable, so he should probably be thankful for small favors. That particular shot did make him look like a comic book heroine though, which-- while accurate-- was annoying.

Jim thought it was fucking hilarious. He'd bought a copy and brought it to the Tower to show Tony, then proceeded to draw hearts on it with red marker.

"You're such an asshole," Tony groaned, unsuccessfully trying to steal the paper away. As far as he was concerned, that picture was an embarrassment to his reputation. He was usually much more smooth than throwing himself at someone and hoping for the best.

"Uh-uh, this is our first kiss, and I want a picture to remember the good times when we're old and decrepit and possibly broken up."

Tony glared as he sank into a seat at the table. "I could've planned it better if you told me that's what you wanted."

Jim snorted. "You didn't plan it at all, that's the only reason it happened."

"Hi Rhodey," Pepper said as she walked in.

"Hi Pepper, how's it going?"

"Can I see that?" she asked, motioning to the paper.

"So long as I get it back."

He handed it over, and Pepper folded it in half, whacked Tony on the head, then gave it back. "That's for kissing Iron Man where everyone could see! What were you thinking?"

Read on AO3 or below

"I wasn't," he muttered, rubbing the top of his head even though it didn't hurt. He'd just been kidnapped, and for a while there, he'd thought that Jim had died. It was an emotional ordeal all things considered, and she should be happy that Tony hadn't tried to suck him off right there on the street-- which he had definitely considered.

"Well I suppose that's better than you thinking this was a good idea and going through with it. That picture is spreading like wildfire, we need to release some sort of statement to try and corral it a little." Not much, because Tony's sex life was always a hot topic for news' sites and this was the juiciest thing to come out of it since the emergence of superheroes, but it was still worth the effort. According to Pepper. Personally, Tony thought they should let it sit and see how wild the theories got so this could become more entertaining than annoying. "Can I trust that you and Iron Man are in a relationship, not just fooling around?"

"That's a pretty safe assumption," Jim said, still looking amused.

"Good," she said, relieved. "You probably don't need to hear this Tony, but I'm going to say it anyways. If it doesn't work out, remember that you still have to work with the man? Please? It's going to be impossible to find someone to replace him if he quits, especially since you refuse to tell me who it is."

"I'll behave," Tony promised. Rhodey-- the asshole-- was hiding his snickers behind his hand which Pepper would have noticed if she thought it was at all important. As far as she was concerned however, Rhodey was still working for the military and that's why he popped in and out without being able to say where he was going or what he'd done. It was a nice set up they had going to protect Iron Man's identity, but in this moment it was a pain in the ass. Or, more accurately, Jim was being a pain in the ass. He shouldn't be enjoying this nearly as much as he was, but he probably figured that he was owed this with all the other bullshit he had to deal with-- Tony was not going to admit that yes, Rhodey did deserve to have a little bit of fun with this because that would be admitting defeat. "And Iron Man wouldn't quit anyways, he likes the suit too much to leave it behind just because I'm a jackass."

"You're not a jackass, you're a jack-angel," Jim said, then grinned obnoxiously when they both looked at him. "I have a report to finish." He ruffled Tony's hair then walked away. "Bye Pep!"

Jim was in the suit when Steve approached him-- unsurprising since he was pretty sure he'd never even seen Steve without the faceplate in the way. "Hey Iron Man, you got a minute?"

"For you Cap? Always. What's up?"

"It's about Mr. Stark."

Ah fuck. "What did he do now?" Try as he might, Rhodey couldn't actually watch him 24/7. There was a lot of trouble Tony could get into in just twenty minutes, as they'd all seen time and time again.

Steve frowned. "He didn't do anything. It's about... um, your- relationship." He was blushing now, a light dusting of pink across his cheeks.

Jim kinda wished that maybe something had happened with Tony, because he wasn't sure he wanted to deal with having this conversation. Cap was going to get all nervous and sputtery about relationships within the team, even worse since Tony was funding them and technically in charge. "What about it?" was what Jim said though, because clearly Steve felt like he had to say something and cutting him off wouldn't help.

"You don't-" he stopped and chewed on his lip. He took a bracing breath, and there was a tightness to his shoulders that hadn't been there before. He rushed the next sentence out like if he didn't say it quickly, he wouldn't say it at all. "If you feel like you're being forced into this, you can always ask for help. I don't think Mr. Stark would do that, but sometimes you think you know people and then they do horrible things, so I just want you to know that no matter what, the team will always be here to help you out."

It was laughable that Tony would do anything of the sort, but it was also pretty damn touching that Steve reminded him that he had back-up should he need it. "Thanks Cap," he said, voice coming out soft even through the filters. "It's not necessary but... thanks."

Steve gave an embarrassed nod and walked away. He got to the doorway before he realized that that wasn't all he'd needed to say. More red-faced than before, he went back to Iron Man. "Do you have that report on the last fight with the Controller? Coulson says yours is still missing."

"I turned it in like a week ago," Jim said. He knew that for a fact, he'd spent an inordinate amount of time trying to remember all the necessary details, and he'd been so annoyed by the end that he'd sent it three times to make sure they wouldn't lose it.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"That's strange. It's not like Coulson to lose something."

"I don't care if he never finds it, I'm not writing it again. I swear, that's a form of torture somewhere."

"Iron Man, re-"

"Reports are important, yeah yeah," Jim said, waving him off. "The problem is that I already did it, and I'm not gonna do it again; it was bad enough the first time. I wrote my report and turned it in, I'm not gonna get shit because they lost it somehow. You can call Coulson back up and tell him to look for it in his fucking email because I sent three copies and there's no way he magically lost all of them."

Steve sighed. "I'll tell him, but Iron Man, if he can't find them, you are going to have to rewrite that report."

"Make me," he said petulantly, walking away, the boots making it seem like he was stomping.

Molecule Man vanished the suit, and it was clear he was expecting the same moment of shock that everyone else did. Steve completely froze when the shield disappeared, not that anyone was judging him for it. When Jim lost the suit though, he just hauled off and decked Reece in the face. Since Molecule Man had been expecting some hesitation, he was not at all prepared to get punched and went down. Rhodey was not looking forward to seeing him get up, so he hit him a few more times for good measure.

"Is anybody still suited up?" he asked, endlessly grateful that his comm was in his ear even though it usually processed through the suit for the voice filters. "I could use some cuffs if you've got them."

"Iron Man?" Wasp asked hesitantly.

"Yeah. I'm the handsome one standing by the idiot in green."

"On my way. Gotta say, I was pretty sure you were Tony this whole time."

"That must have made the kiss pretty weird."

"A bit," she admitted with a laugh.

"You okay Iron Man?" Cap asked.

"I'm fine, the suit's not. Molecule Man can reform objects, right?"

"He must," Thor said, tone leaving no room for argument. Even if Molecule Man didn't know how to do it, they'd find someone to. Maybe hit up the Professor and see if he had any mutants around with a handy power, since mjolnir wasn't exactly replaceable.

"I'm sure Fury will strong arm him into giving our stuff back big guy, don't worry."

"I was not worried," he said, affronted.

"Uh-huh, sure."

Jan landed cuffs already out and ready. She raised an eyebrow when she saw him, like she was surprised but thought she shouldn't be. "That makes more sense than I thought it would. So did you and Tony just barely get together or was it revealed to us all with that kiss?" she asked as she snapped the cuffs on Molecule Man.

"Does it matter?"

"Aw c'mon, inquiring minds want to know!"

"You're not a reporter, Jan. Ask Tony if you want to know so bad."

"I did ask Tony, and he told me that it started several lifetimes ago," she said, rolling her eyes. "I never realized how much of a romantic he is."

"Then you haven't spent much time around him when he's been in a relationship. Consider yourself lucky."

#ironhusbands #marvel #fanfic #tony stark #rhodey #pepper potts #janet van dyne #steve rogers #my writing

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t4t-lumpygrab · 4 years

Text

Lemongrab 1 headcannons (long)

(I tried to group these around the theme of free time/hobbies)

🍋 After like… 3 days of not being in the candy kingdom after he was relocated to the earldom he was bored out of his mind and did all sorts of bonkers stuff to entertain himself. Like try to build a parachute out of old sheets and jump out of the highest window, or go surfing down the stairs on an ironing board. Does he seem like the sort of person who should be left unsupervised? No. It’s a wonder he didn’t die doing all the dumb things he got up to.

🍋 at some point Lemongrab probably built himself a playground in the empty courtyard in his castle so he could entertain himself and have fun but either lost interest half way through building it, or burnt all the things down one by one in anger after he hurt himself playing on them. Like he fell off the swing and decided the only way to make it pay for this humiliation is to blow it up, and accidentally Ka boomed everything else along with it.

🍋 Too Young showed that Lemongrab is far sighted and can’t read properly or see things clearly up close, so he didn’t read books at all and instead preferred to watch films. And if he did read books he’d have to use a magnifying glass as his reading glasses didn’t seem to help him much (he still squinted and leaned forwards).

🍋 His infallible recall meant that after he’d watched something he could recite it off by heart, so he would destroy any film copies he has, which is why his castle is empty. Libraries and dvd rentals hate him. He is banned from every single dvd rental in Ooo.

🍋 he probably went through a phase where he tried to make his own films but none of them were very good and he didn’t have the focus to finish anything. All of his works such as the Comedy film “man with phobia of food gets job at a restaurant” which is just Lemongrab wearing a chef hat standing in his kitchen screaming at different vegetables for 2 hours straight, are all lying somewhere in the attic.

However it was a lot of fun for him and as he made lots of films he became pretty good at it. This is why he has the necessary equipment to make his propaganda in the Lemonhope arc, and why his propaganda is pretty good in terms of actually film quality. I mean we have a slow panning scenic shot at the beginning, flawlessly executed voice over, and fast cuts of the lemon people set against him talking as well as text overlay, fading shots, and background music. Fella clearly had film making talent if nothing else.

🍋 When the lemon people were made he would force them to star in his films alongside his brother.

🍋 On the subject of art, Lemongrab 1 also seems to be a pretty talented artist. I mean in one of the advtime comics Marceline organises a zine made up of comics drawn by the other characters and Lemongrab’s submission looks like this.

And as you can tell from the shading and the composition and his colour choice, while he definitely has a bit of a way to go, he’s actually really good at drawing. So I imagine lemongrab 1 really liked drawing pictures though given his horrible eyesight he probably had to use a magnifying glass to correct his vision.

I’d also like to add that Lemongrab 1 using sound effect symbols in the third panels implies that he knows what those mean, which he’d only know from reading comics. So he’s secretly a comic book fan.

And when you think about it his infallible recall would give him a huge visual library. If he can remember a map from just glancing at it then he can probably flawlessly copy it, and was therefore a really good realistic artist with a bit of practice.

🍋 One of the other hobbies he picked up was engineering and science, which he mainly attempted in the hope of making his mother proud of him. He designed the sliding doors and reconditioning chamber in his castle,and also made the torture devices in his dungeon as well as various robots that do completely dumb and pointless things.

🍋 One of these was a soft cloth robot that was designed to be physically affectionate with him and act as a surrogate mother of sorts but couldn’t get it to fulfill his precise demands so he destroyed it in a hissy fit.

🍋 he generally got a lot of his engineering ideas from Pb’s experiments and inventions that he’d seen lying around her lab or seen blue prints of when he went over to spy on her. He’d copy her but put a lemon twist on her stuff.

For example, the pink lemonade lemon sea

we see in the lemon sea comic was made using the same technology as the butterscotch lake Pb made for uncle gumbald. But with a bomb instead of a grenade.

🍋 Because he made the pink lemonade sea he was the one who made all the aquatic lemon creatures we see in that comic. He was really excited that his lemon sea would finally have an ecosystem he forgot he had only a vague idea of how fish work, so there’s penguins and lemon coral reefs in the same place and it’s all very inconsistent.

🍋 He also quite enjoyed gardening and growing trees. Mainly because lemons are the only food he can really eat properly, and also because trees... are fun. He was especially interested in tree sculptures (which is when you grow trees into certain shapes) which is what the tree in his throne is all about.

The reason it looks like that is because it’s a sculpture in process- the finished thing would be a tree throne. It was, however, never finished as he cleared most of his projects out before Too Old.

🍋 Lemongrab actually quite likes a lot of music, he just hates harps as he has upsetting memories associated with them as I’ve explained here.

Lemongrab's favourite types of music were genres that had "screaming" in them. So stuff like heavy metal, opera, yodelling. He had pretty eclectic tastes but punk music was his favourite because the defining mood of that genre is anger, which he can obviously get behind.

Also Punk vocalists tend to not have conventionally nice sounding voices when they sing. Like screaming, snarling, and ranting more than singing are typical punk musician features. In other words, kind of like Lemongrab. So the first time lemongrab ever heard someone who sounded like him was listening to punk music, and I imagine it brought him a bit of comfort

🍋 On the subject of music, as he liked punk music he would’ve run into Marceline and the scream queens sooner or later. While he has mixed feelings about Marceline due to her being his mother’s ex girlfriend he really enjoyed a lot of her music

Lemongrab’s favourite Marceline song was I’m just your problem as it’s as a song about dealing with not being enough for someone- that someone being Pb SPECIFICALLY. Lemongrab heard the line “I’m sorry I’m not made of sugar and I’m not sweet enough for you” and became a groupie on the spot.

🍋 He even went as far as to write his own fan cover called “I’m just your problemon” which bore no resemblance to the original song beyond the title and was just Lemongrab yelled about his mummy issues for an hour with out of tune guitar in the background. There is still a very poorly made recording of it up in the attic.

#lemongrab #lemongrab 1 #atimers #atimes #fan theory #lemongrab theory

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 5 years

Video

youtube

“Are the MCU Spidey films good Spider-Man movies?”

If you mean are they good adaptations, as in good stories respecting the spirit of the character, the kind of stories that you could easily imagine happening in the comics themselves and are in line with the core values and concepts from those comics...then no absolutely not.

“Spider-Man was established as a secondary character in someone else’s story before we followed him on any adventures of his own”

And that’s fine if not for the fact that he remained subservient to that other character’s story. He was deliberately constructed in Homecoming and Far From Home to revolve around his relationship with Tony both to provide further development for Tony and fuel for his later arc in IW and Endgame but also to provide and epilogue and lasting legacy for him.

Even if Peter was the lead in his solo films he still existed within the shadow of Tony, he was still effectively to Tony what Robin was to Batman. Batman fundamentally contextualizes Robin to such a degree that everything Robin does, even subtextually, either stems from or comments upon Batman.

Even his transition into Nightwing, into being his own man and leader of the Titans did this because that was understood as him BREAKING AWAY from Batman’s shadow. But on a metatextual level he never truly can. A similar thing happened with Peter in FFH. Even if Tony was dead his legacy hung over FFH and Peter, his legacy conextualized part of the intended arc for his character in that film (as poorly handled as it was regardless).

And this...is what is unacceptable about MCU Spider-Man in terms of being an adaptation. It’s not simply that existing in Iron Man’s shadow or being contextualized by him wasn’t a factor for his character (thought that’d be justification enough to call out). It’s that Spider-Man was so particularly DESIGEND by Lee and Ditko to NOT be like that at all to NOT live in the shadow of another hero but be independent and more importantly for the driving force behind everything he does as a hero to be the death of his father which he was indirectly responsible for.

“The spider bite and death of Uncle Ben is stuff that’s in the past and has happened”

Has it though?

There is no evidence of that in the film, not even circumstantial.

I’m all for not showing it for a third time but neither Peter nor May act like they’ve recently lost a loved one or are grieving at all. We’ve seen Peter more affected by the death of Iron man than of Uncle Ben.

The only reason anyone can even float the idea that Spider-Man’s origin happened at all is that we all simply know that origin. But you still need to acknowledge in some way it happened which the MCu has absolutely never done. As far as the MCU is concerned the closest thing we have to even acknowledging Uncle Ben existed in the first place is a suitcase with presumably his initials on it.

But for all we know Peter fished that out of a dumpster. For all we know Uncle Ben might never have existed, May might be his biological aunt and Ben her deadbeat husband who ran off with someone else.

Simply saying referring to all May has been through recently isn’t enough because it implies she’s been through something serious recently, but that could be anything not necessarily a bereavement. More poignantly it doesn’t imply PETER has been through anything when that’s way more important because being sad about Ben’s death is the book of Genesis for Spider-Man. You NEED to have that pain, that grief in there somewhere.

Him saying giving the great responsibility speech isn’t enough because the film never clearly conveys that he learned this lesson from someone close to him dying. It’s just something he takes very seriously (in Civil War but apparently not much in Far From Home!) and for all we know always has.

Peter’s dialogue in Civil War DOES NOT imply Peter learnt this lesson from something that WAS his fault. It COULD mean that, but in context it COULD just be something he learned third hand.

More importantly even if we were to say the dialogue DOES spell out his origin that’s not really the point. Because Ben’s presence in the film still needs to be acknowledged. A picture, his name being uttered, a gravestone, a long look at an empty chair at the breakfast table something. But there is absolutely NOTHING besides a suitcase. And more egregiously what he represents has been wholly supplanted by Tony.

“Peter likes tech. Tony likes tech. Tony would naturally be a huge inspiration going forward”

Not really. Just because you love basketball doesn’t mean Michael Jordan is definitely going to be your inspiration. In the comics Reed Richards wasn’t Spider-Man’s idol or anything. And his desire to impress him in the comics at best didn’t manifest itself the way he wanted to suck up to Tony in the MCU.

And again, this misses the point. There are LOTS of things that would technically be organic in the MCU but it’s about finding a balance between something organic that is also respectful of the core concept and spirit of the characters. Case in point. Having T’Challa’s origin tied into Civil War is very organic and different from the comics but it doesn’t disrespect the spirit of his character because his Dad still dies and passes on the mantle of King and Black Panther to him and still provides fuel for him to live up to his father’s memory.

It’d totally organic Black Widow to be a former HYDRA operative based upon the established world building of the MCU, have the Black Widow program be something set up by the Red Skull even. It’d even make sense given the colour coding involved. But it’d be disrespectful to the spirit of Black Widow’s character as a RUSSIAN convert.

“If he wants to live up to Ben he’d want to be the best superhero he could possibly be”

Sure...but that doesn’t mean becoming an Avenger. Again, comic book Spider-Man never regarded being a big name hero as neccesarry for being a good hero or the best he could be. That’s an elitist way of looking at it.

In particular it omits the good he does for the little guy which is his driving motivation. He doesn’t do this to save the world he does this to save individual people. His ‘original sin’ as it were stemmed from an incredibly small scale individual crime.

So accepting Tony’s help when he wants to make him the next Avenger wouldn’t be in line with the SPIRIT of the character.

We could argue that logically this could happen and therefore it MUST happen but at the end of the day it was just that the writers WANTED Peter to be a fanboy and nothing more than that. They didn’t HAVE to write him that way. They could’ve had him have doubts about Tony, have his idealized visage of Tony crack as he grew to learn about the real man.

And if we’re going to use the argument that this HAS to happen and we have no choice to write it that way because logic dictates it then...why haven’t the MCu heroes resolved any number of things logically they absolutely could. Tony can’t fix global warming? Wakanda can’t? Or to switch over to DC Superman can’t end how many disasters or problems in the world?

At the end of the day logic exists within superhero stories but it is always tempered by the genre conventions and spirit of the characters.

I know this channel loves Doctor Who, who is arguably a kind of superhero anyway, so I will draw upon an example from Dr. Who. I forget who it was, possibly Russel T. Davies, but in a commentary track for an episode of Doctor Who in 2008-2009 someone said something very smart regarding a fundamental of the lore. They said that really the Doctor could fix the chameleon circuit of his TARDIS so it need not always look like a police box...but that it was ‘right’ that he didn’t. In other words logically the Doctor COULD do something and indeed it would be very beneficial but it’d go against the spirit of his character, the show and the internal mechanics of the series for them to do that.

The same applies here. If you have a Spider-Man who’s got a rich high tech superhero sugar daddy you have broken Spider-Man, he doesn’t work properly creatively speaking.

“A large part of Peter’s story in Homecomign is being told when to stay out of it”

Again this goes against the spirit of the character because hello...his whole origin is about that one time he did stay out of it and it broke his family.

For a Spider-Man story to basically repeatedly enforce the message that Spider-Man NOT acting and Spider-Man being passive is the right thing to do is to do a story which misunderstands the character fundamentally.

It gets worse when you consider his actions actively make things worse 90% of the time in that film and the message is muddled anyway as Iron Man was only in a position to stop Vulture because Spider-Man wasn’t passive.

“There are some things Peter isn’t qualified to take on”

Low rent thugs with high tech weapons is something he isn’t qualified for?

How many versions of early days Spider-Man dealt with that and worse entirely competently?

“Throughout all of this like a father figure Tony Stark is looking out for Peter”

First of all no he’s really not, he’s absent a lot of the time.

Second of all the mere FACT that Tony Stark is Peter’s father figure at all is part and parcel of WHY these are bad Spider-Man movies.

Tony Stark being Spider-Man’s father figure is as broken as a Dick Grayson origin movie where Batman ISN’T his father figure or indeed wholly absent. You are severely MISSING THE POINT if you do that.

“If Uncle Ben were important then when Tony took away his suit he’d leave it to other people instead of getting involved himself”

That logic doesn’t follow.

To begin with the entire movie repeatedly made it clear Peter was willing to disobey Tony and get involved so him continuing to do so is consistent, it doesn’t have anything to do with Uncle Ben’s importance or lack thereof.

Secondly as stated above this is all built upon the PRESUMPTION Ben existed and Spider-Man’s origin played out in a similar way it always does but there is 0% in-movie evidence for this happening. We simply know Peter lives by a philosophy the same as the philosophy he had in other movies but we don’t know in this universe how he came to believe in that philosophy.

He certainly doesn’t seem like it was through the loss of a loved one because he doesn’t mention, reference or think about Ben in the slightest and doesn’t act as anyone who’s lost someone they loved a lot very recently, certainly not other versions of Spider-Man who went through that.

“The red and blue home made suit represents a spider-Man who does what he does not because Tony Stark got involved”

But again there is no evidence in the movies that he does what he does because of Uncle Ben because Uncle Ben isn’t even implied in-story.

More importantly this isn’t the main critique of the MCU Spider-Man. the main critique is that Tony is incredibly important and defining to this version of Peter even if he was active before Tony showed up. The entire arc of Homecoming rests upon the motivation of Peter wanting to be an Avenger.

That’s not even my interpretation either, Tom Holland SAID that himself. The villain is an evil Tony Stark who became villain because of Tony Stark and who’s goal is Tony’s stuff. Peter’s self-actualization as a character happened when he was spurred on by Tony Stark.

Tony is BAKED IN to the foundations of this version of Spider-Man in a way that’s vitally more important than Uncle Ben because everything revolves around Tony. And again it SHOULDN’T, it shouldn’t anymore than Robin should NOT revolve around his relationship with Batman.

“That isn’t Peter saying he wants to be the next Iron Man”

Not in Homecoming perhaps but that’s clearly the direction the film Pushes Peter in in FFH.

“Just because Uncle Ben existed doesn’t mean Tony will fall on deaf ears”

Again not the point, the point is Tony is more present and impactful than Ben.

Put it like this. Aunt May clearly EXISTS in the MCU...but based upon the character arc and defining features of MCU Peter is she really as if not more important than Tony?

No she’s not, you could tweak the movies to exorcise her and they wouldn’t be that different.

“It’s a representation of this kid fighting for his uncle...it represents even before he met Tony he would’ve battled a villain who is concerned with Tony Stark“

Again...the uncle that the movies do not confirm even existed.

Again...the mere FACT that Tony is so integral to the fabric of so much stuff in this version of Spider-Man like Mysterio is against the concept and spirit of Spider-Man.

And even if we ignore all of that...Spider-man only beats Mysterio when he uses Tony’s tech to build a costume like Tony did set to Tony’s soundtrack so like...is the film actually affirming Tony’s presence is irrelvent to his heroic journey?

“Do you really think the hooded suit was put in for the sake of fanservice?”

I mean...it’s far from impossible we got like 5 different number plates that acted as fanservice. Chris Evans appeared in Thor: the Dark World for fanservice. The fact we got a giant Mysterio hand was nothing but fanservice.

“That hooded Spider-man IS Uncle Ben”

...then why....isn’t...he...mentioned!

It’s for a similar reason Aunt May is nothing more than Iron Man’s friend’s new girlfriend.

“You don’t keep everything associated with someone when they die”

This is a case of writing the movie for Marvel at this point.

Yes hypothetically it’s possible that there are other possessions associated with Uncle Ben which mean more to Peter than his suitcase.

But what are they?

Do they even exist?

We don’t know because again the suitcase is the closest thing we have to proof that Uncle Ben even EXISTED in these movies.

“The Stark suit was in the suitcase that got destroyed”

How does this disprove that Tony was more important than Ben?

Because Peter was at least sad about Tony’s death and there is no confirmation Peter was sad about Ben’s death nor even that Ben existed.

“This doesn’t show a good understanding of grief”

This whole movie didn’t show a good understanding of grief!

Peter is more concerned about hooking up with MJ than grieving Tony. It’s not denial or running away it’s inconsistent writing and characterization.

“Peter wanting a holiday is believable”

Sure...but like was Tony even that close to Peter?

They shared exactly six scenes together in person.

“People expect Spider-Man to act in the movies the way he does in that meme”

Half the critics of FFH aren’t saying that and the other half...are kinda right. In character Spider-Man is wracked with pain over remembering Ben. Not because his Dad simply died or even died when he was young but that he died violently and it was HIS FAULT!

“The subject of grief is present in the MCu version of Spider-Man”

Yes...but not over Uncle Ben, over Tony.

“Both with Tony and Ben”

What scene ever clearly shows us Peter grieving Ben’s death. Because the bedroom scene in Civil War doesn’t do that, we the audience project onto that scene that he is probably talking about Ben and he’s probably sad about it but there is no evidence in the movie even implying that to be the case.

The PS4 game at least had a picture.

“It’s handled in a very, very, very subtle way”

No it’s handled in a way that omits and covers him up in order to build up Tony and avoid repetition from the older movies.

It’s not subtle because the MCU by and large is not subtle and that includes Civil War. Tony and Pepper’s break up isn’t even all that subtle in the movie.

This isn’t written to be subtle it’s written to be plausible deniability.

“Just because Ben started Spider-Man and is the essence of him doesn’t mean other people aren’t going to have some kind of influence on him”

Sure...but it should never have been Tony stark.

Because Peter Parker shouldn’t be fanboying over anyone, it goes against his core concept.

“It’s unfair to project one interpretation of grief on every Spider-Man”

Sure. Peter and Miles and Mayday and Gwen and Cindy and Anya won’t all react to grief in the same way.

But if you are doing a version of PETER PARKER and you are having him react to grief in a way that is not broadly consistent with PETER PARKER then you are not doing your job.

He’s supposed to be in spirit a version of Peter Parker and a version of Peter Parker would not react to grief by never even mentioning or thinking about Uncle Ben.

“This was never an origin story for Spider-Man”

Nor was Spider-Man 2 and yet you know...Uncle Ben and the grief over his death was till present in that.

“You can cite the Raimi movies and bring it over to the new lore”

...that...that isn’t how any of this works. The Raimi films aren’t canon to the MCU unless the MCU acknowledges them as such.

“It may be a different Peter Parker but the story is still the same”

If the story is still the same then where are Harry, Mary Jane and Norman Osborn?

Why is Spider-Man not living in the suburbs?

Why is Peer 15 instead of 18?

Even if you take that statement to mean the GIST of the story is the same it creates problems because why would Peter ever say “I’m nothing without this suit Tony” in HC when he knows he definitely isn’t because he knows he can make a difference with or without the suit because of Ben’s death proving that point.

It’s not canon to the MCU unless there is EVIDENCE proving that to be the case.

As of right now Ben might not even exist in the MCU.

More importantly the FACT THAT HE’S NOT MENTIONED is you doing Spider-Man wrong full stop.

#Spider-Man #Mysterio #Iron Man #Tony Stark #Uncle Ben #Ben Parker #Peter Parker #MCU #marvel cinematic universe #spider-man: homecoming #Spider-Man: Far From HOme

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supersoldiersruined-me · 5 years

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And the Winner Is...

A/N: This is my entry for @mss4msu 500 celebration challenge! I’m super late on this one too, thank you for being patient! 💕It’s my second work with Zac so it’s still quite plain and simple, although I’ll be posting a smuttier part later on (following this storyline.) I just thought I’d make this a fluffy oneshot and then whoever wants to read the smut will have it in a seperate text. 🤷‍♀️ Warnings: none really, I don’t even think there’s a swear word... Word count: 2.5k Summary: After several calls to your local radio station and five good answers, you find yourself owner of a VIP pass for the New York comic con. There’s that one man in particular you wish to see, and little did you know he had planned this all along.

Main Masterlist

You’re holding the ticket in your hands, your thumb runs over the large textured letters. You’re still unable to process the euphoria surrounding the events that lead to this day. Your name is written under the New York Comic Con logo, its beautiful lanyard dangles from your hands as you twirl it around to look at the pattern. The softness of the couch has never been so welcoming as it envelopes you in your downfall from the heavens. The laminated ticket comes to your chest, followed by you giggling in excitement and tapping your feet to the ground. The phone in your pocket rings, and you hurry to pick it up.

“Hello?” You answer without reading the ID.

“Hi Y/N! How are you?” Your friend chimes from the other side.

“Oh, hey! I’m…” You ponder whether to tell or not. “I’m doing great,” you finish quickly as not to leave any suspicion.

“Riiight. Expected someone else?” You bite your lip to keep from laughing some more. She knows where you’re headed to, but not what’s actually hidden behind all this. “Well anyway, if you want me to help you pack for your trip I’m free all night.” She giggles when you stay silent. You end up accepting her offer, unsure if you could go the entire evening without combusting of joy. You figure that having her around would help you stay down to earth - but most importantly, it would keep the scenarios from playing in your mind.

You’re happy to realise that both seats next to you remain empty as the plane shakes off the ground. Once the flight is steady and you’ve lost sight of the city lights, you fold your knees over the arm rest as you get comfortable for the short flight. A variety of films is available from the on-board entertainment, including very recent titles, and some of your favourite series. So much for the book you had packed, you think. The soft vibrations help numb your mind and soon you’re well into a proper nap; an earphone securely playing the soundtrack to a Disney movie, the other hanging over your shoulder as it got pulled out not too long after.

Someone’s backpack strap is what has you jolting up at your arrival. You stretch as best you can in the confined space, reaching over to your left for the cubicle window. The rainy weather is not enough to dispirit you as you close it back and pick up your stuff, ready to have a great weekend at the convention. You’re in the last bunch out of the plane and through customs.

You set your bag onto the plushy bench at the foot of the bed - which is way too big for one person, you think - and let yourself fall on your back; the supple material has you bouncing a couple times. As you take a few deep breaths, you let your hands roam the space next to you, the silky fabric of the duvet-cover allows your fingers to glide easily, and it soon feels like you’re swimming in your own little world. The room is dark; the only thing coming in is the filtered light of the blinking advertisement panels outside. The dim ambiance of Time Square that’s just a few blocks down helps your mind drift off, and as if someone had dropped their knocked-out, fully-clothed kid on their sister’s spare bed, you lay there, content, before finally falling asleep.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your beauty sleep, and you thank the night’s unexpected crash for the fully functional outfit.

“Hi, can I-” You stop yourself when the door won’t go wider than a couple inches, the chain lock still well in place. “I’m sorry. Hi!” A familiar face waits with a white box in hand, and the same sweet smile. It’s his assistant. She had skyped you to explain what the pass included and later to explain the schedule of your plane.

“I hope I’m not too early for you. I’m just dropping this off. The convention starts at ten,” she begins, and then waits for your reaction. She smiles at your confusion. “Feel free to call me if you need a ride. I think you’ll like it. Congratulations again!” She winks as she taps on the box before walking away into the long hall. Suddenly, the furthest door down the hall opens slightly and your heart skips a beat on the spot. His tall silhouette barely makes it under the door frame as he steps out to get his special delivery of newspapers. Dark jeans held around his waist by a black leather belt. No shirt. Before he can stretch back up and see you, you squeal your way back into the room, then slam the door before leaning against it. Giggles escape your lips and you can’t help but dance around a little. Pictures surely didn’t do him justice.

The soft cardboard of the box tears slightly under your tight grip. A small cut gives you a peek at what’s hiding inside. With a slight spark of excitement you rush towards the table in the small living space and lay it on the marble. The small ribbon is easily torn away and you pull out a Nerd HQ t-shirt; the fabric is soft in your hands, the colours remind you of an 80s arcade room. The symbol is spelled out in a neon-like font, and stripes run down the side seems. You pick up the small note at the bottom of the box and gasp as you read it:

“Dear nerd,

Thank you for participating in our contest! I hope you enjoy your stay and that you have fun at the convention. But then again, you’ll get to meet me so that’s pretty rad!

I’ll see you later Y/N,

Zac ❤”

The last few words are hard to read as your eyes slowly fill with tears of joy. He’s taken the time to write a little message for you and it honestly beats getting a like from him on one of your tweets. You had been able to talk to him over the phone for a couple minutes when him and his assistant called to give you the result of the draw. He later texted you a simple hello, which stretched into a pretty deep conversation about mental health and upcoming movies. About a week later he warned you that his phone might have been hacked, and that for your privacy - and his - you had accepted to stop talking until you could meet. Knowing that you’ll be able to see him in person definitely has you nervous and shaking.

Getting back onto your feet, you trot towards the bathroom and hold the shirt up in front of your body, imagining how it would look on you. Then you go back to finish your outfit and get your small bag ready with everything you want signed.

You walk out of the elevator to the basement, where a black Mercedes awaits. A small hand waves you in through the open passenger window, and you settle next to his assistant.

“Told you you’d like it!” Her tone is friendly and she winks at you before pulling onto the street.

Small talk makes the ride down the jammed streets of Hell’s Kitchen a breeze, and with the lanyard around your neck, you walk into the busy halls of the Javits Center. The main area is packed; you wonder if everything is up to fire regulations as you strut around, being careful not to walk on anyone’s heels or break any cosplays. Marvel pretty much owns the place - or rather Disney - as Star Wars ships and maquettes are displayed here and there, comic artists and autograph booths fill the back walls. You walk down the aisles as if you were on a cloud. This is certainly the best initiation you could have gotten. Then, with an extra heartbeat per minute, you come to realise that you’re just a few feet away from the DC gate, which is ironically adorned with Shazam posters, along with Superman gear. An attroupement of people surrounds the Batmobile that roars in a corner. You sigh as the whole event becomes a bit overwhelming, and you can’t help but feel yourself go a bit weak.

You step into the little archway, and a well deserved breath escapes your lungs. You waste some time looking around at the frames and pieces of craft that creators expose proudly. And then your eyes come up to the posters hung along the black curtains behind the autograph tables, a sweet red shade tints your cheeks at the sight of Zac’s picture in the Shazam suit. A small kid bumps into you when your feet give up on their simple task; the flashes of his near-naked body resurfacing from the morning has your mind going foggy. He steps out a few minutes later, along with Asher and Jack, and they are greeted by a roar of cheers which knocks you out of a day dream. Your shoulder finds refuge on a nearby column, and you decide to wait until he has talked to a few people before you can come up with the courage to walk to his booth. He’s a little faster though and spots you from his seat, earning yourself a wink and a bright smile.

“Here comes the smolder!” Someone calls from the line in front of you, making you laugh a little. A strong hand comes to your shoulder from behind, startling you.

“Y/N?” His voice is a bit higher than you expected for someone his size. His square shoulders jump up a little when he sees your frightened face. The company shirt he has on is clearly a size too small; the sleeve bands around his biceps are screaming for their life.

“Yes. Do you need an ID?” You already have a hand in your bag as you ask the question, but he grabs your arm and politely shakes his head.

“It’s alright, love. Follow me,” he adds.

You struggle to keep up with him as he guides you through a crowded area, even though his body creates a rather smooth passage. About a minute later you find yourself alone with him in a small hallway; pipes fill the ceiling and everything is made out of concrete. Had it not been for the bright neon lights, this would certainly feel like a horror movie. You keep walking in silence, hearing the crowd cheer through the small doors you keep passing by. Then he opens a door to your right and motions you inside while holding it for you.

“If you please,” he says cordially.

You enter the room and scan your surroundings. A couch covered in dark green velvet sits by the opposing wall. There’s a barber chair sitting in front of a big mirror, where bottles of makeup and what-not fill a thin shelf. You step a little further inside and then see the fruits on the coffee table along with various snacks and bottles of Gatorade. When the bodyguard closes the door behind you and moves out of the way you see the small post on the door.

‘Zachary Levi’ written in black sharpie on the back of a random list, taped unevenly.

Your jaw slackens a little, your gaze goes back to the treats on the table and you smile at how personal this feels. The man invites you to get comfortable and take whatever you’d like, and you think he said he’d be back shortly with a warm lunch but your mind is already wandering around the subtle items and decor. You run your hands on the soft material of the couch as you let your body relax into it. It has a natural wood frame and feels very vintage. Very Zac. A small TV hangs on the wall in front of it and is already turned on and logged onto someone’s Netflix account. You grab the remote and proceed to ‘get comfortable’ as the man had said. The choice is easy when one of your favourite series is in his list as well.

The first episode is nearly done when faint voices are getting closer in the hallway, and out of panic you turn it off and sit back into the couch. The handle moves but it takes a few seconds before the door is finally pushed open. He’s standing there in the frame, still talking to someone you can’t see from your position. Although you doubt you’d be able to see anything else with Zac just shining in the room. You stand up and he sees it in his sight. He turns his head just a little and sends you another wink along with a little wave, politely asking you to wait another minute. You stand there in the middle of the room, swaying from a foot to another as you try and compose yourself. Then he turns around completely and steps inside.

“Hi Y/N!” His voice is high and bashful. You move your hand up in hopes of reaching for his, but he jerks it away gently and opens his arms instead. “Come on! Bring it in.”

You obey and move closer to him. Your arms hook behind his body but you’re too afraid to touch him. You linger there, your head against his chest that slowly rises with each breath, trying to slow your heartbeat to match his. His actions make it hard for you to actually focus. One of his hands reaches the back of your head and he runs his fingers through your hair before settling lower on your neck.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispers in the crook of your neck. He only lets go when he feels you shiver and your arms fall to your side. He grabs your shoulders, pushing you back a little and looks at you, his face wincing at his clumsiness. “Did I overstep? Gosh. I’m so, so sorry!” He seems genuinely concerned and bothered with himself until he sees you smile finally, making him shiver in return.

“You shouldn’t...I’m...I can’t lie and say I’m not enjoying this.” He breathes out when you’re done and his shoulders relax. “I guess I’m just startled. You really are so handsome and...” And I saw you half naked this morning and wanted to have my hands on you all day but… You shake your head at the thought with a laugh which seems to amuse him as well.

“What?” He grins and takes a step closer. So close your neck is about to snap from looking up at him.

“I, um…” Your hands come to your face and you lean against his chest again. His hands run down your arms and onto the small of your back, before slowly making their way back up and locking behind your neck. He pulls slightly on your hair, making you face him again. A whimper threatens to leave your throat but his lips are quick to block any sound from coming out of your mouth.

#my writing #mss4msu500celebration #challenge entry #zachary levi fic #zac x reader #reader insert #zachary levi fluff

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makeste · 5 years

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BnHA Chapter 218: Purse Pilferage and Mouse Murder

Previously on BnHA: Kacchan and Deku sparred in an attempt to draw out Deku’s mysterious new power once again, but to no avail. In a brief flashback, the OFA Scooby Squad (now including Bakugou!) discussed Deku’s recent visions and his multiple quirks. Kacchan pointed out that it was very similar to All for One’s power, which seems to be weighing on Deku’s mind some. That evening at the fanfic dorms, Shouto approached Deku asking if he had been hiding a second quirk. Deku assured him that the new quirk surprised him as much as everyone else, and fibbed that it was probably derived from his original quirk. Meanwhile the U.A. faculty accepted Shinsou into the hero course, and Aizawa acted all weird and cagey about someone from his past named “Shirakumo.” Later, Monoma met with Aizawa, Mirio, Deku, and Eri at the teachers’ dorms and unsuccessfully attempted to copy Eri’s quirk. Eri apologized for being so troublesome, and the others assured her that she wasn’t and Deku told her that even seemingly dangerous quirks can be used for good. It wasn’t lost on him that this applied to his own powers as well, and he resolved to keep working to master OFA.

Today on BnHA: Early one December morn, the kids of 1-A gather in their common room to watch some TV while they wait to hear if Bakugou and Todoroki passed their provisional license retest. The news is reporting on a company called Detnerat which has recently entered the hero equipment business. Their CEO is some Joker-looking dude who’s apparently a big fan of AFO’s old nemesis Destro of Meta Liberation Army fame. Destro’s book has recently been republished and is making the discussion rounds. DetCEO discusses it with his cute lil mouse subordinate Miyashita, but Miyashita isn’t really a fan. This proves unfortunate for Miyashita, as DetCEO is all “that’s too bad, guess I’m just gonna have to snap your neck then.” Like, for real though. Anyway so then DetCEO heads to a secret meeting of like-minded individuals who are apparently Destro’s descendants and are seeking to make his goals a reality. We then segue to a group of purse-snatchers led by someone who I really thought was Shirakumo for a hot minute, ngl. He’s not, though. Anyway so they’re wreaking some havoc and stealing people’s shit -- that is, until two good boys who just earned their provisional licenses after three months of hard work show up to spoil their fun.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my mostly-unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’m caught up with the manga now at chapter 225, so any ETAs will reflect that.)

HOLY SHIT

BABY WE GOT OURSELVES SOME MOTHERFUCKING SNOW IN THE FANFIC DORMS!!!

holy shit. and it’s the weekend! ARE WE GONNA HAVE SOME ANTICSSSS YES PLEASE I REALLY NEED THIS SO BAD RIGHT NOW YOU HAVE NO IDEA

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

KIRISHIMA WHY ARE YOU TAKING YOUR CLOTHES OFF

I hope they get a ton! I WANT SNOWBALL FIGHTS AND SNOW FORTS AND TODOROKI TO LET IT GOOOOOO LET IT GOOOOOOO

ahh but apparently he and Bakugou are away right now

wow they even got that class on Sundays now, huh

also, who did Sero borrow the tankoubon from? because more likely than not it was Bakugou since I can’t even picture Shouto reading manga (unless he borrowed some volumes from Deku, maybe). so that means Bakugou is (a) a big ol’ manga-reading nerd who brought his manga to school with him, and (b) sharing with friends. both of which make me so, so happy

(ETA: Viz translated this as “I want to borrow the next volume of this manga from Todoroki,” but as far as I can tell, in the RAW version he doesn’t specify who he borrowed it from. I think Caleb Cook just doesn’t think Bakugou is capable of sharing. give him some credit, Caleb Cook.)

Deku says they should be back around six, and Iida says it’s apparently the last day of their provisional class!

OHMYGOSH. hold up. so that means that their re-test is in like a week, no? holy shit. oh my god I’m so hypppppped ahhhhhh

SDLFKHASLDFKJLK HOLY SHIT

IT’S TODAY!?!??

YOU CAN DO IT KIDS I BELIEVE IN YOU. YOU GOT THIS

KACCHAN ARE YOU READY TO OFFICIALLY BECOME KACCHAN THE HERO

(ETA: maybe we’ll actually get Kacchan’s hero name before I grow old. maybe.)

SDFKASLDHK AND LOOK AT THIS SETUP!? AHHHHHH PLEASE DON’T CUT AWAY FROM THIS. OH MY GOD

but snow antics though. oh my god I’m so torn lsdkjlk

anyways of fucking course we cut away, and I don’t really mind because I love cozy 1-A snow day dorm antics also. plus everyone is gossiping about Todo and Baku, and Satou is baking a cake like the Princess Peach he is

Kami is playfully lamenting the fact that he’s about to lose the one leg-up he had on those two, and flipping on the news

oh shit are we gonna get some Plot

I guess so. what is this

Detnerat?? is that a portmanteau of something? an acronym? or another Star Wars reference I failed to pick up on??

(ETA: yeah so it’s the word “talented” spelled backwards. except with an r instead of an l.)

so the news is showing some people with mutant quirks, including a four-armed lady, a jello child, and a walrus with a bowler hat

and the narration is talking about how people like this used to be a minority but now “their era arrived”

interesting. I guess there’s pretty much no such thing as “one size fits all” anymore these days huh. so does that mean there’s been a shift back to custom-made tailored items?

this pointy nose guy is extremely theatrical

calm down buddy

so he says his company has come all this way while building products that meet the needs of each of their customers individually

this is cool and all but I’m trying to figure out why this new arc is opening with an infomercial

I’m expecting things all right, but I think it’s a little too early to say if they’ll be great

and now we’re cutting to this guy’s office, where his employee is concluding his presentation. apparently he was showing his boss the finished commercial

and now they’re discussing the thus-far lukewarm reception to their recent announcement

(ETA: holy shit. famous last words. fuckin’ jinxed it Miyashita.)

are you guys... good guys? bad guys? how is this related to the plot?? a new arc all about stock holdings and market shares. Iida did you write this arc

so pointy nose says that they’ve been doing this on a much larger scale for a long time already, so he’s confident they’ll be successful

oh shit

it only just occurred to me that he used the word “superpowers” instead of quirks

AND LOOK AT THIS SHIT

IT’S THAT BOOK. THE ONE THAT WAS PROBABLY WRITTEN BY DESTRO OMG

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

IT WAS DESTRO. CALLED IT WOOP WOOP

Mishiwhatsa says he read the book too but “it’s a load of crap if you ask me”

he says that what the army was doing was nothing but terrorism at the expense of innocent people, and yet Destro “had the gall” to act like he was in the right

hot damn this guy really was Magneto. are we going full-on X-Men in this arc. I want the works. I want fucking sentinels and everything oh god please

oh shit I’m starting to worry about ol’ Mishi here

MIYASHITA, RUN

OH SHIT

IS HE GOING TO SNAP HIS FUCKING NECK!?? HOLY SHIT!??

holy fucking shitballs oh christ

this dude is straight up murdering his best employee, Nezu’s cousin, all because he didn’t agree with his favorite book!?

...

holy shit

fuck. I’m speechless

okay. okay shit. well. uh. Detnerat, huh

you have my attention, plot

hooooooooooly shit

holy shit holy shit holy shit

okay. calm down, self. let’s jot down some thoughts real quick

okay so one, that one shot of that guy with his hand on his hat has a decided Ian McKellen vibe to it. I’m telling you guys. X-Men references all over the damn place in this arc

two, the word “supremacy” was used. meaning this wasn’t just a “quirk rights” group, this was a quirk supremacist group. or is a quirk supremacist group, I should say. these people believe themselves to be the future of humankind. they don’t want liberation, they want control. and assuming we continue to follow the X-Men parallels here, they also believe themselves to be superior to those without superpowers and they’re looking to assert their authority over them

they clearly believe the current laws restricting the usage of quirks are a form of oppression and persecution and are looking to eradicate them

this seems like exactly the type of philosophy the League of Villains would be eager to spread, and I wouldn’t be surprised if another team-up is in the works here

lastly, if these guys are now in the business of making hero equipment, whoever buys from them had better be really careful, as I can easily see some sort of Iron Man 2 plotline going down in which there’s a secret command built into the coding of the new equipment which will sabotage its users once activated. or if you’d rather think of it in Star Wars terms rather than MCU, call it an “order 66” ploy

(ETA: well I partly called this one. still up in the air honestly, who knows.)

also: friendly reminder that Bakugou’s gauntlets were recently destroyed and he’s gonna be needing new ones! (:

so having said all that, let’s see how this pans out!

and right away, the prediction about them teaming up with the League is panning out. waste no time, huh

so Hooknose is telling him to do so at once

oh shit hold up

WELL I SURE GOT THAT BACKWARDS NOW DIDN’T I

lol oh shit. I totally forgot that AFO was the one who bombed the Army’s HQ all those decades and possibly centuries ago. I can’t believe these guys still remember that and know how AFO was connected to boot

also, is there a Rorschach thing going on here? I wonder if it’s a reference to the psychologist or to the comic book character from Watchmen. I’m betting the latter given the way they’re using the inkblots as masks, and also because this is a manga based on superhero comics after all

(ETA: yeah, Rorschach, Joker, and Magneto... drawing on a lot of classic villains and anti-heroes in this arc.)

ah so now we’re getting details on their new bid to enter the hero market

HOLD UP

WHAT THE FUCK THIS GUY LOOKS AWFULLY FUCKING FAMILIAR

IS THIS SHIRAKUMO??? AIZAWA WERE YOU NOT CONTENT WITH THE STRIKING SIMILARITY YOU ALREADY BORE TO KAKASHI? HAD TO GO AND ADD THE OLD FRIEND TURNED EVIL BACKSTORY TOO?? OR WHAT

given that this guy seems to have some sort of cloud-based power (look at what he’s riding! and now the people he just harassed and stole from are describing it as “carbonated water”), and kumo means “cloud”...

(ETA: nope, this is just good ol’ Soda Sam. Carbonation Carl.)

okay and now we’re cutting to a conversation between two as-yet-unknown parties that seem to be witnessing this robbery from a distance, and deciding whether or not to intervene

for a moment I entertained the idea that this might be Kacchan and Shouto with their hot-off-the-presses licenses, possibly talking to All Might? but none of this dialogue seems to have that Kacchan flair, and it also doesn’t make much sense for them to have attended the lesson accompanied by All Might and no one else. Aizawa’s been pretty good about making sure there’s always at least one other fighting pro accompanying them

so now this group of merry bandits is celebrating their new haul

OH SHITTTTTTT

ODDS OF THIS BEING BAKUGOU AND SHOUTO JUST SHOT WAAAAAAAAAY WAY UP OH MY GOD?!

OH MY GOD IT WAS EXACTLY WHAT I THOUGHT?!

I SHOULD STOP DOUBTING MYSELF AND HORIKOSHI’S PROPENSITY FOR GIVING ME EXACTLY WHAT I WANT ALL OF THE TIME

motherfucker. you just know Kacchan spent that entire cab ride with his nose pressed to the window trying to sense danger and keeping his fingers crossed something like this would happen

(ETA: him and Shouto both, since the dialogue suggests it was Shouto that spotted it first! so basically one of them stationed at each window with All Might sandwiched in between wondering if he’s even going to survive this trip. the answer is yes, All Might, but not without it becoming Eventful.)

also, 30 minutes or 30 seconds, it hardly matters All Might. you know these two spent the last three months anticipating this moment every single minute of every day. they’re gonna go do reckless hero shit, All Might. THEY’RE JUST GONNA

oh my godddddddd

TodoBaku fighting against Aizawa’s possible friend-turned-villain in the snowwwwww having JUST EARNED THE SHIT OUT OF THEIR NEW LICENSES HELL YEAHHHHHHHHH

and it appears Kacchan does have a gauntlet. goddammit. make that propensity for giving me almost exactly what I want, most of the time

anyways, I don’t really care! life is good. life is fucking amazing, fam

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #todoroki shouto #redestro #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #poor miyashita just kept on digging himself in deeper didn't he #'hey boss you sure are bald'#'and our business is very much not booming'#'oh hey what's that book you've got there'#'oh is that the one by destro?'#'lol I flippin' hate that guy'#'he's just the worst isn't he?'#'why no I don't have any friends or family or anyone who would miss me or notice my sudden disappearance in any capacity'#'why do you ask'#'boss?'#'...'

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house-of-nevs · 4 years

Text

MONDO MARVEL MART!

'Target acquired, and it's the big one!'

- Iron Man, Marvel Vs Capcom 3.

Talk to a comic retailer whose been at the gig for more than a week, and introduce the word 'Diamond ' to the conversation. There'll be some kind of automatic reaction. Possibly a twitch, a flinch, involuntarily going into a diatribe involving missing boxes, inaccurate invoices, lost stock or even dropping so many copies of an issue of 2000AD into a puddle that it creates a national shortage, inadvertently invoking a premium for an issue.

It would be hard for any member of the comics community to have gone through their career without having some kind of altercation with Diamond. Previews serves the entirety of the Western World for new comics from all of the major publishers. It'd be a miracle if something didn't go wrong on a regular basis.

Inversely, you have to do quite a lot wrong to get your account with them cancelled. The distribution of comics is hardly a massive money spinner and each shop, especially for the UK wing is precious income not happily abandoned.

Here's a hot take, though.

We don't blame Diamond for the state of affairs.

They were placed in a position of 'Grow Or Die' that saw them take on exclusive distribution rights for most of the large comics companies in a very short space of time without much thought to whether they'd have the staff, offices, vehicles or other resources to actually handle this monumental task for the foreseeable future. They didn't ask to be put in that place. They were forced into it.

We regard the formation of Image much the same way many journalists look at the assassination of John F. Kennedy; the singularity that changes the future in a number of ways that cannot be understated. The history of comics can simply be divided as Pre-Image and Post-Image. Every other publisher was affected by their existence, whether it was contracts, paper quality, exposure, standards and practice, artistic direction or otherwise. Some thrived briefly. Others, however...

Marvel's tin ear response to realising that their biggest, um, draws were leaving as a collective was dismissive and unfortunate, given the artists involved were the clear reason for their largest pre-order sales in decades. They declared that 'The characters were more important than the creators.' and set about with replacing the Image Seven with artists clearly told to emulate their predecessors as much as possible.

This didn't work.

Sales figures dropped. Marvel assumed that the novelty of Image would disappear quite quickly and all seven would be back, sheepishly, within a short period of time. Instead titles like Spawn and Youngblood sold in huge numbers and the Image Seven became famous in a way that comic creators hadn't been in such a way previously and certainly without a great number of respected works behind them first.

While Image took itself out of Malibu, added a ridiculous amount of titles to their solicitations and even hired a tourbus to promote upcoming crossover 'Deathmate' with Valiant Comics, continously promoted (unwisely, in retrospect ) as having strong investment potential by industry magazines and in house ads for companies like American Entertainment...things got worse for Marvel.

Despite an annual assault featuring polybags AND each book being a first appearance, the Spider-titles beginning to intertwine their stories and absolutely flooding the shelves with new titles in an attempt to tie up retailer budgets away from ordering not just comics from DC and Image but also new publishing initiatives from Dark Horse, Malibu, Continuity, Topps, Chaos and even Harris, it still didn't work.

Marvel had not only had their dominace of the marketplace shaken but had Ronald Perlman's huge financial debts to try to compensate for. They saw the hologram high price books that made up the Spider-Man 30th Anniversary celebration as a model for any character they could.

By 1994, Marvel decided to add another tactic to their attempt to reestablish dominance. Not content with assaulting the customer's budgets with endless spin off books, they also wanted to control how their books were sold to the audience.

In short. They decided they wanted to cut the retailer, with their choice of control of what they could stock, out of the relationship between themselves and the readers out of the equation.

By 1995, they were to manifest this desire by foolishly buying a small distribution company called Heroes World, who would solely provide retailers with Marvel Comics, cutting Diamond and Captial out of the picture. Anyone with a brain could see Heroes World weren't set up to carry that much product and deliver to so many locations.

While Marvel tried to deal with a situation that was beyond them, Diamond and Captial set about signing up publishers on exclusive contracts. Diamond had the larger budget and won that particular war by securing both DC and Image and eventually also absorbing Captial in July of 1996. When Heroes World collapsed in 1997, Marvel would go back, tail between legs, to their now sole distribution competitor Diamond.

Which puts us where we are now. Diamond have that control due to the exclusivity contracts signed in the Mid 90s. Presumably these are permanent and even if they weren't, a new distributor would have a hell of a problem starting up without being able to secure product from the major producers of comics in the West.

There's an argument to be made for a collective starting out by translating huge selling comics that we never see in English speaking countries, but a hypothetical for another time.

Between the desperation of the 1993 polybagged annual shambles and the purchase of Heroes World, however, there was a significant clue to exactly what Marvel were up to.

Retailers receiving Marvel comics with the cover date May 1994 would have been annoyed to find an increased shipping charge. The first reason for that was a inserted preview for the Marvel Masterprints collection. $4.99 would secure a set of 6 by 10 prints featuring Mark Bagley Spidey art (Offer only good in U.S. UK retailers love paying added shipping costs for items and promotions that can't be redeemed in Great Britain . Honest.)

The second?

An eight page combination of comic and catalogue. Marvel Mart! 1 was published at a time when both Disney (long before buying Marvel) and Warner Brothers had their own stores offering up exclusive merchandise at high prices and this was obviously a goal for Marvel at the time.

MM1 takes us through a tour of a Marvel themed shopping centre with various branded stores (We personally loved 'Stan "The Pan" Pizza) as a group of hip young kids extoll their excitement at t-shirts, posters, stand ups, VHS videos, comic collection box sets with advertising and price in their dialogue. The sub-plot features Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson looking for a present for Flash Thompson in this shrine to order codes whilst distracted by a couple of shoplifters straight out of any SNK beat 'em up circa 1993.

They're defeated by a combination of Spidey, a second inflatable Spider-Man and, um, an elevator. The story ends with the kids taunting the shoplifters with the idea that they buy some Marvel phone cards to call their lawyer while Mary Jane suggesting they buy Flash a Marvel gift certificate (ordering code in her dialogue, obviously. )

What's troubling about this is many of the items in MM1 were either not being offered to direct market retailers at the time or were being offered to the public much cheaper than RRP. Again, via an insert that comic shops would have to pay shipping for. Presumably the mail order catalogue would have been the first step in pulling customers away from direct market shops via cheaper or exclusive items and onto these proposed stores where, obviously, the brand of Spider-Man on an item would be a more significant selling point than Todd McFarlane, Mark Bagley or Steve Ditko.

The bitter irony of all this is that all the progressive material published in this time, like Ren & Stimpy, Beavis and Butthead, the Disney adaptions, Prince Valiant, Marvel Music and Barbie are long out of print.

We're inclined to think there's probably a larger audience for a trade paperback of Barbie Fashion than wants to see reprints of Fantastic Force or Hulk 2099 that's being constantly ignored. Maybe that's where the future is, looking for the untapped readers rather than attempting to drain every last penny or cent out of the readers who're already here.

That's it for now. Obviously the images of the two Marvel Marts are shot from a camera phone because bizarrely, despite searching for over a year, we couldn't find any legal scans of these books and you'd be surprised how difficult it was to find copies of the original comics that still contained these. As we get the opportunity to scan the pages online properly, we will. When we were still drawing up topics for Mondo Funnybooks, this was one of the things we wanted to cover the most as it doesn't seem to have been remembered very well so it's a pleasure to get to the other side of this subject.

In case we don't do this again before the 25th (the next thing ought to be an overview of the completed Doomsday Clock series but that's obviously down to issue 12 shipping.) We'll wish you all a Merry Christmas and a genuine thank you to people who have supported this via shares or our Patreon, which helps pay either for daft comics to research or in some cases, food. May we all end up singing Christmas carols with Batman and The G.C.P.D.

'You'd better TERMINATE that tingle, Buster!'

#marvel #Spider-Man #Diamond #the 90s #comics #Image Comics #Spawn #Youngblood #The X-Men #Wolverine

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lassofthelake · 6 years

Text

The Loyalty of the Chargers

It was raining. Of course, it was raining. The Chargers trudged along the Storm Coast, scattering rocks and pebbles under their heavy boots. The air was heavy with the mist and the scent of the ocean. The Iron Bull wrinkled his nose in distaste. Certainly, he was well acquainted with the salty semi-foul scent that the ocean carried from his years in Seheron but he wasn’t anymore fond of it for it’s familiarity.

“Chief!” Krem shouted from where he’d taken up the back of the company. Bull paused and turned to face his second while the rest of his Chargers trudged by without so much as a pause. Cremisius Aclassi looked miserable. His hair, which was shaved close on the sides and longer on top was plastered against his forehead and as he marched forward to meet Bull, it didn’t escape the Qunari man that he tripped and lost his footing more than once. “Are you sure this is the right place?” Krem demanded, irritation clear in his voice. “Where are the damned Venatori?”

Another wave crashed against the shore, sending another salty wet spray over the company. A few members groaned, but the Bull remained unaffected. “Oh, come on Krem. You’re not having fun?”

The shorter man scowled deeply. “No, I’m not,” he ground out.

Bull laughed. “The intel is good,” he assured, and then, rethinking, “besides, we’re waiting for that Herald of Andraste or what ever to show up, right?”

Krem gave Bull a look and asked, “Do you really think she’d come herself? I thought they’d just send an agent.”

Bull shrugged, his great shoulders heaving with the motion. “Not sure, but from the reports I’ve read, she seems like the type to take care of her own affairs.”

Krem still didn’t seem convinced. “Didn’t your Ben-Hassrath buddies say she was some kind of noble before the conclave blew and the sky ripped open? Unusual trait in a blue blood, I’d say,” he argued.

The former Tevene had a fair point - the nobility did like to send others to do their dirty work. The fact that the Chargers were so profitable, not to mention popular, was testament to that. In any case, it didn’t matter to Bull. So long as the Inquisition showed and he got to make his offer, he didn’t care if it was the Herald or a squire. “Maybe she got bored,” Bull supplied with a noncommittal shrug.

Krem looked like he wanted to disagree, but zeroing in on a spot over his second’s shoulder, the large horned man spotted a figure as it emerged from the brush, holding a staff and a book floating before him. He had just enough time to push Krem away and dive the opposite direction before the little patch of the shore he and Krem had occupied lit up with reddish-orange runes and promptly burst into flames. Bull regained his footing, quickly drawing his great battleaxe from his back. “Chargers, behind!” he roared before charging forward towards the hooded man and cleaving through his chest before he could cast another spell.

Battle cries rang out as the rest of the Chargers drew their weapons and more Venatori appeared, as if from thin air.

A crackle was Bull’s only warning before pain radiated across his back and made him spasm as electric currents wracked his body. His knees his the silt and pebbles beneath him hard as he fought to regain control over his still-tensed muscles. The site where the spell had hit sizzled and burned, a whole fresh level of hell.

Dalish wasn’t too far away and he could see her throwing spell after spell. Bull couldn’t see Rocky, but he heard a boom that spoke of the dwaven man’s involvement in the fray. Skinner was probably having the time of her life.

Bull rejoined the fight with another roar, beheading the closest Venatori like he was slicing through butter on a hot day. He cut through another Venatori in quick succession before getting locked in combat with an maul wielding warrior. He was a big motherfucker, almost as big as Iron Bull himself, and he’d clearly been trained to use that massive war hammer. It felt as if the fight might go on forever and Bull’s arms were beginning to ache with the effort it took to block his opponent’s blows when a little burst of light whizzed past and hit the man square in his chest, knocking him off kilter. Bull saw the opportunity and made quick work of him, cleaving through his chest plate with great effort.

Sweat ran down his brow, silt and blood were sliding down his arms and legs with the mist and between the lightning spell and the fight with the big guy, he was starting to hurt badly. He’d just delivered a pommel strike to his current foe when the charger next to him go down with a cry of pain, an arrow lodged in her shoulder.

Bull swore, wheeling around to find the archer and take them out. His eye traced what he thought was the most likely flight path of the arrow and he did manage to find an archer perched high up on a ledge. At least, he did for a moment, before the archer jerked forward and fell off the ledge, revealing the form of a young woman who had clearly just kicked him. Her companions began to file down the ledge but she, seemingly without pause, jumped and slid down the steep, rocky slide. She glided down the slope with ease, looking the very picture of grace until the slope deposited her on the ground and she pitched forward with the momentum. However, she was unfazed and was right back on her feet a second later, drawing an ax that seemed way to huge for her to wield. There was no doubt in Bull’s mind that this was the Herald, though she was different than Bull had pictured from the Ben-Hassrath reports. He’d pictured someone older, less petite and definitely not as gorgeous as this woman was, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Once she and her companions joined, the rest of the Venatori were made short work of. She was a talented warrior as was the other woman who’d accompanied her and her archer friend carried a most unusual crossbow that fired explosives in addition to arrows. Rocky was going to have questions.

The woman planted the head of her ax in the silt and rested her hands over the pommel, looking at Bull with an expectant twinkle in her eyes. Inwardly, Iron Bull smirked, but before he approached her, he turned to check in with Krem. No one had died, thankfully, so he gave quick instructions to let the throat cutters take over.

Her pink lips split in a pretty smile. “Hi-ya,” she greeted.

“So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh?” he asked, to which she gave a little nod. “Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

With one hand, she freed her ax from where she’d planted it in the ground and then secured it onto her back before coming to stand before him. “Nicely done,” she complimented brightly. “I hear you’re looking for work?”

So it was right down to business, huh? Bull liked that in a woman. “I am! Not before my drink, though.” He turned and found a stone to sit on and she lightly folded herself onto a stone across from him. Before he could finish the conversation, though, Krem approached again, announcing that the throat cutters had done their job. “Already? Have ‘em check again,” Bull ordered. “I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem,” he tacked on with a chuckle, easily falling back into banter with his lieutenant.

Krem was quick with a rejoinder, as per usual, replying, “None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?”

It didn’t escape Bull’s notice that the Herald watched this display with a grin, clearly enjoying their teasing. Krem left to go see that their captain’s orders were followed and Bull refocused his attentions on the gleeful young lady. She couldn’t be more than twenty-five which made her skill all the more impressive, not to mention the fact that she’d pretty much already secured herself a place in history. “So...” he broached, “You’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it... and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

Her noble upbringing was reflected in the way she didn’t so much as bat an eyelash whenever price was mentioned if not in everything else about her. There was the unwavering consequence of someone who had never had to worry about their next meal. Instead, she pressed on, saying. “The Chargers seem like an excellent company.”

“They are,” Bull asserted, his voice full of confidence. “But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me. You need a front line body guard. I’m your man. Whatever it is - demons, dragons? The bigger, the better.” As he was speaking he stood to stand in front of her, dwarfing her tiny frame and he didn’t miss the way her violet eyes followed his movements. She was still smiling when she stepped back in order to let him pass.

“There’s one other thing...” he admitted. He then told her about his role in the Ben-Hassrath. She didn’t seem too perturbed when he’d finished - more surprised, at first, than anything. Her eyebrows had rose and she’d asked a few questions - and he couldn’t blame her since he’d outright admitted that he was going to be “spying” on her. Bull was watching her closely as he spoke and he couldn’t miss the intelligence that shown in her eyes as she watch him as well. She even caught him out, pointing out that he’d known her spymaster was female with a sharp little jab.

In the end, she just asked that he run the reports by Leliana before sending them past, and demand with which he was to comply. They shook hands, his hand dwarfing her’s so much it was almost comical.

“Krem, tell the Chargers to keep drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!” The Qunari man announced with pride.

“What about the casks, chief?” Krem asked. “We just opened them up. With axes.”

“Find some way to seal them,” Bull decreed, too pleased by the agreement to let the loss of some ale get to him. “You’re Tevinter right? Try using blood magic.”

Krem sagged, but got to work, trying to salvage some of the casks. Bull turned to her and remembered something. “Oh, yeah. I meant to ask you - what’s your name? Everything about you just turned up as Lady Trevelyan.”

Her smile dimpled her cheeks and her tone was sweet. “It’s Evangeline but if you want to keep the remainders of those finger, I suggest calling me Evy.”

Bull was taken aback by the playful threat for a moment before his own grin spread across his face. “I hope you don’t mind “boss”, boss.”

“Also acceptable,” she agreed.

Right at that moment, The Iron Bull felt a kinship with the Herald. Here they both were on the stormy, rainy coast, covered in grime and blood and uniting against a common enemy. Not only did his Chargers belonged to the Inquisition and he’d promised himself to her. He felt an intense surge of loyalty as he locked eyes with her and she laughed. Evy was so joyous and bright and he wanted to protect those qualities. He could understand why she was the talk of the continent now. He understood why so many followed her.

From that day forward, the Chargers held loyalty to the Inquisition and he was loyal to her.

@thedasnet

#Dragon Age #DA:I #thedasnet #Iron Bull #inquistor x iron bull #competition piece #Bull's chargers #organizations

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winteriron-trash · 6 years

Note

Ok, so that fanfic questions ask meme? You wanna do ALL OF THEM?!

YES, LET’S DO IT, HERE WE GO, PREPARE YOURSELF I’m copy and pasting answers I’ve already done just so I don’t have to retype them and there’s a break because god this got long. I might link this on my About Me post, cause holy shit I spent time on this

1. What was the first fandom you got involved in?

Actual fandom? Probably DC. That’s when I started reading fanfiction and really poked my head around online communities dedicated to media and all.

2. What is your latest fandom?

I don’t know, probably Marvel? Maybe Riverdale, but I was a fan of the comics before so

3. What is the best fandom you’ve ever been involved in?

If I’m assuming this question is about the actual fandom and not the source material and the people in the fandom and its community as a whole? Probably the Percy Jackson fandom. Not really into it anymore so I don’t know the state of it now, but it was a pretty wholesome and positive community. Any community that calls it’s creator “Uncle Rick” has gotta be pretty dope.

4. Do you regret getting involved in any fandoms?

Oh lord save my soul for admitting I like this, but definitely Five Nights at Freddy’s. The indie gaming, creepypasta, underground subculture as a whole is something I regret getting into. Don’t get me wrong, I usually love the source material, but the fandom is just so bad. You probably know what I’m talking about, the fangirls who insist they’re insane and are in love with Slenderman or something.

But specifically on FNaF, lord, I don’t even know what the fandom is anymore. It’s a meme, a fetish, and a hellspace all at once. And I’m not gonna fucking lie, I’ve been in this hellhole long before any of that. Like, I can’t even try to escape it, I’m in it for the long haul. I was just someone who joined for the lore and now we’re here with fucking casual bongos and trash gang and fuck I didn’t ask for this. I can’t escape. I know so fucking much about the franchise it hurts my fucking soul. I remember when the FNaF 2 trailer came out and we were all micro-analyzing London Bridge Is Falling Down. I remember when Springtrap didn’t have a name and we called that fucking Spring Bonnie or Golden Bonnie. I survived that era and I have PTSD from it, trust me. I remember when we were naive enough to think FNaF 3 was the last game. I know what channels were born and what channels died because of that series. I know it all.

I’m sorry, I got off topic. BUT I DON’T GET TO FUCKING RANT ABOUT IT ENOUGH, FUCKING FUCKSHIT

Oh, and a lot of bandoms I was in too. I went through an alt phase where I’d only listen to shit like BVB, BMTH, MCR, PTV, SWS, and so on. Once again, that sort of fandom was the same as the indie/creepypasta in being ‘different’ and ‘insane’ and all that and I was no different. I was a weird fucking kid when I was like 13. I regret all of it.

5. Which fandoms have your written fanfiction for?

Marvel, DC, and a couple Riverdale.

6. List your OTP from each fandom you’ve been involved in.

Not in many fandoms but

Marvel - WinterIronDC - SuperbatStar Trek Voyager - Captain Janeway/Seven of NinePercy Jackson - Solangelo

7. List your NoTPs from each fandom you’ve been in.

Marvel - Stucky, Stuckony, Romanogers, Clintasha, any incest ones, (save me for admitting this) SpideypoolDC - Any batboys shipped together, Bruce/Talia

And I don’t really have NOTPs for my other fandoms? Marvel and DC are really the only two things I’m invested in the fandom of. I guess you could count Wincest as well for Supernatural.

8. How did you get involved in your latest fandom?

What even is my latest fandom? Um, we’ll just say Marvel because I’m really not into joining fandoms much anymore. Honestly, I was a big DC fan who felt the need to hate Marvel because no shit. Eventually, I just got sick of the absolute shit movies DC had and I decided I had nothing to lose by just watching Iron Man. When I watched it I realized “wow, superhero movies can actually be good???” and I just binged the entire MCU in one month and was ready to see the next movie in theatres and I think I’ve seen every single MCU movie in theatres since Civil War? Definitely since Homecoming. I gave up on DC movies. The new Aquaman looks like shit, I’m so fucking pissed they redid Mera’s look when she looked perfectly fucking fine before and now she’s oversexualized and it’s gross. I’m excited for the new DC Batwoman TV show because I HAVE BEEN WAITING TO SEE A LIVE ACTION BATWOMAN SINCE THE DAWN OF FUCKING TIME

9. What are the best things about your current fandom?

Probably the Tony Stark Defense Squad. As a collective whole, I think the Defense Squad is one of the sweetest, nicest corners of the fandom. We’re incredibly kind to each other, write great meta and fic, and it’s just a great community. Of course, there are assholes, but you know.

I might get flamed for saying this, but also the HYDRA Trash Party corner of the fandom is actually really nice? Like, they understand consent and abuse aftermath and all the real shit better than the rest of the fandom, not gonna lie. Like, for as dark as the fic is you’d expect the people to be fucking nasties, but I have never met a rude HTP enthusiast. Or even one who’s unaware of how consent and whump work. They’re all very aware and kind. It’s bizarre, considering the source material. They get an awful rep though.

10. Is there a fandom you read fic from but don’t write in?

Literally any fandom I’m in besides Marvel and DC. I think I wrote like 2 Riverdale fics. Getting into reading fanfic and getting into writing fanfic are two entirely different ballparks. I don’t really read that much fanfic anyway, especially not anymore. I read Marvel and DC, but even then. I think it’s hard because sometimes you can’t switch off the whole ‘reading like a writer’ thing. That’s why I enjoy classic literature. I’m a slut for some good ass prose and symbolism.

11. Who is your current OTP?

WinterIron, of ducking course.

12. Who is your current OT3?

I’m not really a fan of OT3s, to be honest, I find I’m personally pretty weak with writing poly relationships and I don’t really enjoy reading them because one character is usually focused on a lot more than the other two. But if I had to pick, I would say T’Challa/M’Baku/Bucky only because I am solely responsible for the creation of that abomination and you have no idea how much people begged me for a series after the first one, it astounded me.

13. Any NoTPs?

As before listed, Stucky, Stuckony, Spideypool, Clintasha, Romanogers

14. Go on, who are your BroTPs?

IronWidow is my top BroTP, but I also like WinterWidow as a BroTP. Stucky is good as a BroTP too, as well as Tony & Rhodey.

15. Is there an obscure ship which you love?

Literally any ship I have. Yall I’ve been here since WinterIron was obscure. But to name a specific one I’m just gonna go with Pietro/Tony. I don’t know, I just had an idea I was writing for them and I was thinking about how much missed out potential there was between them. And with Pietro as a whole, but you know. Marvel has to kill off the only good Maximoff they had.

Oh, Natasha/Pepper too, but they aren’t as obscure, I guess.

16. Are their any popular ships in your fandom which you dislike?

Stucky, clearly.

17. Who was your first OTP and are they still your favourite?

Stony, and no. They fell apart for me, at least MCU-wise.

18. What ship have you written the most about?

By now, WinterIron, I believe. I recently passed my count of fics for Superbat.

19. Is there a ship which you wished you could get behind, but you just don’t feel them?

Pepperony, probably. I think it’s actually a cute and sweet ship and I like their in-canon moments, but I just can’t get behind reading fanfic of them? It never works out for me, I don’t really get it. It sucks because I do enjoy seeing their cute moments.

20. Any ships which you surprised yourself by liking?

I’ll do a different answer I thought of besides the first time I answered this. But Thruce was a big shocker for me. I didn’t even think about it during Ragnorak but then I saw an incorrect quote for it and I was like? Oh? This? This is a good, pure ship right here. The funny thing is, I actually wrote a fic with them as a side ship long before they hit it big so like, I was shocked when they came out of nowhere. But hey, I’m fucking here for it. I’ll probably never write it, but I’m here for it.

21. What was the first fanfic you ever wrote?

Goodnight, My Angel. It was a Superbat fic and really sad, but I still love it.

22. Is there anything you regret writing?

Probably... You Deserve Love And You’ll Get It. No, I won’t link it because I hate it that much. I’m not even gonna talk about it. It’s my most popular fic too why

23. Name a fic you’ve written that you’re especially fond of & explain why you like it.

Super dorky, but The (Un)Wanted Kiss. It’s my first finished chapter fic, and the first chaptered fic I did on Tumblr and it just brings me a lot of nostalgia. It reminds me of where I was as a writer when I started it and it was an entire fic spawned from people wanting more of a simple 500-word prompt and that just blows my mind. It reminds me of the power of fans and how much love and support I got from it. It really kicked me off as a “serious fanfic writer” I think.

24. What fic do you desperately need to rewrite or edit?

All You Are Is All I Need. That is a hot fucking mess. Probably The Red Halo too.

25. What’s your most popular fanfic?

*sigh* You Deserve Love And You’ll Get It

26. How do you come up with your fanfic titles?

I bullshit my way through them. My most recent fics have actually followed a trend of being named after songs.

27. What do you hate more: Coming up with titles or writing summaries?

Summaries. I always make them so fucking corny, I hate it.

28. If someone were to draw a piece of fanart for your story, which story would it be and what would the picture be of?

One Foot In Front Of The Other, probably. Just because I want more fem!WinterIron fanart. I can’t say what scene because spoilers but.... yeah, anything from that would be great, really.

29. Do you have a beta reader? Why/Why not?

Sort of. I make some of my friends like Pizza read over my shit before I post it, but that’s not often, only when I think I need it. I don’t just because I write a lot and I’d feel bad for constantly annoying someone with making them read everything I write. I hate inconveniencing people.

30. What inspires you to write?

The better question is what doesn’t. I never stop thinking like a writer. My brain forgot how to turn off that feature.

31. What’s the nicest thing someone has ever said about your writing?

Ummmm, I can’t think of an exact thing? I get so many beyond sweet comments and messages, it’s hard to pin down one comment. I think if I had to pick, I once got a message from someone on Tumblr who was old enough to be my mother complimenting me and telling me I didn’t write like a teenager and I think that was really sweet.

32. Do you listen to music when you write or does music inspire you? If so, which band or genre of music does it for you?

Yes, yes, yes, yes. And honestly, any genre. I listen to everything. Everything. But specifically, Emilie Autumn has inspired a lot ideas/fics I’ve written.

33. Do you write oneshots, multi-chapter fics or huuuuuge epics?

All of the above.

34. What’s the word count on your longest fic?

Around 23k, I think?

35. Do you write drabbles? If so, what do you normally write them about?

Yes, and whatever I get prompted for, really.

36. What’s your favourite genre to write?

For fanfiction, I guess romance? I mean, that’s really all my fanfiction is. Otherwise, I’ll write quite literally any genre I feel like. I go wherever an idea takes me. I’m character based, not genre or plot based.

37. First person or third person - what do you write in and why?

Third. I fucking despise 1st person. I just do. That’s an entire rant we ain’t here for today.

38. Do you use established canon characters or do you create OCs?

Usually canon characters. I only use an OC when I absolutely have to, to make the plot do the plot stuff.

39. What is you greatest strength as a writer?

Nothing. My writing sucks. All of it is shit.

40. What do you struggle the most with in your writing?

Everything. I screech the most about pacing and sentence structures though.

41. List and link to 5 fanfics you are currently reading:

Most of these are actually on my to-read list but whatever.

Winter's End by ali_aliska Winter is Coming (aka Fifty First Avengers Dates) by 27dragons, tisfan My Love is Vengeance by seikaitsukimizu The caged Hawk by asamandra Fertile Ground by 27dragons, tisfan

42. List and link to 5 fanfiction authors who are amazing:

27dragons tisfanChiaki_Hamano arianapeterson19 thepartyresponsible

43. Is there anyone in your fandom who really inspires you?

Not really? I’m not knocking any of the other ‘big names’ in the Marvel fandom, but I don’t really draw inspiration from other fanfic writers. Not for plot, and definitely not for writing style. I get inspiration from fanart I see sometimes, but it’s never one main artist who I stalk to be inspired, just whatever I happen across online.

44. What ship do you feel needs more attention?

WinterIron, duh. I will not rest until WinterIron is the biggest ship in the Marvel fandom.

45. What is your all time favourite fanfic?

I’ve mentioned this fic before and honestly, it hasn’t been topped yet, but In the Company of Monsters by Chiaki_Hamano. It’s not even a Marvel fic, and it’s not even a ship I like, but god, I fucking adore it. I’d love to write something like it, but with WinterIron if I had the time, I think the entire world and setting would fit WinterIron beautifully.

46. If someone was to read one of your fanfics, which fic would you recommend to them and why?

Well, that all depends on what they’re looking for in my fanfiction. If they’re looking for WinterIron, I’d probably tell them to start with The (Un)Wanted Kiss just because that’s one of my most loved fics and I think I did really well with it. But if they just want a general fic, A Great Connection is one I’m really proud of and I still get gushing feedback about.

47. Archive Of Our Own, Fanfiction.net or Tumblr - where do you prefer to post and why?

For just writing fanfic, Ao3. Tumblr can be a pain in the ass, and I don’t even use ff.net.

48. Do you leave reviews when you read fanfiction? Why/Why not?

Yes. But only if 1, I really, really loved it or 2, I don’t think the fic has enough attention. It also helps if the writer responds to comments. I don’t see the significance of saying “I loved this!” if the fic has dozens of other comments saying the same thing. As a writer, I know what comments writers prefer. Longer ones, deep comments pointing out what things they liked, and so on. However if I write a comment that long, I like to get a response because you know, I love seeing the writer talking about the elements of the story I liked.

49. Do you care if people comment/reblog your writing? Why/why not?

Not really, to be perfectly honest. Yes, I love and cherish every kudos and note I get, and the sweet comments make me want to die of joy. But I write for me. Even when I take prompts, in the end, I write because it makes me happy. Yes, I love the validation. But even without it, I would still write. I do not write fanfiction for you, I share fanfiction with you. There’s a difference. Writing makes me happy. If I only cared about the validation, I wouldn’t have a folder reserved of fics I’ll never post but I wrote just because I wanted to. I write to write. The moment I start writing for validation, I might as well stop writing, because it’s not worth it.

50. How did you get into reading and/or writing fanfiction?

Ummmm I think I was just curious? I was new to internet culture, I saw fanart of Superbat and I discovered Ao3 and was like “wow, this stuff exists??? Words for free????? About my favourite characters being happy and dating each other??????????” and it was a downward spiral. I was like, 11 when I read my first fanfiction. I was obsessed with Superbat fanart, and I thought, what would it hurt to try actually reading it? Like, that was so taboo to me. And now we’re here. Tadaaaaaah

51. Rant or Gush about one thing you love or hate in the world of fanfiction! Go!

Oh, a chance to ramble. Yay. I’m gonna rant because I’m a rant-y person.

I think something that annoys me about fanfiction is not necessarily a probably within fanfiction, but rather the outward view of it. Fanfic has an awful rep within the real world. The one-time fanfiction really took centre stage was when Fifty Shades came out, which only hurt the platform by furthering the stereotype that it’s all porn made for horny freaks who just want to get off.

I should not be ashamed to say I write fanfiction. I should not feel childish saying it to myself. No one should. At least half of my ‘fans’ are nearly a decade or more older than me. It’s clearly not something that’s immature or silly. Of course, it can be, but any hobby can be dumbed down to a kiddy version.

But fanfiction at its core is ignored for what it really is. When adults talk about fanfiction they belittle it and only see a tiny subsection of it, ignoring what it’s supposed to be about. It’s about creating transformative works for media you’re passionate about.

Fanfiction gets a worse rep than other transformative works such as fanart or whatever. Writing as a whole does. Fanfic is painted as this utter trash.

I’ve read fanfiction that made me cry, laugh, feel shit. I’ve read fanfiction that tackled heavy topics. Even on a sexual standpoint, I’ve read fanfiction that was willing to write erotica that published authors wouldn’t fucking touch. Both in a kink sense, but also in terms of how the relationship functions. I’ve read shitty fanfictions, sure. But I’ve read fanfictions that were better than 90% of the published books I’ve read. Even fanfics I didn’t like.

To put fanfiction into perspective, the average YA novel (the age group fanfiction is generally but not always aimed at) is 70k words. I’ve read fanfiction that blows that word count out of the water. And it takes fucking skill to write something that long. It’s not just writing a bunch of porn or cute scenes, that takes serious world building and character arcs.

Fanfiction kills so many tropes that are common in YA and literature in general. I read a YA after reading nothing but fanfiction for a long time and I was fucking appalled? It was a popular YA too. I won’t name what one because you could literally imagine anyone and it’d probably fit. The characters were flat, the romance was outright manipulative and toxic, the plot was dull, even the writing itself was bland. This was the type of book years ago I would’ve loved. But compared to most (of course, not all. Shit exists, but I think in fanfiction, we’re able to better filter out the shit) fanfictions, it was fucking trash.

When I started reading fanfiction, I assumed it’d lower my standards. The first time I picked up an actual novel I was relieved, excited to not have to deal with the problems that are in unpublished writings. But I quickly realized it was the complete opposite. Fanfiction threw my expectations through the roof. I expect fiction to include representation, fresh plots, interesting characters, thrilling romances, and decent fucking sex scenes if they’re there. But it just wasn’t there. It all fell flat. As someone seriously into the writing and reading community I hear so often that it’s hard for plots to be original and you shouldn’t judge on originality, but then I read fanfiction written by fucking teenagers that’s fucking mind-blowing with plot twists and original ideas, and I have to wonder is it really that hard? It’s clearly doable, you just have to take away the fanfiction part.

I have YA novels sitting on my sheld I know I’ll never read and enjoy because fanfiction just made my expectations too high. Which is good in a sense because I pray some of these amazing writers, when they get older will go on to write mind-blowing original novels and I hope that this generation of writers will put out great literature in ten to fifteen years, but for now I’m just… underwhelmed. I think it’s why I read a lot of classic literature too. Shit was better back then.

And yet despite all that, fanfiction is still made to look like shit in the modern media. It sucks so badly for fanfiction writers not to look like serious writers. I could publish one book, have it get the amount of attention my biggest fanfic got and be considered a serious author. My biggest fanfiction currently has 40k notes on Tumblr. Imagine if that were a published short story. It’d be a fucking hit. And there are others that make my numbers look small. And yet it’s brushed aside as unimpactful.

I think a lot of that stems from the fact that fanfic writers do generally start out younger. I’m 16. Others either are or were my age. But age does not equate to skill in writing. Sure, that is a factor, but it is not the entire story. I know a 14 yr old who writes some of the best prose I have ever seen. And even if younger fic writers aren’t on level yet, fanfiction is what’s helping them grow as a writer. But because we’re teenagers, we’re turned away just because of that. Even more specifically because we’re teenage girls (for the most part, I’m not saying other genders and/or age groups aren’t writing/reading fanfic) and we all know how society feels about them. It’s just a fucking shame that fanfiction can’t be respected for the legitimate form of writing it is because of the stigma. I’ve seen fanfic writers say they aren’t real writers because of the stigma, it’s awful. We feel the need to tear ourselves down for an admirable hobby. I can’t say my favourite book is a fanfiction I read, when I has every right to be a valid answer.

We’ll cut this ramble off here because wow I really went on didn’t I.

10 notes · View notes

ephemerational · 4 years

Text

Direction (V)

Message to “headless herald of hexadecimal hackery”:

“Sup. What are we gonna do about that webcomic idea?”

“I would need you to write it, otherwise I don’t know what to draw. Also how do you intend to pay me?”

“Just wanted to check in if you’re still interested. What do you mean, we’ll get money from selling merch and s…

“Don’t even try claiming that it will finance itself, I know comic artists, it’s never profitable”

I delete the message

“Don’t worry, I’ve still got a bit of cash, and I can write some articles for a quick buck”

“Fair enough, but you’ll have to pay for each page in advance.”

“And write comprehensive, comprehensible scene descriptions, from the explanation, it really wasn’t clear what tone you’re going for”

“Picture some insane posturban clusterpunk bullshit with metasensical absurdo abstractivist elements”

“Hold it right there, that sound sick, and real aesthetic, but those descriptors don’t mean anything. Posturban doesn’t even sound like a word. Be concrete and this is gonna be dope.”

“Yeah, I’ll send you some shit later”

In a strange state of inspired panic, I open Word. Last edited-turns out to not be anything related to the comic. Barely even three lines of text.

“My brain is broken, my mind is melting, and my psyche splattered across an uncountable number of unfinished documents but it’s thankless thinking with this corpse of a cortex, this cracked cranium full of incoherent ideas”

Sort of ironic for that to be the message of an obviously directionless, unpolished and unfinished piece of writing from a me that was either very tired or very drunk. Doesn’t matter. Delete.

“Hey brother, care for a good time?” called the coarse voice of a man, whose lung had clearly come into contact with more THC than oxygen, from a dark alleyway, trying to sell either bitches or drugs. I didn’t look to check which, seeing how I couldn’t afford either. “dark alleyway” in these parts at least is only a contextually meaningful descriptor, seeing how someone from pretty much anywhere else would consider the street I was running through at that very moment a particularly dark specimen. It had however not the slightest chance of comparing to the sheer amount of unfiltered lumodeficiency and delinquency that radiated from the offshoot the dealer/pimp called his own.”

What? No! This is a comic and not a fucking novel. Also wasn’t the protagonist supposed to be a hoodrat himself, why would he think/talk like this then? Fuck this, tabularaza the shit out of that and start from scratch. Jesus!

“ya’ll n****s…”

Can I say “N****s”? It would be kind of immersion breaking if I didn’t, or rather the characters didn’t. Not me who’s talking after all. On the other hand I’m pretty sure that’s not something those who would get upset over it are likely to care about. I could just claim that I am black, which is arguably even more racist, but they leave me no choice. Sacrifices have to be made to preserve the believability of a story.

Words flow onto digital paper the way it has always been. Opening a document and reemerging from the trance once a substantial amount of words has come to fill it. The text rarely even correlates to the thing that had been thought up, if there even was earlier consideration of what the white space might hold. It’s fascinating. Getting up is hard, speaking is hard, remembering is hard, but thinking? Thinking is passive. Not thinking is impossible and writing is just thinking while sitting at a keyboard.

Paragraphs about a young man trading the keys to a run down apartment to some thugs in exchange for them pretending to pursue him through the neighborhood replace nothingness. The chase, accompanied by gunshots, leads down the complex’s stairwell, through busy streets, a woman’s kitchen window and some dimly lit alleyways, one of which contains a bar called “Exisle”. Only the letters E-s-l of the neon sign are illuminated in a slightly on the nose reference to the cult classic “Regilith- The king’s rubble”.

The so far and henceforth unnamed main character, a morally light grey scam artist, upon bursting through the door, meets his contact. The journalist pulls on his cap twice as a signal, though this isn’t remotely necessary, as his nervous demeanor and pretend-poor style of clothing make him stick out like a sore thumb. He is dressed the way I would if I were to attempt to fit in in the huts, something I would imagine to be entirely unconvincing.

As the outsider scrolls through a newsfeed, reporting on the commotion outside, he is approached by the main character, whereupon they engage in some banter about who blew their cover more. The scam artist’s chase outside was of course a farce to present the image of someone worth chasing. He trades a USB-drive of unknown content against a decent amount of cash before ordering two whiskeys, the joke being that the bar owner is an Indonesian refugee who does not speak English, every order therefore resulting in a mystery drink, something the reporter did not expect. The main character’s scheme of unknown purpose proves successful as the two men part ways amicably.

That’s a good start, keeping things unexplained, building mystery. Good shit. I should ask Jerald if the “Exisle” thing is too on the nose though. Explicitly mentioning that the owner is Cuban so quickly after establishing the establishment seems kinda cheap, as opposed to simply having him talk with an accent, or acknowledging his origin later in the comic, when the audience has gotten used to the bar’s name. Whatever, that stuff can be ironed out later, for now this is a pretty solid hook. A bit of Momchelo… ah shit, it’s empty… A swig of actual whisky to celebrate then!

Just as I lift the bottle to my lips and tilt my head backwards in a “strangely cartoonish” manner which was once described as “Clearly indicating that [I] value the aesthetic of excessive drinking almost as much as the act itself”, Lloyd enters the room, contorting his face in a combination of pity and disgust.

“You made it to the kitchen, I see”

“Prepare to be even more impressed, as I tell you that I sleepwalked there from Lo’s room”

“Apart from the fact that I somehow find that less impressive than you moving your waking ass self to the ground floor; why the fuck were you in Lo’s room? Is he actually here for a change?”

“Nah, I just ate his stuff. Also talked to him for a bit, wrote some scenes for a webcomic… Pretty productive day overall if you ask me. If that was all the same day.”

“Man, I haven’t seen the guy in months now. I see how this house isn’t particularly welcoming to socially functional people, but still. Does he have a new girlfriend?”

“Haven’t heard anything since space girl broke up with him”

“Catherine?”

“Yes. Who else could I possibly mean by that?”

“I don’t know? I just find it weird that she got a cool sounding nickname”

“Just going with what fits, there are no personal feelings involved, freeloader.”

“Good to know. Say hi to Lo if you talk to him again, he never responds to me.”

“Will do. After I empty this bottle that is.”

“You can’t be serious”

“I wasn’t, but after that challenge: Watch me!”

A two thirds full bottle of hard liquor doesn’t go down as easily as a few cans of Momchelob, but it has the interesting effect of numbing my throat after the first few gulps, making the sensation of the liquid flowing down into my stomach almost surreal.

Lloyd either hasn’t dropped his disgusted expression over the duration of our talk, or he has chosen to reuse it now.

“I’m going to bed, try not to throw up on the floor again.”

I enjoy a few more minutes of almost sobriety before my vison cuts out.

0 notes

residesatshamecentral · 7 years

Text

Smoke and Tigers

@me-fish, my main aesthetic idea for this is that it be black and white with only splashes of colour: red Nazi flags, orange tigers, golden alcohol.

This is only a first draft and probably makes zero sense, so please be kind. And anyone not wanting the next comic spoiler-ed, click the readmore link at your peril:

PAGE 1

WHOLE-PAGE IMAGE

Archer is lying asleep in a bed, the dim shape of Huth visible beside him, his face turned away. The shadows melt into a deeper darkness around him, so that the bed appears almost to be suspended in darkness. Above and behind him, unsettlingly close, is a prowling tiger, apparently padding on air, attention tightly focussed on the sleeping Archer. The tiger’s eyes are the only colour in an otherwise black-and-white image.

Caption: It had been roughly six months since I came to Berlin.

PAGE 2

NINE REGULARLY SHAPED IMAGES IN ROWS OF THREE

Archer from behind, sitting up in bed. He has placed a cigarette between his lips, and only a sliver of his face is visible to us. The room is unlit. The end of the cigarette is in colour. A section of Huth’s face, his shoulder and upper back is still visible in the foreground. He is apparently asleep.

Caption: Six months in the SS, two weeks in Huth’s bed and an interminable time in purgatory.

Archer pulls some clothes on.

Caption: Not that I had the right to complain. We all get exactly what we agree to.

Archer opens the adjoining door to the bathroom, the angle of the image not changing at all. In the bed, Huth opens one eye.

Caption: I had agreed to change my loyalties, and I was rewarded accordingly. Who could complain?

Archer from the side, examining his uniform

Caption: If I did not grow into my new job, it would eat me alive.

Huth: Did you dream again?

Change of angle. Huth, standing in the bedroom door, half-dressed. Archer is looking towards him from beside the wardrobe.

Archer: Nothing I remember.

Huth: You don’t get enough sleep.

Archer: I’m fine.

Archer turns back to dressing. Huth watches him with an expression between frustration and concern.

Huth [Sigh] try sleeping pills

Caption: I did have one person who cared for me. In his way.

Archer and Huth from above walking side by side down a Berlin street towards headquarters. Both in full uniform, very sharp. The few people on the street avoid them.

Caption: At least, he seemed to care. You should never try to read the unreadable.

Archer and Huth reach headquarters. The guard salutes and lets them through the gate.

Caption: His motives were always a puzzle to me. Ending up in his bed did not change that.

Archer and Huth in the courtyard. The building looms over them. Look it up, it is a looming sort of building. Black cars parked to one side. Guards. Hanging banners (in red. The only colour.) A low-ranking officer comes to meet them.

Huth: Any developments since last night?

Officer: Bad news, sir.

Caption: Loneliness and pragmatism are not mutually exclusive. He was…Complex.

PAGE 3

A SERIES OF IRREGULAR IMAGES

Long, rectangular image in the shadows of the portico. Black, regular, brutalist pillars (Nazi architecture just has that menace going on) against the brightly lit courtyard. In front of them, Archer, Huth and the officer in conversation.

Officer: We only just got the call, or we would have informed you immediately.

Huth: Spit it out, what is it?

Officer: Weber and Fraulien Hesse have been murdered, sir.

Archer: The resistance?

Officer: We assume so.

Archer’s face. He is regretful, introspective. Huth is beside him, talking.

Huth: We will see the scene, immediately. Why are you still standing there? Get my motorcycle and get a team together immediately. Archer, come on.

Caption: Fraulien Hesse. The most apolitical spy ever. Was she pressured or bribed into working for us?

Huth strides into the main hall, Archer following him a pace behind. More looming architecture, guards and flags.

Caption: Both, I supposed. She had a child to feed.

Huth: What a wonderful start to the day. Hesse was the only spy we had in that group who could tell her arse from her elbow. And Weber was no wilting flower. A group must have surprised them while she was passing on information.

Archer: I hope this did not happen in her home.

Huth, looking thoughtfully towards Archers guarded profile.

Huth: Yes…how old was her child?

Archer: Six.

Huth looks away.

Caption: I sent Douggie away.

PAGE 4

A SERIES OF IRREGULARLY SIZED IMAGES

These images are in a different style, blurry or dreamy, full of nostalgia. There is a lot of sunlight in these images.

Douggie, looking up at Archer, his father’s hands on his shoulders.

Caption: If I had committed myself to this sort of work, I had to keep my son out of it. He did not belong here anyway.

Douggie, embracing Archer. He is crying and clearly trying not to. Archer’s hand is on the back of his head.

Caption: I could no longer be the father he deserved. But I could try to ensure his safety.

A fragment of Archer’s face. He is looking up towards someone silhouetted in the foreground, his expression unreadable.

Huth looks down at him, over the shoulder of the crying boy. He is seen from a low angle in full loom. He has a lot of loom. There is regret in his expression.

Caption: Perhaps he could forgive me one day.

PAGE 5

THREE IMAGES, ALMOST IDENTICAL IN COMPOSITION, FILLING UP THE PAGE. ONE ON TOP OF THE OTHER

Archer and Huth follow an officer (not the one they met at HQ) up a set of stairs in a block of flats. The page outside the stairs is quite black, the lighting a brownish-yellow. Officers stand at guard on the landings, on the basic principle that if it is there, it is probably worth guarding and there are people to intimidate so might as well take the opportunity.

The three images combine to show the set of stairs as a whole, but in every image they are higher on the stairs. The captions follow them irregularly, like scraps of falling paper.

Captions:

They told us on the way.

She had had an appointment to meet her contact Weber at 2:00 in the morning.

Regulations said this could not take place at her home.

Clearly they had broken the rules.

I wondered if there had been some romantic attachment. These things happen after all, policy or no policy.

Weber was supposed to report in at 6:00. He hadn’t.

They had forced the door to her flat at 6:45.

The child was present.

PAGE 6

A SERIES OF IRREGULARLY SIZED IMAGES

The child’s face. She is six, black-haired and currently withdrawn into her own head.

Officer: We found her hiding. We don’t think they ever knew she was there.

Officer hands a child’s drawing to Archer. It is a clumsy rendition of the attack on her mother: four Bad Men, one woman, one other man, presumably Weber.

Officer: These people.

Archer’s face as he examines the picture.

Caption: These people.

Long, dark panorama of the crime scene. Portions-but only portions – Hesse and Weber’s bodies are visible in the foreground, surrounded by crime scene photographers, pathologists, etc. the horror is implied, but there. Archer and Huth stand with the officer in the doorway.

Caption: Monsters on every side, and we have no right to take the high ground. But this?

Long but narrow dark image. The child’s drawing falling through darkness. It is followed by a series of equally narrow images, one below the other.

This deserves revenge.

The drawing continues to fall.

For her.

The drawing settles on a dark surface.

For her child.

The drawing catches fire.

Darkness.

PAGE 7

IRRGULARLY SIZED IMAGES

Archer interrogates a suspect in a small dark room, shown from above.

Caption: I once read a story about a man and a house.

A fist striking a suspect’s face. Archer watches from the background.

Caption: The man was alone in his house of twisting hallways.

Archer, in plain clothes, confers with a contact in a shadowy bar.

Caption: He knew every route through the house, but it always led back to the same place.

Archer at his desk, reading intently through a report. Huth watches from a doorway, his face a mixture of derision, bitterness and concern.

Caption: One day an armed man entered the house, intent on taking the life of the inhabitant.

Archer lays the report aside, closing his eyes wearily. Behind his head, shadows take the shapes of Theseus and the Minotaur. Theseus is prepared to strike.

Caption: And the Minotaur…

Huth moves into frame. Shadow- Theseus stabs the Minotaur through the heart.

Caption: …Did not fight back.

Huth: Archer?

PAGE 8

IRREGULARLY SIZED IMAGES

Huth stands with his arms folded, looking down at Archer.

Huth: You are working too hard.

Archer: Never thought I would hear that from you.

Huth: Hah.

He sits down on the edge of the table

Huth: Still chasing the Hesse murderers? Drop it, they fled the country.

Archer: I will get them.

Huth: Drop it. Just drop it. There are other murdered spies to avenge. We have two of the leaders in a corner, plenty of small fry in the cells and good leads on many others. You have done excellent work. Why keep hunting these last four?

Archer turns to Huth, his expression iron.

Archer: Because I want to.

Both men’s profiles. Archer is darkly resolute. Huth is concerned and wondering at this resolve.

Huth slides off the desk.

Huth: Come home.

PAGE 9

SERIES OF IRREGULAR IMAGES

The view from a high, rain-streaked window. A fragment of Archer’s face, in the foreground, as he looks out.

Huth: You have changed.

Huth is sitting on a sofa behind Archer, pouring them both a drink. The whiskey is golden, the only colour in the image. Huth has discarded his jacket and his shirt is open at the collar.

Archer: Do you wonder who I am now?

Huth: Do you?

Close on Huth’s lips as he takes a sip of his drink.

Archer turns from the window

Archer: You just want to wind me up again.

Huth; Do I?

Archer: That is what you do, isn’t it? Wind me up so I…

Huth; If I wind you up, it is to try and take you out of yourself.

View of Huth on the sofa, one leg thrown over the other.

Huth: All this introspection is…unhealthy, Douglas.

PAGE 10

A SERIES OF IRREGULAR IMAGES

Archer, leaning against the window. He draws the blind down.

Caption: When you feel alone, a little counts for so much.

Archer and Huth, in profile, faces in shadow.

Caption: A little can mean everything. Even with scars between us.

They kiss

A shadow on the wall of the bedroom, striped by the blinds, shows the silhouette of them in bed together. In the foreground, maybe a sliver of Huth’s back.

Caption: how much do you forget, when you are far from home?

Archer, shown almost upside-down, his head thrown back, one arm outstretched. Huth’s hand clutches his. A fragment of Huth’s face, perhaps his lower lip, is visible in the top of the image.

Caption: I was forgetting myself.

A fragment of Archer’s face, showing an eye, and a slice of cheek. Behind his face, a darkness filed with tree and shadows. In the distance, a fiery-coloured thing that could be a half-concealed tiger.

PAGE 11

A SERIES OF LONG, RECTANGULAR IMAGES

A long image of archer in bed asleep, if possible referencing the image at the beginning of the story. There is no tiger, but the shadows resemble trees.

Archer half-rises from the bed, his back to us. There are barred shadows from the blind across his back. There is something subtly wrong about them.

He only moves little, or it is only out viewpoint that changes. The bars have become tiger stripes.

Archer in bed as before, but his eyes are open. He has just awoken from a dream. Above him, the vanishing ghost of a tiger.

Archer, sitting up, his head in his hands.

#comic script #shame central #Berlin!AU

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forevercaroline · 7 years

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Sneak peeks

@scarlet-fire1918 asked for 4,5,6,11,14,15,20,21 4: From geek to hot, Caroline is a model and one of the editors I'm chief of one of the biggest fashion magazines in the world her father hires nerdy klaus to be her assistant. The Salvatore family run the best fashion magazine empire in the world. Caroline is one of the models for the magazine she is also part editor in chief she shares the title with her older brothers Damon and Stefan. Caroline is in her office with her best friends who also happen to be models for the magazine, Katherine and Enzo. When a guy wearing glasses, jeans and a Star Wars tee shirt comes into her office. Caroline stops talking with her friends " Excuse me this isn't a comic book store this is a fashion magazine clearly something you don't have." Her father Giuseppe comes in " Caroline since your last assistant is still missing I have hired you a new assistant." " My last assistant was a wanna be she wanted to be me she told people she was Caroline Salvatore. It's not my fault she's missing seriously how long does it to get a bracelet and I don't need your help picking out assistants I got it covered." Caroline and Katherine share a smile. They love looking for new people it's a lot of fun. " All of your assistants have either vanished or quit saying you or Katherine slept with them." " Which is totally false they wanted us to sleep with them and only one went missing." Giuseppe points to the geeky guy next to him " This is Klaus he's your new assistant try not to sleep with him." Caroline groans as her father leaves her office. ------------------------------------------------------------------- 5: Caroline Forbes she can do anything, Caroline is extremely athletic she's practicing for a volleyball competition when her back hand serve hits someone on the beach. " Look out." Klaus Mikaelson was sketching on the beach he doesn't have time to move before a volleyball hits him in the head and lands in his lap. His younger sister runs over to him and his brother who was trying to surf saw the whole thing and came over " That was awesome direct hit I'd like to meet the person who threw that ball." Rebekah glares back at Kol " Kol Nik could be seriously hurt." Klaus pushes his sisters hands away from his head " I'm fine bekah I just want to know who threw the ball at me messed up my drawing." A blonde in a Aqua bikini comes running over " I'm so sorry my brother Damon always tells me to save my back hand for competitions but I wasn't thinking and instinct kicked in." Klaus is stunned at her beauty he stutters" I'm Klaus" The blonde smiles " I'm Caroline." Klaus knows he has heard that name before " Caroline as in Caroline Salvatore the I do every sport Caroline." Caroline smiles " I don't do every sport just surfing, snowboarding, skateboarding, and volleyball. And yes." ------------------------------------------------------------------- 6: vampires in storybrooke, for Davina's whole life she has had the same dream every night a brown haired woman putting a baby in an enchanted wardrobe and saying I love you to the baby. Soon after her twenty eight birthday the dream changes now there is a man in a black suit she never sees their faces only clothes and hears voices. Granny asked the guy with a hook for a hand to take Davina to the Charming's. "Who's this?" "She was in grannies I think she's new to this world." Davina looks at the new people " New to this world I live in New Orleans I just need to know how to get home and before my boyfriend freaks out." The Charming's look at Davina who is looking around the apartment "I'm Snow White or Mary Margaret which ever you prefer and this is Prince Charming but everyone calls him David." Davina looks at Snow White. Davina herself is a witch who is dating one of the first vampires and lives with the first vampire family but she can't believe that storybook characters actually exist. " Snow White as in Snow White and the seven dwarfs, poison apple, evil queen, Is awaken by true loves kiss in a glass coffin, all forest animals love her." Snow nods. When Davina's phone rings " Excuse me." Davina goes outside the apartment " Oh thank god Kol." ------------------------------------------------------------------- 11: princess choice, it's princess Rebekah's twenty first birthday everyone is at her ball she must dance with every eligible bachelor. The one who just walked in and refuses to give his name intrigues Rebekah. As Rebekah is contemplating whether or not to go talk with Marcel someone else catches Rebekah eye " Sister who is that?" Freya looks over at the handsome brown haired suit wearing man that just walked into the ballroom " I don't know but he's coming this way." Rebekah straightens her dress and the man bows before the women " Your highnesses." Rebekah sticks out her gloved hand " Princess Rebekah." The man kisses her hand " You are more beautiful then your pictures." Rebekah's blushes " And what is your name?" " All in due time if we meet again it will be fate and I will reveal who I am." Rebekah has never met someone like this who is so mysterious and isn't intimated by her royal status " Then I hope we meet again." The man nods to both ladies and then he leaves. Rebekah turns back to her sister " I think I found my prince." ------------------------------------------------------------------- 14:kolvina on the run, when the ancestors cursed Kol Marcel told him to run Davina finds him and goes with him. " Do you feel better?" The ancestors cursed Kol to have an uncontrollable hunger and anger. Marcel told him to leave town. Davina found out Kol left and didn't even say goodbye she did a locator spell and found he was stealing some blood bags and she told him she's going with him. He tried to get her to change her mind by telling her it was to dangerous but she wasn't taking no for an answer she loves Kol she just got him back she's not losing him again. They just passed the city limits when Kol begins to calm down and relax " Yes you still shouldn't have come if this didn't work I could of hurt you and I couldn't live with myself if that happened." Davina looks out at the empty backroad there on " Pull over do you even know where we're going?" Kol looks down at the map on the hood of the car trying to figure out the best route to use " Right there the one place I really don't want to go but we're out of options." Davina putting the bracelet Kol asked her to locate the owner back in her pocket and looks where he's pointing. ------------------------------------------------------------------- 15:the heart and head, in the dream world Freya casts a spell to bring the person who is not only in her siblings hearts but head to them. Elijah is the only one left " Elijah give me your hand. Even you deserve happiness." Elijah places his palm in his sister's hand and Freya chants. " Look behind you." Behind Elijah is Katerina Petrova. " Elijah. What is this place one minute I was running hell the next I'm here." Elijah looks surprised he cant believe Katerina is in front of him. " You run hell?" Katherine smirks " Queen of hell. Can you think of anyone better than me." " No I can't if anyone is the perfect person to run hell its you. This is a dream world my older sister Freya did a spell that brings the person who is in their head and heart to them." Katherine caress his face " Well it's good to know I'm still in your head and heart I questioned it after you dismissed me saying its our turn to be happy to stay with me and not to go New Orleans, and let's not forget the forehead kiss that seemed like you already had forgot about me at that point. You always forget I've known you for five hundred years Elijah I've seen you upset and I've seen you in love. The day you said goodbye to me you were sad you didn't want to say goodbye but you couldn't put your own feelings above Klaus' you had to follow him to New Orleans and look where that got you your in a dream world with a bite on your arm that if your sister wasn't a witch you would already be dead. Did you even know or care to know that I've been dead for years." Elijah looks at Katherine then at the floor ashamed of himself then at Freya who has been watching them with curiosity. ------------------------------------------------------------------- 20: Caroline stark and tony stark dealing with the aftermath of the avengers "As always sir a great pleasure watching you work." Caroline standing in the doorway of her dads workshop looking at her dad laying on the floor with pieces of his suit all around him " I couldn't of said it better Jarvis." Tony looks up at his daughter she's leaning her head against the doorframe she's in her pajamas shorts and tank top with ankle socks on she looks tired. " Caroline its two in the morning what are you doing up?" Caroline smiles at her dad and helps him pick up pieces of his new suit and put them on a table " I should be asking you that too. But to answer your question ever since New York every time I close my eyes I feel like I'm falling out of the sky and seeing you laying on the ground motionless scared that your dead. And it's not like I can talk to anyone about it because Katherine and Enzo were in the safe spot you told us to be in and I was a few feet from them but Loki's army grabbed me. It's not like I can talk with Klaus about it because he was here in California." Tony pulls Caroline into a hug and kisses her forehead he's going through the same PTSD that his daughter is going through. " I know New York changed both of us. I thought giving you space and me being down here doing what I know would be the best thing for us but from what you just said I've realized that we both need each other to get past New York. The only reason I have not cracked is because of you Caroline seeing you everyday smiling and being yourself everyday." Caroline smiles up at her dad " I just need my dad. We have been through so much together. Obadiah trying to kill both of us, you becoming iron man, the government basically declaring you terrorist and an unfit father, tried to get me to testify against you and give over the iron man suit when you wouldn't, Justin hammer trying to build a better iron man, you almost dying again because of palladium poisoning, Loki. We are Stark's we're genius's and people don't understand us." Tony laughs and squeezes Caroline in his arms" I love you Caroline." " I love you too dad." ------------------------------------------------------------------- 21:Loki is back and wants Caroline. Caroline and Klaus are coming back from their date when they get attacked by two guys in suits and thrown in the back of a van with black hoods over there heads " I've been trained by a deadly assassin I will kick your ass." The hood comes off Caroline's head and she looks around and sees Phil Coulson " What the hell Phil." "You are in danger miss Stark." Caroline puts her hands out for Phil to cut the zip ties that bound her hands. " Yes danger from you, you kidnapped me." Phil cuts the ties " No we will tell you more after we get rid of him." Caroline puts a hand on Klaus " Don't test me Phil, Natasha taught me to fight if you want me to go quietly with you he comes too." " Your just as stubborn as your father." " Except I'm worse I'm a girl."

#sneakpeek #klaroline #kalijah #kolvina #caroline stark

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