#but that goes out the window when they realize oh shit this man is jewish

[kosher-salt]

I'm sorry but if Sami people can be understood as other-than-white and lighter featured First Nations people can be understood as other-than-white and individuals of our sisters the Romani when similarly afflicted by melanin deficiency can be understood as other-than-white....

Your classification of Jews, who span the whole gamut of color but share the racialization and experience of being othered among any majority, including whiteness in the north/west, is only further evidence of your racism. Because in doing so you continue to perpetuate double standards for Jewish people, which is dangerous when merged with perspectives that view whiteness as a merit signifier. Not that our identity isn't a fair bit older than this pretty reductive view, but

Regardless, I'll remind that the minority indigenous groups I mentioned are in the context of a white majority, but white people do not have a monopoly on colonialism. Plenty of people don't want to be called Arab in MENA and plenty of people aren't sure that they'd classify themselves as Chinese or Russian in the sense that the West views national identity. But that kind of nuance probably isn't something I should bother with if we haven't made it past point 1.

[nothingeverlost]

lenny/midge please? 'when i first saw you, the end was soon'

And the award for most cheerful prompt goes to...

Set a couple of years in the future.  Trigger warnings for drug references.  Loosely based on historical events.  Do I have to warn for swearing in a Lenny and Midge fic or is that just assumed?

I’m still finding my feet with these two.  Feedback is much appreciated.

@phoenixwrites @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels tagging you for obvious reasons.

“I needed a ride home because I didn’t have my wallet.  That doesn’t mean you’re obligated to cook for me.  I’ll be a good little boy.  No booze, nothing up my nose.“

II

“Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you in front of a room?”  Lenny was in the passenger seat, half slumped against the door.  She had the heater on despite the fact that it was June in California, but he was still shivering.

“That I was a lightweight in addition to being a complete mess?”  Two hits from a joint and she’d not only completely forgotten to introduce the band, but she’d committed the sin of getting too serious during a set.

“I thought there she is, finally.  It’s going to be okay when I’m done because she’s there and she’d just getting started.  You stood up there and you were real.”  He held up his hand and gestured at the window as if pointing to a stage that was three thousand miles away and years in the past.  “And I knew that arrest wasn’t an anomaly.  You were going to take on the world and you were going to be a hell of a lot better at it than I was.”

“Do you have an oven?”  She hated California traffic.  If she was in New York she could have just relied on cabs but they were rare around here and cost too much when everything was miles apart and so she’d rented a car.  In the moment, though, she was glad to have something else to focus on.  

“Do I have a what?”  For just a moment he sounded like himself, not the shadow that had called her from the hospital.  He’d repeated himself twice before she’d realized it was him.

“An oven.  You’re renting a place, right?  My hotel doesn’t have an oven.”

“I think they’re pretty standard in a kitchen and I have one of those.  Midge…”

“I’m making a brisket.  We’ll stop at the store when I see one and pick up a few things.  You can stay in the car if you want but a little walking would be good for you and I don’t know what you like and what you hate.  For eating.  I don’t see you eat very much, you know?  We’ve shared what, half a dozen meals together and half of those were pretzels and nuts.”  ‘When I’m done’ he said, and she was talking like if she said enough she could stop hearing the echo of it in her head.  He could have been done last night, according to the nurse.  

“I needed a ride home because I didn’t have my wallet.  That doesn’t mean you’re obligated to cook for me.  I’ll be a good little boy.  No booze, nothing up my nose.  Just me and my bed for the rest of the day.”  He struggled to sit up in the seat.

“You’re too thin and you need some red meat.”  Midge pulled into the parking lot of the first grocery store she saw.  “Oh fuck, you just made me sound like a Jewish yenta.”

“The last thing I think of when I see you is yenta.”

“Sure.”  No, he thought of her as caring on a tradition or some shit that let him off the hook.  “Are you coming in?”

“Why not.”  She often thought of Lenny as dancing, even before the first time they’d been on the dance floor together.  He seemed to glide as he moved, to sway, nothing so banal as just walking.  As they walked through the parking lot his steps were almost mechanical, as if he was trying to remember how humans moved.  She nodded to the carts; maybe having something to hold onto would help him.

She’d forgotten it was Valentine’s Day.  The moment they walked through the doors they were assaulted by red and pink hearts, sales on steak, and plastic cupids ‘flying’ precariously over the produce department.  Great.  She was twice divorced (from the same man) very single, and stupidly in love with a man who apparently thought of her as his replacement.

“The brisket will take hours so I’m getting some chicken soup.  I hope their deli has a decent one.  We need carrots and potatoes.  You should have some fruit too; I hear oranges are good out here.”  She pushed the cart through the produce department first, adding apples as well.  Some lettuce too, for a salad with dinner.

“Midge.”

“If I know you there’s probably not much in your fridge.  We should get some milk and some cheese.  And we’ll get some crackers, those are good when your stomach is upset.  How do you feel about Jell-o?”  She led him to the meat department so she could get the brisket.  

“Midge.”

“I prefer a butcher for my meat, they know their cuts better, but sometimes you just have to settle.”  At least the man behind the counter seemed to know what he was doing.  

“Miriam.”  She couldn’t ignore him with a hand on her arm.  Couldn’t move forward.

“This is where you want to do this, Lenny?  Here, surrounded by yogurt and paper hearts and discount packages of frozen vegetables?  What do you want me to say, though I’m okay with you trying to kill yourself because hey, I’ll be around to pick up the pieces and my life will suck the moment I get that phone call but at least I will have something to talk about when I’m on stage?”  It was so goddamn cold.  Someone needed to change the settings on the refrigerators before the milk started freezing.  Midge reached for the cart but stopped herself.  “Make your own damn brisket if that’s how you feel because fuck you.  I lived my life for a man once and I am never doing that again.  This is my life.  I’m not here to replace you or continue your act or whatever the hell it is that you want.”

It wasn’t hard to pull away from him, breaking his hold.  His hand was trembling.  “I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“You’re not trying to not kill yourself either.”  He’d lost too much weight, his clothes hanging off him.  The shadows under his eyes spoke of a lot more than a missed night of sleep.  Heroin, the nurse had said.  From her own experience there was alcohol too, and marijuana.  And missed meals.

“I just need a break from all this.”  His hand fluttered near his forehead.  “It makes the world stop for a little while.”

“Ma’am, someone reported a disturbance back here.  Is this man bothering you?”  A man in a very bad sweater vest and a name tag that said “Manager Chip” approached them.  Midge almost laughed.  Disturbance?  He didn’t know the half of it.

“We’re fine,” she lied.  “My husband is just out of the hospital after a bomb exploded in his office and he’s a little hard of hearing still.”

“Yes ma’am.  Sorry to bother you.”

“A bomb?”  Lenny cocked his head to the side.

“Would you have preferred syphilis?” She sighed.  “We should go.  Leave the cart, someone will sort it out.”

“I’ve heard stories of this brisket of yours.  Legends.  I’d like to see if it lives up to the rumors.”

“Lenny.”  He was smiling for the first time since she’d seen him six months ago in Chicago.  That damn grin of his, the one she never saw on stage but only when they were alone, was a curse.  It could get her to do almost anything.

“You’re no one’s second act, Midge.  I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

“You’re not replaceable.  Not on stage and not off it either.”  She’d been using Lenny Bruce as a measuring stick since she’d seen him in college.  It wasn’t fair to him, and really wasn’t fair to other men, but somehow he’d become a part of the center of her universe.  She either needed to pull away completely or she needed to stop hiding from it.  “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re too good for me, Midge.”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.  You can decide to be my friend or you can tell me to fuck off.  You can be my lover or you can tell me you’re not interested.  Decide for yourself but you don’t get to decide for me.”

“I can’t promise you a future, I don’t know how much I have in me.”  It scared her to know that he only spoke the brutal truth.

“I’m not asking for promises.  I’m asking for you to sit at a table and eat soup while I make dinner.  I’m asking you to sleep in a bed and tomorrow we’ll see if this town has anything that passes as a deli.  And maybe, if you want, you can talk to me a little.  We’re pretty good at not talking to each other, maybe it’s time we try something different.”

“How novel.”  He closed his eyes for a moment.  The soup might need to wait until he’d had a nap first.

“I’m not just getting started anymore, Lenny.  I’ve been around the block.  I know enough to know what I want and what I can handle.”  She grabbed the cart.  They needed to get out of the grocery store.  Melting down on stage was enough without adding grocery stores to the list.

“You can tell I feel like crap because I don’t have a single joke ready for what I’d like you to handle.”

“I’ll give you a twenty-four hour grace period.  You can give me your best joke tomorrow.”  Thank God she didn’t have a show tonight.  

“Tomorrow.  Yeah, okay, I can do that.”  He walked next to her, hands in his pockets.  “Don’t forget the Jell-O.  I like the green one.  But if there are any vegetables in there I won’t eat it.”

“How do you feel about pineapple?”  

“I wouldn’t object.”  They stopped in the baking aisle for Jell-O and a cake mix.  One of the paper hearts had fallen; she didn’t see it until she’d rolled over it with the cart.  It felt like the setup for a joke in her act.  She hoped it wasn’t a sign.

“Let’s go home.”

[itchapter3]

Here it is, my gift for this year’s It Fandom Secret Santa

Ao3 Link (x)

My Secret Santa was @dark-alice-lilith​ I hope you like it! I used the prompt for college au/staying in the dorms over break with the paring eddie/richie.

@itfandomsecretsanta​

The door opens and a brief gust of wind bursts through as a giant shapeless blob of coats, scarves, and reusable shopping bags shuffles in. Eddie looks up from his laptop screen to see this before it disappears behind the barrier that separates the dorm rooms’ shared kitchen from the laundry room.

Going back to the work in front of him Eddie decides to ignore the interruption until-

“Fuck!”

More shuffling, the sounds of containers being stacked and moved around then, once more with feeling.

“Fuck…”

Eddie closes his laptop with a sigh and prays that this is not a huge mistake.

“You okay in there?”

Some more shuffling, then an actual human being emerges from behind the wall.

And… he’s actually kind of cute Eddie’s traitorous mind notices. Beneath all the layers of coats and scarves he’s a tall, dark haired, blue eyed dream with admittedly silly looking glasses, but bone structure that more than made up for it.

“Just debating on whether or not I should try and walk all the way back to the store to get an egg or just end it all here and now.”

“Well I’d appreciate you not turning the common area into a crime scene I really wouldn’t advise going out there again, I’ve already gotten three seperate warnings about the snowpocalypse happening outside.” Eddie gives the guy another once over, despite the hat the ends of his hair are still dripping with melted snow. Taking pity on him he continues. “I may have a carton of eggs in my mini fridge, if you tell me exactly what you’re attempting to do with them.”

The other guy smiles and holds up a bag of flour.

“How do you feel about chocolate chip cookies?”

Eddie smiles back.

“Hmm… I deem them… worthy of me walking to my room to get eggs.”

“Yes!”

His arm shoots up in victory.

Eddie grabs his keys and laptop and by the time he looks up from that there is an arm holding the door open for him. He nods and leads the way.

The guy follows him, mostly quietly, though he does hum a few notes along the way.

“Eddie.” He says as they both reach the dorm room.

“Yes?”

“I just realized we never actually introduced ourselves.” He says, pointing out the name tag still taped to the door. “I’m Richie.”

“Oh, shit.” Eddie feels like hitting himself over the head, he just basically invited a total stranger into his room. At least he seems nice enough, has a nice enough name, although it seems a little familiar for some reason. “Nice to meet you, Richie…”

He unlocks the door then, in a sudden moment of clarity whips around with an accusatory finger pointed at-

“Richie!”

“Eddie!” He tries to mirror back, but Eddie just narrows his eyes at him.

“You- You were the one that started that snowball fight last week!”

He can remember clearly now the last time he heard that name, an exasperated ‘ Richie! ’ yelled from the quad between the dorm’s two halls during finals week just before the sounds of projectiles being thrown and the window shaking crack of one hitting his own started up.

He had looked outside at the time, but all he could make out through the fog was two figures mercilessly pelting each other, alone. It would have been pretty funny had it not completely thrown off his concentration on his online Intro to Psych final.

“Guilty?” He gives Eddie a crooked grin, which shouldn’t be cute, it should be annoying right now!

“I was going to bargain for it later, but I’m officially staking claim to half of the cookies since you almost broke my window!”

Richie just nods.

“That seems… a fair and worthy payment.”

“Good, because it is.” Eddie shoots back.

He throws the laptop on his bed and goes for the fridge underneath it, pulling out a half-dozen carton of eggs.

Richie is scanning the various movie and band posters around the room with appreciation when he looks up and Eddie feels an excited dip in his stomach despite himself, he’s pleased that Richie seems to have similar tastes as him.

“Got ‘em” He says.

Richie smiles.

“My hero!”

He hums, more happily on the way back to the common area, until he clears his throat.

“So, not to sound ungrateful but who the fuck keeps eggs in a dorm room? Aren’t those specifically made to hold beer and like… a jar of pickles you only open if you’re extremely high?”

“I am feeling the strangest sense of pity for your roommate right now.”

“Don’t, he’s a monster.” He says with a fond tone that makes it obvious he’s joking.

“Well, if you must know I don’t completely trust the cleanliness of the cafeteria and scrambled eggs are pretty much the only thing I know how to make.” Truth be told since moving out he’s probably been living on way too many frozen meals than is completely healthy, but that’s still better than getting salmonella from dodgy cafeteria food.

“That… is fair enough. I once picked up a spoon from the bin that had a piece of lettuce just full on stuck to the side of it.”

“And if I hadn’t already blacklisted it, that story alone would be enough to keep me from going there.”

“That’s exactly what my roommate said when I told him! You’ve got to meet Stan the man, Eddie!”

Eddie nods agreeingly, but something makes him want to take Richie up on that offer. He also really wants to introduce Bev to him, there’s just something that makes him feel like they would get along like a house on fire.

Once they’re back in the kitchen they start up cooking and chatting. It’s easier than Eddie expected to keep up a conversation and it turns out they have a lot in common, classes, comic books, taste in movies. Eddie measures as Richie stirs and soon enough they’re getting close to done.

“Ugh… my mom always makes this look so easy.” Richie looks at the recipe, pours a little more flour, directly from the bag, into the very sticky dough, and looks at the recipe again.

Eddie hums to himself, not having experience with either baking or watching his mother bake, but happy to watch the trial and error.

“Okay, I think it may be good now.”

Eddie looks over, and it definitely looks like cookie dough, hopefully it tastes like it too.

“Looks like it.”

As the cookies are baking Eddie hears a beep from the other side of the room and remembers why he had been in there in the first place.

“Wait!”

Eddie rushes to the dryers and pulls out a pile of soft fabrics. When he gets back he hands one over to Richie who takes it immediately before he even realizes what it is.

At the recognition he moans, pressing the dryer-warmed blanket to his face.

“I literally owe you my life now, Eds”

Eddie laughs at the muffled praise.

“I forgot I put those in there, I usually put them in on ten minute cycles just to keep me warm while I’m working.”

“Mmmm,” He finally removes the blanket from his face, instead draping it over his shoulders like a cape. “So you always spend the holidays here? This is my first time, it’s deader than I expected.”

“Yeah, it’s really usually only me and the RA’s around here. So, why did you decide to stay here instead of going home for break this time?”

“Eh, didn’t have much of a reason to go home, I mean, my family’s Jewish but we don’t really celebrate, I usually just go over to my friend Stan’s house, but he abandoned me now that he’s got some new hot piece to bring home.” He sighs dramatically. “So here I am, abandoned and alone, luckily I’ve been at the mercy of a very generous and very cute stranger, so I have high hopes for not getting murdered in this ghost town of a school.”

Eddie laughs, a blush rising in his cheeks at the mention of him being called cute.

“Well, don’t hold your breath, if I wasted my eggs on mediocre cookies I have been known to strike out in anger.”

Richie lets out a whistle.

“Well, I didn’t take you for the vengeance type.” He says in what Eddie guesses is supposed to be a cowboy accent.

“You don’t know me as well as you think you do then, partner.” Eddie drawls back at him, making him laugh.

When Richie sobers up he speaks again.

“You should come help me eat these in my room. Stan’s got this mondo TV with Netflix built right in! We can watch all the classics, pretend like we’re having a real Christmas!”

“I thought you were Jewish?”

“And I am selflessly putting that aside for you today, Eddie. Think of my sacrifice and then say no to my face.” He makes a face which must be his ridiculous attempt at puppy dog eyes. “Hmmm?”

Eddie lets out a laugh despite himself.

“Fine, fine. Only because of the sacrifice you’re making though, I live to see you suffer.”

Soon enough, the oven timer beeps and Richie pulls out a baking sheet full of perfectly browned, sweet smelling, chocolate chip cookies. Eddie burns the tip of his tongue, but declares them better than mediocre and they pack them up to head to Richie’s room in the other hall.

“Wow, your hall really gets into the holiday spirit… I’m actually pretty sure this is a fire hazard.” Eddie says as he takes in the canopy of white, red, and green lights hanging from every available surface.

“Yeah, I say blame Mike, he gets really into it and he’s somehow charmed all the RA’s into looking the other way when it comes to christmas lights.” Richie sighs fondly.

“I like it, we’d never get away with something like this in my hall.”

Eddie looks around, eyes bouncing from the perfectly arranged strings, overlapping and entwining with others. It really is a beautiful scene, more festive than he imagined ever seeing, and on campus no less.

“I guess you’ll have to come over here more often then, you should see what Mikey does for Easter!” He grins.

“I might just have to take you up on that.” And Eddie meant it, honestly as much as this break had taken a turn for the better he couldn’t wait until it was over so he could meet Richie’s friends, and introduce his own in turn.

Once inside Richie’s dorm, Eddie took a minute to take it in. It’s a lot bigger than his own since it’s a double, which he knows is shared with Stan, and the two sides could not be more different. One is meticulously organized, dorm standard furniture in the pre-approved configuration, bed made to what Eddie guesses would be military standards, textbooks stacked cleanly on the desk, the few personalizations seemed to be a few bird posters and brain teaser puzzles scattered around.

“I told you Stan’s a nerd!” Richie calls, noticing him looking around.

The other half looks more lived in, much more lived in. It’s darker, the walls are almost completely covered in posters and the dark blue plaid bedspread, which is not anywhere near made up, gives it a grungy sort of look. Eddie knows before he even processes it that this side must be Richie’s, and he takes his time looking over the little details that make it his. He’s got books and binders in a pile that honestly looks like he just turned over his backpack and let things fall where they would. The posters are mostly bands, David Bowie, The Cure, Nirvana, and a few that Eddie doesn’t recognize, must be newer ones by the look of them, he’s also got tickets from shows he’s been to taped up between the posters, mostly concerts but a few musicals and even one for a local drag show.

Eddie also notices the rather large TV set up against the far wall so that it can be seen well from either bed.

Richie must have been busy while Eddie was snooping because when he turns around from looking at the TV he's got the remote in one hand and about half of the cookies they made on a plate in the other.

“Pretty sweet right?” He says, motioning for Eddie to take a seat on the bed.

Eddie nods.

“After you.”

Richie obliges, putting the plate down so he can climb up on the messy bed. He pulls the pillows up to the head as he gets himself comfortable, on top of the duvet but under the blanket Eddie had given him.

Eddie follows him up, sitting with his back up against the headboard and looks down at Richie.

“Well, what are we watching?”

As Richie rattles off the different services Stan has built into the TV and Eddie just hums along and let’s Richie choose Netflix to start while he tries to focus on the words he’s saying rather than the warmth of him lying so close. Eddie’s a little afraid if he opens his mouth to talk he’ll scream out loud about how he’s sitting in Richie’s bed right now . Richie who is very cute and very nice and even pretty funny and has friends who sound pretty great too who he can’t wait to meet, and now he’s thinking about how much Bev would like him and-

It’s a lot, Richie’s a lot. But Eddie kind of likes that about him.

After Eddie’s vetoed three separate hallmark-esque rom coms, and Richie’s vetoed an admittedly pretty horrible looking movie about cgi kittens they land on Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer which Eddie has never seen and Richie argues that that in itself is a crime.  

After that’s over they decide to continue on with the series and somewhere around The Year Without Santa and Frosty the two of them conk out, the comfort and warmth lulling them asleep in Richie’s shared bed.

Richie wakes up first.

“Eddie...Eds!” He gives him a little shake as the credits music pours into the room.

He’s close enough that he can see Eddie crack an eye open.

“Mmm, lemme get your glasses.”

Richie doesn’t have time to process that because Eddie is turning around in a sleepy, cat-like stretch, reaching over the bed to where Richie really can’t see, but knows that his bedside table sits. Then he hands over the glasses and all at once Eddie comes into focus, his hair is sleep-ruffled, his eyes are still not-quite awake, there’s a red splotch on his face from where his hand must have been pillowing it, and all Richie can really focus on is how many freckles he has on his nose.

It takes Richie a minute but he realizes, once his vision is completely back to normal, that Eddie is staring at him too. His wide brown eyes are now locked onto his.

“You lookin’ at the zit on my nose?” Richie glances at him sideways before pushing himself completely up to face him. He presses a finger to the tip of his nose. “Just like Rudolph, huh?”

“I like Ruldolph! I think he’s cute…” Eddie huffs, a blush rising on his cheeks as well.

“Ohoho! I had no idea you were into beastiality, gotta say, Eds, you keep a man on his toes.”

“Shut up.” He warns.

Richie grins, he’s quickly finding that the more riled up he can get Eddie the better.

“I mean, does this thing of yours extend to Bumble, or-”

Eddie puts his warning into action and presses his lips to Richie’s, directly shutting him up.

Richie melted into the kiss, Eddie’s soft and warm against him, and he can taste the chocolate from the cookies they made together. It’s nice and sweet and a little feisty just like Eddie, but it’s also shorter than Richie would have liked, he thinks, as Eddie breaks the kiss with a heavy breath.

“I’m so glad I decided to stay here over break.”

Eddie grins, and the way he does tells Richie he is too.

[business-as-usual-bats]

Tim's First Christmas as Robin

Tim walked through the hallways of his school with a smile because he officially had the best life ever.

Why? Because Tim Drake was Robin. He helped people. He saved lives. He worked with literal superheroes. It was hard work, exhausting in every way, it took up all his time, and he still had a lot to learn, but at the end of the day he made a difference in the world.

Batman had begun to warm up to him, too, trusting him more with patrolling certain areas alone and handling common thieves and muggers. Batman even complimented him yesterday!! After Tim solved a mystery about Penguin's disappearing shipments in Gotham Harbor, Bruce said, "Good job" and kinda gave a smile!! According to Dick, that's, like, practically the equivalent of a hug!

And since Dick is coming back to Wayne Manor for the holidays, Batman said Tim doesn't have to go patrolling on Christmas, so he can be with his family.

Tim's parents! That's the best part! His parents were finally coming home after being gone half the year. They were supposed to be home months ago... for the first day of the school year... Halloween... Thanksgiving... but they kept getting held up at their jobs. But this time they promised they'd be there on Christmas Eve! Tim went ahead and put up Christmas lights and a tree in preparation. He had it all planned out. He even got ingredients to make gingerbread cookies. Never before had Tim felt so... festive. A few times he caught himself humming along to the overplayed Christmas jingles on the radio.

So, now was the last day of school before winter break. His last class was Algebra and he took his usual seat by the windows. Everyone was goofing off, the teacher didn't even bother to try to actually teach anything by this point. The class comedian of his peers was talking to everyone,

"Nah, I'm just sayin' it's true! Whenever you're watching a movie and sex scene comes up then -BAM- your parents are right there outta nowhere."

Everyone is laughing, including Tim. God, that'd be embarrassing. Does this really happen that often to other people?

"Yeah, your mom be ignoring you all damn day and then she's suddenly all about your life when people start making out. Like how does she know? It's gotta be like the same magic Santa uses to sense who's naughty or who's nice."

"Shit, man. My dad could be gone for 8 years but as soon as that scene comes up he's right there behind me sayin, 'Hey, son. Watcha watchin'?'"

The jokes are silly and dumb and it makes time pass by quickly. Thr bell signaling the end of the day rings and Tim sets off for Wayne Manor.

Patrol goes well, too. It was all business as normal until the Dynamic Duo got back to the cave and who should be there but

"Dick!" Tim yelled, getting swept up in a classic Grayson hug. "Put me down!"

"Merry Christmas, Tiny Tim!"

"It's not Christmas yet."

"It's Christmas every day if you carry love in your heart." Dick grinned and plopped him on the floor. "I got you the coolest and totally-not-a-robin-motorcycle gift ever!"

"A what?" Tim squeaked. "Motorcycle?? But I don't have anything nearly as cool to give you-"

"Now, now, I specifically said it wasn't a motorcycle. But if it were, then I'd tell you it's fine and not to worry about it! It's Christmas!"

"Dick-"

"I'm gonna hug you again-"

"Don't you dare!"

"Pfft. Fine. But hey, I heard your parents are coming home?"

"YEAH!" And Tim didn't mean to shout but the words starting pouring, "They're gonna be home in time for Christmas and I put up the stockings I made, and I have a list of all of dad's favorite Christmas songs, and I'm gonna make gingerbread cookies cuz I found this awesome recipe online, and I got them the perfect gifts because you see last year my mom was complaining on how she didn't have any earrings that matched my dad's favorite tie that he wears all the time which I think was her way of telling him to get rid of the tie but instead I got him a new tie that's the same color and got matching earrings and-"

"Woah! But you'll still stop by the Manor to say hi, right?"

"Duh! I'm not about to miss out on Alfred's homemade Christmas cookies you guys brag about all the time."

"Good! How was patrol?" And they chatted away until Tim decided it was late and he should go home.

The days dragged on until finally finally it was the morning of December 24th. His parents would be home any second! He waited, looking out the window now and again, watching the clock tick by...

And he waited

And waited

They were late.

He called his mom twice, and she answered the second time.

"Yes? Tim, honey?"

"Mom? Um... are you guys almost here or...?"

"What? Oh no, I thought we told you. We aren't going to make it in time for Christmas. You see-" and she explained how an artifact they'd found was accused of being a fake and how much of a legal mess they were in... and... more excuses... "I'm sorry, honey. You know if we could we'd much rather spend Christmas with you. We sent your present in the mail."

"I... I know, Mom." Tim sighed, "I'm not mad. I understand."

"You're such a kind boy, Timothy. We love you so much. We never stop thinking of you."

"I love you, too." And she hung up.

Tim stared ahead blankly, the phone still in his hand. He wasn't sure how long he just stood there, but suddenly his phone rang again

"Hello?" Tim answered. His voice sounded distant to him, like he wasn't even the one talking.

"Tim!" It was Dick, "Hey, so I know we should probably know this but, um, are you allergic to any nuts or spices? Like, even just a small allergy to something?"

"No."

"Sweet! Thanks! Hey... are you alright?"

"Yeah."

"You seem... off."

"I'm fine. I'm just... distracted with my family. They... aren't as excited as I am to be home."

"Oh, that sucks. But they made it home, right? They're there with you now?"

"Yeah, no. They made it here okay." Tim didn't know why he was lying... Was he ashamed? And at who? His parents? Himself? "I should go."

"Well, alright. See you later!"

"Yeah." Tim sighed and threw the phone away from him in disgust.

His eyes stung, he quickly wiped away the beginnings of tears. This was stupid to cry about. Not worth it. Why cry? Just because his parents broke another promise? Because they say they love him but they keep leaving? Why don't they stay? Did he do something wrong? Is he that horrible that they don't want to be around him? Why isn't he good enough for them? Why don't they like him? What can he do better?

Tim started crying and immediately hated himself for it, but he couldn't stop. It all seemed so unfair. It hurt. And the hurt made him want to be comforted, and he wanted his mom here to comfort him. But she's not. She can't be. And somehow, Tim knew it was his fault.

He looked at the Christmas tree blurred through his tears and thought briefly about pushing it down. But that wouldn't fix anything, would it? No. It wouldn't bring his parents home. There was nothing to do about it.

He curled up on the couch facing the Christmas tree and let the tears fall until he could sleep.

The next day was Christmas. Yay.

Tim didn't feel like celebrating. Or moving in general. He managed to slink over to the living room and turn on the TV. Maybe he could watch something to distract him from Christmas.

Or every channel could be focused on the importance of family during Christmas time. Literally. Every. Channel. Christmas and love. Christmas and love. Fuck Christmas. It's was just a stupid commercialized waste of time! Why's he even doing this Christmas shit? He's pretty sure his mom is Jewish anyway! Ugh!

But then he clicked the channel and woah- that's more skin showing than he expected. Suddenly, he remembered:

"Whenever you're watching a movie and a sex scene comes up then -BAM- your parents are right there!"

What if...

He changed to one of the more "mature" channels debuting their Christmas specials. It was sappy romance stuff, which isn't the worst, but he was more of a scifi kind of guy.

It was a typical plotline. A lady is scheduled to marry a prince but she's in love with a commoner guy. Lazy writing. It's been done before. But maybe...

Is it too childish to hope for a miracle on Christmas?

He sat with rapt attention through the whole ordeal. At one point the lady runs away to meet her forbidden true love (even though it's totally going to get her caught and in trouble and might even get the lover killed). They start kissing and taking off their clothes, but Tim isn't paying much attention now because this is the moment! He listened for the doorbell, for a knock, for a car, for a voice... But no parents came running. No one was there at the door. Why did he even hope...

Tim glared angrily at the two naked people on screen, "Is it too much to wish for my family to be here on Christmas??"

Then a *ding dong* came from the front of the house. Tim paused the TV. Wait. Could it be?

One second he was in the living room, the next he was swinging the front door open without any hesitation,

"Mom?? Dad??" Tim called excitedly before realizing who was there, "Oh... Hey, Dick. Uh, come on in." He tried not to look disappointed.

"I thought you were going to visit the Manor?" Dick pouted, walking in. Only then did Tim notice Alfred was following him.

"I lost track of time." Tim said honestly, "I'm sorry." Oh God, what if Bruce was upset with him? What if Bruce hates him now?? What if he ends up leaving Tim for months at a time and lies about being home for Christmas??

"Where are your parents?" Dick asked, but it was more rhetorical than anything. He could no doubt see the puffy eyes of someone who spent the night crying. Tim answered anyway.

"Africa."

"Still, on Christmas?" Alfred raised both his eyebrows in disapproval.

"It's not their fault! It's... work stuff. They don't... they said they'd rather be here with me but... It's not a big deal."

"Well, as that may be, Master Timothy, I insist you join us today and tonight at Wayne Manor."

"Yeah!" Dick chirped. "Alfred made a ton of food, like, all of your favorites! Didn't you, Al?"

"Indeed, I did, sir."

"But, Bruce-"

"Is the one that asked us to come and make sure you're okay." Dick smiled, "He's waiting for us. Actually, I think he really missed you on patrol last night."

"Really?"

"If I may," Alfred whispered, "Master Bruce also specifically requested I hang up a stocking with your name on it."

No way. But... Alfred wouldn't lie about that would he... Bruce really... Wow

"...Right. I'll visit him as scheduled and then leave." By the glint in Dick's eye though, Tim had a feeling he'd be staying in the Manor longer than planned. And honestly? That sounded a lot better than staying in this house alone.

"Great! I'll get your coat." Dick walked around the corner to the living room. "It's this way, right? Oh. Huh. I remember this movie."

Oh.

"TURN IT OFF IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE-"

The end.

[moistwithgender]

Curry Read 60s Marvel, King-Size, Nuff Said

According to my tag, it took me about a month to get through this decade (eight years, technically), spending most of my free time reading. I’ve been following Comic Book Herald’s “My Marvelous Year” reading guide because it seemed like the quickest way through while cutting out the chaff. This was not...consistently the case. But, I’m still glad I followed it because this started out with me just chewing through early Spider-Man in black and white (don’t do this to yourself, nice flat colors do wonders for these older stories). I’m gonna go ahead and give the disclaimer that because I was following a speedy reading guide, I missed a lot of stuff, so if you know some really good issues I missed feel free to say so.

I’m afraid to type all this out because it’s a lot and idk where to start!

Okay well I have one idea of where to start.

Fantastic Four

This is Marvel’s best series up to this point and the fact that we’ve had so many garbage movies is a tragedy (don’t @ me about The Incredibles, I know). The FF comics are consistently the most fun, the weirdest, and the most creative.

Going through my reading list, I had to skip parts of FF, which is probably going to be where more of the good stuff was. Though, I will say that I prefer the latter half of the decade over the first half. FF started off with Mole Man, Skrulls (something I first realized was a thing back when they showed up in MvC3), The Puppet Master, The Red Ghost... The first few years of FF was probably best whenever it involved Namor and Doctor Doom. I don’t think anyone’s gonna argue with that. The latter half had The Inhumans, Galactus, The Silver Surfer, Black Panther, the Negative Zone... a whole lot of neat stuff! I actually missed the introduction of the Negative Zone, so all of a sudden Reed’s just got a portal to A Very Bad Place in the middle of his lab and he keeps opening it whenever things get slightly inconvenient. Stop doing that, Reed.

Highlights: - Namor being Namor. Usually at his best as a fish out of water (heh) in human society. With his absurd monarchic pride, and his occasional anti-hero tendencies, he’s...kind of like a wet Vegeta in hot pants. - The Thing. For a while he was back and forth as a character I liked or tolerated, and his incessant backtalk would occasionally become one of those “telling an unfunny joke until eventually it’s hilarious” things. - The Watcher. A being so committed to his vow to never interfere with the fate of the universe that he jack-knifes out of his lane every single time he gets the chance. EXCEPT FOR THE TIME HE WATCHED THE BIRTH OF GALACTUS AND DID NOTHING. THANKS UATU. - The fact that Doctor Doom is a Romani character being written by Jewish authors. That’s a lot to unpack. - The Sandman. Wait, you say, you mean that one Spider-Man villain who was played by the guy from the sitcom Wings? Yeah, it turns out once he’s done being a Sinister Six villain, he goes on to harass the Fantastic Four and gets his own Jack Kirby style super villain outfit!

Look at that badboy. Also he teams up with an angry furry made of explosions from the hell dimension that is the negative zone. - The Inhumans. All of these kids are cool, Lockjaw is an adorable giant bulldog that can teleport across infinite distances, and even Maximus is some sort of play on Shakespeare villains. The fact that differentiating these guys from mutants is really awkward. The short version (if I have it right) is that mutants are born with a unique x-gene, and inhumans come from a hidden society that commonly did genetic manipulation on its citizens at birth. - Galactus. He is arguably the weirdest thing Marvel has in this decade. A thirty foot tall man who flies around the universe and eats planets. He’s literally so powerful that he and the narrative both treat his eating habits as natural, and any victims that happen to get in the way as unfortunate but unintended sacrifices because GALACTUS MUST NOT DIE. Galactus is a vegan metaphor (maybe). - The Silver Surfer. The shiniest, angstiest boy in the multiverse. Originally from a planet where global society had literally hit its logical utopic conclusion, he was bored as shit. Galactus comes along, the entire planet gets spooked and blows itself the fuck up on accident, and Norrin Rad agrees to be Galactus’ herald and pick out planets safe to eat if he leaves his planet alone. Sometime after that he gets punished for trying to fight Galactus, and is punished to remain on Earth, where he would play around with being a very obvious Jesus analogy for a while. - That time where a guy impersonates The Thing in order to kill Reed, and then ends up getting respect for Reed and sacrificing himself atop a meteorite speeding off into an atmosphere of explosions. Really fucked up issue, honestly. - Black Panther. Wakanda is not as cool as it would eventually be portrayed, and BP’s first appearance is as an antagonist (he kidnaps the FF and hunts them for sport), but he has a fucking slick cape. - That time Doctor Doom stole The Silver Surfer’s infinite cosmic power and nearly fucked up everything for everybody for four straight issues. Also he got into a fist fight with the Thing, which is like...hell yeah. - The Negative Zone. WHY DO YOU HAVE A WINDOW TO HELL IN YOUR HOUSE, REED. - The Kree. I have no idea why the Kree are just white people in space. Bad move imo, even Namor’s race are mostly blue people. Anyway, there’s a rad fight with a sentry robot, and a decent introduction to Ronan the Accuser, who you might remember was the (reasonably overshadowed) villain in the Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 1 movie, where he is blue. - Psycho Man. This guy has a remote control that makes you feel emotions and that’s kinda dumb but more importantly he’s from a microscopic universe and controls a non-microscopic robot version of himself to fight the FF and the implications of all that is absurd. - Reed goes into the negative zone (again) to try and find something he knows nothing about that might help his pregnant wife and unborn child survive the gamma radiation they still have in their bodies. He gets pretty lucky. Jesus christ, dude.

The worst parts of the FF this decade is probably every time Susan gets the shaft because she’s a woman, whether it’s her being talked down to by Reed or whether it’s her being written as way more concerned about ~lady things~ when things are going to hell. In the issue where her life is on the line and the baby is coming and Reed has to go into the negative zone, she doesn’t even make an appearance until like the last page. Susan deserves better. My reading guide actually didn’t recommend any 1969 issues of FF? I wonder what was going on...

Oh, skrulls impersonating 1920s gangsters and doing super-human trafficking, of course. Well, let’s move on.

The Incredible Hulk (Tales to Astonish)

I have had a soft spot for the Sulk ever since...probably the 2003 three Ang Lee film? Where I realized that 1) Bruce has bad dad issues and no one likes him, and 2) Hulk isn’t just a big boy, he is really fast and jumps crazy far and that’s a physical concept my teenage brain had never considered. I hadn’t even considered liking the Hulk growing up because I was so uncomfortable with almost all expressions of masculinity and machismo. My mom in fact was the one who told me “Don’t you want to see the Hulk? He’s big and scary like a bad guy, but he’s a good guy!” and I assume that’s what helped change my mind?

Anyway, Hulk has had a rough time in terms of popularity as well. His magazine lasted some six or seven issues before being canceled and his stories would continue, shorter, in Tales to Astonish, alongside Ant-Man (and eventually Namor’s own series). In the last few years of the decade he’d get a new magazine starting with The Incredible Hulk #102 (following Tales to Astonish #101... comic numbering is extremely bad), and...it’s okay so far! In the modern era, Hulk had a cartoon I never watched, a few nonstarter films, there was that series with Lou Ferrigno I know nothing about... He seems to always function best as a side hero. It doesn’t help that all the villains in his series are, like. Weird? Not like FF crazy weird, just like weird and not seemingly a great match for Hulk himself. Most of the ones that come to mind are dudes who are also mutated by gamma radiation or something else (and sometimes also green? why is the green supposed to be a common thread, that feels coincidental).

Which reminds me, Bruce is almost never present in what I’ve read so far. It’s just Hulk, usually talking way more than feels natural for him (it took a while for him to start speaking mostly in the third person). As a result, Hulk is usually given a very limited range of characterization and expected to coast on that, and it doesn’t often work. You have to put Hulk in casts and settings that complement him. For a while there he has a support character in Rick Jones, a (very uninteresting) teen boy who eventually can’t keep up with the increasingly antagonistic Hulk, bounces over to Captain America as a ward, eventually is confused by a cosmic cube-wielding, Cap-impersonating Red Skull, and fucks off on his own. He is immediately possessed by, and becomes a host for, Mar-Vell/Captain Marvel. I do not give a single fuck about Rick Jones.

In the earliest issues, the Hulk is gray, and also...just a non-furry werewolf. HE changes at night, until issue #102 retconned this.

Highlights: - That first issue has some really nice panels but I’m gonna say that’s all Jack Kirby’s doing. - Ends up harassing the FF, Spider-Man, the Avengers (after being one of them and then getting buttmad and running off), the Silver Surfer, the US military (regularly)... - Hulk goes to the far dystopic future?? He gets back I guess. - Hulk goes to Asgard! This is arguably the most interesting place to put him because all Odin’s warriors try to fight him and then decide lol this guy’s cool let’s go hang out. Meanwhile, Loki keeps fucking with him. But then the Enchantress and the Executioner become the villains and things get kinda boring again. - The Leader (that’s actually the name of a villain) makes a big robot and Hulk throws it into a volcano and then activates said volcano with his FISTS to fuck it up. Then he manually diverts a nuclear missile into the atmosphere after suddenly caring about people even though he has no reason to. Shrug! - Hulk goes to Attilan, the hidden nation of the Inhumans! There’s potential for interesting stuff here, but it’s mostly wasted by a full cast of extremely uninteresting one-off characters. This is all in a double length annual issue with a gorgeous cover by Jim Steranko, but the issue itself is drawn by Marie Severin. She does good stuff! But Steranko’s work is gorgeous.

Whatever!

The Mighty Thor (Journey into Mystery)

Thor’s winged helmet is really dumb, goodnight everybody!

Okay but yeah Thor started out in the Journey into Mystery magazine, and I guess I’d describe his stuff as... Dungeons and Dragons by Marvel? I struggle with it aesthetically but I like some of the ideas. Mjolnir is fucking cool, Asgard is both a real place and an planet (a flat one, even?), fucking Olympus is also a place and Hercules exists, Loki is... well, Loki hasn’t come into his own yet, but we’ll get there one day. On the other hand, some of the villains are dull as dishwater and a number of the good guys took their time getting interesting. Clearly there was some appeal, because he did eventually get his own magazine starting with Thor #126, I think? There’s that bad numbering again.

A big weird problem with Thor is that originally he has a secret identity. Like. Donald Blake is a surgeon who needs to use a cane to walk, and he goes hiking by himself and gets lost I guess and finds a stick and it turns out oops it’s Mjolnir and he becomes Thor! And Thor is not just a new identity, but also a person that is both the Thor of Norse myth, and the actual son of Odin up in Asgard and has been so forever and aaaaaaa

Donald Blake is not super important. He mostly exists to give Thor a weakness in that he can’t let go of his hammer for 60 seconds or he’ll turn back into a guy with a PhD. Eventually, in the latter half of the 60s, they add on to his backstory in a way I like, by saying “oh no no, he was always Thor. At one point Odin punished him by sending him to Earth with amnesia and in the guise of a handicapped guy getting through medical school. For some reason.” Which really only makes his dual identities more confusing, and I actually dig that. The MCU does not fuck with this at all, and I’m assuming the comics throw it out in the decades to come. Also, this semi-retcon was not included in the reading guide, I found it on accident. Anyway.

Highlights: - Thor joins the Avengers! I mean, duh, of course he does. He eventually leaves because he’s too popular and needs his own series or something. He occasionally pops back in to do cool stuff. - Thor accidentally ends up on Olympus and gets into a big sweaty fight with Hercules. They decide they are pals. This was an annual issue. - Thor goes into space! This is where things get good, and I really like Thor’s archaic ass as a cosmic sci-fi hero. Great juxtaposition. - Thor meets/fights Ego, the Living Planet! Okay, I said Galactus was the weirdest thing, and I was wrong. Ego is. Ego is almost as described on the tin, because he is actually described as an entire “bioverse”, and capable of changing the entirety of his physical makeup at any time. It is intensely cool. He’s also kind of evil and wants to spread out to control everywhere. Also, Thor makes friends with a nice recording robot and becomes an ally of robot rights. - Thor dies! A guy with a giant crowbar is accidentally given asgardian power by Loki, and then kills Thor because Thor has lost his power because Odin is punishing him again. And then Hela shows up as the goddess of death and says hey Thor. And he says hold on I got this and gets back in his body and saves the day and it’s fine. Hela does what she does best, stand there and look cool and do nothing else.

god she’s hot

- Thor rescues Ego from Galactus? Kind of on accident, he’s just trying to save the people inbetween who got their planets ate. Actually though, this arc fucking kicks, and he hangs out with the recorder bot too. In the end, Ego is grateful and lets the planetless nomads live on him. - Thor hangs out with Galactus and listens to his tragic backstory! Then Thor decides he’s gonna hit him anyway, and Odin decides “that’s enough for this story arc” and whisks Thor off to fight a robot instead. - Volstagg. - Volstagg.

- VOLSTAGG.

- Thor’s dudes go to the human world and there are shenanigans. It is good.

The Amazing Spider-Man

We all knew this was coming. Marvel’s own Pikachu. Possibly the most popular superhero alive (well, second to Batman anyway). And probably the hero I cared about the most growing up. We got associated a lot because we share a name. Spidey is probably the coolest idea for a superhero anyone has ever had, and they better CGI gets, the better his fights look. I do not care how many QTEs are gonna be in that new videogame, I wanna look at Spidey swing. Spider-man is just cool cool cool cool.

Early Spider-Man comics are fucking boring! Goodnight everybody!

Okay just kidding sort of. Spider-Man takes a while to pick up, in my opinion, and I’m 100% positive part of that is because I’ve seen these early stories retold in better and better definition so many times. I watched the cartoon as a kid, but the Sam Raimi movies are probably what comes to mind when I think of Spider-Man. Steve Ditko nailed a fucking iconic costume design, and did a great job of visually communicating Spidey’s agility on paper. But, in the earliest issues there was rarely any variation in panel size and shape, and action scenes were laid out like diagrams. Both those factors, along with the fact that each panel had dialogue because Peter kind of never shuts up, meant that pacing slowed to a crawl, and I had to chew through those issues. Also sometimes he just fought, like, mobsters with lassos. Jesus christ that’s boring. As the decade goes on, we start getting some good stuff, and to be completely honest, I’m looking forward to the weird dumb 90s stuff the most?

Highlights: - Peter has a persecution complex and uses his secret identity to be an asshole! Even after Peter’s iconic and still very well written origin story, he spends a lot of time harassing people, good and bad. He regularly breaks into JJ’s office in costume and makes fun of him, he crashes the Torch’s party to beat him up and flirt with his girlfriend, he breaks into the Baxter building to fight the FF in hopes they’ll recruit him with pay, he...gets into an argument with black students who are very passionate about affordable housing? He wasn’t even in costume for that one. Jesus, Peter, go to a therapist. - Nobody likes Spider-Man! Kind of makes sense why he’s got those personality issues, though those start with jocks calling him a nerd (he’s a nerd). Half the city doesn’t trust him, he works for a newspaper that is dedicated to anti-Spidey propaganda (Peter, you’re partially at fault for this), even the X-Men just assume he’s a bad guy, and that’s usually a problem they have to deal with. - Really appropriate villains! Wow! The Vulture matches his high up action, Doc Ock is both another victim of weird science and an intellectual rival. Also, like, their namesakes have a lot of legs. The Lizard is...Florida Man. Maybe the better argument is that many of these villains are memorable, in a decade that featured a concerning amount of “large humanoid monster/robot” baddies in all of the running series. - Like the Green Goblin. Who knew that would be Spider-Man’s Joker? Maybe that’s a bad comparison. Also bats and clowns aren’t usually connected with each other. Where was I going with this. - Spider-Man tries to quit the superhero gig twice, I think? He’s the only Marvel hero to consider this, as far as I know. Part of Peter’s appeal is that not only is he a young adult, unlike the rest of Marvel’s adult cast, but he’s also financially disadvantaged, has a non-nuclear model family, and has to look out for his often ailing Aunt. He has to work a side job while going to school while fighting bad guys, and it’s a lot more interesting than what Tony Stark’s doing up to this point. This has all been said so many times by so many people, but it’s an obligatory mention. - Peter donates blood to Aunt May at one point and accidentally gets a radioactive particle in her body. OOPS. Spider-Man goes on a rampage to find an antidote and tears a metal stairwell off its hinges. He also, like, completely destroys a villain’s underwater base and nearly doesn’t get out himself. - The Green Goblin discovers Peter is Spider-Man! Most of the Marvel heroes have this anxiety, but it never ends up a problem, so this is pretty big. The Goblin kidnaps him in broad daylight, ties him to a chair in a secluded place, and infodumps his origin story that he’s actually the father of Peter’s college roommate and is kind of very unhinged and obsessed with Spider-Man? In the end, Gobby gets amnesia and forgets the whole supervillain and mental illness thing and turns back into a good dad. - Spidey goes to the Casbah! Yeah, go figure. He learns his parents were traitors to America, and it fucks him up so much he flies there to find the truth. He ends up exploding the Red Skull and learns his parents were actually double double agents and were spying for America and so things are a-okay!

also peter kills a dude with a missile

- That aforementioned thing about affordable housing happens! Some black college students are unhappy that the university is taking old dorms that could be used as low rent housing for students and instead giving it to visiting alumni, and start a big protest and the narrative actually pins them as sympathetic even when they get overzealous and physical? I’m...kind of surprised, to be honest. Not used to seeing this at all.

Ant-Man, and...other identities. (Tales to Astonish)

ima keep it real with u founding member of the avengers hank pym, this will not improve marvel’s declining sales

This guy is a goddamn mess.

People like to say “pfffft there’s an ant-man? that’s goofy! that’s the weirdest thing ever! that’s a bad idea!” and buddy let me tell you, Hank Pym has a career specializing in bad ideas. Let’s list them!

- Adopt a young woman while she is grieving over the loss of her father and take her in as both a crime-fighting ward (The Wasp!) and also a love interest. Feel bad about it for about five minutes so it’s okay. - Develop a “growth capsule” that allows you to turn huge and decide to adopt two super hero identities, Ant-Man and Giant-Man. Assume this will not confuse anyone. - Eventually do weird science to make it so you can grow and shrink at will. Assume this will not have negative repercussions on your body. - Change the name Giant-Man to Goliath because you feel like Giant-Man is a dumb name. Confuse everyone for multiple issues. - Get stuck as a twelve-foot tall 90s beverage mascot lookin ass motherfucker (you are terrible at costume design, hank) and get real mad at everyone all the time about it. - Create an evil robot called Ultron and forget about it. Oops! Surely this will be fine.

IT’LL BE FINE

- Fail to relate to your robot-grandson-turned-avenger The Vision. Be a bad grandpa. - Inhale chemicals and get all fucked up on temporary schizophrenia (???), adopting a second personality. Call yourself Yellowjacket, claim to have killed Hank, and kidnap your girlfriend and force her to make out with you. - When assaulting your girlfriend makes her, uh, somehow realize that you are Hank, she will rope you into marrying her, thereby...uh...legally cuckolding yourself I guess? Realize you are Hank during/after the wedding, and be perfectly fine with this egregious violation of consent. Nothing about this will have lasting negative consequences. - Adopt the identity of Yellowjacket, and abandon Goliath. Continue to confuse people. On the bright side, finally have a nice costume. - Make a new Goliath costume in celebration of refusing to ever be Goliath again (WHY), and store it and a beaker of growth serum (WHY) in an unlocked locker out in the open (WHY). Hawkeye will steal it and become the new Goliath II.

So far that’s everything about Hank-Man! Stay tuned to see more of this trainwreck.

Iron Man (Tales of Suspense)

YO THIS DUDE SUCKS

I really like Iron Man’s origin story and his overall concept but the tech culture would not advance far enough to match it for a while. Also this was in the era of the Vietnam War and so Tony’s greatest enemy is The Mandarin, an extremely awkward asian stereotype and I! Ain’t! Got! Time! For! That!

Avengers

The Avengers are, at their most interesting, characters already in their own magazines. At their worst, they’re a bunch of characters no one cares about, fighting villains no one cares about, with last second ass-pull victories. There was a brief period there were I suspected the Avengers magazine was going to be true gristle of Marvel I was gonna have to chew on for hours to get through. Thankfully we are eventually given Marvel’s goodest boy, Vision. After that, things start to pick up a lot.

bless him and his little intangible heart

Highlights: - Captain America is found frozen in an ice cube! He’s been in cryo for twenty years, wow how the world has changed. I guess. Another case of time passing eventually making an origin story better. At this point Marvel has revived three 1940s comics properties: Cap, Namor, and the Human Torch (the lattermost in this case being an entirely different person). - Kang the Conqueror! Kang is a hell of a villain concept. He’s a time traveler who once ruled ancient Egypt as a pharaoh named Rama Tut and, uh, will eventually rule over Earth in the 41st century. He keeps harassing the 20th century for some reason. Also he is hint hint maybe related to Doctor Doom, I guess. - Hawkeye joins, having previously been a one-off villain, and proceeds to be an asshole to everyone forever. Eventually he becomes Goliath II because why not I guess. - Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver join, having recently bailed on Magneto’s Brotherhood, and they are...kinda boring, tbh. Wanda’s “hex power” isn’t very well defined (it makes unlucky things happen), and neither of them have much personality yet. At one point they fight Doctor Doom and he uses a machine to cancel out the hex power (???) and outpaces Quicksilver without using any enhancements (???). Some of these issues really blow. Quicksilver’s costume is lazy as hell. - Hercules joins for some reason, even though he says he doesn’t wanna be part of a team.  - Magneto does some sneaky bullshit and tricks Quicksilver into thinking someone at the UN shoots at Wanda on purpose. Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch join Magneto again because fuck normies. - The Avengers are killed (sort of) by the Grim Reaper! Their newest member, the Black Panther, rescues them.

Pick a color you trilobite.

- The Vision joins, Ultron-5 is introduced, and things finally settle in for the good stuff. - Ultron rebuilds himself in adamantium as Ultron-6 and replaces his legs with a rocket chariot thing. No one is brave enough to tell him it looks dumb.

no shut up its cool and i can fit still fit through doorways

immediately the next chapter he re-rebuilds himself with legs and calls himself Ultimate Ultron. mmmhm.

sounds like somebody was havin some self esteem issues about their body. sounds like a talk that ultron and their dad hank pym could probably relate to each other over.

- The decade ends with an arc where Kang abducts the Avengers and ends up himself wrapped up in a proxy wargame with the Grandmaster. Kang uses the Avengers as his pawns, and the GM creates four superhumans that he totally didn’t get from DC no sir. Perfectly original characters, do not steal.

I just...I just really feel like that last one could have used a few more minutes in the boardroom.

- Even better, the second half of the arc pits the avengers against Captain America, Namor, and the Human Torch...in their 1940s renditions!

Hank even comments on the fact that Namor’s diction is different. It’s great.

The Uncanny X-Men

So I grew up in the 90s, and despite never really engaging with comics, I was quite aware that Marvel’s hottest shit at the time was Spider-Man and X-Men. The X-Men had a slow start, but once they caught on, they never really dropped off. Actually, I think they might be less popular now? They’re at least not the ever-present icons they used to be, and I suspect that is partially to do with middling-quality movies diluting the brand.

But, the appeal is there from the start. Children born unique but feared by society are adopted by Patrick Stewart and spirited away to a special boarding school that is secretly dedicated to teaching them to use their powers for the sake of fighting evil. This was the proto-Harry Potter, though Snape’s gonna win no contests against Wolverine.

Unfortunately, we don’t have Wolverine, yet. We’ve got...these guys!

(Not pictured: Marvel Girl/Jean Grey)

The creative potential in mutant design has not quite picked up yet, so the main team (of five teens and an old man) includes such marvels as Guy With Wings, and Guy What Got Big Feet. Seriously, Beast’s feet get way too much attention.

I cannot wait until you are a blue cat instead of this.

I wish I could comment on the political commentary on the series, but it hasn’t quite started up yet, whether that is intentional or not. The rampant fear of mutants is there, we’ve even had a Sentinels arc, but it’s mostly just surface stuff. I had a lot to say about Spider-Man, so I feel kind of silly coming up short here!

Highlights: - Magneto. Despite the slow start this series is going through, Magneto is immediately introduced and has his wonderful costume design and his super threatening magnetism powers. I am a bit confused as to how his magnetism affects all things, not just metal, but magnets are an irl mystery and I’m willing to let it slide. - The Juggernaut. The two-issue arc introducing Juggz himself are effectively told, if not sliiightly silly in structure. The first issue has the X-Men building up defenses because he’s coming, and later, as he tears through each single one, unseen to both the kids and the reader, Xavier explains his and the Juggernaut’s tumultuous childhood together. It builds the tension really well, but it’s a bit funny by the fourth time the X-Men are saying “we gotta go meet him before he breaks in here where we are!” and Xavier’s like “I’M NOT DONE TELLING MY ORIGIN STORY.” - The Sentinels. This is probably the last interesting arc in the 60s, published as early as ‘65. It’s almost the last material in the reading guide, next to an issue where they all get into a fight with Spider-Man for no reason. If I understand correctly, the Sentinels are later depicted as humongous robots, where here they’re closer to ten feet tall or so. I’d always thought the idea of “a bunch of mass produced robots designed to kill mutants” seemed uncreative growing up, especially given that they don’t, like, have an x-gene suppressing ray or anything, but it works well enough in the moment. - Wholly unnecessary amounts of sexual harassment towards Jean Grey. All the boys have the hots for her (well, maybe not Iceman (pun not intended)), including even Xavier saying that she’s attractive when she first arrives. What the fuck, dudes.

X-MANS IS CANCELED

Doctor Strange (Strange Tales)

The reading guide included a ton of Strange Tales to read, including an 11-issue arc at one point. Good grief it was a lot.

Steve Ditko, of early Spider-Man, did the art for Strange for a good while, and I found that contrast between the diagram like action of Spider-Man, and the much more fantastic illustrations of Strange to be the most interesting thing. Eventually Marie Severin would take over as the penciller, and it would take a bit of time to adjust, but the more abstract it got, the better. Also, I don’t really like the footie pajamas Severin draws him in.

This is Steve Ditko. He has thin lines and exact shapes and while you don’t see it here, his magic fights are very clear and easy to follow.

This is Marie Severin. In comparison her lines are thick and smudged (well, okay, we have to give credit to the inkers for these as well, though I think she did her own inking?), but is capable of uniquely evocative images like this. Her action scenes are harder to follow, but she is equally capable of the kind of surreality that appears in Doctor Strange’s comics.

Also, while the topic has been touched on a lot, especially around the time the movie came out, it still bears repeating that Doctor Strange is built on a foundation of cultural appropriation and mystic eastern boogie woogie nonsense. I’m parroting the words of people that know this much better than me, but it’s a problematic and somewhat common trope that media will depict a white protagonist in a foreign setting who not just excels but surpasses everyone else, particularly peers who are native to the setting. At best it’s well-meaning and oblivious, at worst it perpetuates a narrow worldview where everything has to revolve around white people.

Anyway, when the comics focus more on the dread dark dimension of Dormammu, most of these problems aren’t around, and you get lots of fun and bizarre imagery and goofy spell casting.

Highlights: - Dormammu. He’s a prideful otherworldy being who refuses to be caught explicitly going back on his word when beaten at a game of skill, but easily breaks down and claws at loopholes with which he can attempt his petty revenge against Strange. He is also portrayed as a necessary evil, in that he uses his power to erect a barrier that keeps his servants safe from mindless laser-eye cyclops monsters that are just perpetually punching each other. That conflict makes for complicated situations where usurping him may be more harm than help. Also his head is always on fire, and that’s cool. - Trippy visuals. Ditko’s backgrounds lean closer to pop art with abstract shapes, bright colors, and twisting pathways. Severin’s art, if I can remember (there hasn’t been a lot yet) leans closer to mysterious and somewhat vague settings. I’m describing it very poorly.

That’s kind of it for Strange, I guess!

Daredevil

oh my god how many of these have I done now im so tired

I haven’t read much Daredevil yet! The reading guide has given me some seven issues so far out of the full decade, and while there has been some good stuff, I don’t know if I can draw a big mental picture.

DD is, theoretically, in that same category as Captain America, where rather than being a super powerful character, he is merely very very good at what he has. DD got hit in the face with a radioactive dildo or something and it blinded him but enhanced his other senses so intensely that if you sneeze he can tell what brand of nasal spray you use. Also, he’s super acrobatic and has a swiss army walking cane that he can use to do just about anything. And he’s a working attorney. Fuck you and your eyeballs, Batman.

Marvel has not begun to embrace noir, and as I understand it, that seems to be the genre most people know DD for aligning with. As a result, things are kinda silly! DD’s first outfit was yellow and he fought a man who had robot stilts in broad daylight.

Highlights: - Killgrave, the...Purple Man.

I can’t believe this is how Jessica Jones starts.

Uhh, Killgrave got some pheromones or something embedded in his skin on accident and now everyone just does what he says to no matter what. He’s purple now, too. This has not been taken to its terrifying possibilities yet, but I’m very excited to see where it goes. - Daredevil fights Namor. Okay, seriously? Seriously? This is my favorite issue, no joke. Namor busts out of the ocean demanding a lawyer (Matt himself) so he can sue the human race. Shenanigans ensue, and a trial is attempted, but ultimately falls apart when Namor decides “you know what? fuck this I’m gonna start breakin shit”. Matt changes into the DD costume and takes on Namor with everything he can think of, including construction equipment, but fails.

Out of respect, Namor leaves.

- Stilt-Man.

Stilt-Man. (Stilt-Man eventually shrinks into a quantum state that he remains trapped in for months until he suddenly isn’t.)

- And finally, Mike Murdock. In an attempt to ward off suspicion that he might be Daredevil, Matt...pretends to be his twin brother who is never in the same room at the same time as him. As Mike, he is a cocky jerk to everyone and insists that he is Daredevil. And people believe him.

As you would expect (for once), this nearly gets people killed.

Nick Fury (Strange Tales, Agent of Shield)

NICK FURY IS THE BEST GOD DAMN SONNUVA BITCH IN THE WHOLE MARVEL LINE UP

Nick Fury is like if you took James Bond and made it not suck. You get to keep all the gadgets and world traveling but swap out the “ooh, I’m so cool and serious” with kicking open doors and telling fascists to go fuck themselves. Most importantly, it’s a near-parody of the overwrought machismo that the series runs on. It’s so busy getting from point A to point B in as fun a way as possible that it’s impossible to take seriously.

Actually, it might be like if Battle Tendency was less sympathetic to real world fascists. Which is to say, it’s the pinnacle of evolution.

Look me in the eye and tell me this isn’t a JJBA action scene. (Also, Jim Steranko blessed us with a shirtless Fury in latex pants.)

A highlights list would be ridiculously long because I love these comics, so I’ll instead focus on one thing in particular.

- Jim Steranko’s art is gorgeous

Yes, these are all Nick Fury title pages.

Captain America (Tales of Suspense)

Steve is just now starting to get interesting, mostly through his own series, but he’s had plenty of time for notable moments throughout his screentime (pagetime?) in Tales of Suspense and Avengers. While talking about Daredevil I mentioned Captain America and how he’s less of a nigh-supernatural being like most heroes, and more of a particularly exceptional human. He hits really hard, but more impressive is his stamina and agility. Something that I’ve liked in the MCU is how they’ve portrayed him as always capable of what is just one step beyond what people think is possible of him. He can’t fly, but he’ll do as many impossible leaps as necessary. He’s not super strong (well, not to the degree of Spider-Man), but he sure can run for miles, and he knows his way around that shield.

I feel like a lot of what I’m writing is surface level readings of these comics, but the characteristics of Steve that really identify him haven’t quite shown themselves yet, I think. When I think of him, what always comes to mind is that his “american good boy” values take priority over allegiances, and so you’ll see Captain America himself abandon his title if America no longer represents the values of protecting the weak. Steve Rogers is kind of a perfect flawless human (when not written terribly), but that’s pretty okay at the end of the day, when a superhero is more of an icon than a person.

Highlights: - That time the Red Skull got the Cosmic Cube (not the Tesseract), and became a god for like five minutes.

- That time Cap fought a giant baby.

- That time Cap pretended to be dead and then stopped Hydra from burying all the avengers alive even Vision who would...be able to just phase out of the grave. I’m not really sure what the plan there was. - That other time the Red Skull got the cosmic cube and then switched bodies with Cap and they made a lot of facial expressions.

- That time Rick Jones thought Captain America didn’t like him, meanwhile Cap was stranded on a desert island and hanging out with The Falcon and it was cool. Nobody cares about Rick Jones.

Namor, The Sub-Mariner (Tales to Astonish)

I didn’t read a fuck shit about this dude! Sorry!

Captain Marvel

we’re so close to being done

The reading guide gave me nearly nothing on this dude. Issues #1-3 and then #17. He’s a Kree (whoa!) named Mar-Vell (lol) who should be helping to fuck up Earth but ends up liking it and chooses to defend it. He’s got a jet pack and a laser and a really shit costume and he’s NOT BLUE.

Marvy, I need you to move over, the more interesting hero is behind you.

He’s got an asshole commanding officer who keeps trying to get him killed because he wants to fuck his girlfriend and SNORE, I do not care. Come on dude. I have been psyched to learn about 

At some point in-between chapters #3 and #17, and...shit, I’ll just quote wikipedia for this:

After aiding humanity several times, Mar-Vell is found guilty of treason against the Kree Empire and sentenced to death by firing squad. Mar-Vell escapes in a stolen rocket, but becomes lost in space. After drifting for 112 days, he is weak and on the verge of madness. He is manipulated by Ronan the Accuser and Kree Minister Zarek into helping them overthrow the Supreme Intelligence. To better help them, Mar-Vell is given a new costume and enhanced abilities. After the conspiracy is foiled, Mar-Vell tries to return to Earth. On the way, he is hit by a blast of radiation that traps him in the Negative Zone.[16]

The Supreme Intelligence enables Mar-Vell to telepathically contact Rick Jones, which he uses to lead Jones to a set of "nega-bands" at an abandoned Kree base. When Jones puts on the bands and strikes them together, he trades places with Mar-Vell and is encased in a protective aura in the Negative Zone. The pair discover they are able to maintain telepathic contact. Using this method, Mar-Vell can remain in the positive universe for a period of three hours.

well what the fuck that might have been worth reading, thanks reading guide

Anyway, so yeah, Rick Jones! Both of these characters were pretty boring, and mayyybe this will help the both of them. Or not. At least the new costume is cool.

Silver Surfer

IT’S THE LAST ONE THANK GOD

Once again, I don’t have much to say here! I wrote all my thoughts on the surfer up in the Fantastic Four section, so you can read that if you haven’t. The reading guide only gave me three issues to read, though they were quite good. The first was his origin story, which I already wrote about above. The second one was about invisible aliens that manipulated the surfer and people’s distrust of him (part of this is because he keeps occasionally attacking humans because he thinks it’ll make them be nicer to each other). And in the third issue, Mephisto kidnaps his long lost girlfriend from his home planet. It works out kind of badly for everyone involved.

begone, thought

And that’s everything for the 60s. Phew! This took a long time and I don’t know if it was worth it. Let me know if you read it, if you enjoyed it, if you pity me, whatever. I got more comics to read.

[theliterateape]

The Racetrack

By Wayne Lerner

“And they’re off!”

Those are words I have only heard on TV, not in person, as I have never been to a race track except when it is closed.

Let me explain.

In college, I worked for my grandfather who owned Acme Heating and Air Conditioning, the second oldest HVAC firm in Chicago. Why was it called Acme? Because then it would be first in the Yellow Pages when people looked up air conditioning firms.

It wasn’t a big union shop, but busy enough that, every summer, Gramps employed many men to service home and business air-conditioning systems. Most were local technicians but many came from Mexico to work and send money home each week.

Gramps had an interesting and diverse staff and a fascinating set of clients.

One was a tall, slender man with sloping shoulders whose eyes sparkled with kindness, most of the time. Underneath, he had a mean streak emanating from his pores from growing up on the streets. He was born in Little Italy of Jewish parents who had emigrated from Russia. My great grandparents had little control over him. In sixth grade, he was sent to Montefiore, a school for students with severe emotional disorders, aka juvenile delinquents. 

He never had any formal education beyond sixth grade but was as street smart as any person I had ever met. While Gramps had some latent racist tendencies and was known to make offending comments, he put his arms around all kinds of people, anyone in need. They loved him for his generosity and were loyal to him. That was the trait he valued over all others.

As a teen, he was the leader of the 16th Street Gang and tooled around the city on his motorcycle. He was known for his brutal toughness. His knuckles were scarred, his hands callused. There were marks on his arms where cuts were stitched up from fights long ago. More than once, I would urge him to tell me what it was like growing up at that time.

“Was it as dangerous as they say?” I would ask.

“It was not easy being the only Jew in the neighborhood gangs,” he said. “I got called all kinds of names. My friends reminded me that I didn’t belong there. Why? It was a religious thing. After all, they said, ‘the Jews killed Christ, didn’t they?’” 

“Did they beat you up for that?” I asked, seeking the details behind his injuries. 

“We made a peace treaty because we had bigger fish to fry than who killed Christ. We all needed money, we were dirt poor. My father, your great grandfather, worked as a tailor and your great grandmother cleaned houses. My friends’ parents were in the same boat.”

My mother would tell me stories about her father’s misadventures when he was young. She said that he was a part of the Capone gang.

She said that, in his twenties, he got a job delivering booze for Al Capone. Gramps drove a cab six days a week but, on Sundays, he took his mother for rides so she could get out of the house. The problem was that he would only take her through the alleys of Chicago and nearby suburbs.

The family legend goes that his mother called Capone and demanded that he be released from his service.

Every so often, he would ask her to get out of the car. 

“Ma, you need to stretch your legs.”

“Why, Leo?” 

“Because the doctor said that you shouldn’t sit too long.”

“If the doctor says so, I’ll do it.” 

When she left the cab, he lifted up the backseat where the booze was stored, unloaded the illegal products and delivered them to big Al’s clients’ back doors.

When his mother realized what he was doing, she was apoplectic. 

“Leo! You have become a criminal, a goniff, a thief, a no-good-nik! What am I going to do with you? You are going to get caught and be sent away again. This time you are not coming back!”

You don’t piss off an old woman who sacrificed all she had to get her family out of Tsarist Russia and away from the pogroms.

She wanted Gramps to get an education and become a professional-a doctor, a lawyer, even an accountant.  That would have been her idea of success. That wasn’t in the cards for young Leo. All he wanted to do was fool around, make money delivering booze, and gamble. Leo didn’t use the money he made to play cards, dice or the horses. He bought vacant property, sometimes alone and sometimes with his Uncle Herb, another alum of Montefiore. How they got the sellers to agree with the prices they offered is a story unto itself.

The family legend goes that his mother called Capone and demanded that he be released from his service. I can just imagine that conversation. 

“Mr. Caponey, I want my Leo out from your terrible business. It’s illegal. And if he gets into trouble one more time, the authorities will send him to the labor camps, not to a prison. Please, Mr. Caponey, find another putz to deliver your liquor. Just leave my Leo alone!”

Capone—who’d never been talked to that way, certainly not by an 80-year-old Russian woman with broken English—would have roared. 

“Mrs. P,”  he would reply, “Calm down. I have a proposal. How about if he works for me just one day a month. You see, he is quite good at his job and nobody gives Leo any trouble. Not never. What do you say?”  

I am sure the call was not long, but still one for the books. In the end, Capone relented. He respected her family values, the old woman’s guts and her commitment to her son. And he knew if he didn’t let Gramps go, my great grandmother would never stop nagging him.

These events can’t be validated but were told quite often as I was growing up. Whenever the story came up, all Gramps would do was give a sly smile and a twinkle would come into his eyes. He would never say a word about those days or the stories. Just smile.

His choice of staff and customers reflected his upbringing. The latter included bookstores that sold racy material in their back rooms, special town houses where suspect illegal activities were going on night and day, most of the City of Chicago police and fire departments and libraries. And the tracks, Sportsman’s and Hawthorne. Gramps never had any trouble with the police. Ever.           

My job at Acme was to take apart the window A/C units, fix their problems and then put them back together. More often than not, I ended up with more parts on the bench than in the unit. But the unit worked, kinda. What can I say? I was a college boy with no technical skill whatsoever. 

One Monday morning, I heard Gramps holler from the office in front.

“James, get up here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Coming in from the back, I saw a gentleman talking to Gramps in heavily accented English about a job just assigned to Acme. 

“I want you to meet Juan,” Gramps said. “He will be your boss from now on. Just follow his directions and you will do just fine.” 

Gramps assigned me to work with one of his most trusted employees. Juan worked for Acme for over twenty years. He would arrive from Saltillo, Mexico every April 1, like clockwork, in his beat up but reliable truck.  A touch over six feet, a solid two hundred pounds, Juan knew how to handle himself. With a perpetual 5 o’clock shadow and muscles bulging from his work shirt, Juan was my protector and tutor. 

Over four years, Juan unsuccessfully tried to teach me Spanish and eat foods that were quite spicy as he watched over me like a second father. He made sure I didn’t mess up the jobs we were on or the guys didn’t give me too much trouble. I had to learn to stand up for myself, but sometimes things went too far. That’s when Juan stepped in. A quiet, commanding presence who made his point of view known in both Spanish and English, with emphasis added.

Juan knew I was not cut out for the air-conditioning business and that my grandfather was doing me a favor by giving me a job. 

“James, why you cut yourself so many times on our jobs? A good repairman finishes the day with no cuts, no blood. It no good to go to bars after work looking like you lost the fight!” Juan’s laugh was long and hearty matching the smile on his face. “We have to stop at Walgreens before we go home to get you more band aids!

Daily, I would nag my grandfather to be assigned the more risqué places to service.

“Why can’t I go to that bookstore on Rush Street or that house on Cedar like the other did guys last week?” 

“First, you are not old enough. Second, You’re my grandson and I don't need shit from your mother who will certainly find out where I sent you. Third, why do you need to look for trouble? You’re a smart boy, you're in college. Get a fucking education and leave those calls to someone else.”

So Juan and I serviced home and apartment units, corporate clients like Solo Cup in Ford City and the tracks.

At the race tracks, my job was pretty simple, but potentially dangerous. A flat-bed truck delivered large heating and air-conditioning units to the site. A crane with a large boom was brought in, a big hook attached. The hook had to be put in the eye bolt which was fastened to the top of the unit. Once the connection was made, the person attaching the hook to the eye bolt had to scamper down a ladder and get off the flatbed truck before the crane began to lift the unit to the roof. That was my job. I guess I was considered expendable because I was the only non-union guy around.

Over the course of a week, we would install ten to twelve rooftop units. In between the installations, we would trudge through the race track with our footsteps echoing down the hallways as it was empty of any patrons, only service workers present. We would walk by the betting windows, watching the cashiers stock their drawers full of cash under the close scrutiny of the floor bosses, for the races later that day. 

One afternoon, after doing an install and before going to another job, Juan and I went to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. We were sitting there when one of the guys who worked at the track, recognized us and came over and sat down. 

“You guys work for Acme, for Leo?” he asked. “Oh yeah, my name’s Rocco. I like Leo. He doesn’t bullshit around. If he likes you, great. If he doesn't, you better watch out. I don’ want to be on his bad side. I heard the stories, you know, and they weren’t pretty.”

 Juan just nodded his head. I sat there staring at the guy like he was an actor out of the gangster movies.

Rocco was a presence at the track. Dressed in high waisted black pleated slacks, a colorful shirt and pointed Italian shoes, always polished.  No one knew what he did. He was not one of the service guys, not dressed like that. 

Juan and I were well aware of the rumors of who worked at and financially benefited from the track. We did our jobs and that’s all. We were not there to make waves, new friends or enemies.

Anytime we were at the track to install or service the units, Rocco was there. He would always seek us out to sit and talk. 

Rocco had a hard edge to him, but seemed to be a pretty good guy underneath. He treated Juan and me with respect. In turn, we respected him. Whenever we got together, however, Rocco did all the talking. 

He told us stories of his family and how hard his dad was on him.  How he really couldn’t make it in school.

“I don’ like all that reading and writing. I like doin’. Ya, know what I mean?”

He would laugh and then tell us about his escapades with girls he was trying to get into bed that week.

“You ought to see Betty Ann. What a looker and built! Like a brick shithouse, she is!”

And a little bit about his siblings. But only a little bit, like he was trying to hide something.

We never saw Rocco pay for any of his food or drink. He always had a full tray of refreshments with him and would bring it to our table when he wanted to talk with us. 

“I’ll buy,” he would say as we walked in. “Whaddaya want? A date with Betty Ann? You Acme guys can’t handle that broad.” Rocco had a laugh which bounced off the walls of the cafeteria and brought everyone’s attention to him. 

As a gesture of friendship, we would offer to buy him lunch or something to drink if he ever came over empty-handed.

Most of the time, my job was to get Rocco black coffee which he had with his ever-present cigarette. He carried his pack of unfiltered Pall Mall’s in a folded up portion of his shirt sleeve, under which he wore his white Dago tee. Rocco was always in uniform and played his role perfectly.

One day, towards the end of the summer, Rocco was moaning about his brother who, he said, was going to be gone a long time. 

“Me and my older brother take care of each other. Nobody fucks with us. He’s the only guy I can trust, the only guy I can lean on.”

“What about us?” I asked. “You can trust us. We can keep our mouths shut.”

“Sure,” he said. “Like you, college boy, and your Mexican friend here are going to do the shit we do. No fuckin’ way. You don’ have the fegato to do our kind of work. Capisce? Do you understand?” 

Rocco laughed loud and long, then stopped as if the reality of the situation he was going to face entered his consciousness. 

Rocco’s face contorted as it moved from laughing to concern, fear and then terror. 

“I got to go,” he said as he got up from the table. “I gotta get out of here before I talk too much.”

“Wait,” I said. “What’s with your brother? You started to say something about him, then you stopped.”

Rocco paused as he stood over us, looked around and said in a quiet voice, “He killed a cop who was staking him out. The cop figured it out what our business was and was goin’ to take us in. My brother didn’t know that the cop had friends with him. They nabbed him after he shot the cop in the head. They took him to court. Now he’s in Joliet for murder one. And he ain’t coming back.”

I remember nothing more about the rest of the day. My mind went blank. Throughout the rest of the summer, we saw Rocco several more times before I had to leave for college but he never came over to talk or sit with us again. 

Once he told us the story about his brother, it was clear he needed to avoid us. He was never the same after the day of the big reveal. His appearance got sloppy and he no longer had a swagger in his walk. He shuffled from place to place, looking like a man with no future. Once, I heard one of the pit bosses hollering at him. If Rocco’s brother was still around, that would never have happened. Rocco’s protector was gone. Now he was on his own.

The next summer, I went back to work for Gramps. When we got to the track, Rocco wasn’t there. No one knew what had happened to him or they weren’t saying. Just then, the head of the pit bosses came over with his coffee, sat down and lit a cigarette.

“You guys from Acme?” he asked with smoke billowing from his nose as he spoke.

“I got a few window air conditioners in the apartments I manage which could use a tune up. They’re making funny noises. Think you can do me a favor one of these days?”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Norse Myth LOT Fic 2: Victory in Anticipation (Coldwave)

Fic: Victory in Anticipation (Ao3 Link) - Chapter 1/3 Fandom: Flash, Legends of Tomorrow, Norse Mythology Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart Sequel to Victory in Waiting - read first

Summary: Leonard Snart is dead and his soul has gone to Valhalla, the home of heroes, and that's the end of the story.

Well.

Not quite.

A/N: I highly recommend reading the first fic in this series first.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Every morning, after he’s awake but before he opens his eyes, he thinks – perhaps today.

Perhaps today he’ll wake up and see a dirty off-white ceiling with a bootprint smack in the middle, like the house on Lennox Street that was always secretly his favorite, or the vast height of a warehouse roof, or even the dull unrelieved slate grey that could stand for either Iron Heights or the Waverider.

Perhaps.

And then he opens his eyes and is blinded by the glint of golden shields, layered over each other like roof-tiles.

Nope.

Looks like it’s just going to be another day in fucking Valhalla.

Len sighs and rolls out of bed.

He does not like his bed, despite its fine carvings, because it was made by people who have a shit understanding of the finer arts of mattress-making – there’s a goddamn midpoint between sleeping on a lumpy set of rocks and drowning in a pile of fluff and fur – but he’s willing to admit that part of it might be his overall disappointment in the fact that he’s still here.

He wanders down to breakfast.

“Well met, Snare,” Ivar says, raising his – you know what, Len is going to call it a cup, despite its very obvious horn shape. He was never into Viking lore; insofar as he ever learned anything about mythology (religion?), it was about his own Judaism, a bit of Christianity (for Lisa, in case she cared – she didn’t), and maybe some Greek mythology because Xena.

He’s aware that that’s not a good basis for dealing mythology anything, but if he’d have realized it was going to be relevant to his life – or death, as it happens – he’d have read up about it first.

“It’s Snart,” Len says, not for the first (or, he suspects, the last) time. “Don’t suppose anyone’s done anything about my request for cheese, have they?”

“As we’ve explained several times,” Haukr, the man sitting next to Ivar – not as broad, but twice as smart – says, rolling his eyes, “the goat Heiðrún’s udders give mead, not milk.”

“Has anyone asked?”

“No.”

“I’m going to do it myself,” Len says.

“When you inevitably get yourself killed, I’ll laugh at you tomorrow,” Haukr says practically.

“Maybe this time I’ll wake up in the right place,” Len says. He doubts it, but a guy can hope, right?

“Snare here is Jewish,” Ivar tells another person, coming over from the sleeping area yawning. “Didn’t even know you could have Jewish einherjar before him.”

“What’s Jewish?” the other man grunts.

“The ones that don’t work on the seventh day,” Len sighs. He’s had this discussion before.

“Oh, them,” the man says. “Liked them. Can’t they not eat pig or something?”

This part of the discussion, too, is repetitive. It doesn’t make it less annoying.

“Not unless it’s necessary,” Len informs him.

“Is Sæhrímnir –”

“No, the giant boar roasting over the fire – though I see it’s gotten itself back off the fire and has pranced back into the forest on its dainty little hooves to let you bloodthirsty assholes hunt it down for today’s dinner again – before being plopped into the cook-pot is definitely not kosher. But since it’s the only thing to eat in this place, it’s fine.”

“Huh,” new guy says, scratching himself. He obviously doesn’t care, and he moves on without another word.

Again, not unsurprising. Len has had this conversation before. Verbatim.

“Is there an eight-letter word in Norse for ‘boring’?” Len asks Haukr. “Because right now I’m feeling it being ‘Valhalla’.”

“You shouldn’t blaspheme,” Ivar says, but by this point he’s gotten pretty used to Len and the admonishment isn’t quite as strong as it had been in the beginning.

“Where’s Leifr, anyway?” Len asks. He and Haukr tend to hang out a lot. “Not like he could go anywhere.”

“Tried to peep at the valkyries again,” Haukr says.

“So, dead?”

“Yeah. Already.”

“Fucking idiot.” It’s not like the valkyries don’t come by every night to serve everybody beer (mead, if you feel like being pedantic); Leifr’s just dumb. Dumber even than Ivar, and that takes some doing.

Haukr grunts in agreement. “You coming out with us?” he asks, jerking his head towards the armory, which is primarily armed with spears and knives and other such things.

Len makes a face. He appreciates a good knife as much as the next guy, but he doesn’t actually like fighting for the sake of fighting. That’s more Mick’s game.

He misses Mick.

Len crushes that thought before it’s even formed, because he doesn’t actually want Mick to be dead anytime soon, even though his presence might be the sole thing that makes this place tolerable. Mick would probably enjoy crushing them all.

“No,” he says instead. “Going to work on my ‘fruit and vegetable’ petition. I’ve never appreciated a salad more.”

Haukr laughs and shakes his head. “You’re as crazy as old Håkon, and he’s Úlfheðinn,” he says, amused.

Len smiles the smile of someone who has no idea what the fuck that means and is increasingly tired of having to ask people to translate for him. He thinks it might mean something like berserker, but with wolves or something.

Haukr doesn’t bother explaining, opting instead to get up from the table and head out to the fighting fields, Ivar close behind him.

Len waits until they’re gone before slinking out of the main part of the great hall. It’s a big place – possibly infinite – but he’s found a few places which aren’t so crowded that he can relax and think about what to do about his currently untenable situation.

Thinking he was going to die is one thing. Waking up and being informed that you’ve been recruited to fight in the army of your adopted father (what even), who is apparently the big tall scary guy with the one eye sitting on the throne in the middle of the room with the two ravens (what even), and then basically being ditched by said adopted father (at least that’s familiar?) to practice until you’re called upon for service of some unspecified sort - that's a whole different kettle of fish. This is not Len’s idea of a good afterlife, no thank you.

Not least because Len doesn’t actually like being of service to anyone. Ever.

He doesn’t go anywhere near said big tall and scary, who’s preoccupied with other things anyway – other gods come to talk to him, sometimes, usually Tiny Hammer Guy (Thor? Thrum? something?), Mr. One-hand, or Shiny Farm Guy, and sometimes he goes out with them, but either way, Len started his time here in Valhalla by observing, and he may not know much about the god everyone calls the All Father, but he knows everything he needs to about the guy.

Including the wisdom of not even thinking his name.

Len never liked bullies, and that applies to gods, too. The guy rubbed him the wrong way by claiming to be Len’s new father (what even, part forty two) and nothing Len’s heard about since has improved his opinion even a little. Slaughter, war, manipulation, treachery – seems like this guy’s stock in trade makes him well suited to be one of Len’s criminal companions, but not necessarily one that Len would ever work with and certainly never for.

Reminds him a bit of his real father, actually, if Lewis wasn’t a dumb fuck. Luckily for Len’s mood, he-who-shall-not-be-named-but-isn’t-nearly-as-cool-as-Voldemort-yes-even-book-seven-Voldemort is absent today.

There’s a croaking sound as one of the ravens settles down on the table next to Len.

“You are not wrong, who deem/That my days have been a dream,” Len tells him.

“That’s ‘A Dream Within A Dream’,” the raven croaks back, annoyed. “Wrong one, again.”

“Guess I don’t know my Poe,” Len says.

“Just make the goddamn Nevermore joke already and get it out of your system,” it says.

Clearly Muninn. Huginn actually thinks Len is pretty funny, even if he’ll never admit it – at least, he does after Len treated him to a ten minute lecture on the concept of intrusive thoughts after that one time when he’d decided to come visit while Len was taking a bath and perched on the edge of the bathtub.

Len had also accused him of being a pervert, but Huginn had responded by pointedly commenting on Greek mythology, which, fair. Not relevant, since Len’s a Jew, but fair.

“I’m not plagiarizing Neil Gaiman,” Len informs Muninn primly. “You ever read American Gods?”

“I’m a raven.”

“And that’s an excuse for illiteracy?”

“I can read!”

“So you’re just lazy about keeping up with good literature, that it?”

Muninn rolls his eyes – not a thing Len knew ravens could do before he came here – and flies away out the window, presumably to go about his information collecting rounds, the nasty little snitch.

The Big Guy might have a mild inclination to keep an eye – the one he’s got left, anyway – on Len, but Len’s learned the skill of being just the right mix of incredibly well-behaved and incredibly annoying that drives jailors out of their skulls in Iron Heights, and the gods have nothing on them.

(At this point, the ravens showing up isn’t a demonstration of the Chief’s interest so much as it is their own morbid curiosity.)

Len heads towards the currently empty throne area, only to nearly get tackled by a giant husky with bad breath that’s bigger than Len is.

“Geri, damnit,” Len says, trying not to laugh. “Geri. Geri, we’ve talked about this. We do not jump on people to say hello.”

Geri licks Len’s face, entirely undeterred.

“Oh god, no, you eat corpses, Geri! I can smell it! No! Stop! Desist!”

Eventually Len manages to untangle himself, mostly by virtue of spending a good ten minutes scritching Geri behind the ears until the gigantic beast rolls over onto his belly.

Then he spends another ten minutes giving Geri a belly rub, because Len is weak if you walk on four legs and are adorably fluffy. At least, he is if no one's looking.

“Good Geri,” he praises him. “Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy, yes you are, Geri, good Geri! Such a good doggie. You’re the best doggie, yes you are, my little corpse-eater, you. Oh, ugh, I’m going to have to give you another toothbrushing later, aren’t I?” Len makes a face as Geri’s breath rolls out in a miasma that stinks of eau de dead thing. “Yes, yes, I am, aren’t I? Still, not your fault your master’s a dumbass, yes he is. But it’s not your fault, is it, because you’re a good boy.”

Geri yips happily, tail wagging like a madman. Someone told Len that Geri’s actually a wolf, which is clearly just ridiculous. Sure, he’s big, pony-sized big, but he totally looks like a slightly larger version of a husky Len saw once. Maybe a husky-Newfoundland mix or something. And have you seen the size of the goat on the roof? Now that’s big.

Admittedly, Len’s never actually seen a wolf – Central City was more coyote territory, if anything - but seriously, Geri’s way too cute. His brother Freki, too.

“Where’s your brother, huh?” Len asks, not expecting an answer.

“Afghanistan,” Huginn says, flapping by lazily in Muninn’s wake. Huginn’s the faster of the two ravens, but sometimes, for no reason, he takes a meandering path.

Len can sympathize. His thoughts do that sometimes, too.

Doesn’t mean he has any patience for Huginn’s shit.

“Three words, birdie-boy,” he says. “Cognitive behavioral therapy. I’ll thought the shit right out of you.”

Huginn barks a laugh and wheels out the window as well.

“I’m threatening him with Prozac next time,” Len mutters, getting up off his knees. Geri yips happily and jumps up as well, tail wagging happily. His head easily comes up to Len’s torso, even bowed.

He is a very big doggie.

Len absently puts his hand on Geri’s ears as he walks through the entranceway that the gods usually use. Sure, the other einherjar avoid it like the plague, but no one’s ever actually said that humans weren’t supposed to go through that way.

Also, there are apples.

Len nearly broke down and cried the first time he saw the tree with the golden apples. Sweet, sweet Vitamin C. If he ever sees Mick again, he’s apologizing for all the stupid things he ever said about vegetables being optional and/or best served in ketchup form.

But he’s not going apple-picking today – not least because Ms. Goldilocks Iðunn nearly caught him again last time, and he’s not sure giving her big wide eyes and a quivering lip is going to work yet another time.

(“You don’t understand,” he told her. “I’m craving salad. Salad!”

She covered her mouth. “That’s not an excuse,” she replied, but she’s about three seconds away from cracking.

“I’m dreaming of beets. Beets. And turnips. That’s a fate worse than death.”

She made a slightly strangled sound, struggling to keep her face from smiling.

He decided to switch tracks. “Is it true that they call you Þjazi's booty?” he asks, having heard that story just the day before by the fire.

“Yes, it’s true,” she replied, slightly puzzled.

“Well, now I know I’m doomed,” he sighs dramatically.

“…why do you say so?”

“In the words of my mother’s people, the booty don’t lie.”

Her howls of laugher had followed him all the way out of the orchard, apples safely in hand.)

No, today he’s going to continue his explorations of the other parts of not-Midgard-that’s-Earth-it’s-the-other-one-fuck-Norse-naming-conventions. Aesirgard? Asgard? Whatever. Sure, he could limit himself to Valhalla, but he’s already figured out the pattern of the place: sleeping quarters, eating hall, bathing area, armory, repeat ad nauseum. It’s like someone built the whole place based on the copy-paste function.

At least there’s some variety out here.

Today, he’s going for the big barn-like building. Going by the smell, he’s going to guess that it’s the stables. Luckily, he still has one of Iðunn’s apples left; he figures he’ll be all right.

He doubts there’s anything valuable there – he’s already gotten bored picking leaves off of Glasir, because what’s even the point of stealing golden leaves that no one else wants? – but he believes in being thorough.

Since he apparently has forever.

Or until Ragnarök, anyway. Whatever that is. People don’t like to talk about it for some reason.

Len cracks open the door and slips in, Geri padding along silently behind him.

“Well,” Len says, squinting around as his eyes adjust to the relative dark. “It’s…definitely a stable.”

He walks over to the first pen, then stop and stares.

“Goats,” he says flatly. “More giant goats.”

The goats ignore him, as goats have a tendency to do.

“Do you eat sweaters?” Len asks them. “Mi– my partner, he once said that goats ate everything, but that they liked his sweaters best.”

They don’t answer.

He steps back and studies them at a slight distance. “Any relation to old Heiðrún?” he asks. “You’re a lot smaller than she is, but you’re also, uh, more male.” He pauses and wrinkles his nose. “Oh, man, now I really hope that all that she-goat mead isn’t a milk substitute, because ew. This is why food should come out of prepackaged plastic wrap.”

The goats continue to ignore him.

Len wonders if they have names.

Geri abruptly yips joyfully and darts ahead, into the dark of the stable. Len frowns and trots after him, only to find him happily chasing a circle around a long-suffering looking cat, which is having exactly none of it.

A very, very fluffy, very, very, very large cat.

“Holy cat,” Len says, because – wow. “Look at you. If you ain’t the most gorgeous kitty I’ve ever seen, I don't know what is,” he says sincerely, because the fluff. It’s so – fluffy. It’s massive. It’s a dire version of a Norwegian forest cat, or a Maine Coon, Len’s not sure, but he’s leaning towards Norway because, well, context. But still. The cat is as big as a small bear, and the fluff has got to be a whole another bear just by itself. “You must hate rainstorms.”

“You have no idea,” a voice says from behind him.

Len manages to keep himself from jumping in surprise, and turns.

“Okay, no. No. This is a step too far. Explain this to me - why does Viking heaven have Mr. Ed?” Len asks accusingly.

The horse, giant like the rest of them, well above a normal horse’s size and Len has seen horses before so he knows, brays a laugh. “I like that,” it – he? Okay, yep, definitely a he, this is 100% a stallion and not a gelding and also why does Len do this to himself – says. “Mr. Ed. A talking horse, I assume?”

“Old television program,” Len says resentfully. “No one here even knows what television is.”

“There aren’t really a lot of new einherjar these days,” the horse says, shrugging. Given how huge it is, there’s a lot of shrugging going on there. Whole muscle groups are involved.

“How many hands are you?” Len asks, studying him. “I don’t actually know how big a ‘hand’ is, but I could probably math it backwards.”

The horse brays again. “I don’t think anyone’s ever counted, honestly,” he says when he’s done snickering. “I like you.”

“Thanks, Ed.”

“Ed?”

“Well, you haven’t given me any other name to call you by,” Len points out. “Not like there are any nameplates either.”

“Good point,” the horse says. “But no, I like Ed. Keep going with that.”

“Gee, thanks. And what should I call Goats 1 and 2? They’re one short for the Billy Goats Gruff.”

Ed snickers. “Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr,” he says. “Teeth-barer and teeth-grinder, respectively."

“Really?” Len says. He doesn’t mean to be doubtful, but they’re, well…kind of placid. “That’s like naming your Pekingese ‘Bruiser’. Unless they’ve been turned into a vampire, because in that case, name away. Still pissed they never gave him a name in the movie…”

“I don’t even want to understand what twists your minds just took,” Ed says, but he’s definitely amused. “You know, I haven’t said that about anyone for years; you should be complimented.”

“I successfully piss off Huginn and Munnin on a regular basis,” Len informs Ed. “I am complimented.”

Ed snickers.

“So, does the cat have a name?”

“Cats, plural,” Ed corrects.

Len immediately scans the area for a second giant cat.

“Rafters.”

Len looks up.

“That’s a lot of fluff to balance on one rafter,” he says admirably.

“They don’t have names, I’m afraid,” Ed says. “Freyja just never bothered.”

“Actually, that makes sense,” Len says thoughtfully. “They are cats. Cats are above such petty things as names; they are merely kind enough to sometimes answer to descriptive terms barely worthy of their worship.”

He’s joking, of course, but he swears the cat that Geri is trying (unsuccessfully) to convince to play with him gives him an approving look.

“Right,” Ed says, shaking his mane. “You’re going to give them an ego.”

“They’re cats, they already know they’re superior to us,” Len says dismissively. “I’m going to be stereotypical and call you Rumpleteazer, okay?” he asks the one ignoring Geri. “Likes to create chaos with her partner, Mungojerrie, who can be Mr. Rafters up there.”

She considers this for a long minute and purrs approvingly.

“I think that’s the furthest any man has gotten with Freyja’s cats since I’ve met them,” Ed observes. “Well done. What will be your next trick? Hoop-jumping? Fire-breathing?”

“I like you,” Len tells Ed. “You’re kind of a dick. I appreciate that in people.” He pauses. “And horses, apparently.”

Ed shuffles his legs in mock-embarrassment, which makes Len have to rub his eyes because he would have sworn –

“Yes, there are eight,” Ed says.

“Thought I was seeing double,” Len says gratefully.

“You should probably get back,” Ed says with a sigh. “They’ll eventually notice you’re missing, and time in the Hall works differently from out here. It’ll be almost evening for them.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Len offers. “And here, something to remember me by till then.”

He pulls the apple out of his pocket and offers it to Ed.

Ed stares at it for a long moment.

“What?” Len asks, a little uncomfortable. “I thought horses liked apples.”

“We do,” Ed says. “It’s just – that’s a – you know what, never mind.” He leans forward and lips at the apples, picking it up delicately with his teeth before crunching into it with all sounds of evident delight. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Len says. “Should I bring some Sæhrímnir-meat for the Hammerhead Hannigans tomorrow?”

“…they’d probably like some bones,” Ed allows. “I see that you’re very frustrated by no one getting your references.”

“I’m bunking with people who think similes are the height of humor,” Len says sulkily. “They even like puns! It’s not as much fun if someone’s not groaning.”

“I knew someone once who’d like you very much,” Ed remarks. “Now go.”

“Yeah, yeah. Geri, heel,” Len calls, whistling sharply.

Geri bounds over and Len rewards him with scritches.

“…just so you know, you disturb me greatly,” Ed says.

Len snickers and heads back to the hall, ducking back in just in time for Huginn to fly through the window like a bat out of hell.

Len wonders what the news is, but opts to go help himself to some Sæhrímnir, because it has in fact been a while since he’s eaten. Oh, look, they’re having it ‘boiled in the cook-pot’ style. Again.

“Have you considered alternate forms of preparation?” he asks Andhrímnir.

“Don’t start with that again,” the god-cook replies. “You don’t even know what a fricassee is.”