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flightfoot · 9 months ago

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Can you recommend angsty fics which don't revolve around the main duo?

Hope you like these! I avoided fics that revolved around either Marinette or Adrien.

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Can’t Sleep Either, Huh? by EmeraldButterfly

Chloe gets up late at night. Turns out she’s not the only one who’s worried about Pollen. (AU where former Miraculous holders have an empathetic link with their kwamis)

This is a very interesting AU. Chloe and Zoe are both able to feel Pollen’s emotions and even things like her hunger, and end up taking solace in each other to try and cope. It’s just really sweet.

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oh, no, not again by @bittersweetresilience

Félix doesn’t want to broach the subject, but he won’t be able to after they leave.

So this is a glimpse into a time-travel fix-it story, with various wielders being sent back into their younger selves. But Felix doesn’t think he’ll be helpful, because well… his backstory. He would be unable to step out of line. It’s pretty angsty and I love Chat’s reaction to learning about how bad Felix had it.

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Changeling by @unecoccinellenoire

Gabriel makes the Wish believing that he regretted everything with Adrien. The results suggest that he in fact regrets Adrien

So this is interesting. It’s giving a glimpse into a universe where Gabriel and Emilie never found the Peacock Miraculous, and they (along with Amelie and Colt) just adopted. Which unfortunately meant that Adrien and Felix as we know them never existed, and Gabriel finds that he misses his original son, which is especially acute when interacting with his new adopted son and knowing how much he’s NOT Adrien.

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Late Bloomer by @generalluxun

On what might very well be the last night of her life, Sabrina Raincomprix pulls out a very special scrapbook, pressed between the pages is the past, the past she has never shared with anyone. She relives how she got to this moment one page at a time, preparing herself for the end. A phone call interrupts her self-imposed exile and brings news that could change her life forever. Even if it does though the question looms… change it how?

Sabrina-centric Hanahaki AU here! I love how it goes into Sabrina’s relationship with Chloe over the years, the good and the bad - and even what happens post Revolution.

I love the description of some of the plants involved, and what they mean, what they represent. If you want a fic that delves more in Sabrina’s character and her relationship with Chloe, this is a solid choice.

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Spread Your Wings by @myladynoire

Set before the Finale. Félix uses his Kwagatama to summon his father’s memory and has a talk with him.

I love Colt’s characterization here, how we see his mindset, his beliefs, and even what made him the way he is. We have a limited amount of knowledge about him in canon, only having the play Felix and Kagami put on to go off of, but myladynoire made good use of it! I’m glad Felix got some closure here as well.

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Eat, Pray, Duck by @trishacollins

Gabriel Agreste split his twin sons apart when his wife died, keeping one with him and sending one to London with his sister. Unfortunately, the Supreme was not willing to let this be. He wanted a matched set. Felix is a weapon, a servant of the Supreme. On a mission to retrieve the stolen Miraculous. In a world that has outlawed kindness, sometimes the most dangerous person is the one who chooses it anyway.

I love this glimpse at what might have been going on with Felix back in Shadybug and Claw Noir’s world, I did wonder what might have been going on with him. Poor kid, he managed to have it even worse than he did in canon. I really loved seeing his interactions with Luka, the Couffaines rebel through kindness it seems!

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Trapped by @consistent-chaos-corporation

Felix asks to visit Adrien as soon as his father is gone. Gabriel catches him snooping, looking for Adrien’s Amok. Everything gets worse from there.

Damn, poor Felix. He came to try and help Adrien, but instead Gabriel stole his Amok, forcing him to obey his commands, holding him prisoner in his basement for months. If you want some quality Felix whump, this is the fic for you!

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Justifying the Means by @ashes-555

When the worst happens, Alya finds that she may be willing to do the unthinkable. Is any sacrifice to big to make for her friends?

Once again, Ashes comes out swinging with an Alya focused fic!

Basically, there’s a major, destructive akuma attack. During it, Ladybug orders Chat to cataclysm a building in order to stop from being trapped. Unfortunately the building collapses, injuring or killing a lot of people - unbeknownst to her, including Chat Noir. Gabriel releases the akuma, which means she has no way of fixing the damage, either.

A lot of of focus is placed on Alya and Nino worrying over Adrien, who was found in the wreckage barely clinging to life, in a coma, with the doctors unsure whether he’d make it. Shadow Moth takes advantage of their distress to make an offer: if he gets the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculouses, he can make a Wish to fix everything, including saving Adrien. With as dark a place as Alya and Nino are in, they seriously consider it. Especially with how unhappy both of them are with Chat Noir supposedly “abandoning” Ladybug and Paris as a whole, and Nino being angry with Ladybug for failing (since Alya knows that Marinette is Ladybug, she’s far more understanding on that front).

I love how much credence Alya’s thought and emotions are given here, and that she doesn’t go for the more drastic option right away, either - she talks with Ladybug about it first, tries to do it her way. She understands the costs, but... her friends are important to her, and she’s desperate. I think this was a really good way to present a more antagonistic sort of Alya. She’s still very much herself here, and still considers Marinette her friend, willing to do things her way to an extent, and understanding why Marinette doesn’t want to use the Wish, even though she disagrees with her. Alya’s mindset, her emotions, her problems, are given respect and credence by the narrative. She’s still willing to talk things out, she’s still sympathetic to Marinette and the enormous trauma and guilt she’s going through, she just disagrees with Marinette’s approach. She wants her friend back.

If you want a fic that has some solid focus on Alya as a person, on her emotional struggles and mindset and just... dealing with things, I highly recommend checking out “Justifying the Means”.

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I Won’t Let You by @generalluxun

After Gabriel’s defeat, two individuals not party to the celebration run into each other, and find each other.

The summary doesn’t give much of an idea of what the fic’s about. Post-Hawkmoth Defeat, Chloe and Felix run into each other at the celebration of Gabriel’s downfall, and vent about their problems. Neither of them think the other one has it too bad - Chloe’s worried about disappearing, since her worth was entirely tied to her family’s prestige and wealth, and being seen as friends to a terrorist is gonna cripple both of those, while Felix is on edge about Ladybug having the Peacock Miraculous, since she has the ability to kill him at a moment’s notice (yes this is a Sentifelix fic).

They both make each other understand the turmoil the other is going through in extremely visceral ways, showing the other what it’s like to be them, in the circumstances they’re in. I don’t want to spoil what, exactly, they do, but needless to say, it’s worth a read.

#ask #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic rec

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all-action-all-picture · 2 months ago

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The Last Ride of the Western Heroes. Blaze of Glory No. 4, March 2000 by John Ostrander and Leonardo Manco. The cover shows the Rawhide Kid, Outlaw Kid, Two-Gun Kid and Kid Colt. Not necessarily in that order. Nice art but I found it was hard to remember who was who when they didn't have their brightly coloured waistcoats and bib shirts on. Marvel.

#blaze of glory #john ostrander #leonardo manco #2000 #western comics #marvel #rawhide kid #two gun kid #kid colt #outlaw kid #kid colt outlaw

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voidnoidoid · 2 years ago

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Jimmy, aka Tumble Town's Outlaw (+ rambly character progression analysis and stuffs)

my take on Jimmy's villain arc is that instead of trying to reclaim his role as Sheriff, he should instead become the most feared outlaw the empires have ever seen.

old timey sheriffs often toed the line between justice and crime, and Jimmy has made it clear he's not above some corruption: bribery, stealing, manipulation, shady deals, arson etc. He's not the pillar of justice and upholder of the law he makes himself out to be. Hell he doesn't even follow his own laws sometimes and he let Scar break all of them! So why not turn to crime and vengeance?

recently I read an article about Kid Curry, a notorious outlaw of the Wild West, and I thought hey, what if Jimmy's character went in that direction? (PG-13 of course cmon) He could have a cool nickname like Dynamite Jim or something. Another thing I noticed is that Jimmy doesn't use a gun, saying that he is averse to using that kind of weapon, despite most cowboys carrying some form of firearm on them. He prefers to use a bow and arrow and his lasso. Could it be that he's used a gun before? Anyway I think it would a real turning point in his character arc for him to start using a gun, and ironically name it the Peacemaker (after the colt single action army revolver)

I find the Sheriff turned Outlaw story really compelling given what we know of Jim's character so far. Other people have brought this point up but Jimmy's whole character seems to tie in with themes of isolation and loneliness. Tumble Town doesn't have any villagers or custom citizens anywhere. The saloon is empty and devoid of any beverages. It's just Jimmy and his horses around here. Almost as if Tumble Town is completely deserted.

We don't know anything about Jimmy's life before he became the self-proclaimed Sheriff, but I assume his life before that wasn't a happy one. Why else would he crave respect so desperately, unless he wasn't afforded any before? He hates being seen as powerless and lesser than, as being called a toy is very much a soft spot for him. Him shrinking down in size and having his peers literally and metaphorically look down on him isn't helping either. From the beginning, Jimmy was never one to be taken seriously, as he was a goofy, good-natured man who kind of bumbled into being a Sheriff.

He demanded respect by imposing his laws upon every empire, despite not really having any right to do so other than being "The Sheriff". He is the leader of Tumble Town, not the whole 12 empires after all. Jim didn't really do much to show that he deserved the kind of authoritative respect he wanted from everyone, but the other rulers still liked having him around. People he considered allies such as Gem, Sausage and FWhip treated him nicely for a time, but either tolerated his Sheriff playacting and/or made fun of him by playing into the whole Toy Story bit. They were his "friends" but didn't give him respect as Sheriff and as a person.

For the majority of empires Jimmy has been treated as lesser than, as someone who isn't even human. He wasn't given basic respect asa a person. Joel outright mocked Jimmy by calling him a toy to his face, and every single person who has interacted with Jimmy has engaged in the toy bit. Hell, his own deputies, FWhip AND Scar, didn't treat him like an equal.

FWhip became deputy for his own gain and wore the toy story alien uniform to subtly make fun of Jimmy without him knowing. He did get attached to Jimmy though and took it extremely personally when he got fired for disrespecting Jimmy, getting back at him by stealing the hat and badges. I do think c!FWhip took it too far and is basically an embittered ex.

Scar on the other hand, was extremely nice to Jimmy and literally built him an entire train and a bunch of buildings as well as setting up villager trading posts for him. It's a really kind and generous thing to do for Jimmy, but despite that he still doesn't respect him in the way Jim wants him to. He gave Jim a whole pep talk about how "being Woody is a good thing" which, while being very sweet and encouraging, also unconsciously reinforces the fact that Scar DOES see Jimmy as a toy just like the rest of Empires. And when Scar was imprisoned by Jimmy for like 10 seconds, he threatened to call Jimmy a toy to get himself out of jail.

Alright fast forward to present time. Jimmy meets the Old/Past Sheriff and learns more about being a real sheriff. He learns how to get people to respect him more and is really excited to have a mentor figure, especially someone who used to be a real Sheriff running a town. Excitedly, he calls his friends over to the great bridge, riding atop a horse, to share about the cool thing that happened to him. Notice Gem, Sausage and FWhip are all wearing the Dawn Sunglasses, and Jimmy isn't, which creates this feeling that Jimmy is an "other" and not part of the in group. Instead of listening and congratulating him, all three of them crouch and poke fun at him for being small. Jimmy is all too aware of how everybody is treating him. He promises to be a better man, a better Sheriff they can all be proud of. And so he begs them, "so do you guys finally respect me now?"

Do you see me for who I am?

Will you finally see me as your equal?

Your friend?

And he is shot dead.

They've made their point loud and clear, and Jimmy has had enough. No more playing games. If they refuse to respect him, he will make them fear.

#empires smp s2 #empires s2 #solidaritygaming #geminitay #mythicalsausage #fwhip #esmp season 2 #empires gem #empires jimmy #empires sausage #oh my god I just wanted to talk about how cool it would be if Jim became an outlaw #and it escalated into THIS #dudes I am so personally invested in c!solidarity's villain arc #empires smp s2 analysis

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nichecomicstournament · 10 months ago

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propaganda under the readmore

Gwen Lou Sabuki: Sabuki was a member of the original (junior) Invaders (the Kid Commandos) crew, along with Bucky Barnes and Toro. She has 6 total appearances, the most recent of which was in a flashback, back during the Original Sins event, in which she prevented the U.S. Military and the original Invaders from wiping out Japan with an artificial tsunami.

Blaine "Kid" Colt:

I WILL DEFEND COLT WITH MY LIFE

Ok, I know that nobody reads the Marvel Westerns except me (the vast majority of comments I see on comics sites about them are some variant of “I’m just reading this for completion’s sake”) but Kid Colt is the reason I actually sat up and paid attention to the 1940s-50s Westerns. He’s been through several new origins, and all of them are superficially similar to the first origin we saw laid out in his debut (Kid Colt, Hero of the West #1) but they ALL miss the POINT of the character.

In the first year and a half or so since his debut in 1948, Colt was written by a specific author, Ernie Hart, and he establishes over and over again that Kid Colt is, a violent, traumatized young man who has chosen the life of an outlaw and has no regrets about any of his decisions.

In the first Colt story, we learn that he’s very skilled with a gun, but chooses not to wear guns because he knows his temper means that he would probably draw and kill someone if he had them on him. He endures the ridicule of the other townspeople and even his own father, who doesn’t know his reasons for refusing to wear a gun. But his father is murdered by law enforcement to steal his land and cattle, and Colt is framed for it. He takes matters into his own hands, kills the lawmen (beating one of them to death with his own whip in the process), and leaves town.

For the next eight issues, and the other Western titles he appears in at the time, Kid Colt rides alone for the most part, but consistently goes out of his way to help other outlaws who need it, and affirms over and over again that being a criminal does not make you any less human or deserving of dignity- but he is merciless with lawmen and judges and sheriffs who abuse their power. Sure, he is sometimes lonely, and once or twice considers settling down, but ultimately embraces his new life as an outlaw, and enjoys the freedom it affords him.

The only times in the Hart run, iirc, he considers settling down is with an entire community of people who show him love and concern (particularly, and notably, there's a young man who tends him back to health, though this ends in tragedy). Colt also has no problem getting help from people because he is a charismatic, kind man- he very rarely finds himself in a position where he can’t get help from a local (unlike, say, Rawhide, who is perpetually a target but that’s a post for another day) But regardless, Colt is popular with ladies, but settling down with a woman for love is something that he can never do, and he says as much more than once. There are several ways to interpret this, but this aspect is another one that vanishes when Hart stops writing Kid Colt.

1950, the year Hart stops writing Colt for whatever reason, is around when the Comics Code Authority really started to get some teeth. You can even read letters in the actual comic itself in the lead up to 1950 put in by the publishers talking about the ongoing debate about the moral content of comics, and one of the first things the new writer does (Leon Lazarus) is revamp Colt’s backstory. On the surface, it’s mostly faithful - but it changes the fact that Colt kills both the Sheriff and his deputy to one shooting the other and Colt accidentally knocking the Sheriff off the cliff. The textbox epilogue says he was “accused” of murdering lawmen, implying innocence. But it also completely removes the rage element from his backstory- in this version, Colt doesn’t carry a gun because he doesn’t want his skill to draw in a bunch of gunhawks, claiming he had a brother (who had never been mentioned before, of course) who got shot in the back because of his skill with a gun.

Needless to say, these two changes remove the most compelling things about the character. Crucially, unlike a lot of other Western heroes who find themselves in this predicament, Colt as written by Ernie Hart has no interest in proving his innocence. Colt becomes an outlaw because he sees no other way forward- but he never looks back. He honestly does not believe he did anything wrong and has no interest in justifying himself to the world. But under Lazarus, and pretty much all the later writers, suddenly he hates being an outlaw, and wishes he could prove his innocence, except it’s impossible. He pines after women he meets once. He is suddenly respectful to lawmen and judges and won’t raise a gun against them even to save his life or the life of another. He says shit like “I might be an outlaw but I don’t act like one.” They might as well have just made a completely different person.

Don't get me wrong, there’s some good stories that show flashes of who Colt was in the beginning, but most of the life is leeched out of him, and this is definitely true in all the modern versions of Colt that we have. In The Sensational Seven, Colt is for some reason turned into a boorish douchebag who only thinks about sex. DeFalco’s Kid Colt oneshot, in addition to having a lot of Confederate apologism, goes with the blandest, most toothless version of Kid Colt possible, and that asinine “Moving On” oneshot by Tony Isabella in Marvel 1001 is just. It’s not any sort of a satisfying completion for his character arc, and there's untapped ground withi

Anyway, I know this is more than you ever wanted to know about cowboys, especially Kid Colt, but I lov him so much please....

#gwen lou sabuki #blaine colt #golden girl #kid colt #actual polls #polls

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phantomwritezstuff077 · 8 months ago

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The Runt - Billy the Kid

Warnings for this chapter: Jesse Evans, swearing, slight misogyny?, mentions of abuse, PTSD

Chapter Ten

The next day, Laurie, Billy and Pat galloped through the plains in the direction of where Jesse and his gang were apparently now residing. Artax whinnied with glee upon feeling the wind in his mane, tossing his head around like an energetic colt with a snort. This caused Laurie to smile a little bit, she was feeling incredibly nervous about reuniting with Jesse, so it felt nice to have her best friend distract her for a moment, but she couldn’t help but let her mind wonder back to how Jesse might react to seeing her after all these months.

Would he be mad at her?

Would he hate her more than he already did before she left?

As they approached the ranch, a man stood up with a shotgun, he seemed ready to shoot them dead until he recognized Pat and called out to his buddies, letting them know that their comrade had returned with guests. Artax skidded to a stop as Laurie turned to Billy, she was visibly nervous and Billy could tell right away. The outlaw gave her a reassuring smile and nod, letting her know that it’ll be okay. It helped a little bit but it did not completely calm her nerves.

“Jesse, you may wanna come out here,” a man that Laurie immediately recognized as Bob called out into the house, taking a drag of his tobacco filled cigarette as he did so. Laurie took a deep breath, stroking her horse's fur as she waited for Jesse to come out. Her heart was pounding and she felt like her blood vessels were going to burst due to the adrenaline.

Jesse walked out of the house, a cigar in his mouth. It was hard to tell what he was thinking when he saw Laurie and Billy on their horses, standing side-by-side. Laurie took another deep breath before she spoke.

“Hi, Jesse,” she said, adjusting Artax’s reins in her hands. Jesse didn’t say anything as he took a drag of his cigarette, Laurie recognized the gaze that was plastered on Jesse’s face.

And it was safe to say that the blond son of a bitch was beyond pissed at her.

“We met Pat Garret here out on the road, minding our own business,” Billy jumped in, trying to take Jesse’s glare away from the already nervous teenager. Jesse just hummed in response as Billy looked around at the small ranch. “It’s a neat little hideout.”

“Oh, I like it. Real private,” Jesse answered, throwing away his cigarette, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked over. “You remember the boys?”

“Sure do,” Billy answered, his horse subtly taking a step forward, almost acting like a shield for Laurie. “This okay, Jesse?”

Jesse simply smiled at Billy, nodding his head. “Sure it is, Kid. I’m really glad to see you, Billy. And I’m even more happy to know that Lauren is safe.”

“She prefers Laurie,” Billy said to Jesse, who simply nodded with a shrug.

“Surely fate’s brought us back together again,” Jesse continued, “You gonna ride with us this time?” Jesse looked over at Laurie. “And actually stay with us?”

“Depends, you gonna treat Laurie like a human bein’ now?,” Billy asked, glancing at Laurie and then at the cow that was in the process of being prepared for food. “Also depends on what you’re cookin’.”

“Rustling John Chisum’s cattle. You’ve heard of John Chisum? They call him the Cattle King of America. He’s got cattle here in Texas, in New Mexico, all over Lincoln County. He is one rich son of a bitch, and we’re making good money selling his cattle to the army,” Jesse replied, “And as I’ve said before. I am gonna make it my life’s mission to make it up to Lauren for how I treated her. It was wrong.” He paused for a moment. “You two back in?”

Laurie immediately called bullshit, she knew he didn’t regret a single thing when it came to how he treated her. Men like that never feel bad for what they do to the people who trusted them. But she nodded, saying yes for Billy’s sake. Because either it was to stay with the gang or go to some shitty orphanage.

The red headed girl dismounted Artax, stroking the stallion’s neck before gently leading him to the water trough where she began to untack him. She gently tugged the bridle off of his face, giving him a mint before hanging it up on the fence post when she heard someone behind her. Laurie had memorized footsteps long enough to recognize it was Jesse who was approaching her. The young teenager whipped her head around to face him, she was still like a jumpy doe because of him.

“Runt,” Jesse said.

“Jesse,” Laurie sighed, hearing the all too familiar nickname never got any easier. Artax pinned his ears upon seeing Jesse, the stud never liked Jesse and the feeling was mutual on Jesse’s end as well.

“The hell were you thinkin’, running off like that?,” he hissed. Laurie took a slight step back, afraid that he would hit her again.

No, he wouldn’t do that.

Not when there were so many witnesses.

“I’m sorry, okay?,” Laurie responded, swallowing as she turned back around, undoing the cinch on Artax’s saddle. Jesse would’ve said more if Billy didn’t walk over to them, leaning on the fence as he tilted his head to the side.

“Just getting reacquainted,” Jesse reassured, seeing the look of suspicion on Billy’s face. Billy nodded, the look on his face screamed ‘better be.’

Laurie removed Artax’s saddle and rested it on the fence before gently putting a rope over the horse’s neck and leading him into the small pasture, but Artax didn’t leave Jesse unharmed. The stud purposefully stood on his foot and once that was done, he swished his tail, directly hitting Jesse in the face, whinnying in amusement. Laurie giggled quietly, secretly giving him a treat for that as she let him go into the pasture.

ⅠⅠⅠⅠ

Later that night, Laurie sat at a table with Billy, eating her dinner quietly while the two friends engaged in conversation. She wasn’t really contributing anything but she knew that the two older men knew that she was there and that she was also listening.

“What happened to Barbara?,” Billy suddenly asked, Laurie lifted her head upon the name. Even though Barbara did little to nothing to stop the ongoing abuse that Laurie would receive from Jesse, she also couldn’t help but wonder what happened to her, especially because she hadn’t seen her around.

“Oh, you know, she, uh… moved on,” Jesse explained, “She left not long after Lauren ran off.”

“Moved on to where?,” Billy asked, wanting to know more as Laurie reached over, taking his whiskey and drinking it.

“If you must know, she got herself a job as a schoolteacher,” Jesse sighed, getting a little annoyed at the constant stream of questions about his ex. “Can you imagine that? Miss Jones.”

Laurie shrugged, putting the bottle down and sharply inhaling. Her head becoming fuzzy as the alcohol clouded her mind, she shook her head, feeling rattled. SHe really needed to stop stealing drinks.

“Actually, I can,” Billy chuckled, smiling a little bit at the thought.

“Is that right?,” Jesse responded, “You didn’t think for a second that she was too beautiful just to waste her life as a teacher in school?”

“It ain’t a waste, Jesse,” Billy countered, adjusting his posture in his seat. “There are plenty of kids out there who would kill to be able to learn how to do stuff like readin’. Besides, Barbara was always a teacher. Shit, I think she taught me and you more than we could ever know.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jesse scoffed, “What do you figure you can learn from a teacher in school you can’t find out for yourself?”

“Reading,” Laurie suddenly said, the alcohol she had just consumed making her a lot more confident now.

Jesse just shrugged once more, not really wanting to hear anymore of this as he got up. Billy looked over at Laurie, confused at her newfound confidence but when his eyes landed on the whiskey bottle he shook his head.

“Lightweight,” he sighed, standing up and helping the drunk teenager to her feet, taking her to where she would be sleeping that night.

A/N:

LAURIE IS MY BABY

Artax's beef with Jesse is my new favorite thing ever

Will Laurie find her Mama? Or is she gonna remain motherless?

Tag:

@slutforsnow

#the runt #billy the kid hc #billy the kid imagine #billy the kid x reader #william h bonney #billy mccarty #billy the kid #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid x oc #runt of the litter #billy the kid gif #billy the kid fanfiction #coriolanus snow #tom blyth #the old west #motherless

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nostalgicamerica · 2 years ago

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True Story:

Throughout my life I have had many obsessions; fishing, the blonde I sat behind in high school biology, to have my own dog (Not just a 'family' dog), the redhead three doors down from our house, hockey, the brunette who would later become my wife, and a number of other things.

But when I was 10 years old I – like every other boy I knew – had a burning desire that made all other obsessions pale in comparison. My singular desire was to have to have a BB gun. I didn't care what kind, although for some reason I loved the look of the Daisy Model 30-30. Maybe it was because of all the Rawhide Kid, Kid Colt; Outlaw, or Cheyenne Kid comic books I consumed whilst hiding from my mother and her infernal chore list.

I wonder in retrospect if my mother believed that if a comic had 'Kid' in the title it couldn't possibly lead her flock astray, but I digress.

As far as BB guns go, I really didn't care what make or model. I just knew I had to have one. I dreamed about fighting off coyotes, black bear, and local bullies. The only requirement was that it be able to shoot a copper-clad projectile at a high rate of speed. Most of my friends already had their obsessions satisfied and it was a source of constant sorrow that I was BB gun-less.

My desire for a BB gun also filled me with a feeling of guilt because my parents ensured I had everything I needed and fulfilled many of my wants. My mother was never shy about providing me books, new or used, and Dad bought me all the fishing gear and hockey equipment I ever needed.

But Ivanhoe and shin pads couldn't fill the hole in my life left by something I had never possessed in the first place.

Any BB gun would have filled the hole.

One close friend, Skunk (don't ask), had the Holy Grail of the BB gun world – a Crosman pump rifle. This particular rifle was carried around town with much-deserved pride (oh, how I hated Skunk when he toted that gun around). I personally witnessed the sleek weapon puncture the side of a tomato juice can. I know it doesn't sound like much today, but back then, tomato juice cans were manufactured by the Ohio Boilermaker Company, made of 10 gauge, zinc-lined, galvanized steel, and, empty, they weighed 23 pounds.

Another friend actually had a BB pistol but his folks took it away from him because he put out one too many window.

There was a smattering of other BB guns in town. Most boys, who were born to more BB gun-friendly parents toted around Daisys, but I recollect other makes like Powermaster, Benjamin, and, of course, Crosman.

Mom apparently wasn't too worried about my brother and I shooting our eyes out because the Christmas after my 11th birthday my brother and I were presented with matching Daisy 102 Model 36 Cubs. My initial jealousy that my brother got his first gun at 10 while I had had to wait until I was 11 abated after a few seconds when I remembered he was my partner in crime and a pretty good friend all the way around.

The jealousy was immediately replaced with an ugly feeling of ingratitude that made me feel guilty and I tried to shake it off before my dad could see it in my eyes.

Cubs!

Yes, they were guns. Yes, they would shoot a BB. Yes, if you squinted at them, the rifles did sort of look menacing. But they were still Cubs, of all things. To those ignorant of the BB gun world, allow me to explain that the Daisy Cub was the AMC Pacer of the gun hierarchy. It was akin to eating a fast-food burger that has been sitting too long under the warmer; it looked vaguely burger-like, it would fill up an empty stomach, but no matter how you looked at it, it was never going to be a thick, mouth-watering, flame-broiled burger fresh from the barbecue grill in the back yard, dripping with grease, and topped off with the freshest of toppings.

Given that Christmas unreasonably seems to always fall in the dead of winter every year, and at least 8 feet of snow covered everything as far south as Des Moines and would until at least April, we were resigned that the guns wouldn't see much action until the Detroit Tigers were in spring training, at a minimum.

Dad, with a head toward solving our dilemma, came through in fine fashion. He covered the windows in the attic with a heavy, BB-proof tarp, hung up paper targets on a length of rope at one end of the cramped space and created an indoor shooting range for his two would be cowboys.

At this point it behooves me to again educate the BB gun ignorant; as a BB does not have a method of propelling itself down a barrel like a bullet, a BB gun has one of two ways to operate: 1. Compressed air (either manually pumped or by using a pre-filled CO2 cartridge), or, 2. Spring-loaded.

Take a wild stab at what method the fine folks at Daisy chose for the Daisy 102 Model 36 Cub.

Initially the BBs zipped to the targets just fine. The single light bulb hanging from the rafters was proof as it had to be replaced more than once, and we discovered the ricochet effect shooting at the chimney bricks.

By the end of January, the springs that provided the propulsion in the Cubs had lost some of their zip. To hit the targets we were required to raise the muzzles a few degrees to provide some elevation to the projectile's trajectory. By the beginning of March, the springs in both guns were so much al-dente fettuccine, and even if we managed to hit the targets – which wasn't a given – the BBs could no longer penetrate.

It wasn't long afterward that the blush fell off the rose and we were spending less and less time sharpening our sharpshooting skills.

I had some Two Gun Kid and Apache Kid comics to read.

Spring does show up every year, even to Northern Michigan's Keweenaw Peninsula. It's magical warmth causes the snow banks to shrink, gradually at first, and then disappear like cotton candy in a rain storm. It turned the roads into nearly impassable slush and mud, and boys' yearnings to everything summer: baseball, fishing, camping, freedom, no school.

In the spring and summer, Mom's infernal chore list was only a threat if one couldn't sneak out of the house before she latched onto an arm or ear. Avoiding Mom wasn't all that difficult, mostly because my brother and I had five younger siblings who always seemed to be crying for something or other and, as a result, Mom was almost continually distracted.

The first few glorious days of summer were spent in pursuit of birds and small animals with our new but impotent weapons. The hunts turned out to be exercises in futility because even if we managed to hit a chipmunk or squirrel, the BBs would do little more than tickle them.

It wasn't too many days before the Cubs were left in the hall closet to gather dust. What was the point of toting around a firearm that wouldn't fire? Nobody feared us, and the bears and coyotes were scarce, so our pursuits turned to fishing or swimming or that old trusty standby, finding ways to pester the neighborhood girls.

A few weeks into summer found a group of us kids, who had all successfully dodged our respective mother's chore lists, looking for mischief to get into. Picking on the girls was terrific fun but even that had gotten old. How often can you bomb a tea party with water balloons before it loses its attraction?

Fishing was always a draw for me, but nobody else wanted to slog the three miles to the river. A pick up baseball game was mentioned, but there were only eight of us, and, unless we wanted to play with older kids who would take over everything, or worse, girls, it was a non-starter.

Somewhere in our lethargy, the conversation turned to World War II. Over for some time, it was still a favorite subject. One friend's father had actually been in Normandy, and later on was stationed in Paris after it was liberated. He had been a supply clerk and never saw combat, but he still was a hero to us wide-eyed war junkies.

Most of us wouldn't have been able to find Normandy on a map, and whenever I heard of La Madeleine or other French towns I couldn't help picturing Mom's jar of orange marmalade that was always on the breakfast table. But even in our ignorance, we still loved talking about the war.

And then somebody casually asked, why not have a war of our own? For real. With guns. BB guns, albeit, but guns nevertheless. We could map out a large area south of town, stake out territories and try to capture the other's flags. We could set up rules of engagement and follow them to the letter. No targeting someone above the neck. No shooting if the target is closer than 10 feet. If you are hit anywhere but the arms or legs, you are out until the campaign was over and the new one began. Skunk could only pump his gun once; anything more would give him an unfair advantage.

The three boys who weren't already wearing Coke-bottle glasses had to see if they could filch safety goggles from their dad's garages or find something else to protect their eyes.

Breathless, my brother and I raced home to grab our guns and I crept up to our room to grab the half-filled, cardboard carton of ammunition Even employing stealth, we heard Mom yelling for us as the screen door banged behind us and we made our escape and headed to the field of battle.

Most boys are brain dead. At least I was and I can honestly say the thought of how stupid we were being never crossed my gray matter. I can't speak for my brother, but he was right by my side and I don't recall him voicing objections.

If we had stopped to think we would have recognized that if we were found out, not only would Dad bend our guns against the trunk of the maple tree in the back yard, but he'd wear out his razor strop on our heinies.

Perhaps common sense was out pestering the girls that afternoon because it was nowhere to be found when we all met up in the field under the giant cherry tree that we had designated as the demilitarized zone.

In short order we formed two, four-person armies and hammered out the theater of operations. We had to stay in between the two dirt roads to the east and west, and the northern edge of the pond was the southern boundary. The Pelkkanen's (who happened to be out of town) outhouse would represent the northern border of our combat arena.

We tore up the tee shirt pinched from somebody's clothesline and each team took half as a flag. We would split up, set up our head quarters and wait 20 minutes before launching hostilities.

None of us had a watch, so approximately 4 minutes later, we were all slinking through the waist-deep weeds and bramble bushes, crouching behind cedar bushes and pine trees looking for the enemy. Strategy? Ha! We just moved towards the opposite end of the war zone until, hopefully, we'd engage somebody to shoot at.

That's exactly what happened. The two skirmish lines met in an opening in the shrubbery and began firing as fast as we could work the levers on our guns. BBs flew like confetti and boys fell with over-dramatic flair. The BBs had a slightest of stings, except for Skunk's shots, but even those weren't terrible.

Through four successive battles the teams went at it. mostly adhering to the rules. One boy caught a BB in the ear that made him yelp, and in the fourth skirmish I took one in my lower lip which immediately began to swell. The pain wasn't too terrible and I fought on.

Tied two battles to two, we determined to settle the issue of supremacy in one last engagement. To the victor would belong the spoils, whatever they were. Possibly an empty tomato juice can.

Unfortunately, the other team had at least one boy who wasn't addle-minded and had something up their sleeves; they had no intention of a frontal assault.

We found out too late that three of the opposition moved to the west side of the combat zone and made somewhat of a ruckus, drawing our attacking force on the run, while their fourth slipped by unobserved on the east side, waltzed into our base, swiped our flag and redeployed back to his base.

We lost the battle and thus the war without firing a shot. While certainly the defeat stung, my brother and I took the whipping in stride and opined that we'd know better next time. One of our team yelled some of the worst Finnish words he knew; paska, and kusipaa and paskiainen being chief among them. (For those who don't speak Finn, trust me, they're pretty tame by today's standards.)

For some unknown reason that escaped the others in our army, Skunk was livid. How could we lose so easily with such superior firepower? The tyhmät päät must have cheated! He was going to exact some sort of revenge. I tried telling him we just lost and that's the way it goes sometimes. But he was beyond reasoning with.

Skunk set off to the other side of the field with the rest of the team following behind. He would later claim he only pumped his gun once, but my brother and I would both rat him out to the fellows that we both had seen him pumping the gun multiple times as he advanced on the other army's position. How many times did he pump the pump? I have no idea, but it was more than one.

The other team emerged from hiding and began rubbing it in as we approached - as we would have done had we been the victors. Without a word Skunk raised the Crosman and took bead on one of our friends, Jussi. The intended target yelled and spun around to take cover when the BB punctured the denim and skin that covered his keister.

We were all in shock as we watched a small, dark, wet spot appear and grow slowly larger on the wounded boy's left buttock. Even Skunk was mortified at what he'd done. We were all shocked and most of us were crying except for - oddly enough - the boy with the BB in his butt. He handled being shot with remarkable aplomb.

The youngest boy in our gang lost control of his bladder and he peed his pants. (nobody gave him flack for the leak - he was only 8 and, frankly, some of us struggled to keep from peeing in our drawers, too.)

Skunk tossed his gun aside and ran off, all the while crying how sorry he was. The rest of us gathered around our wounded comrade and dithered back and forth about what to do. Jussi gingerly lowered his trousers baring an expanse of pale white flesh with an ugly purplish circle the size of a nickel surrounding a BB-sized darker hole. Bright blood trickled from the wound and dripped down into his pant leg.

Someone suggested sucking out the BB like we might suck out rattlesnake venom. Even Jussi was taken aback by the suggestion and in no uncertain terms bellowed, "Ain't nobody sucking on my arse!"

I picked up Skunk's Crosman and we helped the only real casualty of what we'd come to refer to as the War of the Keweenaw hobble home to have his mom administer first aid.

Either Jussi's parents were brighter than we gave them credit for and didn't buy the story that their son was injured by a branch when he fell out of a tree, or Jussi just told them the truth.

Whatever the case, in short order, all of our parents were brought up to speed and that evening found my brother and me in the backyard with Dad. Our Cubs on the ground at our feet.

Without words he gestured for me to hand him my gun. I did so waited for him to slam the gun against the tree trunk. Instead, he raised his knee and bent the barrel of the gun over it like it was Play-Doh. He tossed my Cub aside and repeated the ceremony with my brother.

We waited for him to pull out his strop but it wasn't forthcoming. Even his belt stayed cinched around his waist. He just looked at us sadly and shook his head.

He hugged us both and whispered, "I'm disappointed in both of you."

We would have rather had him wear out the razor strop on our butts. That was a punishment we could understand, even if it was a painful. "Please yell at us, Dad!" I screamed in my head.

Both my brother and I were sobbing uncontrollably. The worst punishment imaginable had been handed down - Dad was disappointed in us. It was a pain we would strive hard to never feel again.

All of us who had participated in the War of the Keweenaw had received punishments of varying degrees. We all lost our guns, except Skunk, who, in his remorse and shame, presented it to Jussi in atonement.

My brother and I would spend the next several months trying to make Dad proud of us again. We stopped sneaking out of the house and even willingly worked on Mom's infernal chore list that seemed to keep growing, and completed everything on it that an 11 and 10 year-old could. As much as we would have liked to do so, we just weren't able to reshingle the house and garage roofs on our own, but we willingly helped Dad do the job.

Eventually, after a time, Dad returned to his normal, boisterous, and joking self and life went on and it was good.

I never owned another BB gun. A handful of years later I received a Remington .30-06 just in time for deer season, and I've owned multiple rifles, shotguns and pistols since then, but I've never had an 'obsession' for the guns. They are nothing more than tools that I always handle with the respect they deserve.

Note: A dozen or so years ago I was able to visit my old home town and reconnect with the few of my friends who still live in the area. Skunk and Jussi are still best of friends and I can still see the boy in both through the grey. Jussi grinned at me when I brought up The War of the Keweenaw, went to his basement and returned with the Crosman BB gun. He claimed it still worked perfectly.

Although I declined to do so when he offered to let me feel the bump, he asserts the BB is still lodged firmly in his buttock.

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