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deevsblog · 2 years ago

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Best coding programs for kids

Today, knowing the art of coding is a highly sought-after ability that businesses are looking for. Coding is the process of laying out a set of commands for a computer to execute in order to teach it to perform a specific activity. Coding can be carried out in a variety of languages, including Scratch, which is used for basic coding, C++, which is used to create amusement applications, Java, JavaScript, and Python, which are used for intermediate and advanced coding, and is used in nearly all of our technology, from entertainment facilities like mobile apps and computer games to computer programmes, automobile engineers, and aerospace engineers.

Contrary to what many people think, learning how to code is actually a fairly simple skill that is getting easier to learn thanks to the emergence of online schools like Code Karo Yaaro that are dedicated to teaching it, as well as offline classes that offer a variety of coding classes directed at all audiences, from beginner to advanced coders. In fact, coding is becoming more and more popular among kids, and the outcomes are excellent.

When teaching children the fundamentals of coding, it is important to use simple, kid-friendly language. Since children retain information better than adults do, teaching children to code may be simpler than teaching adults to do so. Additionally, as more kids use electronic gadgets in our tech-savvy society, teaching coding is made simpler and it becomes a more useful ability.

Children learn the fundamentals of coding through engaging games and activities like building simple computer commands out of blocks and making computer games. Children gain a knowledge of the practical applications of coding and its relevance in the modern world while also learning how to construct simple computer commands. The child eventually masters coding and acquires a useful skill.

Benefits of learning how to code

There are numerous benefits of kids learning how to code. Some of them are:

Lucrative industry

First off, a child who is adept in coding has a competitive edge in a world where those talents are in great demand. There will be more opportunities in computer science and software engineering, and people with coding skills will be in high demand as our reliance on technology grows. Coding also teaches pupils digital literacy, which is crucial because we spend an increasing amount of time online.

Increases ability to solve problems

Secondly, learning to code helps you become a better problem solver. Checking your work, making errors, and fixing them are all necessary steps in the writing and creating of code. Kids learn that getting it wrong is totally okay by doing this, and that they also learn how to fix faults. Additionally, learning to code teaches kids how to break down complex ideas into smaller, easier-to-understand chunks, which helps them comprehend problems better and find solutions much faster. Kids will learn how to solve issues quickly and successfully if a safe, judgement-free environment is provided for them to learn in.

Builds self-confidence

Coding also boosts self-assurance. Children gain confidence by addressing obstacles that may come up while programming code, which encourages them to be confident, tenacious people. Children are also given a problem that can be resolved in a fun, original way.

Because of this, learning to code is a valuable skill that should be taught to all kids.

Best coding programs for kids

There are numerous coding languages, but some of them are designed for kids or are easier for kids to learn. Listed below are some easy to learn coding languages for kids.

Scratch

For children ages 8 to 16 and those just getting started with coding, there is a language called Scratch.

The biggest free coding platform in the world is called Scratch. This coding language, created by MIT Media Labs in 2003, uses graphically interactive elements like blocks that kids may drag and drop to form functional commands. Kids are taught the fundamentals of coding using this enjoyable and aesthetically appealing approach of coding. Scratch's main goal is to make coding enjoyable for young people. By constructing blocks with straightforward commands written on them, which can then be connected to form commands, which can then be used to build commands, it is intended to make coding simpler to grasp. Children can utilise the code blocks to create dynamic characters that sing, dance, and move around by using the customizable characters that are also available. Children can thus experience the enjoyable aspects of coding in a secure and welcoming atmosphere. Scratch allows one to code without having to understand any formulae or rules because it doesn't use complex text-based commands and formulas. Kids that learn Scratch are more likely to study other programming languages like Java, JavaScript, Python, and C++ because these are more commonly used in day-to-day applications. Such languages open the door to profitable jobs, and by learning Scratch, kids can quickly find employment as programmers.

Java

Java is a computer language that is quite well-liked among programmers. Java consistently ranks among the top ten most used languages out of 700 languages. Why, therefore, is Java so widely used? Why is it a good coding language for children to learn, and why? Nevertheless, keep reading to learn more.

Java has been a well-liked object-oriented software program since the early 1990s. James Gosling invented Java, which is today utilised by numerous large corporations including Netflix, Meta, Airbnb, Microsoft, Spotify, and Amazon. Java is also utilised by other sectors, including e-commerce, cloud computing, video gaming, and cybersecurity. Java coding is hence a crucial talent that is useful in many different occupations.Learning Java helps kids develop their soft skills and perseverance. Strong capacities for abstract reasoning and creativity are fostered via java programming. There are usually several methods to approach and resolve a problem. Finally, through group projects and classes, ambitious programmers hone their collaboration skills. Java can be learnt via books or online or offline classes.

Tynker

Tynker is a web-based platform that promotes kids' learning of coding from the most basic ideas to more difficult projects. Tynker is one of the few apps designed specifically for young children and is appropriate for children as young as 5 years old. It starts by instructing the students in the logic of code using basic building blocks before proceeding on to actual coding classes. With the help of games, this visually appealing app engages young minds. The platform covers a number of significant coding languages, including HTML, Javascript, Python, and CSS. It also teaches coding theory using blocks. This suggests that students can utilise Tynker to develop in a manner similar to how they would if they were actually creating a website. However, kids can do much more on Tynker, such as fun games.

We hope your child has fun going through these sites.

Code Karo Yaaro can be contacted via the following sites for more details.

Website:http://www.codekaroyaaro.com/

Instagram:https://www.instagram.com/codekaroyaaro/?igshid=1nb6afsffwzd

LinkedIn:https://www.linkedin.com/company/67923520/admin/

YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC0GUyPIpdDVJQMugEtkH8Pw Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/codekaroyaaro

Twitter:https://twitter.com/CodeKaroYaaro

Email: http://[email protected]

Address: H NO. 1951, Near Water Tank Annamod, Khaparkheda, Nagpur, Maharashtra, 441102

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onelastbreath-writes · 4 years ago

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On Bruce And Texting:

Author’s Note: Hello and welcome, this is my first properly written fic, originally posted to my AO3, and now that I have finally created a writing blog, it’s here as well. Please enjoy!! AO3. Masterlist

Warnings: Hopefully none, its all cute and fluff <3

Summary: Bruce Wayne texts like he's sending correspondences to the Queen, so of course the little monsters he calls children just have to make fun of him! Brats, the lot of them, but he wouldn't have them any other way.

Features: Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle, all the bats and birds, mentions JL, no crime fighting, only family fluff, jokes and nods to Millennial and GenZ shenanigans.

Word Count: 2.7k

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Billionaire, genius, tech expert, father of many children, and all around up-to-date-with-just-about-everything type of person he may be, it is also a well-known Fact that Bruce Wayne, the Batman(TM) himself, can’t text to save his life.

Whether it’s due to his Very Proper English Upbringing, his inability to be informal via written correspondences of any type, his indifference, or the fact that it bothers his children so much, Bruce Wayne has not and never will text with anything less than perfect grammar, spelling, and formality. If he has not sent you a proper letter (featuring a dedication, indentation for every paragraph, signature, and post-script when applicable), he did, in fact, not send you that text. Informality is not his Batman Way(TM) according to his children... he’s not too sure what that even means, but it makes his young ones laugh so it’s probably fine?

His oldest children (Richard and Jason) were raised in the time of Change, where computers, internet access, social media, and all things similar were only just being introduced into households en-masse. They were young enough to remember a time without such devices and connectivity (both for very different reasons, of course, but they grew up without the newest technology none-the-less). They could understand his relationship to the digital environment more so than his younger children, but they still tended to poke fun at his ‘texting blunders’ regularly. All his kids somehow ended up as brats. He doesn’t know how this happened. It’s certainly not his fault. He blames the League members, and especially Clark Kent, for their defiant personalities.

His younger children, whom he loves dearly, like to confuse him as much as they possibly can with their slang, egregious spelling errors, and all-around ‘internet humour’. He doesn’t know what ‘wig’ or ‘worm’ or ‘oof’ or anything means. He has no idea what those dances are, or how they relate to the music that seems to always accompany them, and for the love of all that is good, don’t ask him what he thinks of this or that ‘meme’. What even is a ‘meme’, and should he be more concerned about his kids being obsessed with them? He tries, oh my god, does he try to follow the children’s conversations, but they somehow all learned a language he has no idea how to decrypt. His best response to them once they start speaking in tongues is as follows: smile but not too much, listen to child even though he is deeply confused, and pat child on head or shoulder when they are finished and are looking for assurance.

He refuses to be a parent who ignores or tunes out his children, so he always makes sure to put down his work, his crossword, his tools, or whatever else is in his hands when a child searches him out for a conversation. But somehow, despite all the time he spends around them and their strange words, when he gets text from them comprised of abbreviations, acronyms, and completely random words, he goes a little cross eyed. He would never tell anyone, but he keeps a running list on his phone about the things they say that he has had to translate in the past. Spilling tea? Speaking the truth, usually to do with gossip. Wow? Multiple possible meanings: either a video game, or someone saying it (different pronunciation depending on context and who sent the text). Stickbug? A nice little prank with no ulterior motives, just for fun. Something along the lines of “this basic bitch Karen at the grocery store who is a dirty rat-licker and is def an anti-vaxxer just took 45 (forty-five) minutes to decide she didn’t actually want that almond milk. I Stan the cashier who had to put up with her. Rad af dude.” roughly translates to “A rude, middle-aged white woman who wasn’t wearing a mask and doesn’t believe in disease control or vaccinating her children wasted a great deal of an essential worker’s time in the checkout line. The cashier was very professional in their dealings with said customer and should be commended on their actions.”

Given enough time, the internet for searching up new slang words, and occasionally some help from a friend (Alfred, Selina, Lucius, another of his children, etc), Bruce could decode and respond appropriately to most texts. He was quite proud of these achievements, and although he didn’t always like how often his children were on their phones or computers or gaming systems, he was quite proud of how integrated and easily they adapted to the ever-evolving world of electronics. All his kids were gifted in many ways, but their ability to learn, their hunger for knowledge, and their perseverance when exploring new and challenging ideas were always the things that he was most impressed by.

He could do without their comments though. Yes, surprisingly, he did manage to get girlfriends with his type of texting. No, he doesn’t miss the ‘good old days’ when telegraphs were the main form of long-distance correspondence (how old do these brats think he is?!). And yes, he does know what a “tweet” is, and how to “post” on his social media accounts, and what “sliding into your DMs” is (thanks to a frantic search after a WE employee mentioned it near him). The Wayne children, truly whom and what Bruce considers his pride and joy, are cruel little jerks to him sometimes. His hoard of parenting books fails to mention what one should do when their children gang up on them. Bullying is covered of course, but he can’t really talk to a teacher or his guardian about how his second son calls him an idiot sandwich, or that his third son regularly tries to get him to do something “For The Vine”. His oldest and youngest boys are only slightly better in the bullying him department; Richard and his puppy dog eyes when he wants to do something dangerous or not-Alfred-approved, and Damian and his growing collection of pets because “Mother never let me have them, and I am deprived, and don’t you love me Father?”.

His only good child is his beautiful daughter Cassandra, the flower of the Wayne clan. She gives him hugs, and pats his hands, and can sit with him and just enjoy the quiet and stillness when his other children are not around. Her language skills are improving by leaps and bounds every day, and her heart and spirit are unparalleled, but her main method of communication is in her movements. Her hands, her posture, her dancing; Bruce couldn’t think of a more graceful, fluid, powerful person if the world depended on it. His amazing little girl doesn't bully him (and if she ever does, he probably deserves it, he trusts her), so he turns to her most of all when it comes to communicating with someone else. She doesn’t let him send anything that is “sketchy” or “wrong words, bad meaning, Dad”. He would give the world to his children, but for Cassandra, he would destroy it and build her an entirely new one.

Social media, especially with his terrible children all having accounts dedicated to making him look like a simpleton, was another rocky terrain he had to navigate on the regular. He had professionals in place at WE to run the company’s many accounts, paid top dollar to help appeal and relate to the masses, but he mostly had to manage his personal accounts himself. And so, @TheRealBruceWayne was one of the greatest struggles in his adult life. Why can’t he just retweet every post from @WE_Offical and leave it at that? People should only want to know about what’s new with the company. What do you mean they want to know more about our family and private lives? That’s unnecessary, and not important to the running of the company, right? Right? Why are you laughing?!

Luckily, most people in his life aren’t so intimately aware of his struggles. He can act and lie all he wants about being “hip” and “woke” and whatever else the kids are saying these days when he’s with the JL or in board meeting intermissions, networking with his associates. The Batman knows all and sees all, Green Lantern, of course he understands how “Tiktok” works. The Batman is a robot without a funny bone in his body, Green Arrow, but I did witness him sigh and say “same” when he knocked his cup of coffee over while on monitor duty once. No matter how badly his darling children call him out, the Justice League would be so much worse. So, it’s one of his most importantly guarded secrets... even more so than his secret identity at this point. Being unmasked in front of every Gotham rogue would be less detrimental to him than his “friends” learning of his utter ineptitude in staying on top of the younger generations’ lingo.

When questioned why the League doesn’t have a group chat or a forum or anything that they can use to contact each other outside of world ending matters and communicator (”because we’re friends, Batman! Ma and Pa Kent would love to have everyone over for a barbecue!”), the person who dared even mention texting isn’t even given a verbal response. They are just glared at, silently, often for several uninterrupted minutes, frozen in place only able to breathe shallowly in fear of setting off the Bat. “You know why” his glare says, “I’ll eat you, your family, and everything you have ever held dear” the younger members hear. No one makes the mistake of asking about it twice.

Outside of his children and Alfred, and his small circle of true friends involved in all aspects of his life, there is only one more person Bruce allows to know of his Darkest Secret. Selina. Someone most people would recommend he not be involved with. Catwoman: accomplished thief, distraction, chaos-incarnate most nights, and his significant other. Sharp as a whip (ha) and crafty like no one’s business; he is head-over-heels. On again/Off again and all over the place their long romance has been, but no one has ever challenged him, intrigued him, like this clever, beautiful, amazing woman has. He’s brought his partners around his children before, both for their judgement, and for their worst behaviours to vet out any “unworthy” suitors. He trusts them explicitly to tell him the truth about those he allows into the manor; were they rude about Bruce wanting to have group outings, did they say something about Bruce’s money, did they get angry or shout or make anyone uncomfortable while they were here? If his children even looked slightly unhappy with someone he brought them to meet, that person would not be invited back. Children, he finds, have the best sight when meeting people; no motives other than finding safety and love, no fear of consequences from speaking honestly...

Selina, or Catwoman, as they had known her first, was someone all of his kids liked without issue right off the bat. She would make puns and play word games with Richard, his first Robin, tiny, still working on his English, able to connect with him over their acrobatic abilities. His second Robin, Jason, skittish and feisty as an alley cat, knew of Catwoman and her daring escapades long before Bruce found him. The young boy had a few heroes, and no one (not even Wonder Woman) could compare to the incredible burglar who bought food and jackets and medicine for the street kids in Crime Alley. She was saintly in his eyes, and to this day, Bruce was still working on convincing Jason he was good enough for Selina. Tim and Cass and Stephanie (basically another daughter to Bruce, she spends so much time with the family) all joined the Wayne clan around the same time and officially met Selina as a friend and partner of his, and in the good graces of his first two sons. Selina, in all her nightly business, and many travels and acquaintances, had met the three independently, helping Tim get home safely back to Drake Manor when he escaped to photograph Batman and Robin in the dank darkness of Gotham when he was just a young boy, spending some time with Cassandra when her despicable father left her alone long enough to recover from his rough treatment, showing her the first scraps of kindness in her short life, and watching over and protecting Stephanie as she followed and sabotaged her father Cluemaster and his criminal activities. There was no need to win them over once they met her civilian identity, she had already gained their favour and acceptance, and they were happy to have her near their new family. Damian, his youngest, his biological son, took the longest to warm up to Selina. He would never fault his little boy for fighting so hard against a woman that was not his birth mother, especially after all the manipulation and cruelty dealt to him by Talia for the first decade of his life. But as he began to learn about his father, these people in his father’s life, and this woman that was Not His Mother but “still okay, I guess”, he grew to see her as acceptable. Her cats definitely helped, he’d say, no one with cats that loyal and happy can be a bad person.

Selina, the love of his life, he’d admit quietly to himself, was also a dirty traitor and in cahoots with his terrible children. She would say his texting skills were “sweet” and “very gentlemanly” when she was asked by anyone outside the family, and privately to him she would say she thought they were “adorable” and “please don’t ever change, Bruce, I like it.” However, nothing seemed to bring her more joy than his children sending her texts and “Snaps” and “memes” about him to her. Sometimes it was screenshots of the family group chat that they forced him to join, where he would post “To whom it may concern...” and “In regards to...” when he needed to reach all his delinquents in a timely manner. Sometimes it was video clips of him staring at his phone intently, then typing something on his laptop, then him reading and nodding along, and then finally going back and responding to the text he received with a small, pleased smile. And sometimes, when he got too injured or was too incapacitated to text coherently, he’d have his nearest able child transcribe his text to her. Depending on who was texting her for Bruce, she could expect many different things. From Dick, she’d get lots of shorthand and silly emojis, and many, many, winky and crying/laughing faces in brackets depending on what Bruce had made him type. Jason, bless him, used proper English most of the time, but would never write a single word of Bruce’s soliloquy to her, instead she enjoyed the TL;DR version: “hurt again, missing you, come home soon, blah blah blah, sappy gross words here, love you”. Tim would allow speech recognition to run on Bruce’s phone, and just let it go until the man passed out. Stephanie, the little chaos child, would film it and send it to her, including all her muffled laughter and shaky camera shots of Bruce emoting with his available undamaged limbs. Cass, still more versed in physicality and emotive movement, would interpret Bruce’s text into mostly emojis, hearts and happy faces and animals, but would include photos, and phrases that she found important enough to type out for Selina. Damian, forever his Father’s son in any way possible, texts very formally, referring to her or his siblings Bruce mentions by last name only, and lots of “Father requests me to tell you...” and “Kyle, know that Father...”. She adores these kids, and once Bruce recovers enough to text her himself, or she gets back to the Manor, they get to laugh about whatever she was sent this time.

So, while it’s true that Bruce couldn’t text his way out of a wet paper bag, and his kids are sometimes brats about it, there’s probably a lot of different reasons he doesn’t spend too much time trying to improve his skills. Whether it’s the smiles of his children, the giggles of his significant other, or the warm feeling in his chest when he sees all his important people bonding over him, well, in the end, who’s to say?

#batman #batfam #bruce/selina #batcat #bruce wayne #selina kyle #bruce x selina

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saieras · 6 years ago

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Hearts of Iron

CH1: Will you be my big brother?

Summary: Set AFTER ENDGAME. SPOILERS.

Follows the Iron Fam as they navigate the world post-Endgame.

Genre: Family fluff, Hurt/comfort, Angst

Rating: T

Peter’s life had ended back on the alien planet.

He hadn’t wanted to go, back then. Even as he woke, that fear, that desperation, they’d clung to him, almost debilitating, until the red-caped Doctor had come over to shake him out of it.

It was oblivion made manifest, the closest Peter had come to staring down into the Abyss.

But he was an optimist: had always been. Uncle Ben said it was one of his best qualities. He knew he could work through it; would work through it, just like every other time—especially when there was fighting to be had, people to be saved. He would be brave.

That was what he believed, what he’d always believed, ever since a warehouse collapsed on top of him and he had to fight Mr. Toomes on an airplane. And if Peter Parker failed, Spider-man would succeed, and pull through.

It’s worked out so far. And he was certain it would work again.

Until it didn’t. Until the finger snap, as loud as any explosion.

Until the moment the blue-white glow blinked out, and Pepper broke down in sobs.

Until Peter’s life ended a second time that day.

He carried the body with Pepper and Rhodey. They had become familiar with him during his junior year, given how frequently he’d dropped by the Compound, but now, even as they smiled at him, they seemed foreign, tired… old. People out of time—grayer, more weathered, and more beaten than he remembered. And exhausted.

Or perhaps he was the one out of time.

Right, he thought, recalling the Doctor’s words. It’s been five years.

Any one of them could’ve carried the body alone. But it still took the three of them, which shouldn’t be surprising.

They carried in their arms the weight of the world, after all.

No one else stepped forward. The battlefield was quiet, all eyes watching their slow procession. Peter thought he saw some people wanting to come over, to help, but they were all held back. So they remained the only three, marching across the dusty blood-soaked land. Pepper was at the front, her grip tender on the shoulders, and Peter trusted she knew where they had to go.

Because he didn’t. He was dead, remember?

He stared at her back, focusing on the blue-grey lines of the gleaming metal. Anything to not look sideways, to not see what he was holding, so light yet so unbearably heavy. He could walk forever like this, he thought. He almost wanted himself to turn to dust again, and had to consciously tell himself to breathe, to walk. One step ahead of the other, one ahead of the other. Step step step. Good job, Peter.

They reached an unmanned aircraft with the Stark industry logo, which came to land in a relatively open field. Pepper had probably summoned it. The doors on its belly opened, and the three of them entered, carefully carrying the body up the ramp. It was a private jet, sparsely furnished in the sleek technological edge characteristic of the company.

Peter couldn’t much bring himself to care.

They laid him on a bed which popped out of nowhere. Peter turned away as they lowered the body onto the mattress. Already it was growing cold. Or was that his imagination? He wouldn’t know. He was dead, remember?

“FRIDAY,” Pepper said, softly. “Let’s go home.”

The plane doors closed with a hiss, blocking out the sights and sounds of the world beyond them.

A world redeemed. A world saved.

A world shattered.

The plane lifted off. It was exceptionally well-designed, just like anything from Stark Industries, and Peter felt barely a hitch.

He didn’t want to be here.

He didn’t want to be on the plane.

Not when he laid right there, in front, on the bed.

Peter wished he were dead. He wished he were the one who’d used the gauntlet. He had that gauntlet in his hands for something close to three minutes. A ridiculously long time.

Why hadn’t he thought to use it? He had it right there. All he had to do was reach in, and snap.

Why, why, why? Why hadn’t it been me?

WHY?

It was his fault, his fault, his fault. Stupid Peter, stupid, stupid!!

A hand rested on his shoulders, and he realized there were tears streaming down his face.

“It’s okay, kid,” Rhodey said. “We’re alone.”

Peter tried to croak out a response. But the man only tugged at his shoulder, and the boy crumpled onto the floor beside the bed, and screamed into the sheets.

He was faintly aware of the two others sitting down on the floor beside him. One caressed his hair. The other patted his back. They too were screaming, he knew, in their own way. The silent, adult way.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“We are, too,” Pepper said, her hand still in his hair. “We are, too.”

She could only sob, and sob, and sob.

She’s different, Peter thought as he patted her back. There were wrinkles where there hadn’t been, streaks of grey hidden beneath the auburn. She was holding him with every ounce of strength she had, fingers digging into his shirt. His shoulders were soaked through with tears.

“I’m back, May,” he whispered softly. “I’m back, I’m okay.”

She didn’t respond. She just held him, and held him, crying.

Peter couldn’t bring himself to cry, even as her tears dripped onto his cheeks, and she planted kisses on his forehead, his face, anywhere she could kiss.

She needed this.

For him, it had only been a day. For her, it had been five long, devastating years.

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

“It’s okay,” she replied. “It’s not your fault.”

“Okay,” Peter said, hugging her back. He wasn’t sure he believed her.

May brought a sleeping bag to his room. It had been kept in pristine condition: not a single item had been moved, as if just waiting for him to come back.

“I’m not going to leave you alone,” she said simply.

Despite himself, Peter felt a little annoyed. How was he supposed to sleep?

“But you snore,” he pointed out. “Pretty loud, too.”

She laughed, but he could see the fear in her eyes, the unadulterated terror.

And for the first time, Peter felt a stabbing guilt in his chest. He’d left her. He’d left her, alone in their apartment, small but still too-vast for her alone, for five agonizing years.

He relented. She beamed.

Peter didn’t like to sleep, because there was no telling what he might dream of these days.

Half the time it would be the oblivion—the dust, the fear and excruciation as his atoms disintegrated. The dreams of the Abyss, relived as the day he’d disappeared.

Those dreams were scary, and painful, and sometimes woke him up. Very unpleasant, and they always left May stricken with worry.

But he’d rather have those dreams every single night… if it saved him from dreaming about that.

He couldn’t, couldn’t, see that again.

Of course his dreams didn’t care about what he wanted, and tonight, after he’d finally fallen asleep, he was stepping through the portal, and the field of battle was ahead of him.

Peter numbed himself the moment he understood where he was. It was the only thing that worked. He couldn’t wake himself up, he couldn’t control his body, he couldn’t even panic and run away. All he could do was watch, in abject horror, as his memories unfolded.

As he snapped.

As everything turned white.

As the arc reactor flickered out.

He woke up screaming.

May was awake instantly, and by his side. And for the first time since he came home, Peter cried.

“It should’ve been me.”

His voice was tight and hoarse, choked. His cheeks were splashed wet.

“No, no no,” she whispered. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true! It should’ve been me. It’s my fault, my fault!”

He had never told her the story. He expected her to be confused. But someone else must have, because she understood.

“It’s not,” she said, pressing his face into her, and brushing his hair. “It’s nobody’s fault.”

“But I had the thing, the glove. I could’ve—I should’ve…”

“Shhh,” May said. She took a halting breath, and Peter realized she was on the edge of tears. “No. You hear me? No! Just, NO!!”

Her voice broke. He fell silent. He’d never heard her so angry.

“I know, I know you superhero types think that way, too damned often.” Her fingers tangled themselves in his wavy locks. “But I don’t want a goddamn superhero. I just want my nephew, safe and sound. Is that too much to ask?”

In the darkness, their breathing were loud and raspy. It was almost a whisper, when she spoke.

“Please, Peter. Please… please don’t make me lose you again.”

It broke him to hear her like that.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

“Are we there yet?” Morgan asked, for the third time. She stared outside the window, and saw only rows upon rows of the same-looking houses, before blocks of grey apartment buildings poked up in the distance. She kicked her feet, bored.

“Soon, squirt,” Happy answered from next to her, in the driver’s seat. Morgan liked him. He always got her her favorite treats, more than Mommy said she could get, and he smelled nice, and wore smooth silky jackets that were nice to touch. He was just a little slow, sometimes.

“Yes,” she said patiently, “but how soon?”

“In six hundred seconds,” Happy said.

“That’s ten minutes,” Morgan pointed out instantly. “But you said ten minutes three minutes ago, and five minutes ago. So you lied.”

The man laughed. Morgan pouted, a bit annoyed. He shouldn’t laugh, not when she’s been so patient with him. He was obviously bad with numbers, because he’s been answering her with the same number over and over. But then Daddy always said she shouldn’t assume everybody could do math, even if it might be super simple. She supposed Happy must be one of those people who just couldn’t do math.

“We’ll be there in five minutes, Mo,” came Mommy’s voice from behind her. Morgan hopped onto the seat cushion and turned around. Mommy was facing her, a smile on her face.

“Thank you, Mommy,” she said, and shot Happy a triumphant glance. The man laughed again.

“You’re welcome, Mo,” she said. “Now sit down again. Where are your seatbelts?”

“Sorry,” Morgan said, slipping back down into her seat. “Seatbelt, please!” she said.

“Sure thing,” FRIDAY said, and Morgan giggled as the straps came around her belly and locked her snugly in place.

Since Mommy never lied, they did get to where they were going just as the five minutes were about to be used up.

Morgan held onto Mommy’s warm hands as she skipped on the concrete sidewalk. They walked up to a tall building with a lot of doorbells on the front door.

“I wanna press it, I wanna press it!” Morgan said, and gave Mommy a kiss when she held her up to do just that.

“Now, Mo, do you remember which one to press?”

“Seven B!” Morgan exclaimed. She was good at remembering things.

“Very good,” Mommy said, as Morgan’s stubby fingers pressed down on the button labeled 7-B. A second later, the front door clicked as it unlocked.

“I can climb by myself!” Morgan said, squirming to get down.

“You sure?” Mommy asked.

“Uh huh!” the girl exclaimed, and shot ahead the moment she was put on the ground.

“Wait up, little lady!” Happy called out after her, but she was already rounding the corner of the first flight of stairs, giggling.

“Wait for us at the fifth floor!” Mommy called out after her.

“Okay!” Morgan called back, remembering to keep track of the floors. She blazed past the second and third stories with ease, and only began to feel a bit tired on the fourth. “Mommy and Happy are slowpokes!” she shouted through the cracks of the stairwell, and heard them laughing in response.

She was about to run up to the fifth floor, when she bumped headfirst into someone. With a yelp, Morgan tumbled backwards, only to be caught by warm hands which had snuck behind her back somehow.

“Are you okay?” asked a voice.

Morgan thought it sounded sad. She didn’t know why, but she knew. Lately, everyone’s been sounding sad at home, even when they were laughing, so she’s learned to recognize that kind of voice. She’s been trying her very very best to cheer everyone up, but she wasn’t as good at it as Daddy was. She would have to wait until he got back from his trip, she thought. He’ll know how to make everyone happy again.

Then she remembered she had been asked a question, and Mommy said it was polite to answer a question, if it wasn’t about secret stuff like Mommy or Daddy or the Abenchers.

“I am okay!” she declared. Then she looked up.

The person in front of her wasn’t very tall. Well, to Morgan everyone was very tall, but he was a little shorter than Daddy. He had brown wavy hair and clear brown eyes.

“Hey, are you lost?” he asked. “What’s your name?”

Morgan knew exactly who he was, and she beamed, because she’s been wanting to meet him for so long. Mommy said he had moved away—far far away—before Morgan had been born. Daddy missed him, Morgan knew; it was a deep kind of missing, not like how they missed Mommy whenever she went on a business trip. It was the kind of missing that didn’t go away, the kind that was carved into the lines on Daddy’s face, and painted into his eyes like hologram displays.

Daddy had told her lots of stories about him, and FRIDAY had photos and recordings of him stored in a special folder. Daddy looked at them sometimes, and when Morgan had been old enough to understand, he’d tell her stories. They were always funny stories, like accidentally turning the garage into a bubble bath, or ordering too much ice cream that it’d all melted out on the tarmac and made a complete mess everywhere.

So, yes, she knew exactly who he was.

“Peter!” she squealed, rushing forward and jumping into his arms.

He caught her, clearly surprised. “Uh…” he said, “You… know me?”

Morgan giggled and kicked her feet. “Ya huh! I bet you um, I bet you three thousand, you don’t know who I am!”

A small smile broke on Peter’s face. He straightened up, lifting her easily. Morgan liked the way he held her. It was like Daddy, in some ways, but also different. She also liked the way he smelled, and the way his arms were snug around her.

“I don’t have three thousand,” he said. “Can I still guess?”

Morgan nodded. “Uh huh.”

“Hmm, let’s see. You know my name. Are you from our building?”

“Nuh uh,” she shook her head.

“Then… are you from our block?”

“Nuh uh,” she said, giddy. “You only have three chances, Peter!”

He looked at her with such exaggerated hurt on his face that she laughed. “Three chances! You didn’t tell me about that.”

“It’s a genie’s rule!” she said. “Last chance!”

“Hmm. You’re not from this apartment, and not from the block, but you know me…” he furrowed his brows, really thinking at this point. Morgan clutched his shirt, and kicked her feet happily. Daddy was right. She liked Peter.

“Ding ding ding!” she said, after a few seconds. “Time’s up!”

“You’re a very tough genie,” Peter complained. “Alright, I’m guessing one of your brothers or sisters go to Midtown Science and Tech?” Then, as if realizing this may be too advanced a question, he smiled and brushed her hair. “It’s okay if you don’t know.”

Morgan was about to say no, when she remembered something Daddy had said. She was good at remembering things, after all.

“Uh huh,” she nodded.

“Ha!” Peter exclaimed, a boyish triumph shining through that sadness Morgan observed earlier. “I knew it! Who is it? Is it Betty? Or Jason? Charlie?”

“Hehe,” Morgan giggled. “Nooo! He’s called Peter.”

“Peter?” the boy frowned. “But there are no other Peters in my grade. At least there weren’t, before… the, uh…” He shook his head, as if chasing away a sad thought. “Ehhem, anyway, what’s your last name again?”

Morgan made a face at him, and he grinned.

“My last name is a secret!” she declared.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Uh huh,” the girl nodded adamantly. “You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

Peter laughed. “I promise.”

She nodded, satisfied. Then she leaned in next to his ear.

“My last name is Stark,” she said. “My name is Morgan Stark!” She pulled away and tickled his neck. “Silly Peter! I was talking about you! Daddy said you would be like my big brother, if I ever had one. Hehe. Will you be my big brother, Peter? I’ve always wanted a big brother.”

Peter didn’t respond. Morgan frowned, before she felt a drop of wetness on her forehead. She squealed.

“Ew! Icky Peter!”

He still didn’t respond. She looked up.

He was crying. Big, round tears welled out of his eyes, faster than could drip down. He was mostly silent as they brimmed and slid down his cheeks, only letting out tiny sniffs. He was also just… looking at her; staring, almost. Morgan was suddenly a little scared. She didn’t understand what was going on. She wanted to cry, too. She clung to Peter’s shirt, feeling tinier than usual, and he let out a small ‘Oh’. He gave her a smile that was not quite a smile; a sort of scrunched-up, funny-looking little grimace.

Gently he wrapped his free arm around her, holding her tight and close and snug. Then he began to sob.

“Yes,” he only said, hoarse and trembling, as the droplets soaked through her dress.

“Yes, I will.”

To be continued.

Follow on AO3 or FFN. Or request a tag by comment!

Taglist: @aleteia-ff @mandaloriandragontrainer @fan-writer02 cry with me guys >:)

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xjmparrish · 4 years ago

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august challenge 2020 - task #3 the questionnaire

THE BASICS

• What is your celebrity’s full name?

Janel Meilani Parrish

• Do they have any nicknames? Go by any other names?

J, Janey, Jany, Janelly, Janellybean, Nell, Nellie, Nels, baby J

• What is their birthday?

October 30, 1988

• Where were they born?

Honolulu, HI

• Where were they raised?

Kāne’ohe, HI

• Where in Bayview do they live?

Bayside Retreats

• How long have they lived in town?

On and off since October 2017

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

• What is your celebrity’s general build?

naturally slim athletic

• What is their natural hair color?

medium to dark brown

• If their hair color has changed, what is it now?

currently dark brown with honey caramel balayage, it changes every couple months

• What is your celebrity’s eye color?

light brown

• Do they wear glasses or contacts?

has prescribed glasses she needs to wear more often

• What is your celebrity’s best asset?

Her lips are the subject of discussion on a regular basis

• What is something they’re insecure about?

Her appearance, as an actress she’s spent her career having her face altered regularly

• Do they have any piercings?

10 piercings

• How about tattoos?

near 30 tattoos

• Any prominent scars with good stories behind them?

not prominent but she’s got an old burn on her arm from a hair iron

• Does your celebrity regularly wear make-up?

Yes, though she’s trying not to more and more these days

• What’s their skincare routine like?

intense multi step including falling asleep lathered in all of the night creams

• How does your celebrity dress on the average, every day?

an average day for Janel is some sort of joggers, a tank top, a flannel or hoodie and booties or sneakers

• What about for more dress-up, formal days?

She’s big on pantsuits or a cute mini dress

THE EARLY YEARS

• What was your celebrity like as a child?

She was a very outgoing child who lived for nothing else than theater

• How about the teen years?

She was a wild child in her teen years. The attitude, the sneaking out, the boys, the piercings, the tattoos. She still apologizes to her parents.

• What kind of life did your celebrity have growing up?

Her upbringing was anything but typical. She was a working Broadway actress by 1st grade. Many days were spent working with adults rather than at school with kids her own age.

• What were your celebrity’s goals as a younger person?

Acting has always been Janels love in life. A return to Broadway has always been her goal.

• Is there a smell that reminds them of childhood?

the rain in Honolulu

• How about a favorite movie, TV show or toy?

the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack will always send her back to the day she decided as a 6 year old she wanted to act

• What advice would your celebrity give to their younger self?

Relax. You don’t have to have it all figured out and perfect. Life’s a journey and there’s ups and downs, but you will be okay in the end.

• Did your celebrity play any sports growing up?

Not really a sport, but she danced hula growing up

THE FAMILY TREE

• Who is in their immediate family?

Mama P Joanne, Papa P Mark, sister Melissa

• What’s their extended family like?

She has a significant extended family on her mom’s side, who all live back in Hawai’i. They’re her favorite people.

• What does family mean to your celebrity?

Family is everything, it’s who keeps you grounded and stable in this business.

• Are they close to their family in general?

Extremely. Especially her immediate family as its been just them on the mainland for nearly two decades.

• Who in their family are they closest to?

Her mom and sister! She’s a daddy’s girl but there’s some stuff you can only tell your mom.

• Does your celebrity have any children?

Not at the moment.

• If they do not have children, do they want any someday?

Yes, just not yet.

• If they do have children, do they want more children?

n/a

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIPS

• Is your celebrity currently in a relationship?

Yes

• What is the longest relationship your celebrity has ever been in?

5 years

• If it’s not their current relationship, why did it end?

they’d grown apart

• What’s the shortest relationship your celebrity has ever been in?

2 months

• If it’s not their current relationship, why did it end?

they weren’t on the same page

• Is your celebrity into PDA, or more private?

Janel is all about the more toned down PDA on the regular, but you may catch a full on make out session here and there, especially if she’s had a bit to drink

• How do they display affection to others?

Janel is all about the cute pet names and trying to take care of those she loves, sometimes to an overbearing degree. Also lots of hugs and cheek kisses.

• What is your celebrity’s current sex life like?

More sex than not. They’ve been together less than a year, they’re still pretty obsessed with one another. She’s not complaining.

• What sort of relationship does your celebrity look for?

A goal in her relationships has always been someone who is equal and understands her job without being threatened or dazzled by it.

• Do they feel happiest when they’re in a relationship, or single?

in a relationship

• Does your celebrity have a best friend?

she has multiple sets of best friends, in Bayview they are Katie and Claire. Or their dogs? All the dogs in town

• What does your celebrity look for in their friendships?

A friend to Janel is someone who can be brutally honest all while comforting you, someone trustworthy.

• Are they the type of person to have a small group of friends, or large?

multiple small groups of friends who rarely mesh

• In friendships, is your celebrity more of the giver or taker?

Taker

• Has your celebrity ever had to end a friendship with someone?

Plenty, publicly

THE THINGS THAT THEY DO

• What does your celebrity do for a living?

television and film actress

• If they could choose any other career, what would it be?

Broadway actress or musical recording artist

• When growing up, what did they want to do?

Broadway

• Do they enjoy their current job?

Yes

• What about hobbies, what do they like to do?

play piano, go to aerial yoga, play with the dogs, sing, cook

• As far as school goes, how far did they take their education?

High school graduate

• If they had to go (back) to school, what would it be for?

Cosmetology

THE FUN STUFF

• Are there phrases or words your celebrity uses a lot?

She curses like a sailor

• Would you say they’re optimistic or pessimistic?

her anxiety makes her pessimistic at times

• How about introverted or extroverted?

claims she’s introverted but thrives around others

• Do they have any really bad habits?

Spending money on things she doesn’t need like designer bags and shoes

• What is something that always makes them laugh?

Her dogs

• And something that always makes them cry?

A Walk to Remember

• How would your celebrity like to be seen by others?

A tough independent cookie who’s made it past all the publicized drama in her life

• And how do they feel others actually see them?

Passionate, sometimes to a fault

• What are some of their strongest (positive) traits?

How strong willed she is

How tough she can be

How much she loves

• What are some of their weakest (negative) traits?

Her addictive personality

Her overthinking everything

How trusting she is

• How do they react when someone pays them a compliment?

She thanks them. She’s not as shy as she was before.

• But how do they react to criticism?

Worried but understanding, lots of nodding

• What is your celebrity’s biggest fear?

Sharks. Also, failure

• Are they more of an indoors or outdoors person?

She’s become more of an outdoor person in recent years, but prefers being indoors.

• What are some of their pet peeves?

Loud chewing or smacking gum

• Are they the type of person to fight with violence or words?

Words, and it’s lethal

• What is your celebrity’s favorite day of the week?

Sunday’s, it’s the easiest day of the week in their household

• Are they more of a book or movie type of person?

Movie

• Is your celebrity more of a hoarder or a minimalist?

Hoarder. Not excessive but her shopaholic nature plays a hand in it.

• How is your celebrity with technology?

She catches on quick!

#bviewtask

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hanybanani · 4 years ago

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𝑀𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝒾𝓁𝓎 𝒹𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓅𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑜𝓅𝒽𝓎

First of all, what is philosophy and how does it help us? Philosophy is the study of existence and reality, it helps us develop our critical thinking and makes our lives easier in terms of making better decisions and choices in life.

Have you ever wondered how to make good choices in life? Of course, you would want to keep heading into the direction you want and not fall into a spiral of stress and despair. Now, as teenagers, even adults, many of us wondered about our lives, like what is our purpose, some people think they don’t have a purpose. What is success and how will you achieve it, what is good and what is bad, or how should we treat one another, ect.

Philosophy gives us ethics. It involves “systematizing, defending, and recommending concepts of right and wrong behavior". Growing up, we often face choices, there are times when we are indecisive in life and you realize you are responsible as you set an example.

Philosophy in Greek means “the love of wisdom” or “the pursuit of wisdom”, and I think making mistakes can be turned into a valuable lesson to a person. Why do I think this? Well, as Albert Einstein said, “ Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new”. My philosophy in making mistakes is that it teaches us to clarify what we really want, it is a fundamental part for every understanding, advancement, and development. The correct exists because of the fault and this is what makes us human. Men is prone to error and develops, but that depends on how one responds to the error.

Philosophy has been around since the 6th century, without it, everything we have now wouldn’t exist. We wouldn’t have freedom to have our own opinion, values, nor have equality. It helps us approach into making policies, make rational suggestions into shaping society to become better. Philosophy helps students acquire a knowledge of those ideas and its origins. Philosophy also influence teaching, and even leadership.

Science and philosophy are pretty similar when it comes to finding out what is reality. The difference is that science is all about the natural phenomena and philosophy is understanding the nature of man and our existence. I personally think that philosophy can lead to innovation, giving fantastical inspiration to create new ideas for creating innovative solutions.

The Noble Eight-fold Path

I’m not Buddhist but reading the Eight-fold Path helps to become calmer and be more at peace knowing what to do in times of distress, if you want to follow the Eight Fold Path It’s a good thing to remember that it’s important to be ethical in word and in deed, and thought. To be kind to others, and being positive as much as possible and be respectful and moral person. Remembering those will surely help you to be peaceful in your mind and to everyone around you and will not let you suffer as a bitter person. Having peace within oneself makes you have the right understanding, the right intent, the right speech, right mindfulness, concentration, following all of these creates a harmony in oneself. I have learned that when you’re compassionate towards others and treat them right, you get a reward too, and it also feels good to do something good to others and they will be kind to you as well.

Treating others the right way is good for the mental health and well being, it can reduce the stress and improve our mood and also self-esteem and of course, it makes us happy. Doing good deeds does not need much time or costs money like when listening to your friends without judgement and focus on what they need.

Ecocentric model and evaluate personal views and attitudes toward nature

The environment that God has given us is truly beautiful, the air we breathe, the land we walk on and the plants and animals that live among humans are made carefully. All lives are equal to existence and ecocentrism is a pathway to a sustainable living. Man is made to dominate the Earth and take care of it. Ecocentrism is the reason why we value the environment we live in. Life relies on geological processes and has been worldview and many countries speak about folklore. An ecocentric view holds the planet’s ecology and ecosystems, the the lives of humans, animals, the creatures the lives in the depths of the sea and all life forms. I think that we should continue to take care of our surroundings for the future generation, to look at the world with love of nature, will give the children of the future a wonderful Earth that they could still live on. With all the buidings that are being built, the trees that are being cut and the amount of garbage that is being thrown to the ocean should be reduced and think about the other living things that will suffer from the greediness of mankind.

We should reduce, reuse, recycle to save that dying animals and reduce the pollution in the air that we breathe for the sake of the children and the children of their children. We must protect and value the things that were made to sustain life even if they cannot be used by humans as resources.

Marcos Batas Militar

How can reason be translated into action?

An individual’s speech makes sense based on logic and facts and can be turned into action when the individual starts to act upon his visions logically and comfortably

If there were no intellect, there would be no will. Explain.

You cannot accomplish anything without intelligence or without any practical plan, thus there is no will if you do not know how to make ends meet.

What is a social contract and how is it reflected in the EDSA Revolution?

An agreement from the members of society. The law is reflected in the people by making an agreement.

Was freedom denied during the Martial Law? Was there free choice within the Filipino people?

People could not go outside their houses and speak about the government or they will get killed. There was no freedom for the people who denied the Martial Law and there was no free choice.

How do you think this is similar and/or different from the colonization of the Philippines from the hands of the Spanish, American, and Japanese?

The Spanish people colonized the Philippines under military and religious supremacy while the Philippines is an instrument for WWII for the Japanese. America desires for opportunities that will benefit their own country and to have power over the islands from other countries, it is somehow similar to the Marcos martial law where the authority or people with access to firearms disregards the safety and needs of the people for their own benefit.

How do you think this is similar and/or different from today’s events in the Philippines?

The events regarding for covid-19 are similar but different as people are required to stay home for their own health but similar to martial law as the media sensualize the virus to which it makes people afraid and scared, but according to a doctor in Europe, covid-19 is just like any other flu.

My mother likes listening to classic music and because of my mother, I know about Andrea Bocelli. His music is comforting and his voice is beautiful. Andrea Bocelli is a knows as a great music artist that inspires many people around the globe. When he was still in his mother’s womb, the doctor advised his parents to abort him because him might have a disability, his mother, however opposed the advice the doctor gave and gave birth to him and when he was born he did have many issues with his sight and was diagnosed with congenital glauoma. As a young boy, Bocelli had a passion for music even with his disability, it did not stop him from playing the piano and other instruments and to be a great singer and won countless awards. He is a good model for young kids with disabilities to never stop hoping and dream big.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

25-year life plan.

Firsly, I want to develop my skills in arts and be able to try out and learn digital drawing since it looks super cool and fun to do and be able to do animations because I wanted to do that as a kid. When it comes to career, I want to get a good job in software technology and be able to create applications and games that would help many people in their daily lives and also have fun. But before I achieve all that, education is important.My plan is to get to graduate college, I want to expand my knowledge in computer programming.

I want to be able to contribute to my family, and support them with their needs, and show them love as much as possible so I guess having a decent stable job would allow me to be helpful to the family. My financial plan would be saving as much to start a business and also giving to charity. In life, you can’t always just be working and working, sometimes looking after yourself is more important as well, being healthy and to excercise more and eat healthy food in order to achieve your goals. Working hard and looking after yourself can take you to places and for pleasure, I would like to do my bucket list like to be able to travel and see places, to be part of an organization helping citizens and the environment, giving to charity and to meet new people and learn from them. I think this is most people’s common life plan, its a dream and a plan, but don’t call it a dream, call it a plan, make it a goal and thrive big.

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blueyesandleatherjacket · 4 years ago

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The Fallen, 16/17

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 16/17.

Pairings: Nine x Rose.

A/N: Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“We've all fallen, but at the same time we're not broken. There is the hint that we are going to get up again.” - Amy Lee.

CHAPTER 16:

The doctor Nash Grieve hadn’t disappeared. She was still working under Jeremy Backfire’s orders or, should she say, threats, in his mental hospital that was now qualified as the cheapest and worst institution of London and of Great-Britain. However, it was of no importance to the man. The upper part, the public part of the hospital was ruled by one of his trustworthy friends. It was done properly enough to avoid any kind of suspicions that would lead to an in-depth investigation. That would be really problematic. There were things that couldn’t be found underneath the surface. Under the hospital, there was a prison for supernatural beings, a prison built in guts of Earth, buried so deeply for the screams and begs to neve reach the world; a prison but also a laboratory to run experiences on those beings who weren’t considered as beings and were refused all rights. No one knew they were there; no one would ever know they were here. The only one to have escaped was Maxence Spitz. Jeremy Backfire had been furious to find out that his son was gone, even ore when he found out that Maxence was back to his mother and was, consequently, protected. Joanne Spitz was his ex-wife, the woman he had had Maxence with and also the only person on Earth he feared. He would admit such a thing since he was the perfect example of the macho man, all in masculinity and thick mind on certain subjects, but contrarily to most macho men, he was clever enough not to hate on woman. He secretly feared them. Well, only their name was Joanne Spitz. That was why he had never tried to get his hands on Maxence since he was back home despite his burning desire to force him to reveal the Doctor and the Wolf’s secrets. He was fairly certain that Maxence had been helped for his escape. His suspicions were on Nash. She had been the first one to talk to him when he was brought to that hospital. A relationship of trust was born that day, and nothing of what she had done to him on his orders had broken it for some reasons. Jeremy had interviewed her in his office but could get nothing from her. He had taken her in the coloured rooms. He tortured her in every one of them like she had tortured Maxence, still under his orders. He even tortured her dear friend Maya but couldn’t get a word from her. He proved her mind, and was left clueless. The woman who knew everyone and everything about the place couldn’t tell how Maxence had escaped. The Wolf probably managed to get out of here on its own, the human wasn’t clever enough for that. Human were despicable in every single aspect: they were fragile and fell to pieces with the light push of the wind in their back; they were vulnerable to the tiniest of germs that could kill them in a couple of hours; they were limited and powerless, stuck in a weak corporeal shell, unable to use their brain cells to their full capacities. Jeremy had been one of those humans since his birth and had always been frustrated by this condition. Of course this revelation hadn’t hit him before he was a man in his late twenties, about to enter his thirties. It was after Joanne had kicked him out of his house in Manchester. He had moved to London where repeated and unexplained attacks had pushed him to do his own inquiry and soon he found himself obsessing over his need to meet an alien properly. Despite their obvious presence everywhere he was unable to find one. His first encounter with an alien had happened three years ago. At that time, he was well established in London as headmaster of one of the numerous jails of the country, one where all the worst psychotic criminals were locked away. He had rebuilt his life with another woman, was fostering kids. It was hiding the darkness growing in him ever since the birth of his first son but this violence and darkness had taken an unexpected turn when his wife brought a fifteen-year-old teenager from the orphanage she was picking all of her lost causes in. The girl was shy, easily intimidated and had issues being comfortable around anyone. She also had a tattoo – that she called a birth mark she had had since forever – he had seen a couple times before in his researches: she was a hidden shapeshifter. She ignored everything of her true nature, was living as a human, was weak, gullible, easy to manipulate. He had intimidated her, had murmured in her ear at night, made her fall under his complete control. He was human still at that moment but he could feel her fear. He could smell it on her, on her clothes reeked of her sweat, on her skin when his lips brushed over her body, in her words and in her body language when he was around her. He had become obsessed with her, with her body, with her scent… And the idea of her genes had been driving him insane. He literally had had alien material by hand and couldn’t use it, couldn’t do anything of it. He had lost his ability to sleep, spent his night watching her sleeping. Until he couldn’t just sit and stare. He had begun touching her, stroking her skin with the back of his fingers, dropping kisses along her jaw and neckline. She had tried to fight him, tried to defend herself but what could a teenager do against an adult? Who could she talk to? She had nothing and no one to turn to, no one who would believe her. He would have turned everyone against her if she even had tried. He had her in his total control and she was powerless when he had murmured that it was all her fault and had taken her most precious belonging. He had sent her back to the orphanage she was coming from a couple days later, accusing her of being a troublemaker, just before Christmas. A few weeks later, he had found out that she was pregnant, which could have been good news – it meant he would have upgraded the Backfire lineage – if he hadn’t been told that when she had a miscarriage and lost the baby. He had influenced her doctors with enough money for them to give him the dead foetus and also to make sure the young woman would never be able to procreate ever again. If she couldn’t carry his children, she would carry none. It was also another successful attempt to intimidate her so she wouldn’t say a word about what he had done to her. She hadn’t talked, had kept silent when she was interrogated about the incident. She had been suspected to have had sex with another teenager from the orphanage or someone from the outside. It was perfect for him. No one knew about his past – Joanne and Maxence had never talked or filed a complaint, kicking him out was apparently enough – and his reputation was intact. Later, he was promoted headmaster of this mental institute in Peckham that was threatening to close its doors since no one could handle the patients that were locked away in there. He had accepted for the place was presenting all the advantages he had been looking for to continue his researches. The basement contained the remains of the past when torture on the patients was allowed, before it was declared illegal and abandoned there. Perfect. He had drawn new plans for the place, had them done quickly and secretly and soon the basement was equipped with laboratories and rooms for the most difficult patients as he called them. Patients that would be aliens in captivity, but that was his secret. He couldn’t talk about it to anyone before he found the right persons to work with, meaning he had to operate a total reorganisation of the staff. A staff that appeared to be pretty interesting in the end. Many non-terrestrial creatures were hiding in this building, as patients and medical staff. Among them he found what looked like a family of shapeshifters: Nash Grieve, only qualified therapist here, was the oldest; Maya and Oliver Carson were a married couple; and Alex Baxter was Maya’s young brother. He had made sure the two men would be locked away in the new cells of the basement so the women would work for him without causing troubles. They obviously would ignore what was happening to their friends. There were numerous other races of aliens hidden there. He had only kept the most interesting ones and had turned the others into slaves working for him and obeying his every order – unlike Maya and Nash who had a quite rebellious attitude toward him. Rebellious but not suicidal, they knew where to stop. His experiences were going well, and he was testing some alien genes on the scums of this society, improving these lost causes or leaving them to die in terrible pains and getting rid of the bodies in an incinerator. When the results were pleasing to him, he would put his life on the line and improve himself with new genes. It wasn’t without pain but he never felt so strong and so powerful in his entire life. He was enjoying every bit of advantage the alien genes and technologies had and throwing away the inconveniences. But this power wasn’t enough. He needed more, more of all of this, more of species, more experiences. Nash, Maya and company belonged to a special race of shapeshifters; shifters that had been exposed to experiences before. Their genes had been modified so that they could become immortal, so they could heal and ‘regenerate’. A gene he hadn’t been able to reproduce from her DNA, a gene belonging to a no longer existing race. That was when he found out about the Doctor, a lone survivor of the Time War thar had exterminated all of his species and the Daleks. That’s when he found out his son had become the Doctor and was running around the universe as an elusive chimera, a myth, a legend only a few privileged persons had caught sight of. He had been reported to be around London a lot, then spotted in Manchester and back in London where he was caught babbling deliriously before being brought to Jeremy’s institute. Fate was being good on him that day. The Doctor being a prisoner of his hospital without him even trying to catch him – not that he had had the time to think about a strategy to draw him here – and it turned out he had brought an even powerful entity with him called Bad Wolf. This was more than Jeremy could ever have dreamt of. The wheel had turned, he could get his revenge on both his son and ex-wife, and continue his quest for power. First, he had had to steal the patient from Nash who had made it a point of honour to keep him hidden from him even after finding out how dangerous he was and what was his real identity. The Doctor had protected Maxence well for all the time he was there. So did the Wolf. The duo nicely settled down in the head of a human being going mad from such a power had done their best to screw every research he ever did on him. No bit of data was even usable. They had scrambled and faked everything they could before vanishing into thin air, and what they couldn’t have messed with wasn’t giving convincing results. This was why Jeremy was so furious. Had Maxence been a patient here for a longer time, the results would have been much better. But he hadn’t, and worse than that, he had messed with his father’s mind and created damages that had needed time to heal before Jeremy could come back to work with a rage harder than previously. One way or another, his son would pay for this. He just had to find a weak point. He remembered the Doctor calling a name when he was in an agitated sleep, in an excruciating pain. A name he wouldn’t even have pronounced if his mind had been sane. His mind wasn’t sane. Not anymore. The power hidden inside him was too much to handle for anyone and it was driving him insane to the point of spilling non-sense to anyone foreign to his world. Non-sense that seemed important enough to Nash Grieve who had written it all down. At least, at the beginning of the therapy. She had been quick to destroy the rest of the file as the months passed by. A way to protect her patient from the darkness of her boss, from the darkness of a father who had already hurt his son in the past. He could never get his hands on the rest of the file but the scraps of data he got were enough for him to pursue his researches on the Doctor. He couldn’t reach the new face involved. It would be too dangerous to have him around. Rose. This name was the only lead Jeremy had to draw the attention of the Doctor stuck in his son’s mind. If he managed to find her, to bring her to his hospital – he could find any reason to have her locked away – that would send a strong message to this uncatchable alien that kept slipping between his fingers like water. Rose was a common name in the United Kingdom but there was only one Rose who went missing at the same time as Maxence Spitz. No one had thought that these two disappearances could be linked before him. How could humans have with their tiny little brains? Jeremy needed the Doctor’s brain. Not just bits of it like he had taken over the months. He needed to kill the man and dissect him like an animal to find out all of his secret. He would feel no remorse in killing his own son. Maxence had never meant anything to him. All he had been was a nuisance to his life and projects. Rose Tyler was his best shot for this revenge, and he lost no time in trying to get to her. He didn’t elaborate strategies, didn’t plan anything. He had to be clever and clear and go straight to the point if he wanted work as fast as possible. He went to the Powell Estates in person, introduced himself to Jackie Tyler and before he could say anything else, he was kicked out with names and fury. Apparently, the woman mistook him for his son who was his spitting image and thought he should go to hell before even thinking of coming back around her daughter. This attempt was a failure but it confirmed Jeremy’s thoughts that Rose Tyler was the person they had been looking for all along. She had been traveling with the Doctor and he had left her behind when he changed. Perfect. Now, he just had to be patient and build a real plan to make her fall into a deadly trap…

To be continued...

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#doctor who #ninth doctor #rose tyler #doctor x rose #dw fic #the fallen

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dukeofriven · 6 years ago

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From An Old Internet Veteran: Go, and Sin No More

I wish I could explain to young people how wild the internet was as it went from the ‘weird niche thing for lame nerds’ irrelevancy of the early 90s and the “Boy This World Wide Web Thing Sure Is Nifty”-style painful optimism that describes 97% of Western Culture between 1994 and 2002 to the ‘Mad Max But Statistically Less Australian” culture that was the internet from 2002 to around 2010. I come neither to praise this era of internet nor condemn it. I merely want understanding. I cannot polish a lumpen pile of rape jokes, Chuck Norris glorification, “ironic” racism, and numa numa fat shaming and say that it’s misunderstood comedic genius. Trash is still trash even if it wins a bunch of Emmys. But at the same time I cannot take you with me back to the 90s and get you to feel, on a visceral level, what it was like to live in a place where Bart Simpson was both promoted as a real and present danger to the moral upbringing of the world’s children and was named by Time magazine as one of the most influential icons of the 20th century. And because I cannot do that I cannot get you to understand how freeing it felt to be on the internet in that Mad Max era. Ten years before a yellow boy shouting “Don’t have a cow” while doing a pathetic kick-flip on a chunky skateboard was considered the potential downfall of humanity’s children, but now you could make something so risqué that the old-guard stuffed-shirt in 1994 would have died on the spot, his brain unable to consider anything so outside his moral world view. I cannot easily make you understand a time when nobody just said whatever it was they wanted, not just because they had no platform to do so but because the rigidity of social convention was so strong. Nobody ever had hardcore lesbian sex on Northern Exposure on prime time television. Nobody on the X-Files ever died by having their head smashed in a car door repeatedly like a melon until viscera spilled all over the pavement. You could not have made Game of Thrones or Steven Universe in 1995. Forget the graphics, forget the budget, you simply couldn’t do or say any of that on television for either kids or adults. The Mad Max internet changed that - changed the very firmament of what was acceptable in media for every genre and for every demographic. Is this a good thing? Not particularly. Is this a bad thing? Not particularly. If this sound frustratingly ambivalent that’s because it is: were we to go back and do it all again, knowing all that we know now, would we do it the same way? No. But then, we would not know all that we know now had we not learned it by making the attempt in the first place.

This poor comfort for someone who dives into some 2006 webcomic with a reputation of a Legacy Touchstone and finds it full of ‘jokes’ about their gender, or sexual preference, or the liberal use of the r-slur, or a kind of hyper-suburban comedic racial ignorance. I am not here to argue that that had any value merely because it was transgressive. But the same space that opened-up to let such ugly things out also opened-up places for marginalized groups to made themselves known, groups who never before had such public voices.

Imagine an apocalypse. Imagine society rebuilding in the ashes. Imagine how many false starts and missteps there would be and you begin to understand just a little of what that period was like. It was embarrassing. It was cruel. It was childish and stupid. But in living through it we grew up. Or, at least, those of us capable of growing up grew up, and learned, and learned to be better - learned what better was. And then we built new places where other people could learn too - and spread the gospel of being better. One of the things that always irritates me when it comes to young people talking about the past is the unexamined privilege of knowledge being at your fingertips. It’s more than just everyone carrying a wireless-internet connected computer in their pocket at all times. It’s more than just a Wikipedia with hundreds of millions of articles and a reputation for fact sourcing. It’s more than just a Google that works. If you never experienced it you cannot imagine what using WebCrawler was like in 1995 against Ask Jeeves in 2005 against Google in 2015 - or even Google between 2005 and 2015. Most people don’t go around thinking about SEO and search engine algorithms but maybe we should because anyone who wants to go “this info’s been on the internet since day one so people have no excuse not to know it” disingenuously argues that information search and retrieval has been consistent across the decades. There was a time - not all that long ago - when to look something up on-line involved getting the tacit agreement of everyone in your household to lose the use of the sole telephone for as long as you were web browsing. There was a time - not all that long ago - when ‘looking something up’ was to burden everyone around you with inconveniences, and while you were doing your web searches there was no guarantee what you wanted could be found with the primitive technology of the day. Do you know how much I’ve learned since joining Tumblr in 2011? On a fundamental level, both about myself and the make-up of our species in terms of social conception? I recently went through a bunch of old posts, removing those with broken links and meaningless content, but also shit that just embarrasses me now - mostly opinions from a period where I hadn’t yet had a chance to learn because the spaces in which to learn it did not yet exist. It’s not just things like communities for [demographic X] - it’s things like “communities for [demographic X] with an ability to broadcast their voices and have platforms able to network their ideas and audience halls able to receive them and a search engine to guide people to that community and a basic understanding that the community even exists in the first place.” And this does not even begin to touch on internet access, something that even now is not a universal thing, and for which getting angry about people’s ignorance reflects a bias all its own. I say all this because I think that a core tenant of cringe culture is a myth of universal access to knowledge and universal awareness of one’s own ignorance. I look back on old posts of things I said and I cringe with self-hatred - cringe enough to rip them down and stuff them in the trash. “HOW DID I THINK THAT?” and “HOW DID I NOT KNOW?” But why should I have known - what, in my life, would ever have put better ideas across my desk? That I can meaningfully speak now about privilege and intersectionality and historiography is because between then and now I was put in a place to learn these things. I was exposed to ideas that I had never before been exposed to, and was given the grace to learn. I am tired of the expectation that every aspect of our past selves should be held to the same standard as the present. (Yes, to all the disingenuous bad-faith trolls out there, I obviously and of course am advocating for complete and total uncritical pardon for everything in the past ever. Were you a neo-Nazi ten years ago? Water under the bridge without question because that’s obviously, obviously, obviously the sort of extreme outlier case I am talking about good on you for being clever enough to notice.) But for the non-dipshits out there who understand how to read without injecting insincere hyperbole into every argument, I want us to be kinder to our past selves when we have learned to be better. It’s okay that you used to like Sherlock - there were genuinely fun things about it, and it’s okay that you didn’t possess an expert grasp of post-graduate feminist critical theory when you were 21. Or 31. Or 41. More concepts of academia have filtered into mainstream consciousness than ever before - and in saying that we should remember the corollary that ten, twenty, thirty years ago that was not the case. We knew less, had access to less, and were exposed to narrower viewpoints than we are today. It is unfortunate - but it was not our fault, and we cannot easily blame ourselves for it any longer. Nothing makes my blood boil more than seeing people taking umbrage that... oh, Farmer Joe McSmithHead of Buttnut, Alabama in 1963 was ignorant of internal Chinese politics and said some untrue things about Chinese Communism. But the only thing Farmer Joe had to tell him of the outside world was a radio that played country music, a TV with four channels and strict content guidelines to only show pleasant, moral, and god-fearing content, and the three books in the Buttnut library, two of which were the Bible. There have, and will always be, certain moral lines so obvious that people of any era should always be held accountable to them. But above that, in the more trivial space of media consumption, absorption, and critique, we have to learn to be more forgiving - to ourselves and to others, so long as in the present we have changed. Did you use the r-slur a lot because it was practically a form of punctuation on 4chan and that’s where you learned the ways of the internet? Did you learn the harmfulness of this practice and cease to do it? Then I do not condemn thee - go, and sin no more. Did you and your friends used to make jokes about how Mexicans smelled because you saw Seinfeld do that in his standup and the whole TV laughed as though it was funny? Did you realize one day ‘wait a minute that’s actually super gross’ and stop repeating it? Then I do not condemn thee - go, and sin no more. Have you gone back to a beloved childhood property and found it’s full of woman-beating and weird views on homosexuality? Did you find yourself able to critique this beloved thing and did not defensively double-down on shielding it from all harsh words? Then I do not condemn thee - go, and sin no more. I will not allow us to dismiss the cruelty and hurt of Mad Max Internet Culture with a flippant ‘well that’s just how it was back then” but nor will I allow anyone to condemn us all as being consciously unfeeling, willfully ignorant, purposefully hateful. Some of us were. But some of us did not know, could not have known, needed to learn - and we were lucky enough to live in a time before cringe culture and cancel culture where we were allowed to have that opportunity to learn and grow. We need that today, for all young people who think themselves as woke as can be and ten years from now will look back and blush with shame for things they said and did in total ignorance. The sin is choosing to never change, not failing to change sooner.

#cringe culture #cancel culture #4chan #mad max #internet culture #the simpsons #bart simpson #r-slur #x-files #game of thrones #steven universe #Northern Exposure #chuck norris #jerry seinfeld #Alabama #communism #long post

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bellatlas · 5 years ago

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Iron Dad Bingo: Car Crash

He reached up to pull the mask on and winced, trying his best to do it one-handed. Using his left arm was not happening. He only got the mask halfway down his face before Karen beeped to life. Good enough.

"Good evening, Peter."

"Even'n," he mumbled.

"You appear to have several lacerations and trauma to the neck, as well as fractures and sprains along the left side. Shall I contact Mr. Stark for you?"

"Absolutely not."

"I'm sorry, Peter, but it's protocol to contact Mr. Stark whenever an injury has been detected."

"Karen, noooooooo," he whined softly, but it was too late, and he already heard the dial tone in his ears. Ugh. Why'd she even ask? He dragged his good hand across his face and briefly considered ripping the mask off and throwing it to the ditch below, groundbreaking technology be damned.

But, the line only rang twice before Tony's face filled the screen in front of his eyes.

"Kid? I thought I told you. Drive straight here. No crime-fighting detours. What part of that was confusing?"

Peter groaned. "The drive straight part, evidently"

"What?"

"Nothing. It's nothing, Mr. Stark. I'll… I'll just be a bit late. That's all I was calling to tell you."

He squinted at him with that telltale 'bullshit' twist to his mouth that Peter hadn't seen since the ferry incident. Oh, God, the ferry incident. He shook the ferry incident out of his head and groaned when the motion made his head pound. When had he hit his head?

"You didn't call. How late are we talking?"

"Um." He tried doing the math in his head. He couldn't swing. He couldn't walk. This wasn't going to happen, was it?

He rested his head back on the edge of the curb, relishing in the coolness. He wasn't getting out of this without telling anyone. This sucked. This really, really sucked.

"Peter?"

"Uh… depends. How long would you say it would take to swing one handed to the compound? Or hop on one foot? Or clear a wreck?"

"You- What-?"

"There was a deer." Peter said plainly.

"And you hit it?"

"It and… a lot of other things."

Full text and all chapters HERE because I love the platform on ff. net, or read below.

Peter's nerves felt like a live wire. Crazy and buzzing with energy, dangerously active, even as it felt like his heart was in his stomach and both flopping around haphazardly.

"You sure you've got everything?"

Peter looked around. Phone in the center console. He pat the many pockets of his cargo shorts until he could feel the lump that was his wallet. "Yeah. Yeah, I've got everything.

May gave him a knowing smile as she leaned through the passenger window to give his shoulder a squeeze. "Okay, but can I offer you a tip?"

Peter smirked at her. His sweet, beautiful, amazing aunt who worried way too much. She was going to go gray before Peter so much as got his diploma. "I've got this. I promise."

"I know you do, but just hear me out. If the car starts giving you trouble-"

"Call you. I know."

"No. I was going to say that when the car gives you trouble with turning on, you might want to try using these?" She reached into her purse and pulls out Peter's keychain, car key reflecting the evening sunlight into his eyes, mocking him.

Peter flushed down to his neck as he reached his hand out to take the keys from her. "O-oh yeah. Remembering these uh… might be kinda useful, huh?"

May just laughed. "Alright, my little genius. Have fun and be safe. Call me as soon as you get to the compound."

"I know, May. I will."

"I'm serious! Don't forget, or I'll call Tony and give him an earful."

Peter shuddered. He might actually die of embarrassment from that. "I know you will."

May heaved a sigh and pulled her body out of the passenger side window, clasping her hands in front of her until the knuckles turned white.

"May, are you crying?"

"No!" she yells, but she choked on her words and sniffed, and Peter doesn't need enhanced sight to see the telltale sheen of tears in her eyes. "It's just… the allergies are kind of bad, and-"

"May!"

"-And my baby is growing up!"

"May, it- it's okay. I'm not going that far, I'm just… I don't have to go."

"No, no. Happy tears. All happy tears. I'm proud of you. It's just going by so fast." She brushed the tears away quickly before they could fall and ruin her makeup, and waved him off. "You need to get going. You're going to be late."

"Right. Right." Peter turned the key and the car, well… it didn't roar to life. It more so wheezed and sputtered to life, begrudgingly accepting that it was going to go on yet another journey. It was an old car by then. Really old. Older than Peter, actually, if he had to guess. New cars were expensive. And besides, he didn't think May would give the car up even if she did have the money for a new auto loan. This had been Ben's car, and she was sentimental to a fault. He rolled the window up, thankful that it at least wasn't so old that he had to crank it back up, and there was a rather awkward minute where May was still on the sidewalk next to their apartment building, waving, never stopping, still waving, oh my God, while Peter made the car buck forward and backward again and again in a sad attempt to shimmy out of the parallel spot that May had somehow managed to squeeze into when she'd pulled the car around (seriously, how did she even get into the spot to begin with?) until finally breaking free into traffic. He glanced up into the rearview mirror as he drove away, May shrinking into just a dot behind him whenever her form wasn't blocked by other cars. She hadn't moved from her spot on the sidewalk, and though Peter couldn't tell from the angle he was at, he was sure she was still waving slightly. He'd put money on it.

He shook his head and focused on the road in front of him. All honking horns and red lights and stop, then go, no stop! Until he finally broke through the boundaries of the city and all the skyscrapers and tall buildings faded into the background, replaced by suburbia and trees and greenery. It would be a long drive to the compound. A business party. A superhero only business party.

His nerves jumped again and he looked over to gush to May, only, oh yeah, she was still back in Queens. It was just Peter this time, and the thought felt weird. There was no safety net without her. No 'Peter it's not a four-way stop!' and slamming on the breaks a moment before darting out into traffic.

He rolled the window down and leaned his arm out, feeling the wind wrap around his fingers and tug at them like a kite. Like it did when he would careen between buildings back in Queens. It's freeing, the whole 'driving all on his own thing," though he's not quite sure why. He'd undoubtedly been a lot freer than most other teens his age, what with Happy picking him up at every other location, the stellar- well, maybe not stellar- but extensive New York subway system letting him go pretty much wherever he so pleased… and the whole soaring between buildings thing.

No, he wasn't freer, but there was just something about it. A certain quality he couldn't quite put his finger to. It was like having the training wheels taken off. As one hour, then two hours slipped by and he sped through winding roads, he felt older. More competent. More adult. More trusted. All the things he yearned for most. And, it was kind of crazy that an old beat up 2000 Honda Civic could make him feel like that, but hell. Why fight it? He'd soak in all the joy he could before Tony would inevitably come out complaining about the old car he'd been driving and insist on Happy picking him up next time. Which, wouldn't be happening.

The sun began setting, hanging low in the sky, a piercing orange over the treetops. Peter squinted through his sunglasses and flipped down the visor, but it wasn't enough. Even behind the sunglasses, the bright rays set off alarms in his head. It felt like his head was a pinball machine, pain ricocheting between his ears. He cursed under his breath. For all the good that his heightened senses did for him, they made up for it ten times over in days spent hunched over the bathroom toilet or in bed with the blankets pulled securely around his face because the sights and the smells and the sounds were all just too much.

He couldn't slink down into the seat and tuck his head between his knees then like he so desperately wanted to, though. He was driving. And so, he squinted into the sun, nuclear sirens in his head be damned, and kept driving. It wasn't ideal, though, and maybe that was why when goosebumps pricked up on the back of his arms and he knew something was wrong, he was a bit sluggish in pinpointing exactly what until, literally, it was glaring at him right in the face: a deer in the road.

It stood and stared at him, his headlights beaming back off of its eyes and turning them to a fluorescent blue. MOVE, Peter wanted to scream, but it just flapped her ears at him and continued chewing on a bit of leaf in its mouth.

Peter slammed on the brakes and was thrown against the seatbelt with such force that he worried that it might snap. Either the seatbelt was going to snap, or his collarbone. One of the two. Of that, he was sure.

The brakes locked up, ABS light on the dash be damned, and the car skid, regardless of how quickly Peter pumped the brakes and tried to channel the information from his days falling asleep in the back of the driver's ed classroom at school.

It was too little too late, though, and he quickly realized that there was no way he was going to stop in time to avoid the deer, and also no way he was going to allow that to happen.

He gripped the steering wheel and shoved, using perhaps a bit too much super strength than the job required. The car veered off into the oncoming lane with a thud, Oh God, that was probably the deer, and kept going.

Peter felt his heart leap into his throat because this could not be happening. He overcorrected and pulled the steering wheel in the opposite direction, but it was too big a force on too small a car, and it slid right off the edge of the road.

Peter saw it all happen in slow motion, realized with horror that it wasn't just flat ground on the other side of the road, but a ditch. A big ditch, with water coursing through it from the last rainfall that has to be at least four feet deep. The car rolled into it, and even for Peter's enhanced senses, he wasn't quite sure what was happening.

The sound was, well, deafening wouldn't do it justice. It sounded like his eardrums should have split open. Everything outside the window was a blur, rolling around in a mess of brown and green and black and crunching metal.

Shit, shit, shit, shit. This was going to hurt. Really, really bad. But, there was nothing Peter could do anymore. Nothing he could do to get himself out of the car, to correct its course, to do anything but squeeze the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and the leather stitching on the wheel gave way from the force, close his eyes, brace himself, and wait.

But, oh boy, he didn't brace himself enough. He couldn't brace himself enough. His neck was thrown to the side and Something in his arm twisted. He heard a brief shattering noise and then the bite of hundreds of little glass shards around him, and was then met with a disgusting mouthful of water, all of it pouring into the car faster than he could manage to catch his breath. Then, oh God, oh God, oh God, the water became hot. Too hot. Way too hot.

The car was still on and running as the water in the ditch rushed from under the hood and burning engine, or maybe the heater core had burst, through the broken windshield, and onto Peter. It didn't matter how it happened. What mattered was that Peter was being burned alive and he couldn't stop a guttural yelp from bursting forward, the sound alien even to his own ears. He jumped, fumbling for the button to release his seatbelt through the almost boiling water, hands turning into claws as he fought to ignore every instinct telling him to get his hand out of the burning water that instant. Finally, he found it, and the seatbelt snapped away from him, Peter jumping out of the hot water and sticking to the top of the car, which was actually the right side of the car now, scanning the damage below him for the one thing he needed to take with him out of this accident: his suit. It was floating in the backseat, and as he reached out to grab it, his left shoulder screamed in pain. When did that happen? In the back of his mind, he remembered a snap and a crunch and please tell him that wasn't his shoulder. He had a sickening feeling that it was.

With the little strength he had left, he shoved his back against the passenger window, the same one May had leaned through to tell him to be careful, to tell him that she was proud of him, which was now the top of the car, shattered the glass, and crawled through, using just his right arm and right leg, because something had happened to his left leg, too, because that was just his luck, to crawl out of the ditch.

He cast a glance over his shoulder at the car. Totaled. It was completely and utterly totaled. How was he going to tell May? For a wild second, he tried to think of any way possible not to tell her. He could swing the rest of the way to the compound, get a new car, with all the same stains on the upholstery, somehow make the money appear out of nowhere.

He groaned, fumbling through his pocket for his phone, which, miraculously, had stayed put. This couldn't be happening. Unmiraculously, it didn't quite survive the water damage. He groaned again, louder this time, and splayed all of his limbs out on the side of the road truly and fully. Karen it was, then.

"Good evening, Peter."

"Even'n," he mumbles.

"You appear to have several lacerations and trauma to the neck, as well as fractures and sprains along the left side. Shall I contact Mr. Stark for you?"

"Absolutely not."

"I'm sorry, Peter, but it's protocol to contact Mr. Stark whenever an injury has been detected."

But, the line only rang twice before Tony's face filled the screen in front of his eyes.

"Kid? I thought I told you. Drive straight here. No crime-fighting detours. What part of that was confusing?"

Peter groaned. "The drive straight part, evidently"

"What?"

"Nothing. It's nothing, Mr. Stark. I'll… I'll just be a bit late. That's all I was calling to tell you."

"You didn't call. How late are we talking?"

"Um." He tried doing the math in his head. He couldn't swing. He couldn't walk. This wasn't going to happen, was it?

He rested his head back on the edge of the curb, relishing in the coolness. He wasn't getting out of this without telling anyone. This sucked. This really, really sucked.

"Peter?"

"Uh… depends. How long would you say it would take to swing one handed to the compound? Or hop on one foot? Or clear a wreck?"

"You- What-?"

"There was a deer." Peter said plainly.

"And you hit it?"

"It and… a lot of other things."

"Well-" Tony sputtered. "Are you okay? Actually, don't answer that. I'm looking at Karen's data now."

"No. No, I'm fine. Totally, 100% fine."

"Tell me, kid, if whiplash, a sprained ankle, first and second-degree burns, and a broken collarbone is fine, what does your not fine look like?"

"Uh-"

"Yeah. That's what I thought. "

As the adrenaline wore off, the pain, even more than before, set in. "Shit this hurts."

Tony frowned on screen. "What hurts, exactly?"

"Everything," Peter moaned.

"Alright. That's it. I don't care if Karen says there are no life-threatening injuries. We're calling you an ambulance."

"No no no! Karen is right. I'm fine. Just hurts is all. 'M just being dramatic." Even as he said that, a new wave of pain coursed through his left side and it's all Peter can do to swallow hard and not yelp.

Tony's eyes softened. "I know, kid. I know. Just make sure you're in a safe place and hang in there… you sure you're fine? Because if you're not and I didn't call an ambulance-"

"I'm fine, Mr. Stark. Really. I promise."

"So… if you're really okay, then that means I can make fun of you for it now, right?"

"No. No, it does not mean that." He squinted at Tony. "Karen, you're such a tattle-tale," he tacked on under his breath, fully not intending for it to reach Tony's ears, but of course it did anyway.

"Did you just say tattle-tale? Really? You know, Karen wouldn't have to tell on you if you, y' know, did the smart thing and told me you needed help on your own."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. "Ugh. Can you please just quit with the smart remarks and come help me?"

The other end of the line went silent and Peter's heart dropped. Too much. He'd mouthed off too much, and opened his mouth to apologize, but Tony beeped back in before he could.

"I can do exactly one of those things."

'Mph," Peter huffed, and listened to the sound of the Iron Man suit firing up and roaring over the line, and Tony hitting him with a whole arsenal of one-liners the whole flight.

"Would you look at that? He takes down airplanes and cars! He's multitalented!"

"Don't worry, I'm sure you still look absolutely smashing."

"Hey, hey, hey, I heard you got an eight out of ten on your driving test. Guess the other two must have jumped out of the way."

Peter pulled the edge of the mask up - and ow, he forgot about his shoulder again- so that there was room to shove his middle finger into view of the camera.

Tony merely snorted and kept on. Peter closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the curb, the rest of his body on the narrow strip of grass between the road and the ditch. Man, he was tired. More tired than he'd been in a long time.

"Kid?"

Peter just let out a nonsensical "mph" in response, which evidently didn't make it to Tony's ears this time over the sound of the suit in flight.

"Kid!"

Peter cracked his eyes open to the panicked edge in Tony's voice.

"Oh thank God."

Peter arched an eyebrow up.

"Hey, I know Karen said that your injuries weren't on the life-threatening side of things, but what do you expect me to think after you've just been in a wreck, close your eyes, and stop answering?"

"Relax. 'M just tired."

Tony blinked. "No. No, you do not take a nap at the side of the road. Jesus. Do you need a lesson in common sense or something?"

"Probably."

Tony rolled his eyes. "But… you're definitely okay? I mean, I know you're not okay okay, but like- not dying or something."

Peter chuckled. "Yes, Mr. Stark. How many times do you want me to say it until you believe me?"

Until he could see him in person, probably. "Fine. You're right, you're right… More jokes then?"

"Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Stark. I didn't say that!"

He snickered to himself. "Well. Lucky for you, I'm almost there, so I'll spare the rest for the drive back. Happy is on his way."

"No, no, no, not Happy!" But Tony doesn't answer. If Peter had to spend the rest of the drive to the compound in the back of Happy's car, again, watching him shoot disapproving glares through the rear view window, he might actually just choose to jump out the window and hop the rest of the way.

He tilted his head back and saw the familiar form of Iron Man descending from the sky and land next to him with a powerful thud that made the earth- and his head and fractured bone- shake. Ow.

Tony took the helmet off and let out a low whistle. "You look like shit."

Peter stared up at him with half-lidded eyes. "Gee. Thanks."

His forehead creased with worry as he evaluated the scene. "No. I mean that this is worse than Karen made it sound. A lot worse."

"I told you. 'M perfectly fine." He barely got the words out before trying to sit up and pain tearing through the left side of his body with a guttural sort of yelp.

"Hey! Easy!" Tony planted a firm ironclad hand on his shoulder and helped him into a sitting position. "This is not fine. Christ, I almost feel bad for teasing you the whole way here."

"Don't worry. I forgive you."

"I said almost."

With a hand more gentle than Peter would have expected possible for Tony, he peeled back Peter's eyes and shone a light in them.

Peter closed his eyes tight and turned his head to the side. "What are you doing?"

"Your pupils are different sizes."

"That's not good."

Tony pinched his lips together. "No. It's not. Follow my finger with your eyes."

"Mr. Stark. I'm fine. Really."

"Please just do it."

"Okay, okay." Peter relented and followed Tony's pointer finger as he moved it slowly from side to side. What was this supposed to do, exactly?

"Cool. What about that light a second ago? How'd that make you feel? Was it too bright?"

"Uh…" Peter thought. "I guess?"

Tony frowned, the creases on forehead starting to look as though they'd be etched there permanently. "That's also not good."

"Is it not?"

"Nope. Photosensitivity is another concussion symptom."

"Oh. Pshhh." Peter waved him off. "I always think lights are too bright. Think that's why I hit the deer in the first place. Too much sun. To much super sight."

Tony paused to look at him for a moment at that. "We're going to need to do something about that, then."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I really thought I had it."

"You didn't."

"What insightful observation." He was starting to take on too much of Tony's sarcasm. It was starting to scare him, really.

Peter laid back down on the ground and covered his eyes with his hands. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Hey. Don't worry about the crash right now. Just take it easy. We'll get you patched up in a bit, and I'll call someone out here to get the car." He spared a look into the ditch. "Or, y' know. What's left of it."

Peter followed his gaze. "Is there any chance it can be fixed."

"Ha! Nope. This is a 'throw the whole car away' kind of deal.

Peter merely groaned.

"Hey." Tony patted him on the shoulder. "Seriously. Don't worry about the car. You're not the first teen to total the family car and you sure as hell won't be the last. As long as you're okay, the car can be replaced."

"No, it can't."

Tony looked back at the car again. Even being totaled aside, it wasn't a great looking car. Hadn't been for some time. He raised an eyebrow at Peter.

"It was Ben's car."

"Ben?"

"Ben. My uncle. May's husband."

The playful glint in Tony's eyes- the one that always tried to lighten up the situation with inappropriate and poorly timed jokes, was snuffed out in an instant.

"... Oh."

"Yeah."

"Ummm…" Tony and Peter looked over the scene once more. Maybe there was something they missed, some way to fix this. There had to be, right? But, there wasn't. The car was done. It had driven its last mile.

"She's going to be so mad." Peter covered his face with his hands.

"Yeah… yeah, she probably will be."

"Ugh."

Tony kneeled by him and pulled his hands from his face with a strangled "Sorry, oh my God, I'm so sorry!" at Peter's Yelp when the movement jostled his shoulder. "But, May wants you safe. The car is just a reminder of family. You're her actual family."

Peter sighed. "I guess."

"No. Not I guess. You're what matters. End of story."

Peter just let out a huff.

"Well one way or another, we need to get you back to the compound before your shoulder sets weird or something."

"They can set that fast?"

"They can if you're a mutant spider freak."

When Happy pulled up with the car, he was ready to lay into Peter in a far more serious fashion than Tony already had with his jeering on the way over. He could see it on his face.

But, Tony shot him a pointed look. Not the time, and the message sunk in pretty quickly. This wasn't a time for joking around. Tony probably shouldn't have even been joking around, really.

Thank you, Peter silently thought towards Tony, hoping that he'd be able to feel even an ounce of his appreciation. He liked Happy. He really did. And, he knew that Happy begrudgingly liked him back. But having Happy drive him again, and after only his first time out was… completely humiliating.

"Hand me the first aid kit?" Tony asked.

Happy nodded and dig through the glove box as Tony swung into the backseat with Peter.

"You can do x-rays and stuff with that?" Peter questioned.

"What?" Tony looked at him like he had two heads. "No. It's a first aid kit. It has band-aids and stuff."

Peter didn't think it was that far fetched. Tony had successfully made far crazier things before.

"Hold still for me." Tony pulled out a pair of tweezers, and more gently than Peter thought possible, tilted Peter's chin up. "There's some glass in this cut… this is going to hurt."

It did hurt, but not as much as Peter was expecting. Tony was uncharacteristically gentle, smoothing the skin on his forehead and carefully picking out the glass, even with his mechanical arm that he hadn't quite gotten the hang of yet, and with an intensely focused look plastered on his face that was usually reserved solely for late nights in the lab, and even then- only with his good eye - all wordlessly until they finally arrived back at the compound. "Well, that's all I can do. Gotta let the docs fix up the rest. Wait! Actually, that isn't all I can do. Here." Tony reached into the first aid kit and slapped a band-aid on Peter's forehead before grabbing him by his right arm and helping him out of the car.

Peter looked at his reflection in the tinted windows. "Are… are these Spiderman themed band-aids? You have Spiderman bandaids. Wh- what?"

"Limited edition. So don't go using the rest of them up." Tony flashed him a smile and swung Peter's good arm around his shoulders, pulling him close as he stumbled into the compound and up to the med bay.

Two hours, two x-rays, a sling, and an ice pack later, Peter hobbled out to the then dwindling party.

"There he is!" Tony again threw Peter's good arm over his shoulders and showed him off to everyone, but Peter just wanted to crawl into a hole and call it a night. This was not how he wanted to meet the other Avengers. Not by a long shot. After the initial introductions, though, Tony thankfully steered him towards the door outside.

"Mr. Stark? Where are we going?"

"I have a present for you."

"A present?"

"Two- no. Three, actually."

"Mr. Stark, you really-"

"Nope. Shhh. No talking. Take these. Present number one." He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a pair of… "Sunglasses?"

Peter put them on tentatively. "Whoa."

"Same tech that's in your suit goggles. Only, glasses. Because, well… I guess you can't go parading the Spiderman mask around all day anytime you need to dim things out and focus, can you? I… really should have thought about that before. I- yeah. Sorry."

"Wow. These… these are amazing. Thank you. So much."

"Save your thanks, kid." He pat Peter on the back and led him the rest of the way outside where-

"Mr. Stark. You didn't…"

"I did."

Peter looked on at the two new cars - cars! - with awe.

"Figured you and May needed separate cars, anyway. So. Y'know. Two birds, one stone. All that jazz."

Peter didn't recognize the make or model of either, nor did he recognize the gaping sound that somehow he managed to produce, but he was pretty sure that each one was worth more than his entire apartment building and everything in it. Shiny and low and lean, one a subdued dark red, and the other a jet black.

"Oh, that's not all. We uh… we couldn't save everything, or even most things, but we got as many things as we could out of your uncle's old car and installed them where they actually fit. Really just the steering wheel cover and a few decorations that looked like they might have gone on the dash. I know it's not the same, but… I figured it's something."

"I, I, I-" Peter was at a total loss for words. "How can I repay you? I don't even know what to say. What do you even say to something like this?"

"Thank you is a good starting point, usually."

"Yes. Yes. Thank you, Mr. Stark. So much. I- just- what? How did you even get these this fast?"

Tony laughed under his breath and pointed to himself. "Genius billionaire. Oh. One more thing. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, quickly searching something up. "You see this?" he asked, turning the screen towards Peter.

It's a picture of a deer crossing sign.

"I know what it means, Mr. Stark."

"Humor me."

Peter barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn't though. Not after a gesture like this, oh my God. "Deer are in the area and you should slow down and look out for them," he mumbles.

"Congrats. You've passed my driving test." More seriously, he added, "You got lucky you're only this hurt. I don't want to get a call like that again, okay? You're going to make me go gray, and I have too many photo ops to be doing that yet. So just… please be careful. Always wear those glasses during the day. That's how you can repay me."

"I will, Mr. Stark. I promise."

"Good." His mouth twisted to the side. "And- it's Tony."

"Tony." Peter tested the name out. Weird. Wrong, even. Tony was still far too much his superior for him to refer to him by his first name. That was going to take some getting used to.

He looked out at the two new cars and tried to picture them in the parking deck back home surrounded by all the beat-up cars from the last century with different color paint on every part. Oh, they were so going to get robbed.

#tony stark #peter parker #irondad #spiderson #iron dad bingo

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mortaems-blog · 5 years ago

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* taps mic * so, uh, is this thing on ? hello ! my name’s stevie, i’m twenty ( she/they pns, please ) and i’m writing out of aest ! [ bill hader vc ] i like true crime and pretending like i don’t have a million things to do outside of writing ! anyways ! under the cut you’ll find information about francesca ramorini, ezra kennedy and percy frazer ! u know the drill, like this & i’ll pop into your ims either here or on disc.ord to plot !

francesca magdalene ramorini. vampire. old.

full name: francesca magdalene ramorini. physical age: thirty-one. real age: six hundred and seventy seven. birthplace: milan, italy. birthdate: january sixth, 1342. nationality: italian. species: vampire. gender identity: cis female, she/her pronouns. sexuality: bisexual.

when i say she’s old, i mean old. francesca and her brother, domenico, are from 13th century milan, where their family were originally some of the most prolific hunters in italy. the ramorinis had been vampire hunters for years previous, but it was their parents who had really cemented the reputation as some of the best. the ramorinis were a big name in milan anyway, just because of how ridiculously wealthy they were. these guys are fucking loaded. they were very much the apex predator in the milani aristocracy at the time. naturally, the whole ‘we’re a bunch of vampire hunters’ thing is very hidden, concealed under the family’s reputation as the owners of what feels like an impossibly large international bank that funded chunks of the holy roman empire. with all that in mind, francesca grows up with absolutely nothing but opulence, and their parents really allow her to grow into her own woman --- strong, determined, with a mind for both family trades. there was never any chance of her just sitting round and being complacent in the predetermination of her life ; she’s always been headstrong, brave, intelligent and opinionated, too loud for her own good, a face to turn heads.

they have a younger brother, too, fredo. ( the name is very significant. ) as dom and francesca started to learn to hunt themselves, they’d often end up with fred tagging along, and for the most part that was fine. fred’s a bit of a weirdo, but having them around wasn’t so bad --- until one particular hunt. really, it’s no one’s fault ( despite a centuries-long running joke that it was fred that got them there in the first place ) ; it’s a case of wrong place, wrong time. anyways, francesca and dom were turned on that particular hunt and their entire world just kinda spun out, tbh. they were so accustomed to seeing vampires and whatnot as the absolute enemy, nothing more than a scourge to be wiped out --- but now they were part of that scourge.

francesca especially had a hard time dealing with the transition. everything she knew was flipped on its head, a life she once looked forward to reveling in lost in the blink of an eye, the sink of a fang. the transition isn’t easy, but she shoulders it regardless because it’s just part of life now. she gives up the life she was meant to have and forges a new one --- and she thinks she’ll hate it, but it turns out to be oddly freeing. she takes up art, learns to paint and sculpt from some of the greatest ; she learns more than she ever could as an aristocrat, becomes rather chameleonic about it all.

so, anyways ! she and dom are in louisiana now, in this massive fucking mansion that they wrangled ; francesca moonlights as any number of different jobs. she teaches a late - night art class, runs an adult ballet class ( she danced with fonteyn in the 40s ) --- she’s become incredibly comfortable in the life she’s built. falling into it all was easier than she ever imagined it could be.

anyways, fun facts:

she dresses so goddamn well. she looks good literally all the time, and she fuckin KNOWS it / francesca honey stop wearing expensive tailored suits everywhere ur going to make men insecure

won’t ever shut up about emily dickinson or georgia o’keeffe........ #ma’am ur crush is loud and painful

the hot aunt aunt at the dinner party who simultaneously judges ur decisions and encourages them

yet another ramorini casanova ... are we surprised yet ( no )

ezra riley kennedy. hunter. twenty - one.

full name: ezra riley kennedy. physical age: twenty-one. birthplace: hoboken, new jersey. birthdate: july ninth, 1998. nationality: american. species: human. gender identity: non-binary, they/them pronouns. sexuality: pansexual.

i need it known right fockin now that i would literally die for ezra . they’re my FUCKING baby and i won’t shut up about it

ezra was born to two former hunters who gave up the minute they were pregnant. it wasn’t a choice they were particularly willing to make, and despite swearing that they’d stop after having kids they never really did. almost immediately after ezra was born their parents were back out hunting again, leaving the baby with their grandparents. as such, ezra’s raised entirely by their maternal grandparents. they simultaneously teach them their family history ( an extensive hunting background, the expectations that sit heavy on their shoulders. ezra’s expected to carry on the family legacy the minute they turn eighteen, to learn how to hunt and kill. admittedly, it’s a shock to the system.

they’re not in much contact with their parents. they come home every so often, greet their kid and go straight to sleep. there’s very little real interaction / gets to the point where ezra thinks of them more as irritating roommates that come home late and eat everything than actual parents. their loyalty is to their grandparents, without a doubt.

ezra’s keenly aware that they’ve got no choice in their career, but they can’t help but want some kind of say in it. they excel at stem subjects in school, more often found in science labs testing hypotheses in their free time than anywhere else. they’re left alone more often than not, slipping through school without much of a problem until they’re sixteen and their parents die in the middle of a hunt. it’s a rude shock to the system, having to bury both parents at such a young age but they do it with tremendous grace and class. shortly after the funeral, they drop out of school to start hunting.

they’re jaded going into it, definitely. their only real image of hunters is the one they were handed by their parents --- of dark circles under eyes, chain smoking, swallowing bourbon like water, passing out, rinse and repeat. they’re determined to break that mold, to do something different but they won’t lie, they considered it at first. for their first few hunts they tried to imitate their parents, and it didn’t turn out well --- so, like everything else, ezra fits it to themself, and the rest is history. they develop their own style, and it works.

hoboken is too small, not enough for them so they pack up and move off to louisiana. ( they’d found an old journal of their parents’, with notes alluding to a wish to move to new orleans and despite not being close they figured it might be a good idea. ) they’ve been in nola for about a year now, and they’re growing to love it. they’ve always been a city kid, and there’s something about nola just speaks to them.

so, fun facts:

super good with technology. they fix shit in their free time, & they build computers n shit ?????

smells like frangipani and jasmine and ginger. they smell really fucking good for some reason

lots of denim and leather and yellow in their outfits. they’ve got one particular leather jacket for hunting, but they kinda started a collection

angelic in every single way possible

has a black cat, named salem. salem’s a good cat.

percy floyd frazer. witch. twenty - four.

full name: percy floyd frazer. physical age: twenty-four. birthplace: amsterdam, the netherlands. birthdate: february 12th, 1995. nationality: british. species: witch. gender identity: demi male, he/they pronouns. sexuality: bisexual.

percy ....... sighs. i love him so fuckin much

so ! percy is born to two english witches while they’re on holiday in amsterdam, a pregnancy that both parties had been hoping for ; their household was starting to feel awfully lonely, and a baby sounded like the perfect way to round it all out. naturally, though, nothing goes to plan --- his arrival puts ‘unwarranted stress’ on his dad, who cuts his losses and runs about a month after percy’s birth. bit of a dick move, but let’s move on. his mother, annaliese, doesn’t harbour any real resentment towards his dad for leaving ; she’d fallen in love with amsterdam on their brief holiday and was planning on breaking up and moving there anyway.

so ! for his entire childhood, it’s just percy and his mom, and it’s the best kind of childhood you could ask for. he grows up watching all the same movies as his mom, reading her books and just hanging around her 24/7. ngl he kinda had the coolest childhood ???? his mom loved to rent out her favourite bands’ old tour videos and there’s many an afternoon where the two of them would sit there and just listen to music together. their relationship is very similar to that of theo and his mother from the goldfinch, if that gives anyone a frame of reference.

he’s about thirteen when she finally sits him down, tells him about the magic that whispers a steady thrum in his veins. she tells him about the uprising, about the way magic has become outlawed, how he has to learn to restrain himself. it’s a lot for someone so young to understand, but he sits through it patiently, peppering questions here and there. he doesn’t seem particularly enthused about his heritage ( really, who would ) --- his mother barely holds back the tremor in her voice throughout the conversation.

the more percy learns about the restriction of magic, the more bitter and jaded he grows about it all. he doesn’t hate himself, nor his mother, hates the pureblood monarchy with such a passion it’s almost terrifying. he’s sixteen when he swears off magic, tries to quash it down the best he can. he point - blank refuses to accept that it’s part of him, and tries to find a passion that distracts him from it. that ends up being music, and he takes to it like a fish takes to water. the minute he picks up a guitar, it’s like his world makes sense.

they’ve been living in amsterdam this entire time, wasting afternoons in art galleries and bakeries. percy’s eighteen when he decides that it’s time to spread his wings and move away --- his decision is hardly precise, he throws a dart at a map and hopes for the best. it lands on new orleans, louisiana, and he just kinda goes with it. he doesn’t have much to pack up: a single suitcase full of clothes, another filled with books and dvds, and his guitars, that’s it. both him and his mom cry at the airport, but it’s happy crying.

so, anyways ! he’s been in louisiana for six years now, and he loves it. when he first moved he worked any number of casual jobs, but he’s settled into one as a bookseller in an indie bookshop. he writes film + music reviews for a number of online sites as well, so he’s got himself a steady lil income.

some fun facts:

dresses like an utter e-boy and i won’t apologise for it

looks n acts like an arrogant prick sometimes but truly....... sweet, kind, would do anything for the people he loves ( even if that number is small )

totally pretentious about his tastes. don’t start him, for the love of god

perpetually got his glasses on, perpetually holding an oversized cup of tea

has a collection of tiny little tattoos ( they’re all references to books / movies / music he loves )

i ............ love him a lot

#ofmintro #only took me 3 days..............

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recentanimenews · 5 years ago

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Isekai, Ranked

If Anime is escapism, there is no better way to escape than plunging Into Another World, where our niche skills and routine possessions may shake the fabric of reality! From MMO-inspired, to hard fantasy, there are many types of shows on this list but no movies nor series we haven’t seen recently. Bring all disagreements to the comments below!

1. Re:Zero − Starting Life in Another World Re:Zero takes Isekai’s love for fish-out-of-water stories on step further: through brutal, expectation breaking blind sides, it makes the viewer a fish out of water too! Dripping with fantastic animation, Re:Zero true strength is the balance of its highly detailed world without over explaining its magic system, time loop mechanic and political systems. It also earns bonus points for limiting the application of its protagonist’s powerful magic and technological advantages.

2. Sword Art Online (1st season) In the narrowest of second places, SAO pairs top shelf animation with an approachable cast and easy to appreciate central conflict. Its lovingly constructed MMO setting aside, Kirito’s mistakes and occasional darkness elevate him above his potentially generic good-at-everything character type and Asuka plays the strongest heroine/love interest on the list.

3. Now and Then, Here and There Imagine if Digimon told a bleak about story sex trafficking child soldiers trapped on a waterless world with a maniac king? NTHT’s intense swerve from adorable into darkness is on par with Re:Zero and, much like Natsuki Subaru, HTHT’s Shu must rely on ‘durability’ and ‘heart’ to make it through. While some of it’s later tragic moments are predictable, this f’ed-up little anime scores major points for telling a complete story and having that story grow Shu from simpleton into a conflicted young adult.

4. Gargantia on the Verdurous Planet While Red’s post-earth scifi origin may stretch the common definition of Isekai, being trapped in a primitive culture that treats him (and his AI-driven mech Chamber) like a hero of old does not. Beautifully, Gargantia flips the script and makes Red’s overwhelming power, and killing in general, at odds with the local people.

5. Yōjo Senki / The Saga of Tanya the Evil Give us World War I with magic, a gender swapped villain as our protagonist, and God as our antagonist, and you’ve given us something pretty damn original. Like Gargantia, this reborn in another world captures thinking differently about the world can be as powerful and terrifying as unworldly strength. Without question, Yojo Senki’s cast is the most uniquely imagined on this list.

6. No Game No Life Like Tanya, the Blank twins piss off god and are sent to another world as punishment. However, their punishment is much more stylish and… harem. Underneath NGNL’s acid-soaked panties, over the top protagonists and the psychedelic color pallet, lives a show featuring thoughtful puzzles and imaginative spins on classic gamble to win story telling. Sadly, its story ends unfinished…

7. KonoSuba One part jab at Isekai and one part love letter to the starting town of every fantasy MMO, KonoSuba is all parts ruthlessly funny! While this reborn in another world (with a goddess!) show is not be as smartly written as NGNL, and it becomes repetitive after a time, the constant frenetic action more than makes up for it.

8. Grimgar of Fantasy and Ash Quiet, thoughtful, and full of sadness, this hard fantasy Isekai doesn’t care if its heroes are reborn in another world or trapped in a dungeon crawl afterlife. Building family bonds and connecting with people who would not normally be friends is all that matters… and it’s lovingly animated to boot!

9. ReCreators As a reverse Isekai, ReCreators distinguishes itself by bringing the other world to us. The experience is fantastically animated and packed with clever dialog that somehow breaths sincerity into a profoundly silly plot. The cast is quite diverse, both in design and personality, which keeps the action fresh, yet somehow cohesive throughout. It’s only major flaw is, the final act, which is way to drawn out.

10. The Devil is a Part Timer No I’m not kidding! This reverse Isekai’s premise that the Devil is trapped in our world and must work at McDonnald’s to get by is charming. While DiaPT’s humor isn’t particularly specific to the devil, the jokes are punchy, and the overall plot develops at a respectable pace. As an added treat, the opening gothic fantasy fight scenes are surprisingly well animated.

11. Log Horizon (1st season) Most exposition heavy, trapped in an MMO themed Isekai featuring ‘top ranked’ players crumble after a few episodes. More often than not, these shows try too hard to sell the coolness of their game worlds, user interfaces, and central characters. Miraculously, Log Horizon gets better mid season with a simple question: if former NPCs have personalities, can grow and learn, and even die, are they more human than the former players that dismiss them as background texture? Still, it takes Log Horizon six episodes to get going and good lord is it gray looking…

12. Overlord (3 Seasons) This transported into an MMO Isekai mirrors its main character: it is competent but not sure what it should be doing at any given moment. Sometimes the protagonists are villains and sometimes they are heroes. More often than not, characters are given lavish screen time to develop, only to be slaughtered whimsically. The resulting narrative is full of call backs and revealed foreshadowing… yet hasn’t gone very far in 3 seasons and hasn’t asked any interesting questions along the way.

13. El Hazard – The Magnificent World (OAV/TV) Predestined paradox, trans-dimensional time jumping high school students (and their drunk gym teacher) are trapped in an Arabian Nights’like land besieged by sentient bugs, a secret tribe of assassins from another dimension, and a death star like eye of god orbiting nearby. If you watched anime in the 1990s it will all be familiar but it still manages to feel original yet cohesive production. The character abilities are wonderful, the tragedy is nice, and plenty is left up to your own imagination to fill in the blanks. A bland, fault free, protagonist and a boy-crazy harem vibe are the only reasons it isn’t higher on the list.

14. Gate: Jieitai Kano Chi nite, Kaku Tatakaeri This invading the other world Isekai flips the script to deliver political intrigue, clash of culture, and commentary on Japanese society. It loses points for being a overly harem, relying on super dumb/super evil antagonists, and a dull protagonist but it’s fun enough to watch.

15. Drifters Stylishly violent, strikingly ugly, historical character filled and utterly bonkers, this reborn in another world Isekai’s uniqueness will hold your attention. Even if you do not want it to.

16. Rise of the Shield Hero (2 Seasons) On paper, this transported to an MMO world Isekai’s “treat the hero like crap,” “watch him accept the role of a slave-buying villain” and ultimately “rise to become the true hero” concept is great. Revealing that the world he’s saving may be less redeemable than the world the invaders are trying to save is also great. Too bad its padded and many of the arbitrary delays and narrative dead ends feel like cop outs.

17. That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime While it lacks the initial hardcore’ness of Shield Hero, this reborn in another world Isekai is pleasantly animated and full of heart. The idea that naming monsters grants them power is a pretty neat mechanic too. It just sort bounces from idea to idea without a sense of purpose of resolution. One minute it’s a story of unlikely friendship, then magic destiny, then town builder, then harem, and onto magic school and isn’t about anything in particular until a hastily thrown together plot ties it up at the end. It scores points for making its hero a slime… although the reborn aspect never feels played with or justified.

18. Angel Beats! If the gun fetish, kids fighting a loli-angel instead of attending school in the afterlife plot weren’t so dumb and drawn out, this rebirth story’s touching moments would push it much higher. There’s a really good tale of life cut short, reunion after death, and again after rebirth here and it gets major bonus points for finishing the story it had to tell. Totally squandered.

19. Death March / Kara Hajimaru Isekai Kyousoukyoku Like Shield Hero, this reborn in an MMO Isekai is actually quite good looking. However, its Gary-Stue protagonist, harem and absurd narrative padding make it far less interesting. OMG how many episodes are about making lunch?! That’s too bad because the concept of code-like “copy and paste” magic system is pretty neat.

20. Wiseman’s Grandson / Kenja no Mago Despite opening with a modern day man being killed, this reborn into a fantasy world Isekai is more Magic School than Isekai. The only thread that connects the protagonist’s lives is that he can look at magic with an eye for process instead of outcome. The result is harmless easy watching but harem elements, a slow pace and lack of getting anywhere narratively hold it back.

21. How Not to Summon a Demon Lord This summoned into an MMO Isekai starts off as charming, but ecchi-heavy, before abruptly turning dark at the end of the season. We’re talking ‘make a child watch as her best friend is slowly tortured to death’ and creepo ‘finger-bang a loli cat girl in order to give birth to the demon inside her’ level dark. While those elements elevate HNtSaDL above niche appeal of its harm and MMO content, they aren’t so interesting to earn my recommendation.

22. Problem Children are coming from Another World, Aren’t They? The non-ecchi poor man’s No Game no Life features a talking cat that only some characters can understand and dreadful music. TFW smooth jazz? There’s some cuteness to be had, and the solutions to gambling games can be clever, but the overall vibe is low energy. It loses drama points because its protagonist is as smart as a god and physically stronger.

23. Do You Love Your Mom and Her Two-Hit Multi-Target Attacks? This poor man’s Konosuba is occasionally funny, satire of RPG conventions and family relationships. Mama’s skill that interrupts whatever her son is doing, no matter what it is or where he is in the game world, is particularly charming. Unfortunately, there’s no avoiding the creepo factor of sexualizing that family relationship.

24. Restaurant from Another World My mom is secretly from another world and my restaurant’s front door connects back to that world each day is certainly unique, but it’s structured more like a food-porn show than Isekai. While the linkages of each patron become clear over time, few characters are not aware of those connections themselves. The result never feels like it gets anywhere.

25. In Another World With My Smartphone Stories without risk are still watchable when they immerse us an interesting world, or delve into niche details like food or how magic works, or sleeze us with harems and sex appeal. Smartphone fails all of these things. Worse, it does nothing with it’s one idea: protagonist Touya is reborn in a fantasy world with smartphone. Except, GOD GIVES HIM GOD TIER MAGIC FROM THE GET-GO! Ironically, Re:Zero and No Game No Life both use of a cell phones in more interesting ways, and Tanya’s God isn’t even comparable. Unoriginal, unfunny, not dramatic, not sexy, not worth watching.

26. Maou-sama, Retry! This transported to an MMO Isekai’s trash production values, and bizarre characters are hard to take seriously. The results are sometimes so terrible they are funny, such as incompetent background music transitions and detailed horses hiding at the edges of the frame. Sadly, a bland harem and complete lack of narrative objective kill the mood.

27. Isekai Izakaya Imagine a low energy, public access style show, with a tourism theme, that featuring a modern Japanese restaurant that serves fantasy world patrons…

28. Isekai Cheat Magician A loveless summoned to a fantasy world Isekai who’s protagonists are the most powerful and purely good characters could deserve a niche rating. Not this one. The narrative sort of ‘skips the boring stuff’ and, in doing so, skips character development. Hilariously, what the narrative does show is poorly animated, always underwhelming magic battle scenes or people standing around talking.

29. Endride Without dialog, this stumbled into a magic world Isekai’s vibrant color and crisp art would be watchable. The fact that the world is somehow inside of Earth’s core and the sparse use of mythology are unique, but its dumb-as-bricks whiny teen protagonists have the maturity of a small children. There are many unintentionally funny moments like scientists using gigantic laptops or the king’s magic weapon looking like a safety pin. Ultimately, the cast is so unlikeable that the show itself is unwatchable.

By: oigakkosan

#Anime #News #RABUJOI – An Anime Blog

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occhiolismatic · 6 years ago

Note

STARKER SPIDER-MAN KISS

The first time it had beenPeter’s fault, the pitiful failed attempt at kissing Tony Stark. Quite frankly,both times were nothing but a shit show, but somewhere poor, foolish Peter hadgotten lucky.

He planned it from the beginning: swoop down over Mr. Stark’scafé table, tease it just right by lowering himself barely in front of Mr.Stark’s face, utter something sly, and get the kiss – a cheesy, upside down..cliché, what-he-wanted kiss. It was a kiss the boy fantasized about, a kiss hehad awaited, dreamed of even. Only… his plan, believed to foolproof, had itsflaws.

“Kid, you’re causing a scene,” Tony set down his drink, unsurprisinglya full-out coffee during midday.

“What? No. I’m not,” Peter smiled through the mask, hoistinghimself inches in front of the man’s face.

“Yes, you are.”

Peter shook his head all bubbly, voice giddy enough to suggest asmile, “You’re lying.”

Tony, previously avoiding any sort of “eye contact”, now cockedhis head to look Peter in the eyes – as much as eyes counted for when the boyhid his identity. “Really? Say that to the little girl standing across thestreet showing her mommy Spider-Man.” He leaned. “Say that to the indoor staffand line of people pointing, racing to their phones to be the first one to posta photo of the famous Spider-Man on their Twitters or Facebooks,” he sipped, “orwhatever it is you kids use these days.”

As much as he wanted to claim he did, Peter really hadn’tthought this through, well some of the aspects. Having completely forgottenabout the whole superhero thing, people were absolutely watching, and rightthen and there it was all eyes on Peter, “I’m not the one who made the suit brightred.”

Tony gave him a look, a signature look that told the kid toclose his mouth.

Peter just wanted a smooch from Tony Stark, is that so hard? Really,come on? He opened his mouth, dragging out a muffled “yeah” from behind thesuit fabric, the suit Mr. Stark had created specifically for him, but Peterknew when to stop talking, so he let his lips meet. Thank heavens for the mask,otherwise Tony might’ve picked up on the reddest hint of blush-dusted ears anda face very similar in color.

“Can I help you? If my receipt serves me correctly, I didn’torder one spiderling dangling over my coffee.”

“Um- yeah-” he cleared histhroat. To make matters worse, Peter hadn’t thought of what he’d say. He spentso much time trying to track down Tony’s schedule, he didn’t think to come up with a slick pick-up or one liner. Hecoughed through the pounding awkwardness, and Tony leaned further forward inhis chair, eyebrows pushing together out of confusion, knowing in the depths ofhis heart where this was actually headed.

With an atmosphere growing cold, or maybe it was just the chillspacing Peter’s heart, he had fucked up.

“Are youu-” Peter’s voicetrailed, senses suddenly becoming distracted by a thousand different soundsoriginating throughout New York. “Are you.. a spider-” Fucking hell. “Because I would smash- wait, no.” Tonguesliding over teeth, Tony appeared more than amused. “Because if you were Iwould want to smash-”

“Smash me?” Tony questioned.

“-smash you.”

Peter dropped roughly anotherinch or two, grip loosening on the webbing holding up his bodyweight. “WAITNO-” The panic set in as feet flailed to grab back on. “I’m- I’m the bug- Imean insect-” He raised a hand to his head, pressing on a temple, hard. Think,Peter, think. “I MEAN SPIDER-” He then mumbled all sorts of curse words,demeaning phrases and the like, silently hating himself and wishing he hadn’tjust spoken such stupid words in front of his childhood crush.

“Language.”

“That’s.. that’s not what I meant.” Peter attempted to clarify,becoming nothing but a weeping goo of nerves.

“Oh but you said it.”

“Mr. Stark,” he pleaded, desperate to save himself. “You knowthat’s not what I was getting at.”

“Do I?”

Murmured excuses fading with the sounds of the on and outgoingtraffic, Peter fell silent. He watched Tony turn to a pedestrian and wave atthe boy drooping down, voice slow and cocky as he announced his superhero name.He made it sound as though the passerby should have been shocked, almost like a“check-this-guy-out” move. The civilian undoubtedly hadn’t been anticipating seeing Spider-Man suspended so dangerously close to an outdoor café space – orin Tony Stark’s face at that – and when Peter picked up on the tone in Mr. Stark’svoice, that’s when he stopped thinking.

His clutch on the webbingsporadically unclasped and Peter dipped, hitting his head on the table,knocking over Mr. Stark’s drink, and it took a moment for the rest of his bodyto follow suit, landing directly on the material with a loud crash, slackedfibers following down after him, sprinkling his body in sticky netting,certainly planned by the famous Peter Parker.

Disappointed, Peter groaned and grabbed onto the bump probablyalready forming on the top his head, attempting to rid his mind of theear-splitting, ringing noise pinging around in there. Limbs twisted in everywhich way possible, he let out a cry but rolled off the table, scrambling tohis feet.

When he finally came to, when the pain slightly subsided, theboy was met with an exasperated sigh, a quick intake of breath, and the sightof Tony standing, gathering what little belongings he had and preparing to headout.

“Appreciate the stunt,” he said, pushing in his chair. There wasno doubtful nerve in Peter’s little, buzzed mind that there wasn’t going to beheadlines and news articles showering the internet, images and videos of himshamefully face planting onto notable Tony Stark’s table. And there were, theredefinitely were. At least no one would know it was Peter, and he’d live anotherday in hiding, but Ned knew, as did Tony.

The second time Peter made sure to think things through a little bit more.

“What are you doing kid?” Tony said without peeling his eyesfrom the scattered pieces of metal and intricate technologies displayed beforehim. He was working in the lab, tinkering on a personal project or some suitupgrades.

“How did you know it was me?”

“If judgement serves correctly,” he looked up. “You’re the onlyspider kid capable of getting into my lab, and besides, I have Jarvis.”

Peter would have rolled his eyes, but now wasn’t the time.Instead of sporting Stark tech, he wore regular clothing, and he almost wishedhe had the mask, somewhat to hide the nervousness poetically drawn on his face,and partially to hide painted, almond hues from frantically darting back andforth between Tony’s drawn lips with the stern look he wore in the face of anunexpecting teenager. His mouth was right there, and it was so close.

“Oddly enough, this seemsquite familiar. Can I help you, Mr. Parker?”

It certainly should have been more consensual; there should havebeen some form of communication between actions, but Peter wanted it so badly,and hanging there in front of Mr. Stark so perfectly angled, Peter had to haveit. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so it was all or nothing, it wasTony or nothing, but edging closer, drawing out the silence, anxious thoughtsbundling up into the tightest knot, Peter chickened out.

“Mr. Stark, am I an embarrassment to you?” Shocked, Tonyadjusted his weight. Peter meant every word though. It wasn’t just being a kidintern at Stark Industries that worried Peter, it was his second life, his lifeas Spider-Man.

“Pardon me?”

“Am I an embarrassment to you? You know… do you not want to beseen in public with me? Because I’m a kid and not some serious adult?”

Tony pondered for a second, “Now just hold on there-”

Peter had yet to move from his fixed position over Tony’s labbench: “Yes or no.”

“Peter, I’m not going to answer that question.”

“So you are,” Peterconcluded. He didn’t have the balls to do it. It was stupid of him to believesomeone like Tony could possibly have feelings for a kid like him, a child likePeter. Tony was older, experienced, he knew what he was doing, he didn’t needsome leech, or some spider, hanging off him all the time.

“Peter, I know what this is about,” Tony admitted, tossing downthe tiniest of steel tools.

“You do?” He instantaneously grew intrigued, no longer stuck onbeing a humiliating sore. He swayed, fucking tossed for Tony Stark. “I-I’m, I’mreally honestly shocked.”

“Don’t be, it’s not much of a shock-”

“I mean, all this time you knew? You knew how badly I wanted it?How horrifying it was?” He grimaced, subconsciously looking to the corners ofthe room as the lid popped off. “I mean yeah, sometimes I want to squish your stern,grumpy face and kiss your nice lips or run my fingers through your hair, whichis by the way-” He pursed, bouncing forward. “Permission to curse?”

“Go-”

“-always fucking fantastic,and I- yeah I’m not experienced and I’m probably no good at kissing anyways,but you are, well I think you would be, I mean look at your lips, have you.. haveyou seen them? Thin but not too thin, the perfect amount of pink and softness,of course you have, and I just figured maybe in some way or another,” Peter’s voice spiked fouroctaves, coming to a squeak. “You could be the one to teach me the ropes, and-”

Tony was kissing him, pulling Peter in by falling strands ofsilky brown hair, pressing gentle, midsentence lips against the boy’s, and itwas causing the kid to choke, to gasp into the other’s mouth. It wasn’t cute,but Peter didn’t know any better. Tonywas actually kissing him. Immature eyes open, Peter stood, well he hung, in shock, startled, too nervous to doanything, to move, to breathe. He felt warmth plague the entirety of his body, wellin his cheeks, and it took a moment for him to melt against Tony’s goldentouch, to slam his eyes shut and press into the older man’s fine lips. Awkwardnesseasing away, it was a simple kiss, meaningful yet passionately quick, just enoughfor a good inhale of each other’s breaths, oxygen Peter would gladly give.

And if it weren’t for Tony pulling away, breaking off with a wetpop, Peter wouldn’t have hesitated to let the peck last all day.

When Tony did back up,swivel in his chair to look at Peter dangling all pretty and flustered, pupilsdilated and large, he smiled, patting the kid on the warmest part of his cheek,“All you had to do was ask kindly.” Broken record shut down, for once Tony’s protégéwas speechless. “Say, kiddo, what are you hanging off of anyways?”

Blinking out of a trance, Peter’s lips parted and still plump,he followed Mr. Stark’s eyes to the ceiling where they converged on the hanginglamp, enough movement to break the wires under the kid’s weight and send Peterflying down onto the table. Once again, he groaned out of sheer pain, and itleft Tony baffled, covering the top half of his face with a needy palm. He hadjust kissed that loveable dumbass.

Looking down, now sort of eye level with the boy, he sighed, “Youknow, once you stand and clean up this mess, if you want to try that again,only less awkward this time, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

#starker #tony stark #peter parker #marvel #peter parker x tony stark

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mariolucario493 · 5 years ago

Text

STUFF I WANT IN A BANJO-KAZOOIE REMAKE (IF THERE IS ONE)

So as you are probably aware, Banjo and Kazooie have finally made it into Super Smash Bros. This is a huge accomplishment, as they have been absent from Nintendo for years. But this begs the question - will we be getting a proper new Banjo title in the near future? I certainly hope so, but before that, it would be nice to see the original games re-released on current consoles.

Now the question is how they would do this. Would they just re-release the original games with slightly updated graphics like they did on XBLA? That seems like the safer option. But maybe they’ll go the interesting route and remake the whole games from scratch. Given that we live in a time where everyone seems to be capitalizing on 90′s nostalgia, the latter seems like a possibility. But I’m not here to complain about Disney’s live-action remakes. Besides, with video games, remakes seem to be quite faithful to the originals. We’ve gotten DS/3DS remakes of Mario 64, Star Fox 64, Ocarina of Time, Majora’s Mask, and maybe some others I can’t think of. Pokemon has remade generations before as well. And of course, the remake of Link’s Awakening looks promising. Even Rare has gotten in on it before - remember Conker: Live and Reloaded? True, a lot of the original developers left Rare to form Playtonic, but maybe the two companies could joint develop it - as long as Microsoft gives everyone complete creative control, of course.

So let’s say they do go this route and completely remake the original two games. It shouldn’t just be the same game but in HD. There are some things I’d like them to improve upon from the N64.

First of all, they definitely should keep the changes they did with XBLA - that is, making notes permanently collectible. No one wants to get PTSD from Rusty Bucket Bay. Admittedly, this might make finding the last few notes more difficult, but it’s probably still better than dying with 99 notes. Or what if the notes do not reset if you die, but they do reset if you leave the level? That way, if you’re having trouble finding the last note, you can just reset. Maybe there could also be a special reward for finding all 900. Yes, there is that last door that requires 882 notes and doubles your health, but maybe something else. There’s already a reward for getting all 100 Jiggies in Mumbo teaching you about some of the Stop n’ Swop items.

And speaking of Stop n’ Swop, let’s talk about that. The limited technology of the time meant they weren’t able to implement the idea of transferring items from one game to another during the N64 era. Now they did manage to do that for the XBLA re-releases, but there were still a few flaws that I saw. In the N64 version of Banjo-Tooie, you had to essentially find the Stop n’ Swop items again. In the XBLA version, if you got them in BK, you would have them in BT from the start of the game. But the problem is that the secret areas were still there, just empty. If you had no idea what was supposed to be there, you’d be confused as to why these secret caves exist. So I think they should combine the two ideas. By that I mean, have the secret areas in BT empty normally, but have the secret items show up there once you get them in BK. Maybe include a sign in the secret areas that gives a hint like “Return to the Sandcastle and enter the following code.” If both games were bundled together, it would make the transfer of data even easier. Though the issue there was that the N64 version of BT only had the Ice Key and three of the six eggs. The developers would have to come up with places to hide the last three eggs in BT. But I think they could do that.

It would also be cool if there was a multiplayer mode. Banjo-Tooie had multiplayer minigames, but maybe they could add some to Banjo-Kazooie as well. Specifically, I’d like to see a multiplayer version of Grunty’s Furnace Fun. It would either be a race to the end or just competing for points.

One thing Yooka-Laylee was missing was world maps. Pretty much every 3D game nowadays has a way to bring up an overhead map of the area. But a combination of no maps and everything looking the same made Yooka-Laylee’s worlds difficult to navigate. So yes, there needs to be a map of each world. And that map should highlight certain areas such as the start area, Mumbo’s hut, all the Bottles/Jamjars locations (once you find them, of course), warp pads, etc. And there could also be an option to place beacons. You know, where you put a dot on the map and a light appears in the sky to guide you there. Admittedly, this would be difficult to implement in more cavernous levels like Clanker’s Cavern or Glitter Gulch Mine, so the beacon idea might not be possible. Also, for some maze-like sub areas like Targitzan’s Temple, maybe the map should not be accessible until you complete everything in the area. That way, you can still feel like you’re exploring.

One thing Yooka-Laylee actually did right (once it was patched, of course) was fixing the auto-scrolling text. Pretty much every game has the text pause until you press a button to advance it, but not BK or BT for some reason. You could still hold down the button to make the text scroll faster, but tap it to advance to the next sentence.

And now let’s talk about the toughest thing that I’d like to see changed for this hypothetical remake - that being the comedy. As timeless as these games are, I will admit that there are a few moments that clearly stand out as being a product of the 90′s. Certain jokes might not be acceptable today. Now I love all the fourth wall jokes and subtle adult innuendos, and they should definitely keep those. What I am concerned about is a couple of the characters that are obvious stereotypes. Take for example, Rubee, the snake charmer in Gobi’s Valley. Despite only being part of one Jiggy mission, this character seems to suffer from the same Indian stereotypes that Apu from The Simpsons suffered from. With his overly large turban and strange way of speaking, he seems like he could use an update. Now how would they do that? My idea? Make him an animal. Perhaps an elephant, like Taj from Diddy Kong Racing. This could also fit his role as a snake charmer, as he could play his trunk like a flute.

There’s also Jolly Roger and Merry Maggie, who seem to be cheap shot at gay stereotypes. Jolly speaks in a very camp voice and makes those hand gestures. Maggie is implied to be a transvestite; and if I remember correctly, Kazooie reacts with disgust when she sees her. Again, we might have to change them up a little. I’m not sure how we would do that, but definitely start by making them more than just one-dimensional stereotypes.

But perhaps the most awkwardly stereotypical character in the Banjo games is Humba Wumba. Native American stereotypes seem to be one of the most controversial out there. The problem with Humba is that she is a much more important character than Jolly or Rubee. She appears in every level of the second game, and her transformations are essential for getting many of the Jiggies. Mumbo also seems to be based on the stereotypical tribal African witch doctor, but again, he is at least non-human enough for that to be acceptable. Humba, on the other hand, is definitely human. And she wears that stereotypical buckskin outfit and feather headdress, and she speaks in broken English Tonto-style, and her theme music includes that war cry that isn’t even a real thing. Now I personally am as white as white can be (at least I think I am, but I’m not about to sent a DNA sample to one of those ancestry sites so they can sell it to the government), so I’m not exactly the best person to talk to about how to write a Native American character. On top of that, Humba seems to just be there for sex appeal. Yes, I’ll admit, I had a few fantasies about her giant polygonal tits growing up. She’s definitely at least more attractive then the fairies in Ocarina of Time. Now for all its faults, Nuts and Bolts did redesign Humba to be a little less of a stereotype. In that game, she wears a more contemporary outfit and has a more realistic figure. It’s not perfect, but it’s a good start. Theoretically, Humba could work if they were more tongue-in-cheek about how insensitive she is. Like have Kazooie make a snarky remark about how the 90′s were a simpler time. If there ever is a completely new Banjo game, they could cut her out altogether; but in the event of a re-release, she is an integral part of Banjo-Tooie.

It was also kind of surprising back in 1998-2000 to see an E-rated game this violent. And I’m not talking about the goofy slapstick either. Both Clanker in Clanker’s Cavern and Lord Woo Fak Fak in Jolly Roger’s Lagoon visibly bleed. How many times do you see blood in an E-rated game? Yeah, they might have to change that. For Clanker, since he’s mostly mechanical, you could replace the bloody parts of his body with rust. And as for Fak Fak, you could just change the color of the blood like you did with Ganondorf. Which would actually be realistic, since red light doesn’t travel that far in water, so red things such as blood often appear greenish-yellow when you’re hundreds of feet below the water’s surface. Of course, Kazooie should still stay red no matter what.

There’s a few other things that might be seen as insensitive, like the child abuse that Boggy’s kids face, or the lady with the watermelons at the end of BK. But as much as some of those jokes seem mean-spirited, I actually think it would be better to keep most of them. I don’t see a game as goofy as Banjo-Kazooie beginning with a serious disclaimer about stereotypes like they put at the start of all those Looney Tunes compilation DVD’s, but the developers should definitely tread lightly if they want to keep the spirit of the original games without offending anyone. We may end up with an E10 or even a T rating, but it would be worth it. But this is Tumblr, after all, and being offended is like a national pastime here.

Just a few months ago, a new Banjo game seemed like a pipe dream. But with what we saw at E3, we might just get it. Either way, the kids of today deserve a chance to experience what we grew up with. But what else would you like to see in a Banjo-Kazooie/Tooie remake or a new game altogether?

#banjo kazooie #banjo tooie #e3 2019 #rare #nintendo #microsoft

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bambamwolf87 · 6 years ago

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New Neighbors chapter 4

A/N: thanks for your patience!!! I already started chapter 5.

@lokiloveforever @hymnofthevalkyrie @jghillegass @lokilvrr @ghostlypenguinpost @miniwroetofreezymd @morticia4rgomez @daisycubbins @xlokisicequeenx @anchors-deep-in-the-sea @lykaonimagines @highfuncti0ningfangirl @give-me-tom-hiddleston @cat1212 @instantnoodlese @fandomnerd66 @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @littleblue-babyicicle @kpmarvel23 @fyeahlitaajpunk @dangertoozmanykids101 @jcalpha1 @amethyst-skeleton @moonfaery @goddessofmischief16 @saharaknight

Summary: Loki is living in the Avengers Tower. You have recently moved into it, as a hired employee by Pepper Potts. First person you met was Loki, the day you moved in.

Chapter 4

As the week dragged on, you just try to stick to a routine. Pepper informs you the group reached their destination the day after Loki left. You don't know why it should bother you so much. You're just an employee, but Pepper noticed more than she let on.

She always worried about Tony, so she recognized the look in your eyes. You only just met the famous Valkyrie, hadn't even learned her real name yet. But you had more interactions with Spiderman, a child! A brave and smart young man, to be honest. If you could have a little brother, you wish it would have been him. And Mr. Stark, he is just so easy to be around.

[[More]]

Thor looked worried sometimes… but when asked, he puffs up and puts on a macho man air… On the 4th day of their absence, you're sitting down for breakfast, your table has been joined by Ned and now Thor.

Ned asked the blonde, “So, umm, any clue what this mission is Mr. Thor?”

Thor chuckles at how the boy addressed him. “No, Loki didn't tell me. He just left me a note of his pending departure.”

This bit of news surprises you. He only left his brother a note. Yet, he told you in person the night before him heading out. It made that last interaction feel even more special. You decided to keep that tidbit to yourself.

“Thor, I'm surprised you would sit with me.”

This is said with a half smile, remembering the last conversation that you had with him, in how he thought you were inferior to him. He looked like a child who had been scolded. Looking sheepishly towards you.

“I realized that I might have been out of line during that exchange. I owe you an apology.”

Nodding at his words, “Apology accepted. I guess we all have people we miss gone for this secret mission… but aren't they always a secret until it's over and done with?” you end with a laugh, trying to brighten up the mood.

You get a buzz on your phone. It was an email from dusk_and_daggers… Loki! You forgot to save it in your contacts. Opening it:

~To the little Librarian:

We were successful! I'm learning more about cell phones and technology from the spider kid. Hanging out with Magnhild has been awe inspiring, the last Valkyrie. Watching Stark with the child is enduring. I got to observe a new side to him… he'll be a great father someday.

We shouldn't be but another day to clean up. See you for a new life lesson by Friday.

Your Dusk and Daggers ~

(A/N: Magnhild is pronounced: MAH-hilt)

You have a huge smile on your face as you've been reading the email. Ned was showing Thor something on his tablet, but you had giggled at Loki's signature. The sound drawing Thor’s attention.

“Laughing at me? What for?”

You shake your head from side to side.

“No, I was laughing at an email. The team will be back tomorrow sometime.”

Thor wanted to celebrate, he invited you to his quarters after dinner. Thor was gracious, as usual. Walking into his apartment, it was definitely his space. Lots of red and shades of gray or silver. Sitting on a full length red leather couch, Thor brings a couple of glasses, both full with fizzy drinks. Assuming that it was just soda pop, you take one without any hesitation. It tasted like grape flavor. Thor was rummaging through the DVDs he had amassed.

“What movie do you watch when excited and celebrating?”

“I have an idea, a movie marathon… one you've probably never seen before.”

You go to your room to grab a DVD box set. Returning, you put the first one in. It starts off with a small merchant telling the tale of Aladdin and the Arabian Nights. Thor shrugs and sits back to watch this animated film.

He is a great host, taking your glass to refill it a couple times per movie, asking questions here and there. You get to explain how Aladdin is an orphan. He says Iago reminds him of Loki, which isn't too far off. Especially in the second film. The last installment, makes him tear up a bit. Who says Gods can't be sensitive? He's just a gentle giant of a man. Thor laughed at some of the sass in the dialogue through the three films. His favorite thing was the friendships.

After the fourth drink, you're feeling a bit lighter, but chalk it up to having a good time. By the middle of the last movie, you're yawning. You dozed off before the end of it, your head resting on the arm of the couch. Thor gets a blanket, covering you, and turning everything off. Taking himself to his bed. One last fond look at you, he thinks he's glad to have made a new friend.

The next morning, you are awoken by a loud voice, your head was pounding. Opening your eyes hurt, as you looked for the source of the voice.

“Thor! Have you seen Y/N? She wasn't in answering her door or phone. She isn't with anyone else, either.”

Thor comes out from what Loki assumes was the shower, with a towel wrapped around his hips, another drying his hair, that was growing out to his shoulders. He whispers,

“She's on the couch, asleep! You're going to wake her.”

This takes Loki by surprise. Y/N asleep in Thor's apartment? His little librarian, with his brother? Shaking his head to shed that thought. She didn't belong to him.

You slowly sit up, holding your head. Both brothers turned to look at you, concerned with your current position. Loki got to you first, him kneeling on his knees beside the couch, to be level with you.

“What's wrong? Did the blonde brute hurt you?” You tried to laugh, but it hurt to make the movement and sound. A migraine from hell that came with an all over body ache.

“No, but I feel like I'm hungover. I can't understand why though. I only had grape sodas last night. Right, Thor?”

Thor half smiling, “Ummm, it was that flavor, but not soda. It was grape vodka and soda water. Natasha had taught me how to make it, it being one of my favorite Midgard drinks. I made it for our celebration!”

You rolled your eyes, as you laid back on the couch. You got drunk and didn't realize it. Having only been drunk a handful of times in your adult life, in the last 5 years, this was the worst hangover ever.

“Shit, I have a meeting with Pepper today! What time is it? I have to get myself together and look presentable.”

Loki hushes you, “Calm down, its only 8:30, you haven't slept the day away. Can you walk to your apartment?”

You sit up and swing your legs over to sit up properly. Standing upright, but this makes you dizzy. Losing your balance, you wobble and fall back into the cushions. You try again, until Loki shakes his head at you.

“Stop, I'll carry you over, if you would allow me to?” Blinking at his words, you slowly nod. You hated depending on anyone, independent to a fault. This could be an exception. Loki put an arm under your knees and the other behind your back, curling his hand above your waist. He lifts like you're as light as bag of potatoes. Wrapping your arms around his neck, laying down on his shoulder.

Walking through the hallway and using your keycard to unlock your door, Loki looks for your bedroom. Setting you down upon the made bed, he leaves to return with two pills and a glass of your iced tea.

“Here, this is what I seen others take for headaches. I don't know if you would let me try to heal you. I'm not sure if it would make any difference. Since you're not wounded, there's nothing to actually heal.”

You accept the offering of pills and drink them down. You try to smile up at him, but it's more of a tired grin.

“My meeting is at 1pm, so I'm going to rest until lunchtime. Hate to ask for help, but would you please make sure that I'm up by 11:30? So I can shower and eat before I go.”

Loki nods, kissing your forehead. He walks out to go visit Thor.

Loki scolds Thor, “She is a Midgardian, they can't consume their alcohol in the quantities we can. You oaf, she might get sick, how much did she have? Did you need to get her drunk to be with you?”

Thor looks confused and a bit hurt by the accusation. “She drank them, I didn't force her to. I didn't mention that they were alcoholic beverages, I thought she knew.”

Thor was getting dressed, putting on a t-shirt and tucking it into his jeans.

“She announced the good news of your mission, we wanted to celebrate. The child called Ned had a curfew, so it was just Y/N and myself. I misjudged her before. We're just friends, but I wouldn't turn her down if she wanted more. She is beautiful and has musical voice.”

The last couple sentences of Thor's made Loki clench his fists at his sides.

“I know, she's different from other women… I just can't believe you were that reckless with her well being.”

Thor did look guilty. “How can I help her or make it up to her. I didn't mean to cause her to be in such pain.”

“First off, tell mortals when their drink has alcohol or better yet, ask them if they want the alcohol first. Secondly, keep some Tylenol on hand for them, so to help ease the headache.”

Loki storms off out of Thor's apartment.

He has an almost two hours to kill while you rested. His idea to spend time with you was shot. He was angry, but more at himself than Thor. Of course she would like Thor, most women did. Gone for a few days and come back to her in Thor’s apartment. Was this jealousy?

End of chapter 4

A/N: hope you like it! My proofreader loved it.

#new neighbors #chapter 4 #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#tom hiddleston #Hiddles #avengers

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sol1056 · 6 years ago

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Your posts on clone Shiro have been really interesting - I hadn't considered why the Black lion would lead Keith to the clone when it knew where the real Shiro was (unless maybe it was thinking that Shiro's spirit needed a new body and hey, that one's close enough!). But also, since Kuron had all of Shiro's memories from the time he first escaped back to Earth thru the end of S2, does that mean Haggar's been spying on them via Shiro's arm from the beginning?

Judging from my inbox and comments on other posts, you’re not the only one asking that question. A few examples:

The saddest thing about Kuron is that he wasn’t even actually bad. ... He is compassionate when there are no witnesses. Haggar yells at him to stop resisting when she possesses him, and his screams of agony make it clear that the process is nonconsensual.

i can’t see any [clone resolution] scenario being handled well. the worst one would probably be if keith (maybe lance) has to kill him … the only thing that could be even worse is if they have the clone commit unambiguous suicide. they can’t do that any justice.

If Kuron had wanted to kill the paladins from the beginning, all he had to do was NOT intervene when they were being destroyed in S4E1. It seems like he was a good guy who got brainwashed into doing evil against his will, so it wasn’t even his fault.

I was really disturbed with what happened to Shiro and clone. Do you think they’ll even address this in the future?

A clone plotline – like a brainwashing/personality implant plotline – will inevitably raise heavy-duty questions about humanity, individuality, personality, and how great a role memories play in who we are. Going in unprepared will result in a story crumbling under that immense philosophical weight – or alternately, providing so many conflicting messages that the readers react with a variety of concerns like the ones quoted above.

So, let’s talk science, philosophy, and metaphor.

Behind the cut: cloning vs SF make-believe, the ethics of cloning, the question of souls, fictional metaphors for souls. I’ll do a follow-up that gets into the clues in VLD’s text, how a cleaner metaphor could resolve the clone storyline’s plot holes, and what tweaks could’ve unified the metaphor.

The only way to avoid these reactions is to think through the ramifications, and give the narrative a very clear opinion on the answers. You’ve got to do the worldbuilding and decide whether this story’s world is essentialist or existentialist, and how that will change the consequences. It helps to pick a metaphor, but it must be relatively simple (so you don’t need exposition hell to explain), and it must be consistent. The instant the narrative starts waffling on its opinion of its ‘truth’, audiences will sense this and suddenly all those philosophical questions are going to come down, hard.

real cloning vs SF make-believe

In 1885, Hans Adolf Eduard Driesch produced the first viable clone: a sea urchin. In 1902, Hans Spemann cloned a salamander embryo. It wasn’t until 1996 that anyone managed to clone something other than embrionic cells, when Dolly was closed from adult somatic cells. And now, in 2018, biotech company Stemagen has come up with a process that uses an adult human’s cells to create the embrionic material needed for an actual, human, clone. It’d still need to be implanted in a womb, and from there on follow regular human birth and growth, but yes. It’s a human clone.

A clone is not born full-grown. A clone has no memories of anything that gave it genetic material, any more than you remember a parent’s tenth birthday or first kiss. A clone is no more artificial than a baby created by in vitro fertilization. The only difference between Dolly and other sheep was her method of birth; in all other ways that matter, she was a normal sheep. She grew up, had kids of her own, and died. Once the person (or animal) is born, they are their own person, with their own experiences and memories.

A cloned being does not automatically look like its genetic parent; you can still end up with a crapshoot in terms of appearance. Sometimes genes switch on and off, as a body grows; even identical twins are not truly and perfectly identical. Also, injuries (including scars) do not convey. On a glossy level, what’s stored in the DNA isn’t the injury but the body’s need to create collagen to repair that injury. Think of it like a band-aid: even if the body records the need for that bandaid, the clone’s lack of injuries would prompt the body to dismiss the bandaid.

ethics of cloning & the question of souls

Once you recognize you’re talking about a living creature, the ethics simplify into being the same as what you’d raise for any other living creature. Banks and banks of post-birth clones, even in stasis, are as much living creatures as any other. Slaughtering them is still murder. Enslaving them is still slavery. Brutalizing them is still abuse. Cool clone, still murder.

Where things get sticky is when the issue of clones runs up against religiously-based beliefs, most of which lack a solid framework for this modern concept. (Some religions have addressed in vitro and cloning birth technologies, but the specifics aren’t really relevant here.) Since this show is American-made, I’m going to stick to Western concepts, since that’s the most likely influence on the various creators involved in VLD. But to discuss souls, first we have to talk about the two theories on how personhood develops.

essentialism vs existentialism

In essentialism, essence precedes existence: the person’s essence comes before all other things, even the spark of life itself (or alternately, the essence is the spark that kicks life into being self-aware). Spirit, soul, whatever word you use, it’s some inherent and inviolable thing that forms the basis of the individual’s personhood. It maps roughly to the nature half of the nature-vs-nuture debate – but it’s bigger than that.

Essentialism, at its extremes, is a position of seeing that originating spark/soul as the entirety of a person’s truth. When you reduce someone to their gender, or their race, or some other facet of their birth, that’s essentialism; when you declare that someone born X at birth can never be Y, again, that’s essentialism. When essentialism mingles with religious beliefs, you get a concept of a soul that exists before birth, and continues after: the person’s true essence, for which the body is only a thing to put it in. It’s the ultimate Cartesian separation between the mind-that-is and the body-that-experiences.

Existentialism is the opposite, and maps more closely to nurture-over-nature. Existence precedes essence: personhood is the culmination of all our experiences, our memories, our interactions, our successes, our failures. Everything you’ve ever done, known, said, thought, or dreamed: these are your interactions with the world, and they are the entirety of what has shaped you into who you are. If there is an essence in play, it is formed out of your existence, rather than informing it. We are each born a tabula rasa, and there is no division between mind as objective observer and body as the vehicle of experience. These things are basically one and the same, in existentialism.

This perspective can also be taken to extremes; at its worst, it’s been turned into a kind of AI-like philosophy, where culture, genetics, family, can be swept aside – along with any future paths. Nothing is true; everything is permitted – a phrase whose roots are deeper than any video game, in a murky muddle between François Rabelais and Hassan-i Sabbah (by way of Vladimir Bartol). If you’re curious, this is the best short explanation I’ve found.

fictional metaphors for souls

I bring up those competing paradigms because for most religious worldviews, ‘what brings life’ can be hugely important. If the process of birth is defined as a soul exists, the body is created, the soul enters thus making life, does this change if a body is created intentionally? What SFF likes to ask is whether a creature could be only as the shell, lacking that pre-existing substance. (Existentialism bypasses all of this, of course – but that would make for a boring story. It’s just one more individual who is born, lives, and eventually dies.)

The hitch lies in our real-world metaphors mapping to computers. I’ll walk through a metaphor based on real-world computing rules, and hopefully it’ll become clear how this contradicts with the Western religio-spiritual assumption of a pre-existing, unique, 'soul’.

The mind-body separation exists in the basic metaphor. Hardware is the body, which can run with little oversight; the software (the mind) can usually be updated without disturbing the hardware. Sometimes the hardware ages out and this impacts the software; extend this metaphor and you get the SFF premise of transferring to new hardware so the software (the mind/soul) continues to run. Sometimes the software demands too much and burns out the hardware.

Overall, the computer-based metaphor plays neatly into the Cartesian system where the two (mind and body) are separate but co-influencing. Note that part about 'transfer to new hardware’ – this is where this metaphor breaks down.

Remember that Cartesian (yes, 'I think, therefore I am’ guy) posits a separation, and lends itself to an essentialist view where the mind can exist separately and objectively from the body. The same is not true of computers. Ask questions about pre/post life and the computer metaphor swerves into existentialism.

To illustrate: let’s say you have a laptop running a Unix OS, and one day you uninstall Unix and install Windows. It’s now common enough to do fresh installs that the average audience-member will grasp the metaphor: the laptop is now Windows. There is no more Unix. If there is a ghost in the machine, it’s a newborn with factory settings. If you were to reverse your actions and go back to Unix, the original system doesn’t pop up out of nowhere; you now have a newborn system that just happens to be Unix. Unless you took other precautions, the original is gone.

I mention precautions because there are real-world alternatives in the process, and those impact the metaphor. The first is ghosting to an external drive: that entire Unix setup was copied over to a secondary home, broken away from the hardware. It’s no longer interacting; it’s in stasis.

Yet, from the perspective of the laptop, it’s now Windows and must start over. The computer has no knowledge of once being Unix. Its self-knowledge begins with its 'birth’ as a Windows machine. If the computer is then wiped and the ghosted Unix is returned to the hardware, the re-installation would have no record of what happened in the meantime, because from the OS’ perspective, there’s no break in its experiential record. It was Unix, it was in stasis, it woke and was still Unix.

The alternative is an OS split into two; memory (the database) and personality (the OS). This paradigm gained strength with the rise of large external drives for long-term storage, while the laptop acts like a terminal, storing little and retrieving as-needed. An uninstall/install will produce artifacts: tiny footprints of a previous OS. (In an archive moved from Mac to Windows, you can see this in the .DS_Store files in every folder.) You could say that the newborn Windows system arrives with clues to its hardware’s previous existence, but in this metaphor, those 'memories’ may make no sense to the current OS. Windows has no idea what to do with a .DS_Store file; it doesn’t need it, and can’t even read it.

the narrative needs to be certain of its opinion

Given those variations in the person-as-computer metaphor, it’s imperative that a story know exactly how its world works. Without that strong and settled opinion, a stray remark within the narrative can mislead readers into thinking they should be following a different version of the metaphor.

If your story will stand or fall on the concept of a ghost in the machine, you’d better clarify that there’s a backup copy somewhere. If you want the memory without the personality, you’ll need to bring in the concept of external memory paired with a new OS. Otherwise you risk readers kneejerking at the notion that the unprepared, unsaved, and uninstalled Unix OS is just floating out there in the ether, waiting to return. You’ve broken your metaphor.

Next post: the clues in VLD’s text, fixing the clone-created plot holes, and some minor tweaks that would’ve unified the metaphor.

#voltron legendary defender #metaphors and themes #storytelling #operation kuron #vld #voltron

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