#guys this might be the greatest article ever written

[rtfics]

I'm popping in only because a friend told me about this post.

Hi. Professional writer here. Warner Brothers and Tim Burton would never look at unsolicited screenplays. You'd need to have an agent and an extensive CV as a professional writer. Unless you're already a seasoned pro there's no way Burton would look at your script. Besides, for his films Burton creates the ideas and works with the screenwriters; they put words to what he wants to happen. And he adds and removes things during filming. He doesn't just take someone else's script and turn it into a film.

Also, and this is very important: You can't write a script with someone else's characters. You don't own the copyright to any of the Beetlejuice characters. If you try to make money using someone else's characters that's theft and copyright infringement. You can be sued. So the idea of your selling a Beetlejuice script is moot. Can't happen.

Dear god, don't send your script to screenplay contests or any place online that says you can sell screen plays. These are ripoffs. If you seriously want your script to be sold you need an agent.

You can't just send a script to a movie studio or a director and expect it to be read. People try this all the time, which is why pros only look at work sent to them by agents. The agents do the vetting for them. Being a member of the WGA means nothing. Being a member does NOT mean anyone will read your script. You have to be represented by an agent, and one with a good reputation.

And double dear jeezus god, do not go to AI for information. Go to the library and get a book about screenwriting written by a screenwriter. AI is shit.

Becoming a professional screenwriter, or pro writer in any genre, takes hard work and dedication. There's no easy way, no short cut. Websites that promise you such are there to take advantage of your ignorance and steal your ideas and/or your money. If you're not willing to do the necessary work -- which BTW will take years--- then just stick to fanfic writing.

Read I Will Not Read Your F*%!ing Script by screenwriter Josh Olson. I include it below. Believe me, his sentiments are the same for all directors and movie studios. This article is about looking for feedback, but it's the same for those who want to sell a screenplay:

We know you’ve been working very hard on your screenplay, but before you go looking for some professional feedback, you might keep in mind the following piece by A History of Violence screenwriter Josh Olson.

I will not read your fucking script.

That’s simple enough, isn’t it? “I will not read your fucking script.” What’s not clear about that? There’s nothing personal about it, nothing loaded, nothing complicated. I simply have no interest in reading your fucking screenplay. None whatsoever.

If that seems unfair, I’ll make you a deal. In return for you not asking me to read your fucking script, I will not ask you to wash my fucking car, or take my fucking picture, or represent me in fucking court, or take out my fucking gall bladder, or whatever the fuck it is that you do for a living.

You’re a lovely person. Whatever time we’ve spent together has, I’m sure, been pleasurable for both of us. I quite enjoyed that conversation we once had about structure and theme, and why Sergio Leone is the greatest director who ever lived. Yes, we bonded, and yes, I wish you luck in all your endeavors, and it would thrill me no end to hear that you had sold your screenplay, and that it had been made into the best movie since Godfather Part II.

But I will not read your fucking script.

At this point, you should walk away, firm in your conviction that I’m a dick. But if you’re interested in growing as a human being and recognizing that it is, in fact, you who are the dick in this situation, please read on.

Yes. That’s right. I called you a dick. Because you created this situation. You put me in this spot where my only option is to acquiesce to your demands or be the bad guy. That, my friend, is the very definition of a dick move.

I was recently cornered by a young man of my barest acquaintance.

I doubt we’ve exchanged a hundred words. But he’s dating someone I know, and he cornered me in the right place at the right time, and asked me to read a two-page synopsis for a script he’d been working on for the last year. He was submitting the synopsis to some contest or program, and wanted to get a professional opinion.

Now, I normally have a standard response to people who ask me to read their scripts, and it’s the simple truth: I have two piles next to my bed. One is scripts from good friends, and the other is manuscripts and books and scripts my agents have sent to me that I have to read for work. Every time I pick up a friend’s script, I feel guilty that I’m ignoring work. Every time I pick something up from the other pile, I feel guilty that I’m ignoring my friends. If I read yours before any of that, I’d be an awful person.

Most people get that. But sometimes you find yourself in a situation where the guilt factor is really high, or someone plays on a relationship or a perceived obligation, and it’s hard to escape without seeming rude. Then, I tell them I’ll read it, but if I can put it down after ten pages, I will. They always go for that, because nobody ever believes you can put their script down once you start.

But hell, this was a two page synopsis, and there was no time to go into either song or dance, and it was just easier to take it. How long can two pages take?

Weeks, is the answer.

And this is why I will not read your fucking script.

It rarely takes more than a page to recognize that you’re in the presence of someone who can write, but it only takes a sentence to know you’re dealing with someone who can’t.

(By the way, here’s a simple way to find out if you’re a writer. If you disagree with that statement, you’re not a writer. Because, you see, writers are also readers.)

You may want to allow for the fact that this fellow had never written a synopsis before, but that doesn’t excuse the inability to form a decent sentence, or an utter lack of facility with language and structure. The story described was clearly of great importance to him, but he had done nothing to convey its specifics to an impartial reader. What I was handed was, essentially, a barely coherent list of events, some connected, some not so much. Characters wander around aimlessly, do things for no reason, vanish, reappear, get arrested for unnamed crimes, and make wild, life-altering decisions for no reason. Half a paragraph is devoted to describing the smell and texture of a piece of food, but the climactic central event of the film is glossed over in a sentence. The death of the hero is not even mentioned. One sentence describes a scene he’s in, the next describes people showing up at his funeral. I could go on, but I won’t. This is the sort of thing that would earn you a D minus in any Freshman Comp class.

Which brings us to an ugly truth about many aspiring screenwriters: They think that screenwriting doesn’t actually require the ability to write, just the ability to come up with a cool story that would make a cool movie. Screenwriting is widely regarded as the easiest way to break into the movie business, because it doesn’t require any kind of training, skill or equipment. Everybody can write, right? And because they believe that, they don’t regard working screenwriters with any kind of real respect. They will hand you a piece of inept writing without a second thought, because you do not have to be a writer to be a screenwriter.

So. I read the thing. And it hurt, man. It really hurt. I was dying to find something positive to say, and there was nothing. And the truth is, saying something positive about this thing would be the nastiest, meanest and most dishonest thing I could do. Because here’s the thing: not only is it cruel to encourage the hopeless, but you cannot discourage a writer. If someone can talk you out of being a writer, you’re not a writer. If I can talk you out of being a writer, I’ve done you a favor, because now you’ll be free to pursue your real talent, whatever that may be. And, for the record, everybody has one. The lucky ones figure out what that is. The unlucky ones keep on writing shitty screenplays and asking me to read them.

To make matters worse, this guy (and his girlfriend) had begged me to be honest with him. He was frustrated by the responses he’d gotten from friends, because he felt they were going easy on him, and he wanted real criticism. They never do, of course. What they want is a few tough notes to give the illusion of honesty, and then some pats on the head. What they want — always — is encouragement, even when they shouldn’t get any.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to tell someone that they’ve spent a year wasting their time? Do you know how much blood and sweat goes into that criticism? Because you want to tell the truth, but you want to make absolutely certain that it comes across honestly and without cruelty. I did more rewrites on that fucking e-mail than I did on my last three studio projects.

My first draft was ridiculous. I started with specific notes, and after a while, found I’d written three pages on the first two paragraphs. That wasn’t the right approach. So I tossed it, and by the time I was done, I’d come up with something that was relatively brief, to the point, and considerate as hell. The main point I made was that he’d fallen prey to a fallacy that nails a lot of first-timers. He was way more interested in telling his one story than in being a writer. It was like buying all the parts to a car and starting to build it before learning the basics of auto mechanics. You’ll learn a lot along the way, I said, but you’ll never have a car that runs.

(I should mention that while I was composing my response, he pulled the ultimate amateur move, and sent me an e-mail saying, “If you haven’t read it yet, don’t! I have a new draft. Read this!” In other words, “The draft I told you was ready for professional input, wasn’t actually.”)

I advised him that if all he was interested in was this story, he should find a writer and work with him; or, if he really wanted to be a writer, start at the beginning and take some classes, and start studying seriously.

And you know what? I shouldn’t have bothered. Because for all the hair I pulled out, for all the weight and seriousness I gave his request for a real, professional critique, his response was a terse “Thanks for your opinion.” And, the inevitable fallout — a week later a mutual friend asked me, “What’s this dick move I hear you pulled on Whatsisname?”

So now this guy and his girlfriend think I’m an asshole, and the truth of the matter is, the story really ended the moment he handed me the goddamn synopsis. Because if I’d just said “No” then and there, they’d still think I’m an asshole. Only difference is, I wouldn’t have had to spend all that time trying to communicate thoughtfully and honestly with someone who just wanted a pat on the head, and, more importantly, I wouldn’t have had to read that godawful piece of shit.

You are not owed a read from a professional, even if you think you have an in, and even if you think it’s not a huge imposition. It’s not your choice to make. This needs to be clear — when you ask a professional for their take on your material, you’re not just asking them to take an hour or two out of their life, you’re asking them to give you — gratis — the acquired knowledge, insight, and skill of years of work. It is no different than asking your friend the house painter to paint your living room during his off-hours.

There’s a great story about Pablo Picasso. Some guy told Picasso he’d pay him to draw a picture on a napkin. Picasso whipped out a pen and banged out a sketch, handed it to the guy, and said, “One million dollars, please.”

“A million dollars?” the guy exclaimed. “That only took you thirty seconds!”

“Yes,” said Picasso. “But it took me fifty years to learn how to draw that in thirty seconds.”

Like the cad who asks the professional for a free read, the guy simply didn’t have enough respect for the artist to think about what he was asking for. If you think it’s only about the time, then ask one of your non-writer friends to read it. Hell, they might even enjoy your script. They might look upon you with a newfound respect. It could even come to pass that they call up a friend in the movie business and help you sell it, and soon, all your dreams will come true. But me?

I will not read your fucking script.

Josh Olson’s screenplay for the film A History of Violence was nominated for the Academy Award, the BAFTA, the WGA award and the Edgar. He is also the writer and director of the horror/comedy cult movie Infested, which Empire Magazine named one of the 20 Best Straight to Video Movies ever made. Recently, he has written with the legendary Harlan Ellison, and worked on Halo with Peter Jackson and Neill Blomkamp. He adapted Dennis Lehane’s story “Until Gwen,” which he will also be directing. He is currently adapting One Shot, one of the best-selling Jack Reacher books for Paramount.

©2009 Josh Olson. All rights reserved.

So I'm still serious about writing that BJ3 script but I found out about all the requirements needed to join the Screenwriters Guild so its unlikely I'll be able to join. I had thought of joining since Warner Bros does not accept freelance scripts. As I said I'm still serious about getting my script into Tim's/Warner Bros hands. Does anyone know of any screenplay contests or anywhere where you can sell screenplays online? I really want to help all the Beetlebabes dreams come true by making Beetlebabes canon this time.

[mousemannation]

x | steve vivian | 30/1/2022

The unholy experience of watching Daniil Medvedev lose, even when he wins

"Will you answer my question? Look at me. I'm talking to you."

Like an irate chef taking out the night's frustrations on a down-on-their-luck kitchen hand, Daniil Medvedev delivered another masterclass in melting down during his semifinal defeat of Stefanos Tsitsipas on Friday night.

Has anyone ever sincerely asked someone, "are you stupid?", and come out of the exchange looking good?

It didn't do all that much to endear Medvedev to viewers when he posed that question to chair umpire Jaume Campistol during his semi-final meltdown, berating Campistol for doing nothing about Tsitsipas's father supposedly coaching his son from the stands.

Ironically, as the commentators pointed out on the telecast, Tsitsipas really doesn't like it when his father coaches him during games.

If this was all you knew about the two players, you might not be surprised to learn the fans leant heavily pro-Tsitsipas, leaving Medvedev again playing heel to a crowd often about as respectful to him as he was to the chair umpire.

A player throwing a wobbly is no surprise in men's tennis, but what makes the 25-year-old Russian's outlandish emotional vulnerability so thrilling is that it's such a strange case.

People differ on their approval levels of Nick Kyrgios's on-court act — the sulks you can set your watch to; part petulance, part chaos-agent showmanship — but his charisma and I'm-just-trying-to-figure-it-all-out personality can often win over even the harshest of critics.

Then you have the Medvedev outburst that, seemingly lacking all self-awareness, as if scripted to get the crowd offside, is probably best watched peaking through your fingers.

In his standard operating environment, Medvedev out rallies his opponent with a cool detachment bordering on a baffling indifference from the back of the court.

Limbs perfectly calibrated, he is somehow both gangly and efficient in his movement, combining long levers and uncomplicated form into ruthless precision.

His style, or lack thereof, appears almost as a rebuke to the flourishes and preen of the modern player.

It's in the no fuss of those two bounces before each serve. Bang. Bang. Ball toss. Whack. Unfailingly replicated without appearing premeditated. All over before most opponents would have elected which ball to use.

So where does the uncomplicated man that just wants to get on with it suddenly go?

A viewer might feel cheated by the reveal – the ruthlessness dissolving into desperation — if it wasn't so perversely endearing.

The Medvedev experience is a little like watching Eddie Brock trying to deal with his new symbiote friend in the superhero movie Venom.

Except not everyone will go in for the Russian as their hero.

As a character, he more resembles a creation by his countryman, novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky's the Underground Man — a proud guy who craves the admiration of those around him.

But when it comes to being adored, the Underground Man can only shoot himself in the foot whenever he gets the chance.

And so it was that Medvedev blew the Dorothy Dixer Jim Courier served up to him in his post-match interview following his semi-final victory.

Courier: I want to ask you … will you take a peek at Ash Barty and Danielle Collins — the women's final?

Medvedev: It depends what time they're playing … 7:30pm? I'm usually going to dinner at 8:15pm …

Courier: Come on, man. I'm trying to set you up to win this crowd over, and you're just kicking it.

But the Underground Man is an underdog — which we love — and judging by the large chip he hacks into his own shoulder each match, it seems like Medvedev believes he's the underdog, too.

Australian tennis watchers lost their pantomime villain in Novak Djokovic on the eve of the tournament.

But in Daniil Medvedev, they have a true antihero.

[dasboligrafo]

7 Takes on The Double Life of Veronique

You know the thing where you like the same thing as a terrible person?

I guess even Lear-esque cringey edgelords like great movies and Keith McNally is not wrong about Sexy Beast and definitely definitely not wrong about the Double Life of Veronique, a movie I've now seen 3x, 2 of which ended in helpless tears (the only way I know if something is art).

This movie was a selection by McNally at a Roxy Cinema mini-festival in October 2023. As I told the crew who I invited (tricked?) to see the movie: now it's your turn to think about it for 15 years!

I love the moment after the movie when people are asking helplessly -- but what does the movie mean?!? And I really, really love the moment when people get angry at the end of the movie. These are real emotions! What's the last time a movie made you think anything other than "god, that was 45 minutes too long?" (The Double Life of Veronique is under 100 minutes! yessss)

[I didn't hear it cause I was, like, weeping, but my friend said at the end a guy behind us was angrily griping that the movie was too slow? Huh? Stuff is literally happening every moment of the movie? There is not a single wasted scene, line or frame? What even are these senses whose proofs we can so liberally ignore?]

Since it might be another 15 years until I see it again and I don't have the benefit of just having written a college thesis that was mostly about Lacan via Zizek, I thought I would type out a few thought exercises/interpretative frameworks that I think apply to this movie:

The contingent nature of the universe/the senselessness of existense -- probably the easiest to justify, especially in the context of Kieslowski's complete ouevre, in consideration of his personal history, based on the interviews he's given, etc...

What to do about emotional apocrypha — what do you do with and about feelings that seem to come from nowhere? Feelings are "real" and we know now (i.e. the science is now there to tell us, eg Lisa Feldman Barrets's fascinating work) they're not in any way subservient in value or usefulness to "reason"; like if anything the opposite, emotions are the "why" and reason is the very patched together and incomplete "how" behind what we are and what we do. Worth thinking about why it is Kieslowski's most compelling films have female protagonists given the historical association to the binary genders for emotion vs reason.

The duality and dichotomy of post-war East/West Europe -- I think this one is sorta obvious but not less resonant? There's a good article out there about how the film predicted a lot of the consequences of the EU. Elsewhere I've read that Polish critics pilloried Kieslowski for a traitor to his kind over this theme, which reminded me of the story about how Bach's works were sometimes not well received by the church patrons who got to hear a lot of it first because they thought it was too dour -- imagine you have the greatest musician who will ever live as your church musician and your biggest peeve is his music isn't fun enough for Sunday. In any event this is a major theme in Three Colors, and I'm sure there's no accident that this movie and the Trilogy are connected by the same fake composer (key work = "Song for the Unification of Europe"...)

Return to theory in film (Zizek) -- he wrote a whole book about it. I'm not sure I agree Kieslowski's films make the case for the return to Theory (ie I think you can interpret his movies without it.) But the fact that you can so unbelievably seamlessly integrate his films to a Lacanian framework gives me that feeling of the inevitability of Lacan.

Art Cinema's enduring interest in interrogating the limits of its medium -- which of course is also present in art literature for its own medium, and frequently not only present but foregrounded in theatre. The Puppetmaster is a clear analogue to the filmmaker (and of God, lmao...they can't help themselves), but also all the unbelievably uncomfortable sex scenes in this movie are a masterclass on the male gaze and how you constitute and undermine it...etc.

Space-time Travel (Zizek) -- right away, I'm going to say I don't think this one is all that interesting, but it's what Criterion chose to accompany the 15th year re-release of the movie. So...ok 🤷🏽‍♀️ I'd say that listening to physics podcasts has convinced me of the value of a literary education (those hermeneutical skills come in so handy), so I see the relevance of thinking of these two together, but I also feel like the fake math is the part of Lacan I always found a little too silly to stand.

The agony of art as vocation -- I'm sorta lazily splitting this out from #5 just because when I originally wrote this post I had 7 points and now I can only remember 6 of them, and I like the resonance of 7....There's a Badiou-esque invocation of the four types of truth procedures at work in this movie that could easily fill the pages of another unread senior thesis: science -- the zizek time travel thing, the way the movie is, actually, concerned with the explanation of what is happening and why, rather than just accepting as a premise that there can be doubles in the world; politics -- the scene where Weronika meets Veronique is at a political rally, the east/west thing mentioned above, etc; art and love, obviously.... But the key to the "plot" of Veronique's life is "Does she keep singing, even if it kills her?"

Random closing thoughts:

I'm still thinking about and cannot resolve the mystery of the subplot about Veronique testifying in her friend's divorce(?) trial. What does it mean?

One thing that always bothered me about Kieslowski is a feeling i have that his movies are slightly (high key???) exploitative of his actresses, which seems like shabby repayment for their taking considerable artistic risks. Maybe I'm just getting this feeling from applying Lacan and Zizek to his movies though (that's two dudes who definitely don't understand about women...). I'd like to think I'm wrong about this, his masterworks are all with women and "about" women. I don't think he doesn't get this, though, see again the Puppetmaster (surely one of the creepiest dudes to ever grace an art film and that's saying a lot).

[heavenforblog1111]

The Diary of Jane is one of my favourite rock songs and it is definitely one of the greatest songs ever produced in rock history. In this article, we will talk about the possible story and meaning behind the song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWaB4PXCwFU MUSIC VIDEO The music video starts off with Ben Burnley staring at the grave of someone he loved. That someone turns out to be the girl lying on the bath tub. She probably drowned in the bath tub and died. In the video she wakes up and runs around the house. She realizes that there are no mirrors in any of the rooms. At last, she reaches a room where all the mirrors have been placed. When she looks in one of the mirror, she is not able to see her reflection signifying probably that she is a ghost. Later, Ben places a rose next to her photo on the diary. He closes the diary which is placed on her gravestone and walks away. Jane Bryan The name on the grave stone is Jane Bryan. Jane Bryan was an actress whose career lasted only for 4 years from 1936 -1940. Jane's role was played by Season 4 American Idol contestant Sarah Mather in the song's music video. I don't really know if Jane has any connection to any member of Breaking Benjamin considering she never acted in movies after 1940. Her name even appears at the end of the Angel's fall video again by Breaking Benjamin. I don't really know why the band decided to reference her twice in different videos. Also, she acted in a movie called 'We Are Not Alone' which is also the name of Breaking Benjamin's sophomore album. Story and Meaning Note: This is my opinion on what the song might be about. I could be right or wrong about it, but this is my explanation. Coming back to the meaning of the song, in my opinion the song is based on unrequited love. This is the first idea that one normally gets after reading the lyrics of the song. The girl that the guy loved had passed away. According to sources, the guy probably thought that the girl who he loved also loved him back. However, when he finds her diary he is curious to know more about what was written in it and see if she has written anything about him. To his astonishment, she doesn't mention him anywhere in the diary. To make matters worse, the diary probably mentioned all the guys she had affairs with apart from him. Hence, the statement ' As I burn another page, as I look the other way, I still try to find my place in The Diary of Jane '. So, he is pretty shocked at the realization that she didn't love him and had other guys on her mind instead. He places the rose on her diary and closes it maybe signifying that despite all of that he still wishes love for her after her death and decides to leave the place after that. Also, there was another source claiming what Benjamin Burnley said during an interview about what inspired the song. Well, I’ll tell you not necessarily what it’s about, but what inspired it because I think that helps explain how it feels for me. It all started because I was watching a lot of Forensic Files stuff where there were a bunch of unsolved mysteries. There was a Jane Doe that washed up on shore and she just got buried with no story. It was like a meaningless person. Nobody knew who she was to the point where whatever she did was all gone. So, Jane references Jane Doe but then making a story up for her because she had nothing. That’s what started it and then once I started writing, it turned into more than that. Our lives are important. Your life is important to you, my life is important to me. We know that somebody is going to remember what we’re all about. This person Jane was just gone because they were unidentified for so long and lived this entire life for nothing. Benjamin Burnley (according to a source, not sure if its true)

[tiktaalic]

I've never watch good omens and never know anything abt the general fandom around it.. only that Misha and the actor in the show who is not David Tennant did a video together???

I wanna know why this announcement of season 2 is eliciting such might I say visceral reactions???

I'm extremely curious!!

so. ok. this is a 30 minute read but very comprehensive and encapsulates my feelings very closely. some context:

i read the book when i was 12, then reread it every yr and called it my favorite book. ihave the matching black and white versions of the book.

i was never super into azcrow? i poked around back in the day for sure but only because that was what you Did if you poked around online for gomens. it's got some trappings for sure but i didn't feel intrigued enough or baited enough to actually care about it or ever really think about it

the book came out in 1990. that is a LOT of time for neil gaiman to be able to go On The Record with his thoughts. not going to dig for receipts but literally for decades up until the MONTH before the show came out. there are literally countless instances of him basically saying #notmycanon but yall have fun in your noncanon space who am i to stop you. i VERY clearly remember a post he made about digging through the good omens tag on tumblr and how weird it was to see explicit azcrow.

in the lead up to show, he made a lot MORE statements because people were like. owo azcrow? and he. AGAIN. explicitly and clearly said #notmycanon #notmyshow but yall have fun with it. it's not what i put in the text tho.

ALSO before the show he made a #diversitywin announcement about how there would be a canon nonbinary character! pollution. now we dont have time to unpack all that,

anyway. timeline shift. the show is out! cool. it treads some old queerbaiting grounds. wall shoves, aziraphale arguing with crowley in public then a guy coming to say "dont worry mate i've had the same fight with my boyfriend you'll work it out" and an angel derogatorily calling crowley az's boyfriend. yknow the greatest hits of bait.

show materials start filtering out. interviews, scripts, etc. michael sheen starts talking about how he played az as in love. scripts, etc, show that the scenes people are touting as HE WAS IN LOVE HERE were sheen choices which is also evidenced by the way he talks about it, and not directions from gaiman.

reaction from general audience is very haha cool show. neil gaiman is like :) thank you for liking my cool show.

reaction from johnlock refugees is very omg squee gay babies. in the interest of fairness this is said by actual gay people

people start @-ing him on twitter about azcrow canon. like a lot of people. articles start coming out about azcrow canon. glowing articles. neil in his little rat brain goes. hm.

SUDDENLY. neil is retweeting azcrow praise. saying it is a love story. written as a love story. always was a love story.

SUDDENLY. azcrow is #allorientations. he retweets articles where people think they are STRICTLY platonic and says yeah that's canon. he retweets stuff about them being asexual and says yeah that's canon. he retweets stuff about them being in love and says yeah that's canon. someone says oh so they're gay? and he goes NO they're angels they're not human they're genderless they cant be gay (this is the man who wrote a doctor who episode where the doctor fell in straight love with the TARDIS machine)

SUDDENLY. azcrow are canon nonbinary. didn't you catch the little reference here and there? i'm glad somebody did, neil says. would like to draw your attention BACK to the fact that when he did his nonbinary announcement back BEFORE the show aired, it was about pollution and only pollution

neil's twitter feed is now entirely retweeted praise of how Meaningful it is that azcrow is canon but Subtle and how it's GREAT rep for queerplatonic arosexual demissjdfjtjljiaw8 u49tp q4wt

i lose my entire motherfucking mind over the fact that everyone is not only allowing but encouraging this scam to happen

[certifiedskywalker]

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.

[remythologise]

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.

[chayacat]

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!)

[hellzyeahwebwielingessays]

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.

[giogio-gucci-gangstar]

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. 

[somedayonbroadway]

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!

[douchebagbrainwaves]

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.

[aelaer]

[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.

[spiderman-homecomeme]

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.

[fredfilmsblog]

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.

[nauseateddrive]

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.