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certifiedskywalker · 5 years ago

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Being Best Friends with Klaus Hargreeves Would Include...

Anonymous said: Hey, not sure if you've done anything similar to this before but could I request 'Being best friends with Klaus Hargreeves would include...' I love your blog, thank you! x

I’m baaaaaaack (at least for a bit!)! Enjoy and cut me some slack as it’s been a while since I’ve written fanfiction; especially TUA fanfic!

It’s not entirely his own fault but Klaus is not the greatest influence.

So if you have a rather cautious personality, be prepared to do things far outside of your comfort zone.

If you’re more attuned to Klaus’ chaos, be prepared to get on the wildest ride of your life and probably definitely get into trouble.

If chaos is your thing you might become more cautious around Klaus! Who knows!

Either way you lean, you’re going to get used to the turbulence that comes with Klaus.

Perhaps that’s why you’re so close to begin with.

When he was younger, Klaus was rebellious to combat the structure of his Father’s schedules and training regimes.

Sadly, he could never really rebel enough to free himself entirely.

Aside from his brothers and sisters, Klaus didn’t have friends.

So, when he met you, he dived in head first; all the good, bad, and the ugly.

It was after what Klaus remembers/believes was his first big bender when he found himself in a coffee shop, studying the menu with glossy eyes.

It was one of your first jobs, working as a barista/baker.

Klaus was wearing a long, faux fur line jacket, a pink crop top, and jorts (jean shorts).

Because of his piece-meal outfit, you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

That and he was holding up the line as he debated what he had the munchies for.

“What would you get…”

“What?” You raised your brows at him, surprised he finally spoke up.

“What would you get if you had stayed up for three days straight, wine tasti-wine hoarding really, and raving in the best clubs of the city?”

“An aspirin and a chai latte probably.”

“Ah! Yes! A chai latte sounds ammaazing right now. Maybe a cookie too.”

“Snickerdoodle?”

“It’s like you can read my mind! Wait, can you? At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

After he got his cookie and his chai latte, the strangely dressed man made himself comfortable in the coffee shop.

After a few hours, Klaus was what your manager considered loitering.

Hell, after the last few hours of your shift and Klaus still lingered, your manager offered to walk you to your car.

“I think he’s just…”

You looked over and saw him, Klaus, idly twirling a pair of sunglasses between his fingers.

“...he’s just lost.”

When you had gathered your things and cleaned up after your shift, you wandered over to where he sat.

It took a moment before he took notice of you but when he did, he stood up quickly.

“Hey you,�� he said in a rushed breath (somehow it still sounded flirtatious).

“Hey, uh, I’m Y/N.”

“Oh! What a lovely name!”

He extended his hand to you and you finally saw the tattoos on his palm.

“I’m Klaus, my dear. Care for an adventure?”

That first ‘adventure’ was one that you would remember forever.

Klaus took you to his favorite second-hand shop and you thrifted horrendous articles of clothing.

You still have an incredibly chunky, cable-knit sweater from that day; when you miss Klaus, you wear it.

Klaus bought two wigs, decent wigs, with what money he had.

Outside, Klaus turned to you and grinned.

“Put this on, will you?”

“Pink isn’t re-”

He was already tugging the wig over your head.

“Pink is so your color, trust me,” he gestured to himself, “I know style.”

When he donned the other, curly haired, wig, Klaus led you to an array of establishments with less than welcoming atmospheres where you ‘borrowed’ some merchandise.

Klaus has not mercy for racist or homophobic stores/companies and ‘borrows’ from them often.

Klaus nearly got caught, he lost his wig in the fray.

You had never felt more alive.

You had never smiled wider.

It was thrilling; he was thrilling.

But he wasn’t thrilling all the time.

After that day, you and Klaus were attached to the hip and you learned there were other parts to him outside of the bubbling, endearing chaos.

His addictions became startlingly apparent.

During his many sleep overs, he would search through your cabinets, your fridge, any other place he could think of, for booze.

“Klaus?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Whatcha doing?”

“Hunting for our dinner, what’s it look like.”

You set a limit on the number of drink he was allowed to have when he stayed over at your place (which was quite often).

You didn’t want him to suffer but you didn’t want him black-out drunk, or high either.

Overall, you tried to rein in his drug use; for his own sake.

When he isn’t wasted, Klaus tries to keep himself busy in other ways.

This meant a lot more ‘adventures’ for the two of you.

Small trips to cultural grocery stores to try different foods

Thrift shopping; because Klaus is always looking to add to this wardrobe.

You draw the line at dumpster diving.

“You’re missing out, Y/N! When I lived in LA for a week, this is how I survived.”

“You lived in LA?”

“For a time. Lots of bikinis...roller skates too.”

Other times you and Klaus would just walk around the city talking.

The two of you would create fantasy lives for the people you passed by, giving them wild powers like Klaus and his siblings.

Sometimes you would listen to Klaus talk about his siblings.

Your favorite stories to listen to were about Ben.

“After that, pigeons never seemed to land on the roof. Too scared I think. Ben and I did too good of a job.”

“Sounds like he was an amazing guy.”

“Yeah, he was. He likes y- I, he would have liked you.”

You tell him about your family, about your own struggles.

Through this sharing, this walks and talks, you both grow closer.

These winding walks often end at Griddy’s diner.

“Slap me on the ass and call me Bessy, I forgot how good strawberry donuts are!”

When you return back home, your place, but Klaus calls it home, you settle in.

Klaus will braid his hair, offer to try to braid yours.

“Please, it keeps me busy.”

“What would you do without me?”

“Die of boredom, or just die, probably.”

If you both have a night cap drink before bed, you guys might dance.

Klaus tries to teach you a few moves before giving up.

“Just feel the music, my dear, feel it.”

Eventually, you both collapse and cuddle for a bit.

Klaus is a big fan of platonic cuddling so prepare for that.

Movie nights!

Due to his ‘training’ and his powers, Klaus tends to stay away from horror films so get ready for rom-coms and cheesy action movies.

“Have you ever wanted to do that?”

Klaus has a habit of asking questions during the movie; none of which are crucial to the plot of said movie.

“What?”

“If we got a boat, would you do the whole ‘I’m king of the world’ bit?”

“I mean, why wouldn’t I do it?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

There are nights when you can hear him whimpering from the couch where he sleeps.

Those nights, you creep out of your room and wake him up.

“Bad dream?”

Klaus never responds to the question, ever.

Instead, he curls up next to your and you play with his hair until he falls asleep again.

The next morning, over coffee, you try to get him to talk about it.

Sometimes he does, other times he distracts from the topic.

Either way, you hug him.

“I’m here for you, Klaus.”

“I’m here for you too. Otherwise, I’m homeless.”

He is always trying to set you up with people.

You’ll be working at the coffee shop and he’ll come up and pretend to buy something just to tell you: “table in the far corner. They’ve been glancing your way a lot.”

“Klaus….they’re waiting for their order.”

“Oh. Well, you never know.”

That always leaves you smiling.

It’s hard not to be happy with Klaus as your best friend.

Even when he’s down or you’re down, the two of you together seem to lift one another up.

Being Klaus’ friend means having fun and feeling, feeling so much.

You feel his past pain, his struggle, his grief, in the same turn you feel his joy, his wonder, and his spark for good.

And in that, you inspire each other to do and be better.

#whatcha think?#I haven't written in a while so I'm sorry if it's rough!#klaus hargreeves #being best friends with klaus hargreeves would include #klaus hargreeves imagine #klaus hargreeves fanfiction #klaus hargreeves x reader #tua #tua imagine #tua imagines #tua fanfiction #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy fanfiction #the umbrella academy season 2

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remythologise · 4 years ago

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Hello :) I have a few questions regarding your beautiful spn diagram :) Why is Buck not the same as Lemming as don't they often write the same episodes? How were you able to differentiate who the lead writer of the two were in the episode? What are examples of Padalecki intentionally homophobic and unintentionally homosexual? Ackles is due to Jacting Joices? Why is Collins off the chart? Out of the two who do you prefer Carver or Dabb? Also why is Dabb's baitrix thingy a different shape to the others, what do the shapes mean? Like in terms of range what do you mean by that? :)

Okay I have to put a disclaimer that some of the things are literally based on my conjecture or Vibes like, as a bit. But, respectively;

Brad Buckner and Eugenie Ross-Leming HAVE written all their episodes together but allegedly their writing process is writing two halves of an episode separately and then putting them together. Nowhere is this more clear to me than in 15.19 where the front half feels wildly emotionally different to the back half (like. we just forget Cas exists?). This is conjecture (based on knowledge of Leming a) being the wife of Singer and b) [redacted knowledge of her behaviour]) but I'd guess that the gayer parts of BL episodes come from Brad Buckner, a gay man, who wrote such articles as 'All Gayed Up And Nowhere To Go', and might have contributed to the standout BL moments such as the 10.16 Church confession.

Padalecki... listen, I think Jared has actually been very aware of social issues, including LGBT issues, and tried to be respectful to the fans he has contact with, so he's placed mean zone/vibe in the top right. However I think he's also had moments of homophobic joking which literally just come from a) being a prankster and b) being a straight man from Texas. Remember this graph encompasses historical behaviour too, which is why Jensen's homophobia goes very extremely to the left of the graph.

Ackles is due to Jacting Joices and his general behaviour at cons, etc. I mean. Look there's a lot you can read into Ackles' placement and I'll leave the allocation of [gunshot] vibes to the audience. I am merely the artist,

Collins is off the chart because it's Misha Collins I truly do not know what to tell you here except that he really seems to have intentionally played Cas as a gay man for a while and also spends his con/online life being like Destiel rules actually. Died for our sins, that man

Of the two I prefer Carver since apparently he was close with Edlund and I consider that a Character Recommendation. In terms of writing Carver wrote or co-wrote some BANGER episodes including Very Supernatural Christmas, Mystery Spot, The Rapture, Free to be You and Me, Changing Channels, Point of No Return, Sacrifice - like just a GREAT run. Up there with Edlund's. Dabb is WAY spottier, the epic highs of Lost & Found to the epic lows of Carry On. Honestly based on Lost & Found and his general showrunning alone I can see why people ASSUME he ships Destiel but from all insider reports he didn't really ship it he just also didn't stand in the way of it + all his end-of-show interviews are like YEAH it's about the BROTHERS (Singer psyop). It's weird though because ironically the season finale that defines Carver era as one overcoming violence with dialogue (Alpha and Omega) was written by Dabb. Look Andrew Dabb man, still puzzling us all to this day. But nah I really do love Carver's stuff and I think a lot of his era has a LOT of intentional subtextual Destiel so it's definitely Carver for me.

The shapes just refer to the spread of their... data points. Like for example with Dabb I think that based on that aforementioned insider knowledge he was never intentionally homosexual about his writing but he was unintentionally homosexual about it (Lost & Found), however by virtue of Carry On I'd say that was both intentionally & unintentionally homophobic.

You didn't ask this but a lot of people in the comments/tags have been like Davy Perez deserves better! He did it intentionally! GUYS NO HE DOESN'T. WHY DO YOU THINK THIS. Every single bit of information I have on Davy Perez indicates he only ever saw the Destiel relationship as brothers including up to s15 (he, Singer and Jeremy Adams at minimum had that stance on the Destiel canon issue allegedly allegedly), shipped Dean with Donna as endgame, saw Cas's 'I Love You' in his s12 ep as platonic, was LESS than charitable in his Night We Met twitter debacle responses... and fandom responses generally. I've been in the bait game a long time and... sometimes the greatest homosexuality comes from the mouths of unaware straights who just think they're brothers in arms.

#ask #anonymous #kira for ts #every time I see people stan davy perez for being a destiel warrior I lose a year of my life #also shout out to megfitz for being like a) bad about this b) dean HAD to die it was the only way! :)#girl your episode was terrible. awful. god the way some people get jobs #supernatural spoilers #spn spoilers

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chayacat · 4 years ago

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Devil’s Sweet Star (21)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut

***

Fear. Fear is something that has always been part of the human being. It's something that follows us everywhere and it's always the first thing you feel about the unknown. What will happen to me today, tomorrow or in the days, weeks, months to come? What future is for me? How long am I going to live? Will I find love? Is it the good one or the bad one, will it last or not? Should I do it or not? Should I say it or shut up... All these questions that we ask ourselves throughout our lives always plunges us into fear. Because we don't know what our choices will bring as consequences. The famous butterfly effect.

Fear also manifests itself in dangerous situations, where death can strike at any moment, and when it is about to strike us, fear invades us. Moreover, it is the greatest fear of Man: to die. But some are not afraid of Death: it is even a friend who comes to relieve us of our suffering once and for all. And others believe that death is a simple passage from one life to another through time. Maybe it’s true, maybe it's wrong. Who can really know?

It was with this fear in your stomach that you woke up this morning. The cause? A simple, insignificant, small, piece of paper. How can a single piece of paper scare someone; you'll tell me... Maybe because it's not that insignificant. In fact, it's not the paper that scares you, it's what's written ON IT that scares you.

“He’s dead.”

Those simple words made you react. These simple words frighten you. Because you know who wrote them, and who he's talking about. He did it. He really did. He has told you for a long time that he will. Yet inside, you feel relieved to know that McKellan won't be able to do anything to you, but that means you'll have to thank Ghostface. Once again. And if it happens like last time... You'd rather not think about it. Because the worst thing for you is that you liked it, deep down. But Jed's here now. And you know nothing can happen to you now. Right? My poor little girl... if you knew the truth... you left the door open. And the big bad wolf came home. Without knowing it, you’ve thrown yourself into the devil's arms.

While you were about to serve yourself a coffee, in order to chase away your dark ideas, someone knocked on the door. You put down your cup and you walk to the door. When you open it, you come face to face with Jed. But a Jed... quite different from usual. His Auburn hair was loose, wavy and cascading, he always wore his glasses, but his outfit was very different, a black t-shirt under an open denim shirt, grey jeans and black sneakers. But this face... and that angelic smile. It's something that will never change in him.

“Well... What happened to the real Jed last night? Have you been hit by the change fairy?” You said laughing.

“You can see it that way, yes. I thought you'd like it if... if I changed my look a little bit.” He responds laughing too.

“Just a little? I feel like you were kidnapped last night to change you or replace you with another. But... I don't mind. Because no matter what you look like... I know you'll always be you.”

You kissed him and he kiss you back, holding you in his arms. It was soft, smooth as always, a feeling that you never want to forget. Never. But Ghostface’s words brought you back to mind and made you tremble slightly. Certainly, Jed is the only one who agrees to write articles about him and that make him the "star" of Roseville. But knowing this sick man... He's capable of anything. Jed felt your concern, put an end to your kiss and recoiled his face to better observe you, passing his hand over your face to reassure you.

“Hey... What's wrong? You... Have you changed your mind?” He asks, worried.

“No! Of course not! I love you, it’s just that... He... he killed him.” you said, looking elsewhere.

“What? Who kills who?”

“Ghostface. He killed McKellan. He left me that note last night. I know it's him and it's McKellan he's talking about. He told me for a long time that he would do it... I should have told you about it or called the police or...”

“Hey hey hey... Calm down. It's going to be alright, okay? Imagine if you'd told the police about this. He would have killed you. Or torture or worse. We don't know what this psycho can do. You saved your life in some way.

“I know. But I can't help but feel guilty, the cops must know that I had a conflict with him. When they find out his body... they will come to see me and I am afraid... I'm afraid of what's going to happen.” you replied with tears in your eyes.

“Hey, I am here. And as long as I'm here no one will come near you and hurt you. I lost Carla, there's no way I'm going to lose you, is that clear? Our relationship has just begun and I intend to do everything I can this time to make it last for the rest of my life.” He said holding you close to him.

You both stand still for a few minutes without saying anything, enjoying the present moment. Nothing could ruin this moment. But one thing for you remains worrisome: the fact that you had a conflict with McKellan could put you on the suspect list. Even if Ghostface is the author, you may have problems. Maybe...

Maybe he did it on purpose? It's possible after all! Since you've known each other, he's been trying to push you to kill. He wanted to make you, his accomplice. And if, despite your categorical and repeated refusal to do so, he had taken the initiative? To drag you with him into the spiral of his massacres... And his madness.

“You don't have to worry, knowing Ghostface, he must have left a signature. He doesn't really have the kind to attribute the murder to someone else. So, there is no risk that the police will come to question you.” Replied Jed, backwards to better look at you: “I'm not working today, but I have to finish my article. I'm going to stay with you at the café, okay? And... If you ever need a helping hand, I could help you. Is that okay with you?”

“Say that way you can taste my cakes in secret .... You're going to end up with a nice round belly one day. But if you have to help me, you can bring the cakes for your colleagues. Let's go a little glutton. I'm going to end up being late.” You said, taking two boxes with cakes inside for the newspaper.

Jed smiles before kissing you and open the door. What a gentleman. All both, you're heading to Jed's van to get to work. The streets were quiet on this beautiful day and the cold weather of the last few days had disappeared. We will have to provide air conditioning otherwise the customers will melt ... and the cakes too. You were always worried about this paper but reassured by Jed's words. He is right, so far Ghostface has always signed his crimes. So, there is no reason to worry. Absolutely none. right?

“By the way, Melina... Melina told me for... You know, your family. It's really generous, you know. You... You could have kept it all to yourself. And you give up almost everything to your family. I'm sure your parents are proud of you up there.” Said Jed, breathing deeply without leave the road with your eyes.

“When...When my parents died, my uncles and aunts took care of me... I was in an emotional state... Deplorable. Even so, they've always been there for me. I owe them a lot. So, I think it's normal for me that some part of the inheritance goes back to them.” you respond looking at the road then at him.

“What are you going to do with... Your share?”

“Keep it. As much as I could. I will try to live as much as possible with the coffee money. And then maybe one day I would live in a nice little country house, far from everything. With the sound of birds and the singing of the rooster to wake me up. Or I'll take a trip around the world. I've always dreamed of going to Norway or Sweden... These countries are beautiful...”

Jed smiles while parking in the newspaper’s parking lot. It's best not to get fined. And since you have cakes to deliver... You might as well give them in your own hand, don't you? And so, you can see the newspaper's premises. No sooner do you enter the building than you freeze on the spot. Who would have thought that a small newspaper like the Roseville Gazette could have so many people? And to think that Jed is one of them! There are even security guards! It's impressive! You give them the boxes and tell them to be careful that no cakes end up crushed. Then all two go back and open the café. It's time. Jed settled down at the table next to the counter. The start of the day went very well, customers were always flocking as delighted to come to see you. The lunch break came and you sit at Jed's table, slightly exhausted.

“Maybe you should hire someone to help you. You're going to get sick by putting so much pressure on yourself.” Said Jed smiling.

“I thought about it... but not yet. I want to be financially sure I can pay a salary. Are you getting away with your article?” you ask.

“Yes. Mike was such a rotten man. A drug dealer and a pedophile on top of the market. Apparently, he was wanted in other states for these facts. But he always managed to evade the police. Unfortunately for him he did not escape death. Even my boss is disgusted to know that he had such a criminal in his employees.” He answers.

“No one could have known... There are true masters of concealment. We think they're honest people and then one day they reveal their real faces. And on that day, it's already too late to do anything.” You replied sadly.

“That’s true. You know, I've been very concerned about how Ghostface works... Since I've been writing these articles, I've noticed two or three little things about how he operates. He went after people who... always do something wrong. Since he started these murders... all of his victims either committed robberies, assaults, or trafficked drugs.”

“It’s to believe that he wants to pretend to be a hero.”

“Or he gets rid of the competition. This guy's a narcissist. He doesn't seem to like being robbed of the limelight. If he gets rid of those who want to steal the show... Then he'll be the only criminal in all of Roseville and I'm sure he's not going to stop there. He'll go all over the country.” Said Jed, replacing his glasses on his nose.

“He wants to be the biggest criminal in the whole country. The question is... Why?” you said confused.

The break ends and you get back to work quickly. Jed is right about one thing: one day you will have to hire someone. You won't be able to hold the coffee forever on your own, and if you're ever thinking about expanding it, you'll need employees. During the afternoon, you receive a phone call from the police that made you panic. Have they found McKellan’s body? Do they already want to question you??

None of that. The policeman on the other end of the line simply summons you to have your statement in relation to your attacker. You almost forgot that one. You say that you would be available tomorrow during the day because you’re not working. To which he replied that everything was written down and that he would be waiting for you tomorrow in his office. You sigh with relief when you hang up the phone before explaining everything to Jed, who laughs slightly shaking his head.

The rest of the afternoon went very well, and the time of closing arrived. After your usual little ritual, you and Jed go to eat something. For the first time a good burger and fries will be your meal tonight. After that, you head to your home. You greet Mr. Lawson, and go up to your apartments. But instead of leaving you, Jed kissed you while making you enter his house.

“What are you doing?” You said laughing.

“I don't want to sleep alone tonight. So, I'm kidnapping you.” He said before kissing you again, lifting you by the waist, making you let go of a little squeak of surprise.

“Well, what a force...”

“And you haven't seen anything yet.” He replied, heading to his bedroom.

He laid you down on his bed gently before putting himself above you. He removed his t-shirt, revealing his finely trimmed body, and with his wavy, cascading hair... he looks like a god. He kissed you again, began to slide his hands over your body, making you shudder slightly. But this time, it's a shudder of pleasure. He kissed every part of your body from head to stomach, then gently removed your top. He pushed his hair with a wave of his hand, revealing blue eyes piercing to fall out.

“It's... Maybe it's a little too soon. You may need a little time.” He said with a little smile.

“I... I’m sorry, I didn't want to...” you said worried by his reaction.

“It’s okay. I'll wait until you're ready. But on the other hand, that day ... I can't guarantee I'll control myself.”

“I can't wait to see that then.” you replied by getting up before being lying down again by Jed.

“I said I didn't want to sleep alone tonight.”

“I don't even have pyjamas for tonight!” you said laughing.

“Never mind... I'll lend you one.”

He put on a quick kiss before getting up and throwing a pyjama at you to change you. He undressed, wearing only his boxer before bed. Once changed, you join him in bed and you settle in his arms, passing your hand in his hair. You kiss one last time to wish you good night and fall asleep both. In his arms, all your fears fly away. All your worries disappear.

Nothing can happen to you.

Nothing scares you.

Not even Ghostface.

***

(I'm officially passing my code exam on April 9th! I can't wait! and I'm a little scared too XD But I've got a week to review so I should be fine! So, since we are confined for a month in France, the chapters will come out as planned, since I no longer go on vacation ... I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the others! Good weekend to all! See ya!)

#dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen

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hellzyeahwebwielingessays · 5 years ago

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Was Norman Osborn ‘flanderized’?

It has been said that over the years, particularly following his resurrection, that Norman Osborn became a caricature of himself. Does this accusation carry any weight?

First things first, let’s define what the terms ‘flanderized’ and ‘flanderization’ actually mean. The most comprehensive descriptor can be found on TV Tropes. To quote an excerpt from them:

The act of taking a single (often minor) action or trait of a character within a work and exaggerating it more and more over time until it completely consumes the character. Most always, the trait/action becomes completely outlandish and it becomes their defining characteristic.

When it comes to Norman Osborn the accusations hinge upon his evolution into a villain who:

Just wants to kill Spider-Man

Is behind everything bad in Spider-Man’s life

Makes Spider-Man the point of all of his schemes

The latter point is often accompanied by referencing Norman’s original goal of taking over New York’s gangs. The idea being that originally Norman wanted to take over the gangs and then was ‘flanderized’ into being obsessed with Spider-Man.

To an extent these accusations carry merit, but not really the way detractors might think.

I’ll begin by addressing the two most obvious counterpoints.

Firstly, the idea that Norman’s vendetta and schemes against Spider-Man are ‘outlandish’ is a hollow critique in context.

Almost everything in super hero comic books is outlandish, even accepting the pseudo-science of super powers. The majority of super villains could make more money legitimately than as criminals.

Common crooks would be unlikely to go to jail if any masked vigilante beat them up. The world at large would never resemble the real world on any level if even one super powered being existed as it’d redefine what it meant to be human. Not to mention the confirmation of life on other planets, other dimensions, parallel universes, alternate timelines and the existence of deities and the afterlife.

So Norman Osborn’s schemes (the most ambitious of which was the ‘Clone Saga’) are only outlandish if we take it on face value. In context, it’s merely a large-scale version of super villain standard practices. After all, perhaps the two greatest Doc Ock stories of all time respectively involved him having secretly built an underwater base out of a James Bond movie and attempting to nuke New York City.

As for Norman ‘just’ wanting to kill Spidey, I’ve already addressed that in an earlier article.

Moving, on let’s talk about Norman’s schemes. Did they all revolve around Spider-Man? Well, even dismissing his post-OMD stories or stint as an Avenger, this is simply not true.

Osborn actually retained his gangland aspirations in the 1990s. In fact that was his primary concern in Europe between his ‘death’ and ‘resurrection’.

When he returned to America during the ‘Clone Saga’ it was revealed (through exposition provided by the Rose) that Osborn was still very much involved in acquiring power through the criminal underworld.

Spider-Man: Made Men #1 revolved around various gangland figures vying for power. Osborn was unsurprisingly among the figures depicted.

There was some follow up to this in Peter Parker: Spider-Man #95 when the Kingpin tried to assassinate Norman as a rival gangster.

So Peter was absolutely not at the root of all of Norman’s schemes.

Nor was he behind the majority of the bad things in Spidey’s life. Between 1997-2007 alone Norman had nothing to do with:

The Chameleon learning Spider-Man’s identity

The resurrection of Doctor Octopus

Mary Jane’s death being faked by her stalker

Spidey��s duels with Morlun

The Venom symbiote seeking out new and more violent hosts, including Mac Gargan

The destruction of Peter and MJ’s apartment and of Aunt May’s home

Peter’s failing health and death in ‘The Other’ arc

Aunt May being shot courtesy of the Kingpin

So when we look at the facts, Norman just doesn’t fit the definition of flanderization listed above. He’s far from a caricature of his early appearances. This is actually fairly uncommon in general among Silver Age characters. The vast majority of all characters who were around back then have developed at least some layers of complexity since then; if anything that’d be the opposite of flanderization if anything.

This is unquestionably the case for Norman Osborn. Through stories and issues like Spectacular Spider-Man Annual #14, ‘Revenge of the Green Goblin’, Spider-Man: Legacy of Evil #1 and ‘A Death in the Family’ Norman Osborn’s personality and psychology has been immensely expanded upon from what it was between 1964-1973.

But I do not deny the idea that Norman has changed and become more focused upon Spider-Man himself. Initially his primary goal was the conquest of the criminal underworld, through which the death of Spidey was a means to an end. But from the 1996-2005 (and arguably since Superior Spider-Man v1 #4 in 2013) Norman’s primary concern seems to have been his feud with Peter.

However, these accusations against the character seem to treat this change as unnatural. As though lazy writing simply kept exaggerating one trait of Norman’s and consequently made that the crux of the character.

In reality though this change in priorities was entirely organic. Norman grew gradually more and more frustrated with Spidey’s interference until he decided to just find out who he was and destroy him. Upon learning one another’s identities that was when Norman and Peter’s relationship fundamentally changed. It became less about gangland aspirations but far more personal. This didn’t occur due to lazy writing across time, it was an evolution during he same run that invented Norman. And it happened around 2 years following his debut.

From there Norman was integrated into Peter’s social circle and Harry was unwittingly caught in the center of their feud. After ASM #40 every time Norman remembered he was the Goblin he wasn’t going after Spidey to rule the gangs, he was pursuing a personal vendetta against him. ‘The Death of Gwen Stacy’ in particular displayed this as Norman sought revenge for Peter giving him amnesia and for the harm he felt he’d done to Harry.

So, Norman’s priorities had fundamentally pivoted within less than 10 years of his debut. And it wasn’t due to lazy writing that ‘drifted’ him in that direction. It was an entirely believable evolution of what had began as a practical consideration and then spiraled into a personal blood feud.

Detractors though might argue that Norman became a caricature upon his return in 1996.

Even if he was manipulative and at times nasty in the Silver Age, it wasn’t nearly to the same extent as his portrayal in the 90s and beyond.

This is perfectly true. And you know what, the same can be said of the impact he had upon Peter’s life. He became far more integral to shaping Peter’s life from the 1996 onwards than he’d ever been in the Silver Age.

On these counts perhaps it’d be accurate to argue Norman became flanderized.

At which point I must ask…why is that a bad thing?

Let me give you an example that’s a bit left field.

In the 2010 animated show ‘Scooby-Doo: Mystery Incorporated’ the classic Hanna-Barbera meddling kids got a major update. The most starkly different character though was Fred Jones. In the original and majority of Scooby-Doo shows Fred had almost always been both the de facto leader and the guy who planned the traps.

He was also the single blandest character of the main five, even excusing the pretty simple personalities of the rest of the gang.* SDMI however outright flanderized him. He went from the guy who happened to be in charge of setting the traps to someone literally obsessed with traps.

And you know what? He became immeasurably more interesting as a result. Suddenly he had a role within the group as the eccentric, the strategist and his interest in mysteries had more specificity as he actively looked for chances to ensnare would be ghosts and ghouls.

Whilst it’s often not the case, SDMI’s take on Fred proves that flanderization is not inherently a bad thing.

This is certainly true in Norman’s case. His vendetta with Spider-Man, status as puppeteer and framing as the ultimate evil within the Spider-Man universe has been used to great effect over the years.

As a puppeteer and manipulator he was given greater scope to attack Peter and his loved ones, thereby making him a far more dangerous villain that Spidey couldn’t just knock out with a punch.

His framing as an ultimate evil also helps render Peter’s heroism in starker contrast. Everything that makes Spider-Man a true hero and champion for good is spotlighted whenever he confronts the sheer sadism and malevolence of Norman. Personally, I feel Peter Parker: Spider-Man #75 is the greatest example of this.

Call me crazy or old-fashioned but isn’t this an essential function of a villain in superhero fiction?**

And the emphasis upon the Parker/Osborn feud simply made their encounters more emotionally gripping. We all read Peter Parker’s adventures specifically for Peter’s character. We don’t want just any given person (spider powers or not) in the spotlight. We want to follow the ups and downs of his life, his relationships with his friends, family and colleagues, what job he’s working, where he lives, how he provides for himself and others, etc.

The Spider-Man story is in essence is the life of Peter Parker.

Having a villain who has a dramatic impact upon both halves of Peter’s life is more than creatively justifiable. It makes every encounter personal and if we read Spidey because we’re personally invested in his life then Norman’s vendetta renders him perennial relevant.

He is the villain who fundamentally tests the soul of our hero.

This isn’t to say that it wouldn’t be nice for Norman to be written with goals beyond Spider-Man. But my point is that making that his priority was never ever a problem in the first place.

In short, Norman Osborn was better for his flanderization.

*Noticeably Fred’s character has had the most reinventions over the years when you look at wider Scooby media.

He’s been a cool douchebag in the live action films, something of a conspiracy theorist in ‘A Pup Named Scooby-Doo’, a cameraman in ‘Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island’, etc.

The lack of uniformity to his character is very likely an indicator of how simple and bland he originally was; and has largely remained since.

On a symbolic level one could even argue that Norman’s elevation to this personification of evil was appropriate for an older and adult Spider-Man. As we grow up the world in general grows darker and more sinister, presenting challenges that test our inner resolve.

A great example from modern literature would be Harry Potter. Harry ages from 11-17 across the seven novels, each of which dials up the amount of pain, cruelty and death Harry must confront.

#Spider-Man #Norman Osborn #Harry Osborn #Green Goblin #The Green Goblin #Clone Saga #the Clone Saga #Peter Parker #Fred Jones #Scooby-Doo: Mystery Incorporated #Scooby-Doo #Aunt May #May Parker

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giogio-gucci-gangstar · 5 years ago

Text

Oranges Have Feelings Too

Thank you @hoetaro-kujo for entering my little writing raffle! Hopefully you like this!!!

Summary: You and Mista enter a prank war against Fugo and Narancia.

CW: Nicholas Cage

“Babe?” Mista called from the other room. You shifted in your seat. Your head was still dangling off the edge of the couch as you bookmarked the page of your latest mystery thriller, eventually sitting up.

The world spun a bit as he blood rushed out of your head before you replied. “Yes?” You were a bit hesitant. You weren’t sure if this was going to be one of his sweet and sassy moods, or if he was already scheming for some fun. Either worked for you, even though you were on the shyer side, Mista and the gang made you feel comfortable to be yourself. It also helped that you loved Mista and everything he did.

As you walked to the kitchen to meet him, you tried to smooth down the wrinkles in your hoodie.

“So,” Mista threw a nut into his mouth, “remember THE INCIDENT?” By the way he said it, Mista was definitely hinting at something specific. But with him, there were too many incidents to count.

“When No. 5 got scared and tried to crawl up your-“ Mista cut you off quickly.

“GOD NO!” While that event had been traumatizing, for both of you, it was not the incident he was referring to. Given how he nervously bit his lip, it would seem the incident he was talking about rattled him more emotionally…

“Ya know…” he managed to spit out. He made a few incomprehensible hand gestures and continued, “the one with Narancia and Fugo?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, hinting that you should definitely remember what had happened with them… Simultaneously refusing to give you any more details.

“Oh come on Mista stop being so cheeky and just tell me!” You were getting a little frustrated at this game of his.

But he just batted his eyes at you from across the kitchen, “I thought you liked my butt cheeks…”

“Oh shut up!” you were a little flustered so it took a moment to carefully choose your next guess. “Was it when we walked in on Fugo and Narancia kissing?” You offered.

“Noooo! How many times do I have to tell you, they weren’t kissing! They were just trying to bandage the cuts from where they had stabbed each other! At most it was a brotherly hug.” He was getting frustrated now. Apparently the incident he was talking about was too difficult to physically talk about.

“Ohhhh was it when they, ya know, wrote,” Mista’s eyes bulged terrified that you would say the cursed word, “a certain scary number, all over your clothes?” Mista was shaking from the memory.

It had been a terrifying day for him. He nearly pulled his hair out because he couldn’t find a single article of clothing without a number 4 written all over it in black ink. You had never seen him so stressed, clothes were being thrown all over his room, and lights broke, but his high pitched screams pierced all other noises.

“Yes yes that one!!” Mista was flailing his arms around, so excited that you had guessed correct.

“So now that I’ve won your little game of charades, will you tell me why we’re playing?” You couldn’t help but tease him back. The boy was so outrageous your sarcasm just dripped when he was around.

“Well,” ah there was that glint in his eye. He was already incredibly handsome, but when he was feeling mischievous his eyes were almost radiant. He puffed out his chest a bit and he folded his arms with a certain swagger.

“I have found a way to get revenge.”

“Oh really?” You leaned over the kitchen island looking at him. “And what might that be?” Sure it was probably a little immature to scheme against your teammates, who hopefully weren't eavesdropping from their rooms down the hall. But a little prank war was necessary for morale, no matter how many times Buccellati and Abbacchio insisted it wasn't.

Mista’s face lit up in a maniacal grin, “I’m going to convince Narancia that some fake facts are true!” He was so excited he was practically vibrating.

“Remember how angry Fugo was when Narancia told him the earth was flat? It's like two birds with one stone! Tricking Narancia and pissing off Fugo!” Mista was very proud of his plan. He was practically patting himself on his back.

“I think the next one will be that vaccines don't work! Or that birds are government surveillance drones!” Mista kept prattling on about nonsense conspiracy theories, that Narancia would be very easily convinced were true.

Of course you were very proud of him, and obviously that would be hilarious to watch. But you remembered how terrified he was by their last prank… He needed to do something even worse back to them. Funny for you two to watch of course, but also just a little scarring for the boys.

“That would be hilarious, but maybe you want to do something a little more permanent? Like really screw with their heads and stuff?” Mista scrunched up his eyebrows and looked at you in confusion.

“Just because their last joke was a little… cruel? I think we should be a little edgier with our retaliation strike.” You were a little worried he would think you were taking it a step too far, but after a few more seconds of pondering, his face lit up again.

“Lets do it!” You met his grin with a warm smile. This was going to be a very exciting day.

“So. What do you have in mind?” Mista asked, but the gears were already spinning in your mind.

“Who does Fugo hate most in the world?”

“Always himself, sometimes Narancia…” He stopped to think for a little, “Oh and always Nicholas Cage.”

“Brilliant! Now, what is Narancia’s favorite food?” This was the real clincher. Yes, Narancia was baby, but he was also a baby who carried a switch blade and was super excited to use it.

“Uhhh maybe strawberry cake? Oranges? Chocolates? Really I don't think he would turn down anything sweet.”

“Perfect.” It was all coming together.

~~~~~~~

“I don't think i ever need to see Nicholas Cage’s face again.” Mista complained as he slid down the closed door of Fugo’s room.

“Too bad you’re looking at him right now,” you snickered as you held up a print of him in front of your face. You were pretty proud of your handiwork. There was not an inch of Fugo’s room that was not covered in Nicholas Cage’s face. Mista had even wrapped his pencils and books with the wrapping paper you had custom printed. You were down about 50 Euros, but it was a small price to pay when you saw Fugo’s reaction to this masterpiece.

The clock struck 12 and you heard the ridge door open in the kitchen. Aaaaand here he was. Right on time.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” His scream was muffled by the door, but evidently he had seen Nicholas Cage’s face duct taped on his sandwich too. You quickly pulled Mista into Fugo’s closet so you could have prime seats of the impending meltdown.

Fugo’s footsteps were heavy as he pounded his way down to his room. You had to cover Mista’s mouth to keep him from snickering and giving away your position. Then there it was, the fateful turn of the doorknob.

You peered through a crack in the door and saw a look of pure terror spread across Fugo’s face as he saw even his bed covered in Nicholas Cage’s face. He took a shaky breath and tore back the comforter to see that Nicholas Cage was IN his bed too. His breath was coming in fast bursts as he spun around the room. He spun again. And then again, before releasing an unearthly howl.

“MISTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

Mista couldn't contain his laughter anymore and cackled his ass off as he sprinted out of the closet and down the hall before Fugo could catch him.

~~~~~~~

“Are you ready for this responsibility Number Five?” Mista held the little Sex Pistol up to his face. The poor little guy was crying tears of joy, he was never chosen for anything and now he was given one of the greatest responsibilities: to help Mista prank Narancia.

Number Five gave a small mumble of affirmation and an enthusiastic nod of his head. All amidst happy tears. Mista gave him a piece of salami before cutting a little hole in the orange for Number Five to hide in. He carefully stuck the skin back over Number Five’s little hole, and placed the bait on the kitchen counter.

You sat at the table watching and waiting for everything to go down. Sure, you were the mastermind of this operation but you weren't foolish enough to get caught. You had to preserve your spot as everyone’s friend in the gang.

“Oi Narancia!” Mista called the boy playing video games in the other room.

“Yeah?”

“I just got some oranges, do you want one?” Mista was awful at hiding his plan. He was snickering so badly he had to cover his face with his hand. But those big brown eyes always gave his mischief away.

Luckily Narancia was too preoccupied with the thought of food to notice. He promptly paused his game, and strolled into the kitchen. You knew he would pull out the biggest and juiciest orange so you just waited.

He started to peel it, then paused when he heard a small whimper coming from the orange.

“Ow!” A brief look of confusion passed over Narancia’s face. He must have figured it wasn't real.

“It hurts!” There it was that little voice again. Narancia’s eyes shot open in confusion. He held the orange farther away from his body as he turned to Mista.

“Oranges don't have feelings, right?” Narancia was hesitant in asking his question.

“Well,” Mista paused trying to sell his character, “I did see this documentary that said plants can feel pain. Especially trees when they’re being cut down.” Narancia just stared at the little orange cupped in his hands.

“Please don't peel my skin! It hurts!!” This time Narancia was sure he heard a voice. While scared that his food was talking, it was pretty damn cool that he had made a scientific discovery. Narancia was so expressive, all of his thoughts played out on his face like a little show.

He sprinted away, hopefully to find Fugo.

Once he was gone, Mista keeled over you in a fit of laughter.

“Ya know babe,” Mista pulled you against him in a tight hug, “that was pretty brilliant.” He placed a gentle kiss on your lips and held you tight. At least until the other boys figured it out.

#Mista #Mista x reader #fugo #naranica #Guido Mista #narancia ghirga #panacotta fugo #hoetaro-kujo #my nonsense

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somedayonbroadway · 5 years ago

Note

Oh my god!!! I remember “The Resistance”. That was so freaking good! Have you ever planned to continue that story? It was so interesting, I feel like you should’ve gotten so much more love for that

A Lawyer

Prolouge

A Journalist

A/N: Hi Anon! I actually hadn’t truly planned on continuing this story when I had first started writing it. I wrote the prologue expecting no one to really like it or care about it too much, but I enjoy writing this, so I’m gonna try to keep going if you guys really would like to see more. I really hope you enjoy David’s chapter! I encourage ya’ll to reread Katherine’s chapter, since I change one small but slightly significant thing. Thank you all!

Please enjoy!

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

It was always in perfect timing. The way the pen hit the desk time and time again was at the same interval every time.

“Les…”

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Les, please. I’m trying to concentrate.”

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Leslie Carter Jacobs, I’m trying to work!”

The ticking stopped.

It didn’t make anyone feel any better.

“David!” someone scolded.

David’s head hurt. “Sarah, can you at least take him into another room? Please? I’m really trying to work,” he insisted, looking back onto his desk where there were a pile of files and textbooks and notes sitting, waiting for him.

He couldn’t stop. He had to keep studying. He had to keep writing. He had to keep working. He couldn’t stop now. He rubbed at his tired eyes and straightened up in his seat, trying to focus again.

The second he tried to open a new file, a hand came down and stopped him. He looked up to find fiercely driven eyes. “David, studying is not going to us anywhere and you know it.”

“Denton needs the case files back, Sarah. I have to get them done—“

“And your little brother needs you right now!” the young woman countered, pointing over to the little boy sitting silently in a chair on the other side of the room at the kitchen table.

For the first time in a long time, David forced himself to turn, his heart breaking at the sight. That little boy, not even ten years old, would always hold his entire heart. He hadn’t seen Les smile in weeks.

He hadn’t heard Les speak in weeks.

What was once a little ball of energy, spouting out what he believed in like he’d always been taught was now a shell of a little boy who was so quiet and lost.

The world was so much darker than it had once been, in every sense of the word.

So David sighed and stood to his feet, offering Sarah an apologetic glance before he made his way over to the little boy, leaning on the table beside him. “Les… I’m sorry, bubeleh…” he spoke softly, reaching to run a hand through the boy’s hair. Les used to push him away.

He hardly moved now.

“Les… please look at me?” he asked, pushing away from the table and sitting on his knees beneath the child, looking up at him now as Sarah stepped up behind him. “I didn’t mean it. I’m just… I’m stressed out. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He waited, almost as though he expected the boy to speak to him even though deep down he knew that was not the case. “Can you forgive me?”

Only glancing up at him, Les nodded, gripping at the sides of his chair now, desperately trying to keep himself from fidgeting. He knew David didn’t like it when he fidgeted. All David could do was let out a breath before leaning over to press a kiss to the child’s head. Les did not react. Not really. He just sat there, tears building up in his eyes all over again. David did not know what to do.

He turned, ready to ask Sarah for help again, before he caught her snooping through the papers on his desk. “Neshama—“

“This is Aba and Ima’s case file, isn’t it?” she breathed. That was what got Les to look up.

David rushed over, pulling the file from the young woman’s hands. “You don’t need to look at that,” he tried to explain.

“And you do?” There were tears in Sarah’s eyes, no doubt the images and words in that case file forever engraved in her mind. “David… What did they do? This says they committed treason—“

“I know what it says, Sarah!” The man tried to breathe. Snapping at his family would get him nowhere, he knew that. Still, exhaustion of every form seemed to catch up with him all at once and he could hardly handle it. He couldn’t break now. He had to keep going. He had to figure this out. “Les… please go to your room…” he asked quietly, only glancing back at the boy who had wide, terrified brown eyes gazing up at him.

Eventually, the child did as he was told. So David focused his attention on Sarah, who was simply standing there, waiting for an explanation. “Denton found these for me. He’s trying to help me fight to free them. We’re doing all we can, but Habeas Corpus was suspended and The Angel Army isn’t the police. This is how they’re doing things now…”

It was no secret, the impending war that was inevitable now. Someone was trying to take over New York, slowly working their way into power before trying for the entire country. They couldn’t get out unless they had a visa to get out. At least, not at the airport. Some were trying to drive, getting caught by The Angel Army at the border. Most that fled, fled to Canada. Canada was very welcoming of this as they saw an entire people in trouble. But not everyone could flee.

David knew from the beginning he wouldn’t make it out.

“David, what are we gonna do?” Sarah whispered, fear clear in her voice.

In all honesty, David had no idea. So he said nothing, choosing instead to avert his gaze to the floor.

“Say something!” Sarah demanded desperately, tears falling down her cheeks.

She knew as well as anyone what was coming for her.

“You know I won’t let anything happen to you or Les,” he insisted, his voice quiet and low, almost as though he was scared someone might be listening.

Someone might’ve been listening.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

A groan escaped David. He hadn’t meant it.

For weeks they’d been trying to figure out what to do with a boy who wouldn’t speak anymore. All he would do was take that stupid pen to any hard surface and begin the excruciating tap that made David want to tear his hear out whenever he needed to focus.

Before he could ask his brother to stop the tapping again, there was a knock on his door. His heart dropped. His gaze rushed to Sarah. “Get Les and hide in the chest at the foot of his bed.” There was no room for argument. So Sarah rushed from the room. The ticking stopped. As soon as David heard the small thud of the chest closing, he took a breath and reached for the handle of the door, opening it cautiously. He could’ve cried in relief when he saw who it was. “Denton—“

“David, we don’t have time. Where are your brother and sister?” It would forever amaze David how calm Denton seemed to be.

“They’re hiding. I thought you were—“

“The Angel Army is right behind me. I managed to secure space on a smugglers truck,” he forced out. “There’s only room enough for two.”

David paled.

“David, there’s are no more rules—“

“Professor—“

“They broke into my building. They trashed the place. They took good people down. They tampered with evidence. The laws don’t matter to them. They traced your computer from mine. Delete everything you have and tell me where Sarah and Les are. Now.” Tears built up in his eyes as David tried desperately to remember how to breathe again. With a shaky hand, he pointed to Les’s bedroom. Denton nodded, rushing through the room. “Okay. I’ll get them. Delete all evidence on your computer, David! Don’t give them a reason to take you!” With that, he rushed into the room.

David opened his computer back up, finding a picture of his parents staring back at him, smiling, happy and so ready to protect him from the world.

He let out a shaken breath as the files and articles and everything else popped back up. And he began deleting everything he could. Every file, every document.

And suddenly his hand began shaking. He froze over an article, his eyes scanning the thing one more time.

August 27th, 2095

Riot Breaks Out In Lower Manhattan

Two killed, thirteen injured.

Written by Katherine Plumber

Then, just below it, another.

November 9th, 2095

Sun Ace Reporter Missing

Woman Number 18 Missing in New York

Written by Adam Darcy

He looked back, seeing Denton coming back out with his family in tow. So he looked back at that screen and deleted everything that was left.

“David, what’s going on?”

Les was in Sarah’s arms, clinging to her, scared to death. Sarah was refusing to show her own fear. All David could do was shake his head. “Sarah, I’m so sorry…”

Sarah tried to run to him. Denton held her back. “We don’t have time.”

“Sarah, tell Les that I love him, everyday,” David pleaded.

She shook her head. “No. No, I’m not leaving,” she insisted, though it was clear in her voice she was on the verge of breaking. “Denton, you can take Les. I am not leaving—“

“Sarah…” David choked, tears falling down his cheeks when he saw her distress. “I love you…” he whispered.

The young woman let out a sob and pushed past Denton and into David’s arms. “I love you, Neshama,” she breathed into his ear, knowing what had to be done.

This was her last chance.

David held his sister and his brother for a moment, pressing a kiss to both of their heads before he heard sirens. “You have to go!”

He looked up to Denton who gave him a heartbroken look as he ushered the two most important people in David’s life out the door, turning back to the boy for only a moment. “David…” he called. Looking back only for a moment, he caught the young man’s gaze.

Twenty three.

So young.

“Run.”

It was all David could do to comply, using the fire escape and running for his life through a city that was once known as the greatest city in the world.

——————————————————

One of the brightest, loudest cities in the world…

It used to be so bright…

David could remember a time when he’d wished he could see the stars.

Now he just wished to be home again, where the sky didn’t matter as much as the people around him.

“Mayer!”

Sometimes David swore he’d hear his father answer to his name when it was called. It always took him a moment to remember all because he didn’t want to. He wanted to be able to get lost in a dream that was so far out of his reach. He couldn’t. He had to stay focused. He had to stay in the moment.

“Yes, sir?”

“Where’s my coffee?!”

“Coming, sir.”

Coffee.

He’d give anything for something stronger.

He didn’t used to drink. At least, not much. Especially not around Les.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He did it without noticing now.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He tried not to think about it, though it consumed his mind more often than not.

All he wanted was to know that his family was safe.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He’d give anything to turn around and see his little brother.

He swore silently to himself he’d never snap at that little boy again.

Only, that boy wasn’t so little anymore.

And that boy might not be anywhere where he could get to him.

“Walsh! Coffee!”

David tensed at the tone, shaking his head as he shoved his pen in his pocket and grabbing a mug from the cabinet above him and pouring the coffee from the coffee pot just as it was ready.

He exhaled smoothly, trying to clear his head as he turned, only to find someone standing just behind him, arms across their chest.

He nearly dropped the coffee.

“Sophia…” he breathed when he saw her, her red hair tied up at the back of her head, some of her curls falling to frame her face. She wore no makeup. She wasn’t allowed. Not unless her husband gave her permission.

Her chocolate brown eyes were wide, a bit shocked. David didn’t blame her.

He opened his mouth to speak.

Someone beat him to it. “Mayer! Now!”

“Coming, sir!”

Sophia averted her gaze to the floor.

She wasn’t supposed to be in a room with a man that wasn’t her husband alone.

There were rules set in place. Rules to protect her. At least, that's what they said.

He couldn’t stop to talk. He had to get the man his coffee.

So, with one more glance at the young woman he was not truly supposed to speak to, he rushed up the stairs and out of the room, shaking his head as he reached his destination. “Coffee, sir. Sorry for the wait…” he apologized, his head slightly bowed as he entered an extravagant office that stood beautifully behind two large brown doors.

None of the man’s wives were allowed in.

Women weren’t allowed to read or write. There was nothing of importance for them there.

David cringed at the thought.

The man hardly looked up as David set his coffee on his desk for him, watching him write in the book he always was writing in. He longed to read it.

Nothing about this new society made sense. Whoever was in charge made sure of that. But David wasn’t an idiot.

There was no one person in charge.

That’s why no one could stop this.

They didn’t know who they were trying to stop.

They didn’t know how many they were trying to stop.

But if David had one thing left on his side, it was his drive. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Weisel?” he asked, folding his hands in front of him and biting at his lip.

The man, Mr. Weisel, took a sip of his coffee. He waved his hand over to some files and books on his desk. “Just put those away for me, Walsh,” he grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face.

David took the things and did as he was told.

Just not right away.

Mayer Walsh might be a simple assistant to an important man in Safe Haven.

David Jacobs was a law student just about ready to explode.

To play the game, one had to first know the rules. And once one was in the game, one had a chance to win.

Right?

It was not the first time David had done this. And it wouldn’t be the last.

He took the files over to the filing cabinet on the opposite side of the room, taking old files out as he placed new ones in, hiding them beneath his dull, brown blazer.

“Anything else I can do for you, sir?” he asked, turning his back to the man and waiting for a response.

He got a grunt as a response that he could only assume was a no.

When he tried to leave, he noticed brown eyes peeking in through the small crack in the door. His heart stuttered for a moment as he thought he might be ratted out right then and there.

But those eyes only blinked before leaving.

Still, David stood paralyzed on the spot.

“Is there a problem, Walsh?”

“N-no problem, sir…” the young man forced out, clearing his throat before he tightened his grip on the hidden files he held. Files he’d been reading and sneaking off with for months.

With adrenaline coursing through his veins, David forced himself from the room, finding his way out of the house and into the backyard where there was a small shed set up to be a guest room of sorts.

He looked around in the dark night, just trying to make sure he hadn’t been followed before he pulled the thin door open and locked himself in, dropping the files down on a dimly lit table.

Then he pulled the pen from his pocket and glanced up at the clock that hung sadly and lonely on the wall beside him.

He had exactly one hour before Weisel would notice something was off. Before Weisel opened that filing cabinet again.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He hit the table in perfect timing.

Perfect intervals ever time, his beat never wavering.

He could do this.

He’d known from the beginning he wouldn't be making it out.

All he had to do was stay focused.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Perfect timing.

A/N: Okay, so there’s admittedly a lot going on in this chapter where we sort of learn more about this world and what was happening before. If you guys have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask!

Thank you so much for reading!

Thank you so much for bringing back this story, Anon!

—

Tag List

@that-thing-in-the-closet

@deadthingsinlace

@albert-eats-cookie-cake

@myheartissetinmotion

@and-i-lostmy-shoe

@thatnerdinthecorner

@happyhufflepuff73

@thatchaoticneutraltrainwreck

@bluejay-the-newsie

@addyez

@falling-out-trees-101

@i-aint-tapped-out

@buttons-in-the-refuge

Let me know if anyone would like to be adding or taken off of the tag list, please!

#newsies #newsies live #newsies musical #newsies au #david jacobs #katherine plumber #the resistance #dystopian world #dystopia #angst #sarah jacobs #les jacobs #lawyers #lawyer

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years ago

Text

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN ONLINE

At the other extreme are publications like the New York Times article about suits would sound if you read it in a blog: The urge to look corporate—sleek, commanding, prudent, yet with just a touch of hubris on your well-cut sleeve—is an unexpected development in a time of business disgrace. So what's going on is that the writing online is more honest.1 Plus they were always so relieved.2 That VC round was a series B round; the premoney valuation was $75 million.3 Many if not most of the 20th. Even if the big corporations had wanted to die. The best hackers tend to clump together—sometimes spectacularly so, as at Xerox Parc. 100,000 people worked there. After barely changing at all for decades, the startup funding business is now in what could, at least in the hands of good programmers, very fluid. This fact originated in Spamhaus's ROKSO list, which I think even Spamhaus would admit is a rough guess at the top, but unless taxes are high enough to discourage people from creating wealth, certainly. But if it's inborn it should be universal, and there are plenty of societies where parents don't mind if their teenage kids have sex—indeed, where it's normal for 14 year olds to become mothers.

So by studying the ways adults lie to kids is how broad the conspiracy is.4 To them the company is now 18 weeks old.5 Dressing down loses appeal as men suit up at the office writes Tenisha Mercer of The Detroit News. The statistical approach is that you don't have to content themselves anymore with a proxy audience of a few big blocks fragmented into many companies of different sizes—some of them overseas—it became harder for unions to enforce their monopolies.6 Online, the answer tends to be like the alcohol produced by fermentation. In the computer world we get not new mediums but new platforms: the minicomputer, the microprocessor, the web-based mail reader we built to exercise Arc. The really juicy new approaches are not the ones insiders reject as impossible, but those they ignore as undignified. Now it's Wepay's. Here's a test for deciding whether a VC's response was yes or no.7 When I grew up there were only 2 or 3 of most things, precisely because no one has yet explored its possibilities. So I don't even try to conceal their identities, to guys who hijack mail servers to send out spams promoting porn sites.

Whether or not computers were a precondition, they have a deal. When I did try statistical analysis, I found practically nothing.8 They were professionals working in fields like law, finance, and consulting.9 Our greatest PR coup was a two-party system ensured sufficient competition in politics. It hasn't occurred in a single one of my 4000 spams. Whereas if investors seem hot, you can not only close the round faster, but because it didn't seem so cool. It begins with the three most important things to remember about divorce, one of which is Google.

Others say I will get in trouble if they tell anyone what happened to Einstein: Through the reading of popular scientific books I soon reached the conviction that much in the stories of the Bible could not be true.10 So if you're going to clear these lies out of your incoming spam. Both changes drove salaries toward market price. A round they often don't. SLAC goes right under 280 a little bit south of Sand Hill Road precisely because they're so boringly uniform. Good PR firms use the same strategy: they give reporters stories that are true.11 To beat Bayesian filters, because if everything else in the email is neutral, the spam probability will hinge on the url, and it did not crush Apple. Unfortunately that makes this email a boring example of the use of Bayes' Rule.12

Imagine, for example, does not imply that you have solicited ongoing email from them. Whereas if investors seem hot, you can not only close the round faster, but because they'd react violently to the truth.13 You can't just tinker. 08221981 supported 0.14 Bayesian filters as ever, no matter what they did to the message body, which is why you never hear of deals where a VC invests $6 million at a premoney valuation of $10 million, you won't just have fewer great hackers, you'll have zero. They shouldn't take it so much to heart. Don't companies realize this is a coincidence. Large organizations have different aims from hackers. Its graduates didn't expect to do the sort of grubby menial work that Andrew Carnegie or Henry Ford started out doing. These companies may be far from failures by ordinary standards.

They'll simply refuse to work on what you like. Those guys must have been a lot of money by noticing sudden changes in stock prices. If we can write software that recognizes their messages, there is no try. And the microcomputer business ended up being Apple vs Microsoft.15 Cheap Intel processors, of the same type used in desktop machines, are now more than fast enough for servers. Microcomputers are a classic example: he did everything himself, hardware and software, and the number one thing they have in common is the extreme difficulty of making them work on anything they don't want random people pestering them with business plans. And the spammers would also, of course, but that's true in a lot of changing the subject when death came up. Which is exactly what they're supposed to help or supervise. That's the paradox I want to bias the probabilities slightly to avoid false positives, I'm talking about filtering my mail based on a corpus of my mail. And the social effects lasted too. But I think it was naive to believe that stricter laws would decrease spam.

Notes

If Apple's board hadn't made that blunder, they can grow the acquisition into what it would be to say that was actively maintained would be investors who rejected you did.

Geshke and Warnock only founded Adobe because Xerox ignored them.

At once, and so thought disproportionately about such customs. Even as late as 1984. But the margins are greater on products. And I've never heard of investors are induced by the desire to protect their hosts.

Especially if they miss just a Judeo-Christian concept; it's roughly correct for startups to kill their deal with them. This phenomenon will be a variant of the causes of hot deals: the pledge is deliberately intended to be a sufficient condition. Icio. The company is always raising money, the last thing you changed.

When Harvard kicks undergrads out for doing badly and is doomed anyway.

Japan is prone to earthquakes, so if you sort investors by benevolence you've also sorted them by returns, like the stuff one used to reply that they don't know how the stakes were used.

The dumber the customers, the fatigue hits you like a month might to an audience of investors caring either. But it's useful to consider these two ideas separately. Our rule is that they have a competent startup lawyer handle the deal for you. It would have undesirable side effects.

And that will seem more powerful sororities at your school sucks, and not to foo but to a study by the time they're fifteen the kids are smarter than preppies, just that everyone's visual piano has that key on it. Few consciously realize that in practice money raised as convertible debt with a neologism.

Apple's products but their policies. These were the seven liberal arts.

Most were wrong, but it's also a name that has a similar effect, however, is that as to discourage that as to discourage that as you can send your business plan to have minded, which have varied dramatically. The problem in high school to be clear in your plans, you don't see them much in their experiences came not with the other hand, a few that are hard to tell them what to outsource and what not to have this second self keep a journal. The problem is not yet released.

And journalists as part of wisdom. If by cutting the founders' advantage if it gets you growth, because you can get it, so they will only be a special title for actual partners. It is probably no accident that the word wealth. So when they were more dependent on banks for capital for expansion.

In a country with a no-shop clause. Trevor Blackwell, who had been transposed into your head.

I wouldn't bet against it either. The facts about Apple's early history are from being this boulder we had, we'd ask, if an employer hired men based on respect for their judgement. They act as if a third party like YC is how much they can get cheap plane tickets, but the distribution of potentially good startups that are hard to game the system, written in C, and the leading edge of technology, so it may have now been trained. Why Are We Getting a Divorce?

The way to do with the solutions.

Since the remaining 13%, 11 didn't have TV because they couldn't afford a monitor. Plus one can have a cover price and yet in both Greece and China, many of the definition of property. The problem is not very well connected. Many will consent to b rather than lose a prized employee.

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aelaer · 5 years ago

Note

[1/2] Now this is an actual ask as in asking for help. 👀 I have a problem with Steve and Tony. I spent too much time too early on reading anti/not-friendly post-CW fics about 'Team Cap', and because of that I have been unable to see Tony as a flawed human or Steve as a good person. It's a pattern I've become too familiar with, and even recent stories are often going into that sense. I have been trying for some time now to do something about it, but either the method was bad, or I couldn't

(I tagged a couple people in this post – if you were tagged, the question directed to you is wayyyy at the bottom! Feel free to ignore of course.)

You really hit me with a doozy with this ask. I might offend someone for not thinking the exact same way as them with… everything this topic entails… Steve, Tony, anti-fics. Followers from last year know what happened last time I talked about poor and OOC characterization in fanfic, lmao. Beware The Easily Offended! This Is A Critical Thinking Of Your Hobby Zone! I Am Being Critical Of Specific Types of MCU Fanfic!

Please don’t click the read more button if you can’t handle an opinion that might not match yours. Really. I’m fine with discussing different opinions in a mature manner but if you have issues with people saying they don’t like a specific type of plot, this post is not for you. (The read more button doesn’t appear on the original post for followers using the mobile app, but it works on desktop and in all reblogs. If you don’t see a cut and don’t want to read, just skip it, please).

Yeah. Okay. Moving on. Can’t say folks weren’t warned.

I’ve had this in my drafts for several weeks because of the abuse I got the last time I wrote something critical about certain plot points used in fanfic. I was definitely a bit reluctant to look at this specific topic from an analytical and critical look as I remembered that, but hey, it’s really easy for a coward to use a sockpuppet account and throw abuse. It’s harder to be a minority voice with stark opinions contrasting the popular trend. I’m okay with having a minority opinion amongst the MCU fandom.

(PS - you’re welcome to disagree with my opinions, so long as you’re respectful about it. Remember there are individuals behind the screens!)

Concerning Character Flaws

So the thing about really well-written characters is that they are flawed in some manner. Anyone who thinks Tony or Steve exist without flaws – and I mean real flaws, like arrogance, believing they’re always right, short tempers, and other *real* character flaws that both of these characters have – well, if they don’t think they exist with these flaws, how well do they know the character?

You don’t have to know a character well to be a fan of said character – there’s no rules about that – but if you’re going to write fanfic, and that fanfic entails the character you love against a character you don’t particularly like, I’d say any writer looking to do anything resembling a good job would do their due diligence in figuring out the strengths and weaknesses of both characters before writing the characters themselves. These mental lists of characteristics should be equal for both characters. No, “good abs” is not a character strength if you have no physical aspects in the other character strength column. You don’t have to like a character to still write them well.

Even professionals don’t follow this rule when, say, shows get new writers or comics get different writers, so you might consider me silly expecting those dabbling in fan fiction. But yeah, if an author wants me to take a story seriously as something with quality, I expect the characters to resemble themselves in some manner.

(This level of resemblance varies when you purposefully choose for the protagonist to be evil, be in a completely different time period, etc, but authors who do this *well* still get core personality traits solid, even if morality is out the window or the profession is entirely different. I have a lot of examples from the Sherlock fandom of total AUs that pull this off well – haven’t read nearly enough AUs in the MCU to have a good collection here).

But a resemblance of character, of capturing the three-dimensionality of a character, is what anti-fics simply fail to achieve. The characters they’re anti against usually suffer cases of Flanderization, if they’re not completely out of character altogether in showing traits that were never displayed in the canon, ever. I don’t know why anyone would be interested in such stories, myself, and remain baffled at their popularity. Is there some sort of enjoyment in seeing such a 2D rendition of a character in what is otherwise meant as a serious work and provides absolutely no sense of proper conflict between two characters? Not for me; it immediately takes me out of the story and when it gets too much, I abandon the story. It’s just not enjoyable for me. Turning a canon protagonist into a strawman is just lazy writing and offers nothing to the writer’s favorite, preferred character.

Concerning Steve’s and Tony’s Flaws

Every real human being has some sort of personality flaw that is decidedly unattractive. Some people are really good at showing it very rarely (and are some of the best human beings), but with these two characters we see them at their greatest heights and lowest of lows. Ironically, they actually share a lot of the same flaws, but display them in different manners in canon:

Both men believe they are the best man for the job and will do it without consulting someone who could actually fight against it - or go completely against them. Tony with Ultron is the easy example here. He’s the smartest man in the world and can tackle the issue of protecting it on its own. Steve, same issue, and his job is “helping Bucky”. *He’s* the one who can handle Bucky, the only one who can handle him - big thing in both WS and CW. If both of them had utilized their friends and allies a lot more, a lot of issues could have been avoided.

Both men are sometimes hypocritical. Steve promotes teamwork in all his speeches but again with the Bucky situation. Just… everything Bucky, man. Tony signs the Accords and immediately goes against them with what he gives to Peter, who most assuredly did not sign them (tangent: if he HAD joined the Avengers at the end of Homecoming, I have no idea how that would have gone since Peter would have had to reveal his identity to the UN and then there’s the whole ‘still a minor’ thing, and yeah, Homecoming’s end scene just makes me go nuts). But anyway, their occasional hypocrisy is one of the most realistic aspects of them because most human beings are hypocritical sometimes.

Both men are sometimes arrogant. Tony’s self-explanatory with his genius-playboy-philanthropist-billionaire. One thing he does not suffer from is low self-esteem in regards to his abilities. His arrogance comes from his genius. Steve’s arrogance lies more in his deep-seeded belief that he is on the moral high ground – and one reason I think a lot of people dislike him so much, because moral superiority is very much a faux pas in this day and age for some millennials and many Gen Z folk. He has a very, very solid sense of what is right and what is wrong, and that rubs some folks the wrong way. Tony is more morally fluid – but he is not by any means immoral.

Both of them have a really solid list of strengths as well. As this ask specifically is looking to find the good in Steve, I specifically Googled pro-Steve articles for you to click at your leisure (and one with both). If you need to go back to canon, I highly recommend rewatching The First Avenger and The Winter Soldier, which introduces Steve brilliantly and then lets Steve grow further in the second film.

(Note: I actually prefer Tony to Steve in terms of personal favoritism, but how a very loud segment of Tony fans have treated other characters has led me to be more vocal about the strengths of others, especially Steve and Wanda. So Tony might be in my top 5, but mean-spirited Tony fans have moved me to be a champion of other characters, if only to show other fans that there are indeed Tony fans that do like the other characters and treat them – and their fans – with respect).

Bringing Balance (to the Universe…) Fanfic-Style

This addresses the second part of your ask in regards to the fanfics. And this is where I started running into trouble, too, mostly because, well, just how many Stephen and Steve fics are there? Yeah, exactly. Stephen’s my main guy. So I did some research, outsourcing, and reading.

Here’s two I knew of before cuz Stephen’s in them in some capacity:

Identity Theft by KitKat992 - it stars Peter and both Tony and Steve play integral parts from what I recall. Good story too, very engaging.

A Dysfunctional Senior Year (series) by ApolloLoki97 - this also stars Peter and has a large Team As Family aspect, so it shows the entire Avengers team as just decent people. My favorite part is naturally part 3 because Stephen comes in that one, haha.

And to find other stories, I went into the Anti-Accords tag. It was nice to find fics that didn’t have such a love of hypocritical authoritarianism. Aannyyyyway.

Making Sense of Chaos by SparkedtoLife - mind the tags. Seriously, it’s heavy duty. Yet another Peter fic because he’s way more popular than my favorite character, qq. Lots of Netflix Marvel characters too! Anyway, deals with not only Tony and Steve really well (and has a different dynamic with Tony that isn’t IronDad, so that was a nice change of pace), it also deals with the Accords situation very realistically. And none of those are even main plot points. If you can handle the very serious, sensitive subject that is the main plot point, I highly recommended it. It’s a very masterfully done work.

Atlas by nanasekei - Stony. Treats all characters with respect and both Tony and Steve as three-dimensional, flawed humans with some serious self doubts. Also highly agree with the author that Thaddeus Ross sucks and is basically one of the biggest people to blame for Everything Going To Shit.

Homecoming by an orphaned account - Some Stucky. This is a lovely one-shot of things I basically wanted to happen when the team got together again but didn’t. Sigggghhh. Everyone is definitely in character in this one, traumas and healing and all. And look, another person realizes that trusting Ross is a really horrible idea.

Locks Not Replaced by Riverdaughter - first this writer has a Tolkien-based username so yay. Anyway, the fic starts off by Tony realizing that he almost killed Steve during the fight with his repulsors, and it was only Bucky that stopped him. Do people seriously think he’d survive a shot to the face with that power? This is one reason the ‘Steve tried to kill Tony’ people piss me the fuck off. What do you think those repulsors shoot, fucking rainbows? Honestly, guys. Anyway, mini rant over. This fic is great. Author comes in with a Cap favoritism but treats Tony well, and honestly Tony turning a blind eye to everything and ignoring Ross is what I like to think happened in canon (he clearly dislikes the guy). And also I love the Robin Hood parallels. Love love love. I think this fic is my favorite of the ones listed in this section.

Meeting Your Heroes by Riverdaughter - naturally after reading that fic I went to explore more and found this gem. She’s not incorrect in saying Tony wasn’t a good mentor at the beginning - I think he had his own growth after Peter’s actions in Homecoming especially (though even through Homecoming he was trying, just… not always successfully lmao). Anyway love these two together. It’s great.

Photograph by slytherclaw420 - A scene we deserved in Endgame and didn’t get. Sigh. Definite IronDad feels here. Hopeful Steve, rebuilding of a friendship.

And uh, an honorable mention of sorts:

Balancing the Scales by MoonFire1 - I’m not recommending this fic for good characterization or plot. It really doesn’t have either. The fic was written in retaliation for the nasty Tony fans completely trashing Steve’s character. You should only read this if you want to see the argument from “the other side” and if you want to see an anti-Tony fic like you’ve seen anti-Steve fics. Don’t harass the author though. This is presented as a counterargument to anti-Steve fiction, for those interested to read the other sides arguments. I don’t like the nature of the fic, but I loathe that “not Steve friendly” has 30 fucking pages of works with tens of thousands of kudos, so one anti-Tony fic (with a comparatively small three pages under that tag) really doesn’t compare. Ugh. I hate the anti culture in this fandom so much. Loathe it. It’s such a nasty energy! Why would you indulge in such negativity? But as I’ve mentioned before, I appreciate authors aware enough to tag it so I can avoid it. I wish that part of fandom culture didn’t exist, but well, can’t change it. Just can criticize the fuck out of it on my blog. Maybe encourage people to think less one-sided in the process if I’m lucky.

But there’s probably more good characterization Steve fics to be found, so I am forcefully recruiting two people via tag:

If you’re looking to dabble into Stony fics with good-guy-Steve, if anyone would know of any, I’d imagine it’d be @babywarg.

You don’t know this person, but @cairistiona7 has actually known me the longest of anyone here on tumblr (half my life! HALF! She even knows my real name :P She betaed a LOTR work of mine a decade ago I ended up never fully publishing… thanks again for all your help there…). Anyway, she’s a big Bucky fan, and Bucky friendships is the best thing. So if anyone would know any wholesome Bucky and Steve stories, it’d be her. (Or really I’d take any of your recs, Cair, as I’ll probably enjoy them as well).

I hope this was helpful to you md, and that I didn’t piss off too many of my followers in the process of answering this lol.

#mdcbd #tony stark critical #steve rogers critical #meta #the sokovia accords #character analysis #tony stark #steve rogers #peter parker #since he's in a lot of the fics #fic rec #ask #answered #anti culture

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spiderman-homecomeme · 5 years ago

Text

off the record pt. 3

ENEMIES TO LOVERS

A/N: Hello friends!! The third part of my enemies to lovers from Spideychelle week is here!! currently, there are two more chapters left, so we’re getting close to the end!!

Enjoy 3.8k of Peter and MJ still fuckin hating each other, but then... a change of feelings perhaps??

Read here or on AO3

They had agreed to meet at the same coffee shop later in the week, Michelle finding herself mysteriously—and annoyingly—frazzled in the days leading up to their interview, especially the morning of. For some unknown reason, her normal morning routine is extended by at least a half-hour, her mind buzzing the moment she wakes up from a restless night. Her stomach twists as she looks at her planner, and she writes it off as the dread of having to actually converse with Parker again.

“Haven’t seen that dress in a while,” Betty smirks knowingly from behind her morning coffee, Michelle having not even noticed her roommate sitting there in the first place.

Michelle looks up, her eyes setting into a wary glare after the initial startle. “And?” She asks slowly as she puts a piece of bread in the toaster.

Betty tips her head, voice smooth and casual. “What’s the occasion?”

“Uh, nothing?” Michelle’s gaze darts left and right, her mouth setting into a frown as she walks to the fridge, pulling out the strawberry jam, her hands fumbling slightly with the jar. “Work?”

Betty taps her fingers against the glass mug, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “Aren’t you interviewing Peter today?”

Again, Michelle looks away, blowing a harsh puff of frustrated air through her nose. “Shut up,” she mutters as her toast pops up. She can hear her roommate suppress a snort of laughter from behind her, the sound making her almost roll her eyes into the fifth dimension as she spreads the jam onto her breakfast.

“You like nice,” Betty offers, the playful edge still in her tone.

Michelle elects to ignore that particular comment, pointedly taking a bite of her toast with an annoyed crunch as she heads for the door, blocking out Betty’s final, “Remember the mission!” as she slams it behind her.

The beginning of the workday before lunch proves to be just as frustrating. Peter has the audacity to wave at her when she walks in, his mouth curved into a stupid, timid smile that she knows has to be just as forced as hers is. Her returning wave is stiff, and she trains her gaze on the ground as she hurries walks with purpose to her desk.

(Peter of course, takes issue with the fact that her tight-lipped, half-assed smile seems so disingenuous.)

Michelle can hardly get any work done, unable to stop herself from glancing up at him working at his desk every so often, feeling as if she has heartburn radiating from her head to her toes. And then, just as she’s leaving her office and out the door, just as she’s walking on the sidewalk, sirens blaring as police cars speed by, she gets a text from him explaining that he ran into some “family stuff” that he needed to deal with first, but that he would still be on time to the interview.

She stirs at her cappuccino, tapping the wooden stick on the cup before setting it aside. Her voice recorder sits to the side of her open notebook, and she twirls her pen mindlessly between her fingers. For a moment, she’s occupied with whether or not she should be toying with it when he walks in, or if it should be at the side, next to her paper—thinking that perhaps the latter might make her look more professional.

Then, in the next moment, she berates herself for worrying about such a pointless detail.

Besides; what did she care about professionalism?

He was the one who was currently eleven minutes late to their very scheduled interview.

But who’s counting?

(She is.)

It’s fine. Totally fine. It’s not like they only have an hour for lunch.

Then, as she starts to feel the real anger set in, she sees the jerk running outside the window, and she watches as he rushes to the entrance. As he flings the door open, the sharp ringing of the bell echoing in the cafe, she quickly averts her gaze down to her own coffee. She’s the very air of nonchalance as he approaches her booth, not even looking up as he flops down onto the bench across from her.

“Sorry—” He’s cut off by his own need to catch his breath. “Had a—had a… thing. With—”

“With your family?” When she dares to glance up at him, she’s alarmed at his disheveled appearance, his hair in disarray, his cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink.

In her mind, there are three possibilities as to why this is. One, being that he really did have a “family thing” and actually ran all the way here. Two, being that he had lied and just came from an intense workout at the gym. And three, being that he had been caught up in some hasty conquest of some kind.

The third doesn’t seem as likely, given that she’s never perceived Peter as being the “one-and-done” type of person, and he’s never mentioned anything about any significant other. And, of course, the idea that anyone in their right mind would want to sleep with this man just seems impossible to her. Still, the third possibility stays in the back of her mind, poking and prodding at her relentlessly as he blinks owlishly at her.

But, as bothered as she is, she doesn’t let it show (too much).

Peter huffs out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Yeah…”

“No problem,” Michelle lies. She decides to just ignore his current state entirely, opening her notebook to a fresh page. “Let’s just go ahead and get started.”

Peter nods, lips pressed together in a small smile.

With a click of her recorder, she sits up straighter, taking her pencil in hand.

“How would you describe your relationship with Spider-Man?” She asks first.

Peter had been nervous about this before, but no amount of stress could compare to what he felt in this moment. He coughed, clearing his throat. “Um, well…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully, his heart hammering as she gets ready to write whatever nonsense he says. “I’m his photographer, but… I’d actually say that we’re pretty old friends.”

Michelle briefly glances up from her notes. “So you’ve known him a while.”

“Yeah,” he replies simply. “Since, uh—since freshman year of high school.”

“Wow, so a long time.” She takes a moment to finish that particular note. “Did you know him before he was Spider-Man?”

Peter takes another pause, disguising it as another cough, trying to decide the best way to answer. “Uh, yeah. Yeah I did.”

“It’s safe to say that you know him pretty well then?”

“Oh, yeah, you could say that,” Peter says, though there’s a hint of something in his tone that Michelle can’t quite place. “I probably know Spidey better than I know myself,” he jokes half-heartedly, his breath catching when she looks up at him again.

“You must be close, if you’re the only one who knows who he is.” Michelle observes. She knows she’s going off book, but the more he talks, the more she realizes that this is going to have to seem more genuine, that this shouldn’t feel like an actual interview if she wants to get any actual information.

Peter needs to feel comfortable.

Little does she know how impossible that is given what the interview is actually about.

Peter chuckles quietly, nodding. “Very. We sometimes joke that we’re pretty much the same person.” He bites his lip, and she misses the brief look of panic that flashes across his face as she goes to take another sip of her coffee. He’s too quick to continue, and she doesn’t stop him. “I mean, we’ve had our ups and downs. There are times where he’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, and—and… there are times, I guess, where I feel like your articles you write about him aren’t all that far off…” He trails off with a faint laugh.

Her lips twitches upward as she huffs in amusement before her expression turns serious again. There’s a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “Is there a romantic nature to your relationship?”

“What? Oh—no,” Peter sputters. “I mean, not that there would be anything wrong with that at all, but…” He coughs. “I’m single. He’s single. We’re just… We’re…” He pauses, trying to find the best way to word it without giving away his secret identity (in other words, what he’s been trying to do this whole damn interview). “...best friends.”

Michelle nods slowly, her expression still holding the faintest tint of skepticism, before she looks back down and continues writing.

After a heavy beat, Peter opens his mouth again.

“We’ve been through a lot, though,” He continues, leaning forward on his forearms. “We, uh, kinda had a falling out… back when my Uncle died, and—” He swallowed, not entirely sure why he’s even saying any of this, and he wonders if Michelle would be willing to keep some of it off the record. Still, he keeps going, unable to stop himself. “And our friendship after that was kinda shaky. But… after a while, I realized that living without him was pretty much impossible.”

“So you just learned to tolerate him?” Michelle jokes, earnestly for once, not as his expense.

Peter laughs softly. “In a way, I guess.” He shifts awkwardly, his fingers twiddling together, fearing he’s definitely said too much. “He’s a cool guy though. Solid dude.”

He holds her gaze for a moment before she remembers herself, eyes shifting down to her notes again.

She stares at her next pre-written question, wondering if this will induce the same word vomit as the first. Though, surprisingly, as annoyed as she might have been before at his incessant talking, here she finds that she almost doesn’t mind, and she justifies this new feeling as the product of knowing that his rambling is only helping her. It’s what she wants.

“Would you say that you admire him?” She asks, looking up again. His surprised face when she meets his gaze makes her stomach do an unexplained flip.

And truthfully, Peter’s not sure if there’s a safe answer to this question, or at least one that he can easily elaborate on. He falters for a beat, mentally weighing what he should say. “I’m not sure,” he says finally. “I mean, he’s been a part of my life for so long, it’s hard seeing him how normal people see him, you know? I mean, I admire him for what he does; looking out for the little guy, I guess. Just helping out because he can. But…”

Going into this interview, he hadn’t had the slightest idea that it would turn into some kind of introspective therapy session for himself.

“There are things he can do better—things we can all do better, obviously—but, I don’t know. He’s so busy keeping track of the city, he doesn’t really make time for the people in his life. And he knows this, and he tries really hard.” Again, Peter laughs, sadly. “But this whole superhero thing… it kinda gets in the way. He just… he has a really hard time keeping friends. I don’t know.”

“You’re his friend,” Michelle offers.

“That’s because I tolerate him. Remember?”

The same half-smile pulls at the corner of her lips, and she almost damns herself for letting it show. But once again, she remembers herself, and why she’s here in the first place.

“What’s the origin story of Spider-Man?” She gets right back to business.

“Oh, it’s kinda… It’s kind of a long story,” Peter says with a slight flinch, scratching the back of his neck.

Michelle looks up from her notes, hand frozen, eyeing him expectantly.

“Well, um—” Peter lets out a breathy chuckle. “Back in high school. Freshman year. We were, uh, we were on a field trip to Oscorp—for uh, science stuff. They had this exhibit on gamma radiation, and we had to put on this like, protective gear before we could go in the room, and when he was putting his on, there was a spider in there—one that I guess got trapped in there, I don’t know—and it bit him—” He shrugs, before hastily continuing. “I mean, I was there but, like, I didn’t see it happen or anything like that. That’s just what he told me.”

“So a radioactive spider?”

“I mean, I guess, yeah? Not really, but… Yeah. Sure.” He sits, mouth twisting in thought before he speaks again, voice slightly lowered. “ My working theory is that the spider was hit with gamma radiation. Just like Dr. Banner, you know?”

Michelle only offers a quick nod before continuing. “What exactly are his powers? What can Spider-Man do?”

“Whatever a spider can?” Peter jokes lamely.

Michelle stares unimpressed. “So, inject venom into your prey and digest their organs and then slurp up their insides? Because that’s what spiders can do.”

At that, Peter lets out a genuine, if not a little grossed-out, laugh, a sound that surprisingly doesn’t make Michelle want to throw her coffee in his face.

“God, no,” He replies. “No. Like, I just meant climbing walls. And he’s got synthetic webs and webshooters. And this like… sixth sense. Really, the walls thing is the only spidery thing about him.”

“Anything else?”

“Um… Advanced healing, super strength, enhanced senses like hearing and sight, powerful, unyielding charisma…”

She looks up at him briefly, eyes narrowed.

“Just to name a few,” he adds innocently.

Michelle opens her mouth to speak, a snarky response at the ready, when she’s cut off by the wailing sirens in the distance. Peter cranes his neck, looking past Michelle. She turns. The TV in the corner of the coffee shop shows the scene outside one of the nearby banks, the news anchor’s voice reporting a hostage situation.

When she turns back to face Peter, his eyes are wide, and after a beat, he hastily pulls his phone out of his pocket. He holds up a finger, obviously pretending to take a phone call from someone named May . Apparently, she’s facing quite the inconvenience, judging by Peter’s overacting.

“Sorry, Michelle,” Peter says as he scrambles up from his side of the booth, nearly tripping on his way out. “I—I gotta go,” He stammers, throwing a stiff thumb over his shoulder. “My uh, my aunt… Needs help…”

She fixes him with a skeptical glare.

“We’ll finish this at my desk? Tomorrow? With Coffee? I’ll buy!”

Before she can even respond, he’s rushing for the door, running as soon as his feet hit the pavement outside.

Michelle can only watch, sinking back into her seat, her arms folded across her chest. This had certainly gone better than she expected. Sure, there’s still a lot of things left unanswered, given that they’d only made it about half-way through her list of scripted questions. But, she’s not completely in the dark anymore.

If there’s one thing Michelle’s sure of—100%, to be exact—it’s that Peter Parker is Spider-Man.

Okay, maybe he’s not. Maybe she’s only 67% sure.

Michelle knows that she shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions, and although the thought hadn’t immediately crossed her mind, she knows that confirmation bias can be a dangerous thing. After a semi-solid night’s sleep, as she’s walking into the Daily Bugle offices, she decides that this isn’t something she should rush into. She needs to keep investigating. She needs to keep talking to Peter, getting to know him.

Just so she’s really sure.

Then, and only then, can she make her move.

Besides, if she’s going to ruin this guy’s life—whoever Spider-Man happens to be—she needs to really make sure it’s the right guy.

After finishing up the interview at his desk—even after he willingly and thoroughly answers all of her questions—she still feels as though she needs more evidence that he is, in fact, Spider-Man. So, she asks him to meet with her the next day.

And the next.

...And the next.

At this point, the questions aren’t even about Spider-Man anymore. Perhaps finding out more about Peter’s own personal life will give her insight as to how he could manage such a time consuming alter-ego. And she trades this information with her own personal anecdotes.

You know, to make him feel like he’s her friend. That’s how she justifies it.

Peter Parker is surprisingly funny, Michelle finds. And, just in general, not as terrible a person as she’d initially thought. She even lets him start calling her MJ. His little smiles and waves don’t grate on her as much as they did just a few days ago.

Really, if Michelle didn’t hate him so much, she might thing they were actually becoming friends.

Betty seems to think so as well. Or at least more than that.

And she lets Michelle know this information while she’s mid rant about something funny-slash-stupid he’d said during their fourth consecutive “interview”—this one being after work, dinner at a semi-fancy restaurant. Something ]that seemingly had nothing to do with Spider-Man at all.

Betty has the gall to actually suggest that instead of hating Peter, Michelle might like him.

Like-like him, she dares to say.

MJ, of course, shuts that shit down as soon as Betty even thinks to mention it, mocking the very idea for sounding so juvenile while at the same time finding her face unbearably warm.

And, on his side of their tiny world, Peter’s in about the same position. He’s had to stop talking to Ned about the whole thing because the guy just keeps pushing this whole “You’re actually in love with her, you idiot,” narrative that’s frankly not true at all. Ned just doesn’t understand how annoying MJ really is, how annoying the way she just smirks at him is, the way she just deadpans almost every joke she has, or the way he finds himself laughing at said jokes…

The way she tucks her curly hair behind her ear and looks away from him like she’s shy or something…

Okay, so he might not actually hate her, but actually, genuinely falling for her has to be the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. Though, he’s surprised to find himself seeing her more and more as a friend everyday. It’s weird.

But what did it matter that they’ve started going out to dinner to discuss her article? He’s just following the plant. There’s nothing else to it.

So what if he takes a split-second to admire the way she looks?

Unbeknownst to the other, they both feel the same strange warmth between them, and their smiles are starting to become genuine. While there’s still the annoyance that’s always there, it’s accompanied by a new, unknown, strange feeling. And with this new, tingling feeling comes a tugging guilt, one that’s faint and easily ignored, but certainly there.

Michelle, for writing this exposé in the first place. Though, the feeling is fleeting, as she’s reminded by another email from Jameson asking for another Spidey article. She knows that her next step is to just keep hanging out with Peter, just to be sure that he’s not Spider-Man himself, to somehow meet his friends, maybe see who’s the flake he’s told her all about. And for once, the idea doesn’t make her want to throw up.

That, and she still has to interview Spidey.

She knows she just has to stay with the plan, and everything will be fine.

And that’s what she reminds herself as she’s called to her boss’s office, and especially as Jameson grills her for not responding to his emails regarding his demand for more Spider-Man articles. Of course, in the midst of all the prep and interviews, Michelle had neglected to tell her boss that what she had in store was better than anything he could possibly want her to write.

“JONES!” Jameson barks. “You better have a damn good reason for dodging my emails!”

Michelle barely flinches, able to maintain a sense of coolness in the face of danger. “It’s actually—”

“And I mean really good! Like dead grandma good! Is your grandma dead?”

“...No. I—”

“Wait, I take that back, I don’t care about your grandma!” He waves her off aggressively. “I expect this shit from Thompson or Parker, but not you!”

“I’m sorry,” Michelle says, her tone flat and even, though she feels the slightest bit hesitant to further explain herself. “I’ve been working on something else.”

“Something else?!” Jameson balks. “What else could you possibly be working on?! My assignments not good enough for you?! I tell you what, whatever you’re working on better be—”

Her own internal turmoil as to whether or not she should tell her boss about her plan, quiet as that turmoil is, is enough to put Jameson’s angry rant on mute, at least for a moment. Truly, she’s unsure where this sudden trepidation is coming from, but she assumes it’s because she wants to have as little input from her boss as possible.

“—It better be big! What are you doing?! Finding out his secret identity?!”

At that, Michelle jerks her head back, mouth parted as she blinks in surprise. “That’s… That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Oh!... Oh?” Jameson stops, frozen, and for once, he speaks in lowercase letters. “Well. Uh. Good.”

Still in shock that he was lucky enough—she’d say smart, but that was a bit of a stretch—to guess it on whatever try it was, she nods. But then, she remembers the inevitability that Jameson’s going to spread this around the office, maybe as some sick form of motivation for her poor coworkers.

Which would lead to Peter finding out…

“I’d prefer if we kept this conversation between us, though,” Michelle says, to which Jameson’s only response is a confused quirk of his brow. “I want it to be this big shock to everyone , you know?”

Jameson nods slowly, mouth pressing into a thin line. Clearly, he buys it. “Yes… Yes… You’ve got a point there, Jones.” He claps his hands together, the sound echoing in his office. “Alright! Well! Get back to work then! Find out who Spider-Man is!”

God, at this point he’s already told everyone, she thinks, hiding the way her eye twitches in annoyance.

Michelle dismisses herself, moving to leave without another word. As she opens and starts pushing the door behind her, she startles seeing who’s waiting on the other side.

“Oh! Uh, hey!” She tells herself that the smile on her face is only out of politeness. “Peter!”

Peter clutches at the strap of his camera bag. He gives a single, stiff nod, his mouth pressing into a tight, thin smile as he rocks back on his heels.

He looks as if he’s about to say something when Jameson’s booming voice cuts him off.

“PARKER! GET IN HERE!”

“Good luck,” Michelle teases under her breath.

Peter forces another smile before pushing past her and into the office.

It leaves Michelle in the near-empty hallway, staring at the closed door, confused—and with a strange, unwelcome sinking you-fucked-up feeling in her gut.

#spideychelle #petermj #journalist au #peter parker x michelle jones #peter parker #michelle jones #off the record fic

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fredfilmsblog · 4 years ago

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Best of Original Cartoons: Oh Yeah! Cartoons [1998-2002]

"Original Cartoons since 1998" seemed to me like a cheeky, tiny joke to throw onto the first season crew party poster for my first series as an indie producer*. And before you know it, here we are in 2020.

Hanna-Barbera Cartoons, the studio I ran, was sold by its owner, Turner Broadcasting, to (now) WarnerMedia, and while I loved working for Scott Sassa and Ted Turner, I didn’t see a great future for myself inside the new behemoth. After a little wrangling, I quit H&B and started Frederator with an exclusive deal at MTV Networks to consult with the programming management and to produce cartoons for Nickelodeon.

My first project was a second big idea cartoon incubator in the mold of What A Cartoon! Nickelodeon had an early lead in changing the way cartoons for kids were made with Nicktoons (where my earlier consulting life had a small role in fomenting), but CEO Herb Scannell and production president Albie Hecht realized the network still had a ways to go with impacting the creative community and welcomed my approach which would expand their reach tremendously. It’s because of Herb and Albie (and CEOs Tom Freston and Judy McGrath) and their faith in what I could do for the company that my career as a producer really took off. Thanks folks!

Oh Yeah! Cartoons would eventually encompass 33 unique and talented creators and 57 original shorts over three seasons. The series would be structured around the original shorts and eventually 36 sequel shorts around selected creators and characters. Many of the creators (Butch Hartman, Bill Burnett, Larry Huber, Rob Renzetti, Pat Ventura, Zac Moncrief, Miles Thompson, John Eng) had worked with me over at Hanna-Barbera, and others came in on their own energy or were recommended by friends.

Most of the creators were making their first solo commercial cartoons ever, and Butch, Larry, Bill and Rob made their first series with the spin offs of their OY! shorts. Big score for them, their careers, and the crews of their shows. Virtually all of the OY! creators went on to senior creative roles at Nickelodeon and the other studios in Hollywood. That might be my most lasting creative legacy, completely aside from the cartoons themselves.

A few specific notes.

Larry Huber had been the supervising producer for What A Cartoon! and was my co-executive producer on Oh Yeah! He’s continued to be an indispensable trusted co-worker on all of of my shorts projects and not a few of our series.

Larry and Bill Burnett –a New York co-worker of mine in advertising before coming to Hanna-Barbera as a writer– went on to create the shorts and series for ChalkZone.

Butch Hartman created quite a few What A Cartoon! shorts but hit the jackpot with The Fairly OddParents from Oh Yeah! Completely aside from the other originals and directing he did on other OY! cartoons.

Rob Renzetti made six stellar originals for Oh Yeah! and his My Life as a Teenage Robot series still gets fan art and letters today.

One of the Oh Yeah! shorts that never got much attention was the adaptation of legendary Harvey Kurtzman’s comic strip Hey Look!, a series of one-page comic book fillers produced between 1946 and 1949 for Timely Comics. Harvey was the first editor of MAD, and created Little Annie Fanny for Playboy. For a quick minute I was the last owner of Kitchen Sink Press, a legendary comix imprint that was renowned for, among other things, reprinting classics. And Harvey was one of publisher Denis Kitchen’s favorites. I asked Vincent Waller, late of Ren and Stimpy, later a key player on SpongeBob SquarePants, to take a stab. He did an amazing job.

Seth MacFarlane got signed to do Family Guy pretty much the same week he handed in his Zoomates pitch. His roommate and creative partner Butch Hartman designed and produced the short while Seth went on to become Seth MacFarlane.

Still (almost completely missing)? Women and Black American creators. Wife and husband, Michelle and Eric Bryan, created the wonderful Skippy Spankerton, but that was still meager out of the 100 shorts I’d produced by 2002 (things would ramp up a lot five years later). Byron Vaughs represented African-American creators, but that would not increase almost at all over the years. A big big miss on my part.

Oh Yeah! Cartoons, my 2nd short cartoon incubator, started me off as an independent producer of cartoons 22 years ago. It’s been an amazing ride, with the honor of working with some of the greatest talents in modern animation.

BTW, here’s an article written at the time of the 1998 series debut on Nickelodeon, written by entertainment reporter Jefferson Graham, originally posted at USA Today.

.....

* Über producer/entrepreneur Norman Lear once said (in paraphrase) “There’s no such thing as an ‘independent’ producer, we’re all dependent producers.” Meaning that if we’re making a show/movie for a major platform, we producers need their money, which means we have to listen to their needs too, not just our own or our creator’s. Norman is right.

#Best of Original Cartoons #Oh Yeah! Cartoons #shorts incubators #Nickelodeon #1998 #1999 #2000 #2001 #2002 #shorts

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nauseateddrive · 4 years ago

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SUSPENDED by Alan Swyer

About to head off to conduct an interview, Pete Tarcher winced when a call came from his soon-to-be ex-. “How busy are you?” Suzanne asked before Tarcher even had a chance to say hello.

“Very. I've got a crew meeting me in Burbank.”

“Tell 'em you need to reschedule.”

“Because?”

“Jeremy's about to be suspended from school.”

“Let me call you from the car.”

Driving west toward Santa Monica, Tarcher listened uncomfortably via Bluetooth while Suzanne briefed him about their son's predicament. Then he asked an even more uncomfortable question. “Sure he wants me involved?”

“He thinks the world of you.”

“Sure has a funny way of showing it.”

“Kids take sides when their parents are going through divorce. Plus –”

“Yeah?”

“How'd you get on with your Dad when you were that age?”

“How well do he and I get on today?”

“I rest my case,” replied Suzanne.

After hanging up, Tarcher found himself contemplating the ways in which he and his son were different yet had much in common. Whereas Tarcher, proud of his New Jersey roots, was willfully outspoken and, when necessary, eager to get in someone's face, Jeremy was very much SoCal: soft-spoken with a winning kind of shyness, except when playing baseball, where he was a smiling assassin.

It was athletics that had long served as the primary bond between father and son, with Tarcher spending countless hours mentoring Jeremy in sport after sport. Though soccer, basketball, and football were part of his early years, it was always baseball that took precedence. Initially that meant Tarcher playing catch before school, pitching Wiffle balls to Jeremy in the backyard, and hitting ground balls to him at different parks. Once Jeremy turned nine, frequent trips to a local batting cage known as Slamo were added.

It was at Slamo where Jeremy, whose classmates, post-Little League, embraced computer games rather than team sports, formed friendships with kids who shared his zeal. That in turn opened the door to travel teams. The ensuing tournaments, first across Southern California, then farther away as well, often requited overnight stays, intensifying the ties between father and son.

Upon entering high school, Jeremy promptly had an experience that mirrored one from Tarcher's youth. While getting ready for fall baseball practice on a Tuesday afternoon, Jeremy was confronted by two vatos who were in the process of shaking him down when into the locker room stepped Junior Hernandez, co-captain of the team by day and reputed gang member.

“What the fuck you doin'?” screamed Junior when he saw what was happening.

“Be cool,” replied one of the toughs. “The motherfucker's white.”

“White or not, he's my teammate!” snarled Junior, ready to do some serious ass-kicking.

That, in a different sport was a reenactment of what happened to Tarcher, whose savior was Victor Washington, captain of the basketball team and heavyweight Golden Gloves boxing champ of New Jersey.

In another way as well, Jeremy followed in his father's path. To gain acceptance from his teammates and other in-groups, he assumed a double-life: a wild and crazy jock who, without calling much attention, happened to be in the school's Honors Program.

One person not fooled by Jeremy's protective coloration was his freshman English teacher, Ms. Vaughn, who was also the adviser to the school paper. Recognizing a talent that he himself might have otherwise not acknowledge, when Jeremy misbehaved in class one day, she issued an ultimatum: serve a week's detention, which would mean missing fall practice, or join the newspaper staff. Starting as second-string sportswriter, Jeremy rose to sports editor by his junior year, which yielded a peculiar series of omissions. Since reporters were not allowed to mention themselves in their stories, as Jeremy progressed from the youngest member of the varsity to its star, the sports pages carried more and more tales of game-winning hits, and shutouts thrown, with no mention of the player responsible for the heroics.

Little surprise that by his senior year, Jeremy requested, then demanded, a transition from sports to features, which inevitably led to the call from Suzanne that had Tarcher racing across town.

Pulling into a visitor's spot in the high school parking lot, Tarcher walked purposefully toward the administration building. He nodded to a security guard he knew from attending countless baseball games, then to a couple of students he recognized, before stepping into the principal's outer office. There he immediately received a frown from his son, who was seated unhappily on a wooden bench.

“You don't have to be here,” Jeremy grumbled.

“I don't do anything because I have to,” answered Tarcher. “I'm here because I want to be. And for the record, it was your Mom who called me.”

Without another word, Tarcher approached the reception desk. “Pete Tarcher for Anne Marceau,” he announced to the woman there.

“She's expecting you?”

“You bet.”

The receptionist picked up the phone and spoke softly for a moment, then faced Tarcher and pointed. “She's –”

“I know,” said Tarcher. As he headed toward the appropriate door, out stepped a well- dressed black woman who smiled.

“I just saw the film you made about the criminal justice system in San Diego,” Anne Marceau stated with a smile.

“If you're trying to butter me up,” replied Tarcher, “this is not the time.”

“Come in,” said the principal, ushering Tarcher into her office, then closing the door and motioning for him to take a seat. “How much about this situation do you know?”

“Let's assume I know nothing, so you can start at the beginning.”

Anne Marceau took a deep breath. “You're aware of your son's article?”

“Like I said, assume I know nothing.”

“Jeremy wrote an extended piece about a day in the life of a tagger here at school.”

“Was it informative? Well-written?”

“Not the point,” insisted Ms Marceau. “Aside from the fact that tagging is gang-related –”

“Not always –”

“Largely. This is something I know a lot about.”

“And I just fell off the turnip truck?” countered Tarcher. “Which one of us created the LA County Teen Court system?”

“Then you know what a scourge graffiti is.”

“I also know that street art is the most exciting form of artistic expression today.”

Anne Marceau took a deep breath. “You're not being sympathetic.”

“While you threaten to suspend my son? What exactly do you want?”

Anne Marceau stood and paced for a moment before again addressing Tarcher. “For Jeremy to divulge the name of the tagger who's anonymous in his article.”

“And if not, he's suspended?”

Anne Marceau nodded.

“So you're telling me that Jeremy will wind up with a black mark that could influence not merely the colleges that are recruiting him, but also the pro scouts who have been coming to see him play.”

“There are consequences in this world.”

“Want to talk about consequences?” Tarcher asked, rising to his feet. “Ever heard the word retribution?”

“I-I'm not sure I follow.”

“Didn't you say just a little while ago that tagging was gang-related?”

“What's that got to do with anything?”

“Let's suppose the guy Jeremy followed is a gang member. Think he's going to shrug if outed? Take it in stride? Turn the other cheek? You're talking about putting my son in harm's way!”

“No need to raise your voice,” said Ms Marceau warily.

“Oh, yeah? Tell me what point you're trying to make.”

“That there's a lesson to be learned.”

“And that lesson is that it's okay to be a rat?”

Anne Marceau cringed. “That's not the way I see it.”

“I don't care if you see it as red, green, purple, or blue. That's the message you're sending. So please listen to me carefully. There's no way in the world you're going to force my son to become a rat. Are we clear? I mean 100 percent clear?”

Anne Marceau took a moment to gather herself. “Okay,” she then said. “I'll consider your point. Are we done?”

“No such luck. How about something called freedom of the press? That doesn't figure into this?”

“I-I think you're making more of this than necessary.”

“Am I?” asked Tarcher. “How do you think the LA Times will respond if they hear about this? Or the local news stations? Or maybe it could even go national.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I don't threaten. I take action. As you pointed out, I make documentaries. Know what? That gives me far better and far different access than if I were, say, an orthodontist, a car mechanic, or a lifeguard.”

“You're making me very uncomfortable.”

“Well guess what,” said Tarcher. “I'm just getting started. Here's the really awkward news. Much of what I do is muckraking. Get my drift?”

“I-I'm not sure.”

“Then let me explain. It might be really interesting to make a documentary about a school that prides itself on teaching kids about their rights, then punishes them when they use 'em.”

“Mr. Tarcher –”

“I'm not finished yet. Here's what's going to happen. If my son is suspended, the first thing I'm going to do is reward him with a trip. Maybe Catalina while he's missing school. Or even better, Hawaii. Understood?”

“Pete –”

“Then I'm going to use every resource at my disposal to make the world aware of what transpired, as well as who's behind it.”

“Please –”

“Next, I'm going to explore what other students have had their freedom of expression abridged. Why? Because the more I think about it, the more I can see a documentary like this appealing to Netflix, or HBO, or maybe PBS.”

Anne Marceau sighed. “What exactly do you want?”

“You're an intelligent women. What exactly do you think I want?”

Still seated on the wooden bench in the outer office, Jeremy looked up as his father emerged from Anne Marceau's office. “So?” he asked.

Tarcher eyed his son for a moment, then spoke. “Let's just say that Koufax is still the greatest lefty ever, Greg Maddox the best righty, and Tony Oliva the best natural hitter.”

“That's all?”

“And the sun will come up tomorrow morning.”

With that, Tarcher headed toward the door, only to have his son follow.

“Wait,” said Jeremy. “I-I don't know what to say.”

“Then maybe it's best to say nothing.”

Jeremy took a moment to reflect before speaking. “Thanks,” he then offered.

“For?”

“Coming. And helping. And being my dad.”

“I'm here when you need me.”

“I know,” stated Jeremy. “But that doesn't mean I'm not still upset at you.”

Tarcher studied his son for a moment, then smiled. “Likewise.”

Back on the freeway, Tarcher couldn't help by think about the contrast between his professional and personal experiences. Because he made documentaries – about the criminal justice system, Eastern spirituality in the Western world, breakthroughs in the treatment of diabetes, and even boxing – most people assumed that he was showing the world as it is. Yet Tarcher knew full well that with his films he could exercise significant control thanks to the people he chose to interview, the questions he asked them, and above all the choices he made during the editing process by sequencing and selecting the sound bytes used.

In real life, in contrast, control ranged from minimal to none.

That made real life – and especially his life – infinitely harder.

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is0gild · 5 years ago

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Ice Cream and Fire Oven Pizza - Chapter 8

Pairing: Elsa x Lea/Axel || Side Pairing: Riku x OC

Summary: Modern AU. She's an introvert ball of nerves who works at Ice Palace, a mall food court ice cream shop. He's the outgoing, sassy goofball who works at the Pizza Planet across the way. Hilarity, snark, and fluffy romcom hijinks ensue.

Word Count: 6,473

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Credit for super friggin’ cute and super friggin’ amazing cover art goes to the super friggin’ talented ky-jane here on tumblr!

It was dawning on me that I hadn’t fully thought this through.

This whole “having friends” thing.

There were so many factors I hadn’t even considered. Like, once you’ve made a new friend…

...what the frick are you supposed to do with them?

One would think I’d have this figured out by now. After all, I was friends with Rayne, wasn’t I? But Rayne was different. There hadn’t really been much to think about there, we’d just sorta clicked. Besides, we’d met when we were children - a time when the hot topics to talk about had been our favorite toys to play with or which of the boys had cooties or our latest masterpieces made during Arts and Crafts time involving gluing popsicle sticks and sequins to pine cones. You know, kid stuff.

But now I was an adult. An adult who had just made new adult friends who probably expected adult conversations.

And unfortunately I just didn’t think cooties and sequins were going to cut it anymore.

Which is why I could now be found on this fine Friday afternoon shift at the Ice Palace having borrowed Kristoff’s phone, making use of the current lull in customer traffic to carry out some important research. And how, one might wonder, was this important research being gathered?

By googling the phrase “how to friendship.”

Genius, I know.

Thousands of articles and tutorials had come back in the search results, not all of them useful, but I’d landed on a couple that could maybe help a little bit. I gnawed on my lower lip as my eyes quickly scanned over the words. Then with a nod, I used a pen to transcribe the cliff notes version over to my palm, adding on to the ever growing list of useful tidbits that could now be found there.

Call it my Chit-Chat Cheat Sheet. That’s right, folks, you’re witnessing a crucial life hack in the making. This handy-dandy little list was going to be my one-stop shop to social butterfly success. Look out, new pals of mine, you were about to be friended so hard. I was going to friend your butts off! This was-

“Hey, I also like to doodle on my hand whenever I’m bored outta m-”

With a half gasp, half yelp, I jolted up straight, wide eyes discovering Lea now standing on the other side of the counter from me. He brought up his hands, “Woah now, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.”

My own hand flew up to cover my pounding heart as I breathed out and shook my head. “No. No, it’s fine, I should’ve been paying more-” My fingers flexed, closing around empty air. My brow furrowed. “Wait…” Where did my-? Did I drop it? “...I had a pen.”

It suddenly blurred down from up above to crash land into the countertop, making us both flinch and jerk back slightly.

Oh. Heh. There it was.

“Sorry about that,” I gave a weak laugh, retrieving the writing implement and giving it a little waggle as I held it up. “I… guess I still got a few kinks to work out before I can successfully launch the first unmanned pencraft into orbit.”

...wow, did that stupid joke really just come out of me?

Must. Resist. Urge. To. Wince.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Might I suggest waiting for a day when the weather forecast reports zero chance of ceiling?” he pointed up.

I nodded, “Good note. Excellent observation. Prime example of one of my kinks.” I blanched, then hastily stammered, “I mean the… one of the kinks that, uh, needs to be, er… worked... out.”

Ugh, what’s wrong with me? Why am I like this?

This is why I needed the list.

...crud! The list! My eyes darted to my palm where it was scrawled in plain view for all the world to bear witness. Then my gaze flicked to Lea, looking at me with an eyebrow cocked and one side of his lips turned up. Then I balled my fist and jammed it behind my back.

Had he seen?

He mustn’t know about my secret hacks!

That’s when I spotted it. Kristoff’s phone. Still on the counter between us. Still open to the WikiHow I’d been taking notes from. My other hand shot out and swatted the device away, sending it slamming into the wall on my right before clattering to the ground.

Oopsie. Sorry Kristoff!

Luckily he was currently out and about taking his ten. He’d never have to know. This could just be our little secret between the phone and me.

“Shit, what’d that poor thing ever do to you?”

...rather, between the phone, me, and Lea.

What had it done to me, he asks? It’d tried to rat me out, that’s what!

My eyes darted to one side. “...let’s just say the crime fits the punishment.”

Snitches get stitches.

He glanced to where the abused phone still lay abandoned on the tiled floor, then snorted and crossed his arms with a shake of his head, “If you say so.”

Alright, so this exchange so far? Could be going better. Not exactly textbook. Lot of room for improvement. But that was okay because (ba-dum ba-dum!) Chit-Chat Cheat Sheet to the rescue! It could salvage any social catastrophe! Let’s just watch it work its magic, shall we?

I shifted to bring my hand out in front of me once more, casually resting my palm face down against the countertop. Then I lifted it just barely enough to furtively peek at the first couple lines I’d written there.

Start with a warm, friendly greeting. Examples include…

I locked eyes with him. “Whassup.”

He blinked. “Um… hi?”

Nailed it.

Alright, now that a proper line of communication had officially been established in the most cordial manner, on to the next step: small talk. After sneaking another quick look at my notes, I pressed my hand back down again and recited the words I’d just glanced at, “So nice weather we’re having, huh? At least it’s not raining like last week.”

This list was a god send. Pure gold.

He squinted upward, scratching the back of his head. “Hasn’t it been sunny for months now?”

...fudge.

Abort, captain, abort! The first one was a dud! Quickly, lock and load the second one and fire!

I anxiously checked my palm again and latched onto the next line, reading out, “That’s an awesome shirt you’re wearing!”

He frowned down at it, eyebrows knitting together. “You mean my work polo? Not… really, but okay.”

Aaaaaaaand another swing and a miss!

Oh wise and powerful Chit-Chat Cheatsheet, why hast thou forsaken me here, now, in my greatest hour of need? Me, your most devout and faithful of followers? Me, who loved and worshipped you so?

Feeling my panic spiking, I looked to my hand again to find one more line I had yet to try. One final chance for salvation. This was it. My ace in the hole. List, don’t fail me now!

Desperate, I didn’t even register the words as my eyes snatched them from my palm, handed them off to my brain that then shoved them down the pipeline to my mouth which proceeded to blurt out verbatim, “So what do you do in your flamingo?”

...the list had failed me.

“I’m sorry, what does who do in the what and where now?”

And we’re talking like… epic failure.

I was just now realizing this was the one I’d been in the middle of jotting down when Lea had startled me. So chances were good that that sloppy mess of a scribble at the end of the sentence? Wasn’t actually the word flamingo.

At least, I hoped it wasn’t.

Whatever. I give up.

Puffing out a sigh as I pinched the bridge of my nose, I muttered, “You know what, forget it. I’m just… having a bit of a malfunction. One of those days, I guess.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, “no worries! Those come up all the time working customer service, so I totally get it.”

This guy was too nice. Here I was, spouting off nonsense like a gibbering baboon and he was just brushing it off like it was no big deal. Like it was an everyday occurrence for a person to ask him if he did lord only knows what to a neon pink bird. I should get on with assisting him with whatever he’d come over here for. It was the least I could do in exchange for him putting up with the trainwreck that was me. Taking a deep breath and putting on a smile, I asked, “So what can I help you with today?”

He returned the smile, “Take a wild guess.”

I glanced around my work space. “Ice cream?”

“Got it in one,” his thumb went up. “I’m a total addict by the way, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

“I’m sure your dentist says the same thing,” I deadpanned, pressing my finger to a button on the cash register. “Sea Salt, right?”

“You’re on a roll today!”

My grin twitched wider. He was so much better at this small talk thing than me. “How would you like it?”

“I like my ice cream like I like my women: swirly and in a waffle cone,” he winked, tossing out some finger guns.

...I take that back, this dork was just as clueless as I was. Had to be if he thought that was funny.

I merely arched an eyebrow at him as the silence stretched. Then he pouted, “Aw c’mon, kid, these are the jokes! Don’t leave me hanging here.”

I snorted, tapping a couple more keys on the register. “Sorry. It’s just that after the other day, I would have thought your answer would’ve been more along the lines of ‘frozen solid and on a stick.’”

“Oo, dirty,” he chirped, his eyebrows bouncing.

Welp. That’d teach me for trying to play along.

“But no,” he waved off, “that was more out of necessity. Only the ice cream bars can survive the long trip up the clocktower without melting first. Otherwise, give me creamy, fluffy, and with a twist any day!”

“Duly noted. Just a sec.” I turned, plucking one of the cones off the top of the stack as I walked past, approaching the soft serve/milkshake machine.

Ah, my old nemesis. We meet again. One could almost hear the Old West face-off tune whistling in the background. But thankfully, there would be no drawing of pistols this day.

I liked to think there was a grudging, mutual respect between us now.

Being super mindful of the Anger Button, I switched it to the appropriate flavor and pulled down on the lever. As I moved the cone in small circles while it slowly filled with blue, sugary goop, I heard Lea ask, “Snow Bear?”

I looked back at him, a crease forming between my eyebrows as I tipped my head to one side.

...what’d he just call me?

He was hunched forward now, elbow on the countertop and chin propped in hand, fingers drumming against his cheek as he squinted at me with a frown. Then shook his head, “Nah, too healthy, even for a goody-goody like you. Tofu has no business being anywhere near ice cream.”

Then it clicked. Snow Bear was one of the flavors we offered.

“Big Bad Pete?” he pursed his lips to one side, then crinkled his nose. “Nope. Too nutty. Thinking you like a crunch, just not that kind.”

I returned my attention to the machine, making sure the cone wasn’t too top heavy. “Are you… trying to guess the type of ice cream I like?”

“Yup! Since Sea Salt clearly wasn’t your thing.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that.” I released the lever, completing the stacking spiral with a nice little curl at the top and turning to face him once more. “But it is… shall we say, an acquired taste?”

Lea smirked and scoffed, “Blasphemy! Don’t worry though, I won’t judge you too harshly for your dirty, heathen tastes.”

“You’re too kind,” I rolled my eyes as I handed him his purchase.

Taking it in one hand, he used the other to give me the munny due. “Consider it my one good deed for the century. It’s a doozy though. I’m expecting my sainthood any day now.” He then lapped off a big blue chunk as he eyed me thoughtfully. “Donald Fizz maybe?” Then he pulled a face with another shake of his head, “Nu uh, too close to Sea Salt.”

“If you really want to know that badly, it’s-”

“Buh buh buh,” he pressed a finger to my lips, cutting me off. “Yeesh, don’t spoil my fun like that, let me guess! This is like my mutant power, I can always tell a person’s fave ice cream.” He narrowed his eyes on me as he took another bite, licking some of it off from the corner of his mouth. “You’re a tough read though. Gonna need more time, gather more intel.” A grin broke out again, “But I do oh so love a challenge.” Then he snapped his fingers, “What about-”

“Elsa?!”

My blood ran cold at the voice that cried out from across the food court.

A very, very familiar voice.

One I had not expected to hear again for a while yet and certainly not here, at the Dusk Town Center mall, at my sanctuary of all places.

Lea glanced over his shoulder, looking for who’d interrupted him before yelping and leaping out of the way so as not to become roadkill to an auburn and blue blur zooming straight for me. It crashed up against the other side of the counter, lashed its limbs out over the top and seized me in its vice-like grip, yanking me forward into a bone-crushing embrace and squeezing the absolute life out of me as it once more shouted, “Elsa! I found you! At last, I found you!”

Or rather… not it, but her.

Anna Fryse.

My sister.

...who, as I was just now discovering, might also be part boa constrictor. Good lord, this girl did not know her own strength!

“Anna,” I wheezed, feebly patting at her elbow. An extraordinary feat, given that her bear hug was practically super gluing my arms to my sides. “Can’t. Breathe.”

“You’re okay! I was so worried! I thought you might be hurt or trapped or drugged or kidnapped or amnesiad or dead or, or, or- but you’re not! You’re really, really not! You’re alive!”

“Won’t be for much longer if you don’t let go,” I croaked out, starting to see spots. Finally she released me and I gasped for breath. Ah, oxygen. Beautiful, life giving oxygen. I coughed, “Did you seriously just use ‘amnesia’ as a verb?”

Completely ignoring my question, her hands still grasped tightly at my shoulders as sharp, blue eyes set in a freckled face looked me over. Her red hair was done in pigtail braids and she was in a dark cobalt sundress with a black bodice.

Then she opened her mouth.

“Woah, Elsa! You look different! It’s a good different! I love everything about it!” She grabbed me by the cheeks, “Your face, the outfit, that hat - oh gosh, that hat! I never thought I’d see you in a friggin’ baseball cap! It’s too friggin’ cute! And a ponytail! How many times have I said you’d look totes adorbs in a ponytail, and you know what? Told you so! And- oh. My. Gawd!” She bellyflopped onto the countertop, pointing down, “I just saw the mini skirt! Friggin’ you! In a friggin’ mini skirt! Damn girl, you hawt!” She fell back onto her feet once more, looking up at our sign, “And this place! What is this place? This place is amazing! Do you work here? Please, please, please tell me you work here! Oh my gawd, you do! You have a friggin’ job! What do you do? How much do you make? Do you pay taxes? Do you pay rent? Do you have a 401k? What is a 401k?” She pointed at an ice cream spade, “What’s this thingie do?” Next at the soft serve/milkshake machine, “How does that work?” Up at a dangling Sven plushie. “What’s up with all the friggin’ deers?” Then at Lea standing off to one side, slowly eating his ice cream and watching on with one curious eyebrow quirked. “Who’s the hottie with a body?” She started to wave, calling out, “Hello, Mr Hottie-With-A-Bo-”

“Anna!” I hissed, cheeks roasting as I snatched her hand back down. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Lea returning her wave with a tiny one of his own, to which I shot him a dull stare. He just grinned and shrugged. Shaking my head, I asked him, “Could you, uh… would you mind giving us a minute alone? Please?”

“Sure, no problem. I should be getting back to work anyhow. Laters, El!”

...El? Who’s El?

“Nice meeting ya, El’s friend!” he gave a two finger salute to Anna with a wink before sauntering off.

Huh. Guess that’d make me El. I’d earned a nickname. Had our friendship leveled up? Wow, I was so good at this friends thing! Without even understanding it, I had somehow already mastered it.

Bravo, me!

Anna watched him go, then turned back to me with a low whistle. “Okay, seriously, who was the sexpot and please, for the love that is all that is good and foxy, tell me you are tapping that.”

“Oh my god, Anna!” I facepalmed. I wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. “What are you even doing here?”

“I told you already, I was worried!”

My forehead wrinkled. “But you knew I wasn’t abducted or anything, you were the one who helped me run away. Besides, didn’t you receive my text telling you I was okay?”

“Yes, weeks after you disappeared!” She smacked me in the arm with a glare. “You could have contacted me sooner, brat! And what the frick was up with your stupid text?!”

“Stupid...? What was wrong with it?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry, don’t come looking for me,” she flatly recited the words from my message before looking away with a huff. “Please, have you never seen any kidnap movie in the history of like friggin’ ever? That’s like classic code for ‘help me, help me, I’ve been taken hostage and am being forced to tell you these things under duress.’”

“Ugh, the way your mind works,” I grumbled, massaging one temple. “How did you even find me anyway?”

Anna snorted. “What, you think just cuz you blocked my number that I wouldn’t be able to track you down? Sis, please, we live in the golden age of technology. Trust me, I have my ways. There’s a lot a girl can do with just a phone number and this little thing called the internet.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but then froze with a gasp as another thought struck me and nearly stopped my heart. My eyes darted about, searching the food court while I fidgeted with my fingers. “Wait… oh god, does… do Mother and Father… do they know? Are they also here? Did you tell-”

She gently shushed me, reaching over the countertop to rub my arm. “Sis, Sis, it’s okay, they’re not here, don’t stress! I did tell them I got the text from you so they’d know you’re okay, but I didn’t tell them I’d figured out where you were. They don’t know that I came here looking for you. You don’t have to talk to them until you’re ready.”

“Oh thank god,” I sighed, slumping against the counter. That… was a talk I was in no way prepared for. Not just yet. I gnawed on my lower lip for a second, glancing back up at Anna. “What about-”

“He’s fine too,” she said softly.

I frowned. “...really?”

Her face pinched into a tiny grimace. “I mean, he’s not great. He got dumped at the altar, what do you think? But he’s a big boy, he’ll survive.”

Well that was a load off my mind.

Not.

“Ugh, I feel terrible,” I buried my face in my hands. Then I peeked out between my fingers at her. “Could you… I don’t know… maybe do damage control with him for me or something?”

“Was already on it,” she beamed with a thumbs up. “But enough about all that, gah, so friggin’ depressing! I wanna hear more about you and your new life and this whole job thing and that redheaded Hunky McHunkface and all that’s happened to you since you flew the coop! Tell me everything!”

A tiny smile crept up onto my lips. I knew I’d been missing my little sister, but it was only in that moment... seeing her here in front of me, hearing her voice again... that I was realizing just how much. “I’d actually really like that. But uh…” I looked past her, noticing more shoppers wondering about amongst those tables out there now than there had been just moments ago, with even more trickling in by the second. “Looks like we’re about to get our afternoon rush, so it’s not really the best time.”

Anna tapped her chin with a low hum before her face lit back up. “Are you free tonight?”

My head tilted to the left. “I’m working closing, but I should be out of here by nine I think.”

“Perfect! Let’s do dinner! Then we can properly celebrate your new found freedom as you tell me all about it! Whaddya say? Pleeeeease?” Puppy dog eyes initiated.

I laughed and nodded. “Yeah, okay. That sounds nice.”

“Yay!” she bounced on her heels, rapidly clapping her hands together with a tiny squeal. “Ahhhh! Can’t wait! Okay, you said nine, right? Right! I’ll be waiting in my car right outside those doors over there, got it? Good! I’ll leave you to it then!” Then she was snatching me into another hug over the countertop and planting a kiss on my cheek with a loud mwah! “Love ya, Sis! See you then!”

And just like that, Typhoon Anna whooshed off once again, disappearing into the ever growing crowd.

Not a second later, I heard the door open behind me. “Hey, I’m back, sorry it ran a little long, I- hey, why’s my phone on the floor?”

I winced.

Heh… woops.

One tiny detail may have slipped my mind in all the mayhem that had been the last ten minutes.

I turned to see Kristoff stooping down to pick it up before he graced me with a scowl. I chuckled sheepishly, “So… funny story…”

I got the feeling Kristoff hadn’t found my story all that amusing.

Don’t think he’d found it particularly believable either.

Not sure why. I mean, wasn’t it totally plausible that a strong gust of wind had blasted through the entire mall, causing one of the bigger reindeer dolls to fly off its hook and rocket straight into my hands, knocking his phone free from my grasp and sending it slamming into a wall where I had then left it for fear that moving it could cause more damage and trauma to the poor little device that had already been through so much?

No? Not plausible? Not even remotely or in the slightest?

Drat.

I'd never really been good at the whole lying thing.

But it'd been the best I could come up with on the spot. I mean, I wasn’t about to tell him the truth about how I was a total, pathetic dunce when it came to making friends which in turn caused me to do idiotic things like fling other’s people’s fragile property at hard surfaces.

In any case, Kristoff and I were currently not on speaking terms.

At least, I’m pretty sure we weren’t. That was my best guess anyway, given he hadn’t spoken two words to me since I’d spun my little tale.

Eh, he’d get over it.

A couple hours of the silent treatment later and he’d clocked out without so much as a goodbye. Then a few more hours brought me to the here and now of closing time. I was almost done wrapping everything up, just needed to finish wiping down all the surfaces. Having already ensured the inside of the little shop was pristine, I’d stepped out to be on the food court side of the counter, using a cloth to remove any fingerprints and other smudges that’d been left by customers on the display glass.

As I finished cleaning the last of it, I exhaled heavily and straightened up, planting my hands on my hips as I inspected my work. Nodding in approval at a job well done, I then looked to the clock on the wall to see that it was a quarter to nine. Perfect. Plenty of time to grab my things and lock up before heading out to meet Anna. Stretching my back to loosen some of the stiffness that had settled in there, I then took a quick glance over my shoulder.

It really should come as a shock to no one at this point that Lea could once again be spotted across the way from me. I was beginning to think the people in charge of scheduling our shifts met up for weekly tea and crumpets or something while they made sure the hours the two of us worked almost always lined up exactly. What nefarious scheme was being cooked up by the upper management of our two separate companies? What could they possibly hope to gain by it? Only time would tell.

In any case, he too looked to be almost done with all of his closing tasks. He was currently out in the food court area as well, using a broom to sweep up the area in front of Pizza Planet. Or so I’m sure the intent had been.

Except... he wasn’t really so much in front of the pizzeria as he was on top of one of the tables.

And it wasn’t so much a broom as it was an impromptu mic.

And he wasn’t so much sweeping as he was in his own little world, enthusiastically lip-syncing and dancing away to the song blasting out of his phone in the back pocket of his pants. I Believe In A Thing Called Love by the Darkness, if the wild electric guitar, high falsetto vocals, and cheesy lyrics were anything to go off of.

Wow, he really was a complete dork.

A splutter of a laugh burst out of me before I was able to clamp both my hands over my mouth in a vain effort to stop it.

I’m not sure how he heard me over all that explosive glam rock, but it seemed he did somehow for his head suddenly jerked in my direction. Then he beamed and started hopping across all the tabletops towards me. That couldn’t be sanitary. His feet at last touched ground in front of the Ice Palace as he crouched low before springing back up into a half-turn, landing himself in a seat atop the counter right between the ice cream display case and a cash register.

Still directing that ear-to-ear smile my way, he pulled his phone out long enough to hit pause on his music. “So whadja think? Do I put on one hell of a show or what?”

Oh dear. Not only a dork but no shame to boot. A deadly combo, that.

I snorted, eyes on the glass once more as I went back to scrubbing it for the now nonexistent spots. “For sure. You should hurry up and get on becoming a bigtime rock star already.”

Broom balanced on the floor between his knees, he folded his hands over the handle point and rested his chin on his knuckles. “Nah, all that fame and fortune I’m guaranteed to get cuz I’m so loveable, awesome, amazing and cool would go straight to my head.”

I bit back a grin. “Because you’re so modest now.”

“Oh yeah, I’m humble as fuck!” he declared brightly. Then he shrugged and sighed, “Guess I’m just kinda perfection that way.”

My eyelids drooped. “...clearly.”

“So,” he lifted his head off its perch, freeing up one hand to scratch behind his ear, “everything okay? Between you and your sister, I mean.”

I looked at him, blinking a couple times. “How’d you know she‘s my sister?”

“You two got the same nose,” he smirked, tapping a finger to the side of his. “But seriously, you all good? She seemed pretty frantic.”

“Oh, that’s just Anna for you. The Looney Toons Tasmanian Devil personified. Pretty sure she doesn’t even know the meaning of the word ‘calm.’ But no, she’s fine. We’re good.”

“Glad to hear it!” A pause. “So…” he said again, this time stretching the word out as he bounced the broom handle back and forth between his palms now. “...you eat, right?”

Hand still absently running the cloth along the glass, I raised an eyebrow at him. What kind of question was that? “...I have been known to on occasion, yes.”

“Good. Any dinner plans tonight?”

I froze, eyes round.

Oh.

...was he asking what I think he was asking? I think he was asking what I think he was asking. Why would he ask that?! Wait... oh no… did he think that I was thinking that he should ask what I think he was asking? Because if that’s what he thought I was thinking, I most certainly was not thinking that! Not even close! Unless… did this here right now count as me thinking that?

...hold up, now I’m confused... what was I thinking again?

Oh that’s right.

I was thinking about him.

Asking.

Me.

Out.

Which I was so not ready for! I mean come on, I had just gotten out of a long term relationship! What was that rule? The one about how long after a breakup before you should start dating again? Something about waiting at least thirty minutes before getting back in the -

Wait no, that had to do with eating and pools…

Whatever, gah! However much time it’s supposed to be, pretty sure it’s more than just a few weeks if you’d not only been together for years, but also frigging engaged to your ex!

Current relationship status aside, let’s just be real here... I’m not sure if this was something I would ever be ready for. Hello, Mayor of Hermit Island here! They throw hermit parades in my honor. Those parades have zero spectators and consist of one (1) person marching, that person being me, all alone, by myself, because it’s Hermit Island and kind of the whole point! It was sort of a miracle I’d ever started dating in the first place, much less wound up with a fiancé of all things! When you think about it, and I mean really think about it… how the frick had that even happened?! I’d been there, heck, I’d lived it and even I was still scratching my head over that one. I mean, how had I ever-

“Hey now, what’s with the-?” Lea’s words broke me out of the word jumble that was my brain and my eyes darted over to him. His furrowed brow suddenly went slack and he blinked, heading rocking back. “Hold on, you don’t think that I- That I’m asking you out on a- No! God no! No, no, no, that’s not what this is!”

Oh thank goodness!

Wait… how did he know that’s what I’d been thinking?

...could it be the fact that all the color had drained from my face and I had stopped breathing?

Speaking of which, I should really start that back up again.

Okay, all together now, one, two, three annnnnd sharp, deep inhale.

Whew, much better! Man, oxygen and I were having a real on-again, off-again relationship today.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with y- I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to- that is, uh… aw, crap,” he groaned, bonking his head against the top of the broom handle. “Forget it. Look, what I was trying to say was we - that is, the kiddos and I and a buncha other people who work at other stores 'round the mall, all of us get together every Friday night for food and drinks at the 7th Heaven. It’s this nice little pub not too far from here and I dunno if booze is your thing or what, but the grub’s pretty good there too, way better than your average bar food and so I was just wondering if you’d like to, I dunno… come join us and just hang out for a bit, have some fun. Interested?”

Ooooooooooh, got it! Well that was a relief!

...wait, was it?

Oh dear, just the thought of me having to interact with that many people all at the same time was enough to make my soul leave my body. Because once again, I have to play the President of Hermit Island card here. That’s right, I’d promoted myself from mayor to president within the last five minutes. I like to think I’d earned it after all my years of exemplary hermit service.

The point was, this little get-together sounded precisely like the kind of situation that I wanted to be on the polar opposite end of the planet from. Seriously, the Devil himself could not have designed a more fitting hell for me. Don’t get me wrong, it was sweet that Lea had thought to include me and I’m sure all the other people going would be nice and everything, but... I just couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. Not with the cold, stabbing pangs of anxiety already coursing throughout my chest at even the mere mention of going to such a thing.

Luckily, I didn’t have to. I had an out. A beautiful, glorious escape route courtesy of the one, the only, my savior (queue angelic choir singing)... Anna.

Clearing my throat, I managed a small smile. “Thank you, I appreciate the invite, I really do and I’m so sorry but I’ve already made plans with my sister. Speaking of,” I glanced at the clock again before hurrying past him and back into the Ice Palace to drop off the cleaning rag, “I really should be going now, she’s probably already waiting for me.”

He slid off the countertop, spinning around to face me with a frown. “Aw, ya sure? Why don’t you just bring her along too? We won’t mind, the more the merrier!”

Still with the smile, now accompanied by a slight scrunching of my nose, I shook my head. “Mm, no, I don’t think that’ll work. But maybe next time, okay?” Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I stepped out from behind the counter once more and stretched up on my tippy-toes, reaching for the pull-down gate. Crud, why was I always so stupidly short?

“Let me.” Him being the absolute Ent that he was, Lea had no trouble whatsoever reaching it and yanking it down for me.

“Thanks,” I murmured before locking it up for the night, then turning and making my way towards the double doors leading outside.

“Hang on, I’ll walk you out,” he said, bringing me up short.

Turning my head back towards him, I held up a hand, “Oh no, that’s fine, you don’t have to!”

“I’m heading that way anyway.” He started walking away backwards, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the Pizza Planet, “Just let me close up shop real quick.”

“Really, it’s not necessary. I’m just going to-”

“Be back in a sec!” he spun one-eighty, jogging off.

“...go,” I finished weakly.

Well now what? I guess maybe I should wait? My eyes shifted to the doors longingly.

...well, I did tell him he didn’t need to walk me. Not my fault he couldn’t hear me over the sound of his own chivalry.

Screw it. I’m leaving.

With a small grimace and one last peek back to where Lea had just disappeared, I turned away, squared my shoulders and strode off.

Pushing through the exit doors and out into the night air, I spotted Anna parked at the curb right in front of me in her bright red Porsche convertible, its top already folded back. She honked at me, calling, “Hey, hot stuff! Looking for a good time?”

I merely grinned and shook my head at her as I approached the vehicle. However, just as I was reaching for the car door, a voice called out behind me, “Wait up!”

I winced, screwing my eyes shut.

Fudge.

Lea came to a stop next to me, panting and hunching forward, planting his hands on his knees. He must have been running the whole way to make sure he caught me before I could esc- erm, I mean, before I left. He lifted his head, blasting us with the full force of those dimples of his as his gaze flicked back and forth between me and Anna. “You sure you ladies can’t join us tonight?”

“Thanks, but-”

“Join you for what?” Anna cut me off, scooting closer by shifting from the driver's seat to the passenger, arms folding across the top of the door.

This. Right here. This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted him to walk me out.

“Nothing big,” Lea straightened up, placing a hand on the car door as well and leaning against it. “Just drinks and food with some friends from work. If you can’t change your plans though, that’s totally cool, I just wanted to-”

Because once Anna found out...

“What are you talking about?!” she laughed. “Of course we can change our plans! That sounds so fun, count us in!”

…there was no way I was getting out of it. Ugh.

“Wha- really?” No doubt about it. He was quite pleasantly surprised. “Great! The place we’re meeting at is called 7th Heaven. Short drive from here.” He waved to another car parked a few spaces further down the curb, which responded by flashing its blinkers, “That’s Xion. She drew the short straw for designated driver tonight. Just follow her car and she’ll lead you right to it!”

“Sounds good! See you there!” she waggled her fingers at Lea as he dashed off to get into the other car. Then she scooched back over behind the wheel, making room for me. Face pinching just a smidge, I sighed and got in, slamming the door shut behind me. Bouncing in her seat as she started the engine, she chirped, “Wow, we lucked out! This is gonna be a blast! You excited?”

“...thrilled,” I said dryly, buckling myself in.

Welp. Let’s get this over with.

Personal hell, here I come.

Author’s note: Ahhhh, there she is! Elsa’s feisty-pants lil sister makes her debut! Also, notice how much Anna says friggin’? Now those sound more fitting coming out of her, but Elsa grew up hearing those friggin’s (and fricks) coming out of her sis for years now, so it may have rubbed off on her a lil. Also the last name Fryse? Norwegian for ‘freeze’... yeah, I got a lil punny in coming up with Elsa’s family name, ignore me and my silly lil pleasures xD And more BBS ice creams sneak into this chapter - and I was mindful of their in-game descriptions too, so yes, it is in fact canon in the video game that the Snow Bear flavor has *shudders* tofu in it. TOFU. In ICE CREAM. Thanks, but no thanks!

Anyway, moving on! Now Anna drags our dear antisocial hermit off on an unwanted adventure! What’s next for our intrepid heroine? Will she survive this dreaded night of socializing? Just who exactly will be at Friday night drinks anyway? And with the sheer volume of ice cream Lea probably consumes daily, just HOW massive must his dentist bill be at this point, I mean really?? We may never know the answer to that last question, but as for the rest, stay tuned to find out next chapter!

Thanks for reading, I super duper appreciate it! And an extra BIG thank you to any new followers out there (hello! :D) and to those of you who hit that like button last chapter, seeing that always brings the biggest, goofiest smile to my face!

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