#like even looking at anything pac-man related made me feel so embarrassed

[slumbergoblin]

:)

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #222: A Gathering of Evil!

August, 1982

You know, I haven’t really thought about how long its been since the Avengers have dealt with the Masters of Evil.

The Masters are the Avengers’ evil opposite team. The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants to their X-Men. The Legion of Doom to their Justice League. The Revengers to their Avengers.

But the Avengers haven’t had to deal with the Masters of Evil since Avengers #83. And in that appearance, they took a backseat to the real master of evil. FEMINISM.

At least according to Roy Thomas.

But yeah. Its been a while without the Masters of Evil. And, uh, any team with Whirlwind has a long way to climb for credibility. Yeah, I said it. He doesn’t wear a shirt.

Also, they put She-Hulk in her at-the-time Iconic She-Hulk Outfit. This is another case of the cover lying. The reality is, somehow, even more embarrassing for her.

Last time: the Avengers had a membership drive because you can only be a kooky quartet for so long. She-Hulk and Hawkeye were recruited and took an instant dislike to each other.

Because She-Hulk cut off Hawkeye in traffic and Hawkeye proportionately responded by breaking her car.

Fun!

So lets get to it.

We start with She-Hulk trying to fix her car.

Annnnd she’s throwing random pieces out of the hood. I don’t think she knows much about auto-repair.

When the electrical system zaps her, she gets so angry that she smashes the car flat like she’s a Street Fighter. Then she jams the wreckage into a public trashcan - also flattening that.

Alas, She-Hulk’s pink Cadillac. You graced our lives for far too short a time. And were taken from us by that heinous bowman Hawkeye. This is the sin which I will always hold against him.

Wasp rolls into the scene, tsking about She-Hulk’s behavior being bad for the Avengers’ image. And hey, yeah! I do like that She-Hulk trying to fix a car in front of the mansion before getting fed-up and breaking it is a good indication that she’s not going to be your typical Avenger.

But despite the tsk she’s not too serious about the admonishment. She even congratulates She-Hulk on getting rid of the car, as it clashed with her skin color.

Reasonably enough, She-Hulk asks who made Wasp the expert.

Except, Wasp did. Wasp made Wasp an expert. She’s literally a professional fashion designer. But relatedly, she’s designed a whole new wardrobe for She-Hulk and can’t wait to dress her up.

I kind of wonder if Wasp views new female teammates as potential canvasses.

Later on, in the Busiek run, she’ll design a new outfit for Firestar pretty much without any input from Firestar herself. And it had an incredibly plunging neckline that Firestar was very uncomfortable with.

If Wasp offers to fashion design for you, feel flattered and a little bit afraid.

Anyway, She-Hulk decides well might be nice to try on a bunch of new clothes.

Y’know, She-Hulk is a bit of a fashion person herself. In her original solo book she started the ‘oops I flexed and my sleeves fell off’ fashion.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, Tony Stark at Stark International.

Big boss himself came down to the Long Island office because one of his programmers has asked for time off.

Brenner’s son is sick and he needs to pick him up from school. BUT: he’s in the middle of a complicated computer project!

Like the idealized fictional caring billionaire that he is, Tony is completely understanding.

Tony Stark, what a guy: “Well, your son is more important than any computer program, take the rest of the day off -- with pay.”

If you end up stuck in the Marvel universe somehow, see about swinging a job with Tony Stark. Tony Stark makes you feel/he’s the cool exec with the heart of steel.

Tony decides he’ll get Ordinary Electrical Engineer Scott Lang to finish the programming work.

Ordinary Electrical Engineer Scott Lang is happy to pick up the project but since Tony Stark is in the room anyway, Scott asks if Iron Man has mentioned any news of Hank Pym.

For you see, although you might think that this Scott Lang is an Ordinary Electrical Engineer, he is actually the new Ant-Man so he feels indebted to Hank Pym.

Tony responds that there hasn’t been any news since Hank Pym went to jail so Scott asks why the Avengers haven’t done anything for him. Tony claims that there’s not a lot that the Avengers can do for him until his case comes to trial.

You could hire him a good lawyer? Or pay for that therapy that you thought he needed?

I guess I don’t know that Tony isn’t doing these things off-screen, to be fair.

Tony further claims that Hank will do fiiiine in jail, because he’s tough. Scott remains dubious since he’s actually been to jail and knows what its like. But there’s only so much you can contradict the boss, even if he’s idealized fictional caring billionaire Tony Stark.

And anyway, Tony has other things on his mind. He’s more worried about Jan than he is about Hank. She’s way too well-adjusted for having gotten divorced after her marriage turned miserable. According to Tony Stark anyway.

Of course, his major misunderstanding is that he thinks “she had [Hank] to lean on for so many years” when it was more the other way around. The Jan he thought he knew was actually playing the role of the Hank Pym Hype Squad.

Meanwhile, we check in on Steve Rogers.

One thing I appreciate about this run of Avengers is that we have more of a sense of what the Avengers are doing when not Avengersing. The Avengers book feels a lot more keyed into the rest of the related Marvel universe.

For example, Steve actually got some art jobs! It looks like comics book actually! And he does art for advertisements too!

And he’s living that glamorous artist life of staying up all night to finish pages and then going ‘oh shit my day job’ when his alarm rings for the Avengers meeting.

Although he’s actually looking forward to getting the costume on and getting away from dealing with ad executives and art editors for a while.A good ol’ several hours in the Avengers gym will help work out the art desk bad posture knots out of his shoulders.

And elsewhere in Chicago, Illinois, where Ordinary Doctor Donald Blake has moved to attempt to make a life for himself separate from Thor. He’s doubtful whether he actually can.

I sorta wonder what the status quo in the Thor books is like because usually when Dr. Donald Blake shows up in the Avengers book, he’s been like a wandering expert doctor, just passing through. Showing up to do the tough medical jobs. He’s settling down in Chicago now.

But at least the thousand mile commute to the weekly Avengers meeting is no problem for THOR!

Now that Hawkeye is on the Avengers again, he’s part of the round of checking in. He’s clocking out of the security chief job at Cross Technological Enterprises. His colleagues all envying how he gets to set his own hours.

He takes a train from Yonkers to his new Central Park West apartment. I don’t know if you remember his living conditions before he got the job at Cross Technological but it was a bit suck. He’s definitely put his steady paycheck to use improving his digs.

Old (from issue #189):

New (from issue #this issue):

Although maybe too much. Because when he gets home he realizes that he has almost no food in his apartment and also no money until payday.

Hawkeye: “Where the heck does $1200 a week go, anyway? I don’t play Pac-Man that much! There was more change in my pocket in the old carny days!”

Psst, Hawkeye. Definitely sign up for the stipend check from Stark.

Another thousand a week will go a long way to keeping you living the can afford food standard of living you’re accustomed to.

He manages to find a bag of potato chips to snack on but decides he’ll have to see if he can find an actual square meal at Avengers Mansion.

Likely. Jarvis seems the sort to keep the fridge well-stocked and heck he’d probably make something if asked.

Anyway, Hawkeye being Hawkeye, he’s not going to take the elevator or stairs. He’s definitely going to fire a cable arrow so he can swing down from his balcony. Because, of course he is. He’s Hawkeye.

And he lands right in front of a taxi, the driver of which calls him a nut

Hawkeye: “You want a star in your cab or not?”

Turns out? No. Hawkeye has to walk to Avengers Mansion and arrives late because the cabbie won’t give him a free ride.

Meanwhile at Avengers Mansion (which fails to elicit the same kneejerk emotional response as ‘meanwhile at the HALL of JUSTICE’ from me), the She-Hulk clothing montage has occurred off-screen.

For shaaaame, James Shooter. And also Steven Grant.

She-Hulk isn’t so sure about the outfit Wasp put together for her.

Wasp: “I call it Arabian Night -- a blend of suppleness, strength and sensitivity to highlight your true nature!”

She-Hulk: “Don’t you think it’s a little... unusual?”

Wasp: “You’re an unusual woman, Jennifer! Your clothes should say that! We want a complete image that’ll drive me wild at the sight of you!”

She-Hulk: “Got anything that’ll drive that jerk Hawkeye one way to oblivion?”

I don’t know if fashion can do that but if anyone could design that, Wasp could. Her or Giger.

Wasp tries to defend Hawkeye but can only manage “he’s okay, just a little... um, well, you know!” but suggests that She-Hulk just be nice to Hawkeye to throw him off.

Which. Sounds like a funny idea.

Anyway, I like the outfit. The colors work for her. And maybe it’s because there are a couple Dragon Ball outfits like this but it feels appropriate for her. Because of the punching.

Iron Man comes in and goes ga-ga multiple punctuation over She-Hulk’s new look, which I guess proves that Wasp hit where she was aiming.

Wasp: “Oh, more flattery! More! I love it! And this is just the beginning. Wait until you see the fighting togs I’m designing for her!”

So I guess that this is just an outfit to look good in and Wasp is still working on the superhero outfit. Can’t wait to see it.

Captain America and Thor come in and Thor too praises She-Hulk’s new look.

Thor: “By Odin’s beard! What emerald beauty stands before us?”

They date later. Its one of those ‘wow expected this to happen way sooner than 2018 honestly’ things.

And then Hawkeye comes in.

He also loses his shit over She-Hulk’s new look. But in more of a Hawkeye way.

Hawkeye: “Waitaminit! Is it Cheryl Tiegs? Loni Anderson? No! It’s the new fashion plate -- the Savage She-Hulk! Talk about trying to get silk purses from sow’s ears!”

You’re a rude, Hawkeye.

She-Hulk storms towards him, offended, and just lifts him bodily.

And kisses him.

Then drops his ass on the ground.

I guessss remembering and putting her own spin on Wasp’s suggestion?

People need to stop kissing each other for spite and revenge reasons, honestly.

I do get a laugh at Hawkwye demanding a rematch. Can’t imagine what form that’d take. But its funny.

I kind of have a problem with the scene, beyond the people kissing each other for spite and revenge thing. Prior to joining the Avengers, the issue where She-Hulk got her pink Cadillac was Marvel Two-In-One #88 where she spent nearly the entire issue hitting on the Thing to his discomfort. And the joke was Ha Ha Sexually Assertive Women.

I really hope that we do not have that again.

Anyway, the other Avengers get some yuks over She-Hulk’s method of shutting up Hawkeye.

Iron Man even suggests that Hawkeye and She-Hulk have just had their first date to Hawkeye’s dismay.

Seriously, someone write an Avengers code of conduct and then create an HR department.

MEANWHILE, CHANGING THE TOPIC AND THE SCENE

In Egghead’s secret Manhattan laboratory.

Egghead: “No, it’s not fair! All I ever wanted was to rule the world -- is that so much to ask? I’m 52. That doesn’t give me many years left -- that idiot Henry Pym blew what may have been my last chance!”

Hah at Egghead having a baby tantrum over being thwarted. And I guess good to know that Hank screwing up the plan by calling the Avengers did screw over more than Hank Pym.

Hank may have saved the world, actually. Good job, Hank.

Egghead laments that he wishes he had another good plan but kind of put all the eggs, hah, in the unstoppable adamantium robots basket.

And then his sexy maid Anna chimes in with a suggestion.

Wait, why does Egghead of all villains have a sexy maid? Who seems to have a crush on him? Why is this a thing? Who in or out of universe looks at Egghead and thinks ‘yes this man is a sexual dynamo’?

Eh, whatever.

Anna: “Vhy don’t choo just buy the vorld, darlkink?”

Egghead: “Anna! Vhat... er, what did you say?”

Anna: “You should make a lot ov money und buy the vorld!”

Egghead: “Work?! Disgusting!”

This is probably the only time I will ever be able to say this but I agree with Egghead.

Anna: “No, no, no! Just invent somethink that everyvun vants -- a cure for baldness, mebbe... or eternal youth!”

Egghead: “That’s silly, Anna! Or is it?”

IT IN FACT WASN’T!

Egghead suddenly stands up, dumping sexy maid Anna to the floor, as he realizes that she’s right! If Egghead could invent cell rejuvenation to give people eternal youth, the world would be his oyster! People would give anything for it!

Granted, he has no idea how to invent cell rejuvenation but that’s tomorrow’s problem. Today’s problem is the logistics. He’ll need research, money, equipment and most importantly of all lackeys to steal all that stuff for him so he won’t have to Effort!

So moments later, Egghead signals a robot spy capsule that he has monitoring Atlantis at all times just because.

Egghead’s spy capsule launches a guided missile at an Atlantean prison, busting out someone mysterious unless you happened to glance at the cover.

And we go from one prison to another prison to pop in on Hank Pym at Ryker’s Island.

Ryker’s is apparently the go-to supervillain prison.

And whoops Hank Pym is one now, at least according to the law. What with being caught with all that stolen adamantium and the mind control prosthetic arm.

Hank Pym: “It just doesn’t make sense! All I tried to do was redeem myself, but things just got out of control! Egghead’s responsible for this! He committed the crime I’m accused of -- and made sure I can’t prove it! Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

Probably because you did do the crime and were caught in the act and you wouldn’t explain yourself fully afterward. Just saying.

Hank Pym: “Jan! That’s where it all went wrong! If I could get her back, everything would work out! I know it!”

Hank Hank Hank... You’re suddenly a romantic.

A guard yells at Hank that its food time and then further yells that his son had looked up to Hank, which causes Hank to reflect whoops he let down more than just Jan and the Avengers.

When Hank sits down to eat prison chow, he’s accosted by Dave Cannon aka WHIRLWIND aka I guess Hank’s backup archnemesis?

Hank isn’t really spoiled for choice with good archnemeses so he either has Egghead or spin around real fast man.

At least Dave Cannon aka Whirlwind is trying to go for the personal lowblow. That’s a decent, if gross, archnemesis move.

He insinuates that hey if Jan divorced Hank that means Dave has a chance with her and he’s going to visit her as soon as he jailbreaks out of here today.

I’m sure he does have a chance. Like a snowball’s in hell, maybe.

Hank tells Dave to shut up because shut up, Dave.

But Dave ups the ante by suggesting that after Hank Pym gets out of jail in maybe ten or twenty years, he and Jan will hire Hank to be their chauffeur.

So Hank smashes a tray of food in Dave’s face because shut up, Dave.

He also starts punching him because in for a penny.

And because Hank totally started that ‘fight’ the guards haul Hank off for a month in solitary.

You wouldn’t think Hank’s life could get worse in every issue he appears in but you would be wrong.

And wouldn’t you know it? As soon as Hank is out of the room, the jailbreak starts without him.

He doesn’t even get to participate in activities now! Geez, Dave Cannon! You’re ruining prison for Hank.

Anyway, the mysterious figure from the Atlantis jailbreak scene is now jailbreaking Ryker’s and iiiiiits TIGER SHARK!

A guy I know almost nothing about!

-google- Ah, Namor foe. That explains him being a shark man.

He used to be an Olympic swimmer who injured his spinal cord when he rescued a drowning man. So a pretty good guy, starting off. Then to heal his spine he participated in an experimental procedure where Namor and tiger shark DNA was blended with his own and he became a shark man and an asshole.

I think that’s the Namor DNA personally. It makes people into jerks. And Namor is 100% Namor DNA so you can imagine what a jerk he is.

I’ve gotten lost in the weeds.

Tiger Shark busts in through a supposedly impregnable prison wall. The guards try to shoot him with ‘special weapons’ but Tiger Shark thwarts them with a special weapon of his own.

A TABLE!

Which he uses to block the shots and then hit them with.

They were fools to put their faith in high-falutin’ technology when they could have been investing in low-falutin’ carpentry.

That’s right, they should have gotten wooden guns.

With the guards tabled for now, Tiger Shark collects Scorpion and Whirlwind.

That’s two supervillains on his shopping list but there’s one more to get.

So the three detour over down to the women’s wing while the jailbreak of everyone else keeps the guards very busy.

And they find Dr. Karla Sofen, Ordinary Criminal Psychologist who got superpower from a space rock. Y’know, a Moonstone.

She has a few follow-up questions before she throws in with these goons but Tiger Shark isn’t a good conversationalist.

Tiger Shark: “You wanna get snuffed right here, lady?! Move! Negotiations are closed!”

She grudgingly accepts these terms. The caption box says so.

The four supervillains take a remote controlled escape boat and escape on a boat.

Later, in a safehouse on Long Island Sound, the four supervillains are all costumed up and already feeling cooped up with each other. It is a small house and they are all big personalities.

Tiger Shark and Whirlwind even get into a fight when Tiger Shark complains about waiting and about suburbia and Whirlwind tells him to shut up. And by fight I mean Tiger Shark smacks Whirlwind in the head. Because its Whirlwind.

Ant-Man’s backup archnemesis. And Tiger Shark fights Namor. Its a mismatch.

But its enough of a ‘fight’ to cause a stir.

Egghead: “Stop your silly squabbling! Fighting among yourselves won’t further my plans!”

Moonstone: “Wha -- ?! Egghead?!”

Tiger Shark: “What’s an Egghead?”

Hah.

I don’t know why this exchange amuses me so much.

Egghead is perfectly happy to introduce himself slash ramble on and on with words words words. He is PERHAPS the world’s greatest genius (hahahahah noooo) but says he may find a cure to Tiger Shark’s “repugnant amphibious condition.”

Egghead: “If you all follow me without question, you’ll share in my forthcoming power and wealth! In addition to being bodyguards, you’ll perform various tasks for me -- beginning tonight, when you loot a certain Manhattan medical research center to obtain data and supplies! Cross me -- and no one will ever hear from you again!”

I’ll make fun of Egghead any day of the week but I’ll give him this. He evidently delivers this speech with such conviction that ‘shark man who fights Namor’ just nods and apparently thinks yes this sounds legit.

And lets be honest, between Whirlwind, Scorpion, Moonstone, and Tiger Shark none of them look at this eggheaded guy threatening them and think about trying something.

Egghead appoints Moonstone his deputy and team leader. Because, he says, she’s such a well-trained follower.

Okay, okay, okay. Okay.

So, Dr. Karla Sofen first appeared as a henchwoman to Dr. Faustus.

But then she tricked the original Moonstone into giving the moonstone to her and became the new Moonstone. And here I didn’t even know there was an original Moonstone.

My point being, yes, early on you might look at Moonstone’s history and think ‘yes she’s definitely a subordinate person who won’t give me trouble’ but from a modern perspective?

I know Modern Moonstone for basically being the Starscream of whatever team she’s on. Starting from Thunderbolts at least, she’s never the boss, she’s happy being the deputy but she’s always scheming and manipulating and undermining her boss.

I really want this to be a hilariously bad judge of character Egghead has made. I really do.

Meanwhile, Whirlwind thinks that he’ll play along with Egghead’s plans. Until he gets bored.

And then I guess he gets bored like five seconds later because he decides that since the job Egghead wants them to do isn’t until evening, he can go visit Wasp.

And yeah. We scene transition to Avengers Mansion and Whirlwind is just lurking in the bushes spying on Wasp’s limo.

Inside the mansion, with the Avengers’ meeting over, the Avengers all get ready to go about the rest of their business.

Hawkeye saying he has to get home gets She-Hulk to start musing on how she hasn’t had a real home since she left Los Angeles.

Which she did for... reasons? She seemed like she was going to stay in LA at the end of her original Savage She-Hulk book. She probably did it so she could do crossovers. That makes sense.

Wasp tells She-Hulk that since Tony doesn’t charge rent, She-Hulk can just stay at Avengers Mansion for a while. And in a couple days, she’ll take She-Hulk apartment hunting.

Wasp is a good friend.

She heads out to her limo and tells Mr. Carrothers to take her to her Manhattan apartment.

BUT WHOOPS iiiiiiiiiits Whirlwind!

He knocked out Mr. Carrothers over the head and stashed him in the bushes. Wow, being Wasp’s chauffeur is very eventful.

Whirlwind: “Forget him. I’m the man in your life now! I figure with your ex in the slammer, you’re gonna need an understanding shoulder to lean on -- .”

And then Wasp shrinks down and shoots Whirlwind in the face.

Wasp: “That’s awfully considerate of you. But next time send flowers first, okay? By the way, have you ever met me bio-electric sting?”

Get rekt, Whirlwind.

This has been a really good span of issues for Wasp. I’m boggling a little. My standards weren’t super high to be honest but this has been good.

I mean, aside from her wearing her Avengers #194-196 costume again. The one with only one pant leg. Of all your costumes to wear under normal clothes, why this one, Jan?

Outside the limo, Hawkeye is trying to sneak back into the mansion to raid the pantry and hoping everyone else has gone.

Because he doesn’t want them to know that two-jobs Hawkeye is having money trouble, I guess? But dude, just confide in Jarvis. He’s a good guy.

Anyway, point being, because of Hawkeye’s hungry little tummy, he sneaks back to the mansion in time to see flashes of energy from inside Jan’s limo.

Hawkeye runs to Jan’s rescue and instantly gets blasted by Moonstone who has just arrived to yell at Whirlwind for taking off without her permission.

Whirlwind says he doesn’t have to answer to Moonstone and a presumably very frustrated Moonstone answers yes he does, that is the very thing he has agreed to when he joined the new Masters of Evil!

I feel maybe announcing loudly that you are the new Masters of Evil right in front of the Avengers is kind of jumping the gun.

Not to mention having the whole time show up to pose like a team just to pull Whirlwind’s butt out of the fire but like I said, this isn’t a very impressive seeming iteration of the Masters.

They do have this much, at least. Hawkeye recognizes each one of these bozos (muffled foghorns from Titan Up the Defense way) and recognizes that he and Wasp are outpowered in addition to being outnumbered.

Reinforced by Tiger Shark just smacking Wasp out of the air.

I think her one legged outfit is slowing her down.

So Hawkeye fires a flare arrow to try to summon help.

Remember when the Avengers had radio rings? That’d probably be a less obvious way to signal for help. Because Moonstone sees Hawkeye shoot a flare arrow that LIGHTS UP THE AREA and shoots him for sending up a signal.

And then she turns to the others and goes “Why didn’t you blunderers stop him?”

Its a good point. Tiger Shark points out though that she didn’t stop him either.

Again: not a very impressive iteration of the team.

Whirlwind, trying to put on the pragmatic hat way too late, says that they should kill Hawkeye and skedaddle because fighting in front of Avengers Mansion makes him nervous.

But he’s still Whirlwind so he’s still gross so he thinks to himself that he wants to grab Wasp before they go.

And what, dude? You gonna keep her under your bed? WHATS YOUR CREEPY ENDGAME?

On second thought, I don’t want to know. Geez, this is awful but I’m glad that Wasp died in Ultimate comics before an exceptionally creepy Ultimate Whirlwind could show up and keep her in a well or something.

Hey, maybe if we tell Whirlwind that Living Laser is also obsessed with Wasp, the two will fight to the death and I won’t have to deal with either one!

Anyway. Off-track. Anyway.

With a sound of thunder, a Perfectly Ordinary Uru Hammer THOOMs by smacking every villain before returning to Thor’s hand.

Yeah, fighting in front of Avengers Mansion? Really dumb!

Thor: “Stand back, perfidious mortals, or face the wrath of Thor!”

Wasp: “Huh? Thor! I always thought you were handsome -- but you never looked better than you do now!”

Thor: “Fair Wasp, thou art safe in my hands!”

Wasp: (Mmmm! Don’t I wish!)

Well, you’re free to play the field now, Wasp. Go for it.

Meanwhile, over in Avengers Mansion, She-Hulk hears the racket and gets up from her nap to see a supervillain battle taking place on the street in front of the Mansion and just kind of sighs about New York being like this.

Again again: fighting in front of Avengers Mansion? REALLY DUMB!

Moonstone even realizes it.

Moonstone: “This is insane -- wasting our energy battling the Avengers for nothing!  We’ve got to end this fight and escape!”

She tells Scorpion to take Thor which either shows a high esteem of him or a very low regard. Either way, Scorpion is happy to try, tail-whipping Thor through the air.

Inside the mansion, She-Hulk decides that the only way to get some peace and quiet is to throw hands. Side benefit: she’ll also get to prove herself to the Avengers.

But I like that the primary reason is that she just wants to have a dang nap and this nonsense is preventing it.

So she OH YEAHs through the window because heck Tony Stark will pay to fix it and runs towards the battle.

Haha look at that tiny alarmed Jarvis in the window. I love that kind of background detail. Amazing.

Wasp takes a break from, I dunno fantasizing about Thor, to fly over in a panic.

Wasp: “Oh, no! That outfit is an original! Tear it -- and I’ll never speak to you again!”

She sure has her priorities. I think maybe she doesn’t think these new Masters of Evil are all that threatening.

Maybe she shouldn’t be so worried though. She-Hulk just jumped through a glass window and the outfit looks untouched.

She-Hulk: “You can’t be serious?! You are. Ohhh... fudge! This is ridiculous!”

She definitely had to stop herself from saying an f-bomb.

So She-Hulk stops running to help Thor and sits down to start pulling the Van Dyne Original outfit off so Wasp won’t friend break up with her.

I’m sure Thor is doing fine though.

Ha ha, just kidding.

Moondragon is keeping him pinned down with her laser blasts and Tiger Shark hits him with something almost as powerful as TABLE.

A CAR.

Tiger Shark: “That Avenger creep thinks he’s the strongest there is. Me, I can withstand the pressures of the ocean’s floor without breathing hard. So when you’re talking strength -- you’re talking Tiger Shark!”

Hey, cool! Its the same thing writers use to argue Aquaman Strong Actually. I wonder if this actually predates that. It’d be funny if Tiger Shark preempted Aquaman in anything.

Wasp (while blasting Scorpion in his Scorpion neck) asks Thor if he’s okay but I think Thor is more annoyed than endangered by being ganged up on by the villains.

Thor: “Aye, the villain’s cowardly attack availed him naught against the might of Thor! I would see this battle ended!”

Tiger Shark basically says ‘nuh uh’ or “Together we can turn him into hamburger!” but then someone punches Tiger Shark from behind and knocks him out.

Scorpion: “Who in -- ? Some chick from Frederick’s of Hollywood?”

She-Hulk: “Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am! I don’t want to hear it!”

So, yeah, She-Hulk has arrived. In her underwear. So she doesn’t offend Wasp.

I guess after the Moondragon arc, Wasp is paying forward the wardrobe embarrassments.

Very rude, Jan.

Hawkeye is also up and raring to arrow. And he nails Whirlwind with said shock arrow annnd knocks him out.

Yup, this is the part of the book where we’re running out of pages so the villains start going down really easy.

Next, Wasp shoots Moonstone and She-Hulk multi-tasks by punching Moonstone into Scorpion and knocking both of them out.

Which means that She-Hulk is MVP of this fight. She arrives the latest but knocks out the most people. Good job, She-Hulk. Even Hawkeye admits that she did pretty good (qualified with “for a beginner!” which She-Hulk just laughs off.)

Meanwhile, in his hidden laboratory, Egghead is thinking that you can’t get good help these days.

Egghead: “Fools! We would have destroyed the Avengers eventually! There was no need to upset my timetable!”

But its only a minor setback and he considers that this stomp may leave them more willing to see that his ideas are best ideas.

I really hope that everyone pins the blame on Whirlwind when Egghead inevitably has to break them out of prison again to assemble his Masters of Evil again.

Hm, and I didn’t wonder this before but why Masters of Evil as a team name? He has no connection with any of the previous iterations, I don’t think. Weird.

Back at the mansion, the Avengers stand around being pretty pleased with themselves for beating up a bunch of people who attacked them for no reason and sucked at it.

The only sour note is that Wasp lost yet another limo (to Tiger Shark’s deadly CAR attack) but even then she says she was ready to trade it in on a DeLorean anyway.

Wait, aren’t DeLoreans known for having disappointing performance for a car and adequate performance as a time machine? Wasp, why are you getting a DeLorean, you kook!

She-Hulk, who sold her dignity to keep Jan’s friendship, suggests that the two of them go looking for new cars together.

OH RIGHT. Issue started with She-Hulk’s poor lamented pink Cadillac being junked. That’s bookends, it is. They’re the Sisterhood of the Broken Cars now.

So a very decent story!

Stuff is being setup with Egghead, the Hank Pym plot thread is still going, and we’ve got a new Avengers roster to settle into.

Although. Between the Moondragon arc and this, I’m wondering if clothing mishaps is going to be a running joke going forward and I hope not. Or at least let the guys in on it. Let Thor get locked out of the house in his underwear. It is only fair.

To the readers, if not the characters.

Although, I guess that is kind of what happened in the Molecule Man story. Tony Stark stuck in only his underwear and had to wear Ordinary Doctor Donald Blake’s jacket around his waist.

Not much more to say about this. Its a solid issue.

Follow @essential-avengers​. Because: reasons. Also like and reblog. Because: similar but different reasons. Selling myself is hard.

[whumptasticwednesday]

Insult to Injury ft. Dadneto (Peter Maximoff - X-Men)

Author’s Note: Hey, ya’ll. I’ve been burning the midnight oil to get this fic out on time, AKA 2 consecutive nights of staying up till’ 3 am. I’ve had the idea for a Peter-centric Dadneto whump fic for a decent amount of time, and after receiving a lovely anonymous prompt, I decided to incorporate both my idea and theirs. Here we’ve got Peter after the events of Apocalypse, debilitated, and accidentally giving himself a nasty case of salmonella, before Erik comes to help. I’m pretty proud of this one, so I hope you enjoy it! This fic is unedited, sorry, so please let me know if there’s any glaring issues. For my next fic, I’m shifting away from X-Men for a hot sec so I can write a nice Detroit: Become Human whump fic with our favorite android son, Connor. I’ve been super excited about my plot concept, so I’m ecstatic to start writing it. Anyways, I hope you like this one, I worked very hard on it, and I hope you’re all excited for the DBH fic coming soon!

-Ash

Word Count: 6299

Warning: Emeto and decently graphic descriptions of physical illness

Setting: Post-Apocalypse/Pre-Dark Phoenix

If there's anything Peter Maximoff knew in this moment, it was that not being able to do the one thing your body was genetically enhanced to do, sucked. A lot.

It had been only a few days since the X-Mansion had been rebuilt and things all fell back into this synonymous routine as if the entire building hadn't exploded a short while ago. In Peter's opinion, it was all kind of creepy how easy it seemed for these kids to all just go back to learning when their home and school just got eviscerated in a hellfire, but he didn't think much of it.

All he could think about in this moment, was how immensely bored he was. Peter always had something going on with him; he was either thinking about his impending dad-related issues, plotting a prank, or deciding to go off and steal an entire Walmart's worth of Twinkies in the blink of an eye, there was always something.

Yet now, the rest of the X-Men were off with Charles helping cover up heat from the international press by cleaning up all the damage and destruction in Cairo and showing what Charles had dubbed: "diplomacy", which was too huge of a word for Peter to ever use in an everyday sentence; too many letters, and Peter was left back at the mansion since he really couldn't use his powers effectively at the moment, so it would be pretty useless for him to be tagging along.

Peter normally wouldn't have given a damn, maybe even excited at the prospect of being able to rig his friends' rooms with elaborate traps with Jello and staplers or something of the sorts while they weren't around, yet now, when faced with inescapable boredom that followed him wherever his broken leg did (everywhere), he was dying to have anything to do. As the team was suiting up to get on the jet to go back to Cairo, Peter had pathetically hobbled down to the X-Men bunker on his crutches, begging to be taken with. But they'd simply gassed up the plane and flew off, leaving Peter alone, and oh so very bored.

Which brings us to Peter now, attempting to create an omelette with 6 different cheeses, 8 different and poorly-diced peppers, a heaping assortment of minced tomatoes, and a sprinkling of those off-brand fruit snacks that are always better than the on-brand ones for some reason. It wouldn't be a Peter breakfast without some form of sweet, and in his eyes, it stuck to the healthy-ish theme. It had fruit in the name for a reason, didn't it?

The kid always had a massive appetite, and everyone that knew Peter knew this as well. You'd be hard pressed to find him without some snack or form of sustenance in his hand, scarfing it down like there was no tomorrow. It was all a byproduct of his enhanced metabolism. All that energy to run had to come from somewhere, didn't it? Little did he know, this super stomach of his would come to kick him in the ass in a few short hours. But for now, the silver-haired man child of a mutant was limping around the mansion's kitchen making a very... exotic breakfast for dinner meal.

Peter plopped the strange looking (decently gooey) excuse for an omelette into a large plate with some Twinkies and orange juice on the side. As he devoured his dinner, Peter thought anxiously about Erik. It had taken him 10 years to connect the dots, work up the courage, and even think of confronting the man to tell him of his true parentage, yet wimped out at the last minute, leaving the ambiguous: "I'm here for my family too." Peter groaned audibly to himself as his mind once again replayed the events he'd already replayed a million times before. It was embarrassing as all hell. Luckily, nobody that did know told Erik anything, which Peter was very grateful for.

Imagine learning about a woman you left 2 and a half decades ago actually birthing a son you had no idea existed and just now learned of... but not from him, despite several encounters beforehand where he had ample opportunities to do so. It'd make Peter feel like even more of a loser than a 27 year old who still lived in his mother's basement. But, to be fair, Peter was no longer a grown man living with his mom, he was a grown man living in a school where he was many years past the oldest enrolled student, while not teaching a single class; it was a step up from the basement, trust me.

Once finished with his omelette, Peter quickly washed his dishes and made his trek up the small flight of stairs to reach his room on the second floor. Over the past few days, Peter had learned just how high a set of stairs could be, especially when you end up falling down them on several attempts to slide down the handrail (and failing miserably while being laughed at by dozens of impressionable pre-teen children.) What a loser.

After reaching his room, particularly winded from this dinner excursion, Peter was grateful to see that he hadn't unplugged his television from the wall after his embarrassing fall in an attempt to get to the bathroom by himself, without his crutches, or the lights on. A simple recipe for disaster in nearly all circumstances, yet for some reason, the universe held pity for Peter and his debilitated state, and decided to not make his day any worse than it already was.

Peter ultimately decided to entertain himself with a good night-long play session of Pac-Man on his Atari 2600, also still miraculously undamaged from last night's fall. He booted up the inferior version of the game (seriously though, he'd have to get Kurt to help him teleport his arcade cabinet from his basement to the school, playing this one was getting a bit tiring on the eyes.) It sufficed, he thought as the TV harshly flashed on.

Now normally, Peter would have been up all night with his video games and rock music blaring in the background, yet tonight, something (besides his immobile leg) felt really off. Each distinct 'WOMP' from the console as the yellow circle man consumed the dashes and dots felt like a sledgehammer into Peter's eardrums, leaving a resonating ache at the base of his skull. He didn't think much of it and brushed it off, simply turning down his music a notch and backing away from the TV a few inches.

The next confusing sign that something wasn't quite right was the disconcerting shivers wracking his body. A chilly breeze seemed to sweep the room as if the AC was on full blast with the windows open on a November midnight, yet it was July and all the windows were closed and when he went to check if his AC unit was acting up, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. That's whack, Peter thought to himself as he plopped onto his bed, Atari abandoned on the rugged floor.

He didn't know how long he spent staring at the unmoving chandelier hanging lamely from the ceiling, but it felt as if seconds later, the room was not only freezing, but spinning, and suffocating. Everything felt way too close. Peter could feel every fiber of his shirt rubbing against his jacket, the itchy inside of his cast pressing up against the entirety of his right leg, and the presence of his goggles resting on his neck, now seeming like a noose closing in on his throat. He hastily tore off the eyewear and tossed them on his nightstand before deciding to shed his jacket and weakly throwing it across the room. Another move he regretted.

Without the jacket to keep his arms warm, the newfound seemingly frosty atmosphere felt like a icy flurry against his skin. In spite of his mind's confused wishes, Peter ripped the heavy blanket off the end of the bed and closed it around himself like a caterpillar ready to emerge as a butterfly the next time it saw the daylight. Peter sure as hell didn't feel like a caterpillar, but if the feeling of metamorphosis was a growing sense of intense nausea and cramping in the stomach, then hell yeah, he was crushing this butterfly business.

Fuck, what's wrong with me?! He thought to himself as he rolled onto his side. Peter rubbed at his eyes, hoping to clear the dizziness, yet only further irritating them. God damnit, he sighed internally as his face scrunched up in discomfort, releasing one of his hand's hold on the blanket to cradle his aching stomach.

"Is this karma for all that shit I stole when I was younger? That's just mean, man," Peter rasped to nobody in particular. He thought about it more though and responded to his own question, "Then again, I think that's pretty fair. Haha...Shit, man. Never thought I'd say this, but I think... I think I need help."

The sledgehammer-like headache was pounding with every bass drum beat lightly emanating from the sound system Peter hadn't turned off, another move he regretted. He couldn't decide if the pros outweighed the cons: hobbling through the dark to possibly remedy a source of his suffering, but relinquishing his hold on the only thing keeping him from feeling like freezing. Peter played it safe, much to his cranium's dismay.

Peter stared off towards the wall at nothing in particular as he tried oh so hard to draw his mind's focus from how terrible he felt to literally anything else. It wasn't working out so well. And so, Peter laid there, blanket tossed over himself, single leg drawn up to his chest, shivering like a leaf in a rainstorm, as nauseous as a toddler who just rode their first roller coaster, feeling like he was about to cry, and alone. What a miserable way to spend the night.

------

If there's anything Erik Lehnsherr knew in this moment, it was that he was beyond irritated that Charles wasn't at the mansion to run his own school. Despite leaving the school once he'd helped rebuild it to try and seek solitude to wrap his mind around his place in the world and everything that'd happened to him, Erik was back at the mansion once again. He was ready to lay down the foundations for his new mutant hideaway, Genosha, and needed Charles's connections to the government to help smooth over his charges and get clearance to have his isolated society where he might truly find happiness and solace. The universe had spoken, and he obviously wasn't cut out to be a nuclear family kind of guy.

Unbeknownst to him, Erik had once again meandered into a setting with his unrealized son. Also unbeknownst to him, that son was currently cooped up alone in his room, feeling like death.

Erik uncomfortably paced around the mansion, checking Charles's office, the X-Men bunker, and all the other places he might have been, yet the telepath was nowhere to be found. Erik sighed, he knew coming this late was a bargain, one, it turns out, he'd come to lose. The school itself was eerily quiet. It was if the entire mansion was empty or something. Peaceful, yet unsettling for a man who knew nothing but chaos.

Erik was about to borrow a book someone had abandoned in the foyer when he heard the muffled melodies of American rock music echoing from the upstairs floor. It must be that problematic Peter child, Erik thought to himself. From what he told himself was a civil duty to the rest of the sleeping kids in the school (but was actually his own way to cope with his curiosity) Erik decided to check up on the snarky young man to ask if he'd turn down the tunes.

As he approached the door, Erik was bracing himself for something extremely untamed. Perhaps a messy, greasy slophole of a living area, or maybe a drunk and uncontrollably obnoxious man dancing to his music in the nude. You never really knew with Peter, and Erik had come to expect the strangest out of the boy from the few genuine interactions they've had.

Erik gently tapped his knuckles against the door, waiting patiently for a 'come in', or something along the lines of those words, yet it never came. Raising a questioning yet not too surprised eyebrow, Erik knocked again, using slightly harder bangs, not wishing to make a ruckus and wake anyone else in the hallway up. Again, nothing. Although it could have simply boiled down to Peter not hearing him from his loud and abhorrent music, Erik was growing slightly irritated with the lack of a response. So with his last reserves of patience, he knocked one final time, once again listening for a signal or cue to enter. He was met with nothing yet again.

Wondering for the worst and fully expecting to meet a blackout drunk Peter when he opened the door, Erik tentatively jiggled the doorknob, which just so happened to be unlocked, and stepped inside. Thankfully, he was not met with a naked dancing or woefully drunk mutant speedster, but most would probably argue that what he was met with was quite worse. And that being a rancid stench of sick and sour nastiness lingering in the air, a poorly plopped pile of blankets draped over the culprit of the odor, and the culprit himself lying pale and flushed on the floor beside his bed, covered in his own vomit.

Erik's nose crinkled up from being met by the strongly nauseating smell of the room, reaching for the light switch on the wall to aid the sad little table lamp and glow of the TV in illuminating the room. Now he truly saw the pity-worthy situation for what it was. Peter laid in a heap on the ground next to his bed; he'd clearly trying to make it to the en suite bathroom just a few feet away. However, with his dizzy mind and immobile leg, he didn't make it very far and ended up expelling his dinner in a much less... dignified location (if you could consider a toilet bowl a very dignified location), that undignified location being all over his lap and onto his faded Pink Floyd t-shirt.

Not knowing how to really handle the situation, Erik called out a soft, "Peter?" hoping to elicit a response. Yet, just like at the door, he was met with nothing. As he approached the boy, thoughts of anxiety and panic circled through his mind. What would he say to him when he woke up? Would he be uncomfortable with Erik of all people coming to help? Would he be confused? Would he not care? He felt undeniably and inexplicably awkward. Erik shook the thoughts from his conscious as he knelt down to try and meet Peter's face.

"Peter?" he asked again. Erik tentatively reached over to tap the boy's face, which was contorted in a pinched expression of discomfort, marred further by the vomit drying in a trail down his chin.

Once Erik's hand made contact with Peter's cheek, he wanted to retract it. From the split second interaction, Erik had felt the clammy, sweaty, and scorching hot skin and was growing concerned. The slight physical prodding finally made Peter respond.

"Mom?" he asked groggily, voice cracking, "I'll put my dishes in the sink in a minute... I'm tired..."

Erik let out a harsh sigh, bending his neck in an attempt to make eye contact with the boy.

"Peter, I'm not you-" Erik was cut off.

"Yeah yeah... I'm not your maid. I know, Ma. Just... give me five."

"Peter." Erik stated bluntly yet with a hint of unease, unsure if Peter was delirious or just messing with him, "look at me, please."

Peter cracked open his eyes and blearily met Erik's stoic and collected face. He blinked a few times, slowly and deliberately, calculating who was kneeling in front of him, before letting out a weak and wheezy chuckle, "hey there, refrigerator ornament. Wassup?"

Erik rolled his eyes, responding with, "I came to ask you to turn down your atrocious music so you won't wake any of the other children who are trying to sleep. When I came in here, you were passed out on the floor. Would you like to explain to me what happened?"

"Nah... it isn't all too interesting"

"Peter, can you please act like an adult for 2 minutes? Please?"

"Oh man, the Nazi-hunting, president-killing, horseman of the Apocalypse is bustin' out the PLEASES. Look out, world, Lord of the Vacation Souvenirs has a new tactic... MANNERS!"

Peter burst out laughing at his own adolescent joke, ending in a wheezy struggle to catch his own breath. Erik couldn't tell if he was just screwing with him or genuinely needed help. This behavior seemed pretty normal for the immature mutant.

"Look, Peter, I really just need to know if you're okay. Can you answer that simple question, please?"

"Man, your tactics are workin' like a charm. I guess I'll tel-" Peter was cut off by a repulsing gag, hunching over and expelling his stomach's contents... again, this time, however, onto Erik's shirt, quickly travelling in a sad trail down onto his freshly-ironed pants. Peter's bloodshot eyes went side with embarrassment as he quickly transitioned his gaze to the floor.

Erik's face was caught frozen still as his mind caught up with what had just happened. As repulsed as he was, it wasn't like he hadn't seen worse. But that still didn't make the fact that he was just puked on any less disgusting. After audibly exhaling through his nose, Erik once again focused on the miserable man child in front of him, who was now anxiously tapping his fingernails on the hard plaster of his cast, deliberately trying to avoid eye contact.

God damnit, Peter, He thought to himself as he continued tapping, it's bad enough leaving him with a painfully ambiguous response during a battle to save all of humanity, ultimately ruining a perfectly good chance to fess up, but now look what you've done. You fucking threw up on him. Peter felt himself growing smaller as his subconscious shamed him for his uncontrollable bout of illness. It was stupid and ultimately all in his head, but it didn't make him feel any less shit about his situation.

After taking the few quiet seconds, Erik stood up, and whether it was out of pity or some subconscious moral quest, grabbed Peter by the armpits and dragged him to the bathroom.

"W-what the?" Peter asked, confused by the harsh white light of the bathroom and the sudden shift in scenery.

"Well I'm not going to let you sit in your own disgusting clothes. I have standards, you know. Can you undress yourself? I'll get us both some clean clothes."

Peter grunted in response. It meant: yeah, I think I can take off my own clothes, bro... once the room stops spinning. Erik, however, had already up and left, stripping off his own soiled shirt and rifling through Peter's dresser drawers, and taking the opportunity to flick off the television and silence the music that had been awkwardly filling the room's background space up until now.

Peter didn't have much variety in his clothing, dark jeans and band logo t-shirts were most of his dresser's arsenal. Not wishing to be clad in a Metallica shirt for the rest of the night, he dug a bit further into the seemingly endless assortment of shirts till he found a plain white short sleeve, sighing in relief. He grabbed a random shirt from the top of the assortment which just so happened to have the Journey logo on it, and set off to find new pants for the boy.

Back in the bathroom, Peter was still laying slumped against the bathtub, shivering. Everything around him had seemingly slowed to a halt, not unlike when he was running past the speed of sound, but this time deceleration just felt... wrong.

The crashing rhythm of the rock music had come to a halt, yet it didn't cease the incessant throbbing ache in his head, as if the bass riffs and the harsh taps of the snare were on a permanent loop with earbuds permanently glued to his ears. He was trying his best to prevent himself from groaning or whining as to not sound like even more of a child in front of Erik, but honestly, he didn't want his nonexistent father right now, he wanted his mom.

Peter was snapped from his self loathing by Erik's footfalls growing progressively louder as he approached him. Erik had thrown on a pair of track pants and a random white shirt. He was holding a pair of sweatpants and another shirt for Peter so he could be free of his sweat-slick and vomit-covered clothes.

"Hey, you don't get to keep those. I like those pants," Peter stated sarcastically, still trying to put up a front, although he was unsure why. He'd needed help, it was painfully obvious, so why was he still pushing his father away? Resentment? Anger? Pride? No... fear.

"Arms up," Erik instructed, preparing to take Peter's shirt off for him.

"Yo, you know I'm not a toddler, right? I can take off my own god damn shirt."

"You sure don't act like you're a day older than one, and I don't wanna risk you accidentally suffocating getting stuck in your own clothing so... arms up."

Peter sighed and did as he was told. Erik swiftly peeled the top off the boy and felt around his back, finding it clammy and warm. As if he'd just went from the tropics to Antarctica, the shirt leaving his skin exposed his skin to a whole new level of cold. The sensation ripped through his spine as his teeth started chattering. Hoping Erik had a brain underneath that skull, Peter was (im)patiently waiting for the man to save him from the frosty winds of his newly installed Arctic bathroom and slip the new shirt over him already. However, much to Peter's dismay, Erik turned on the tub's faucet, soaking a hand towel in cold water before leaning over and placing it on Peter's exposed back.

The second the frigid cloth made contact with his skin, Peter recoiled, back arching backwards, arms frantically bending to try and remove it. Erik sighed, slightly out of pity, and continued holding it down.

"Is this some cruel punishment? What did I do?" Peter pleaded, hoping to distract himself from crying by use of humor.

"You're scorching and sticky and it's just disgusting. I'm cooling you down, so relax," Erik explained. "It'll be a few more seconds, I just needed to get all the sweat off of you."

And as quickly as it had begun, the endeavor was over and Erik was threading Peter's strikingly pale and flimsy arms through the shirt holes. Peter audibly sighed, feeling like he'd just spent an hour in an industrial freezer and was now back into a normal temperature.

Erik's eyes drifted to Peter's legs, immediately noticing a flaw in his plan. How was he going to change Peter's pants with that full leg cast?

"Peter, how do you typically change your pants considering your current... situation?" Erik asked.

"It's pretty simple. I don't," Peter replied bluntly.

"W-what?"

"Well, after I got my leg set a few days ago, I changed into jeans, not wanting to be in flight suit pants for the next week of my life, and I haven't swapped since. It's like, physically impossible."

"So... you've been wearing the same (disgustingly dirty) pants all week?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Hank says I should be grateful that it'll heal in a couple days, most people you'd find passed out on their floor covered in vomit with a full leg cast would have been wearing their nasty pants for weeks."

Erik sighed, tossing Peter's soiled shirt and the sweatpants back into the bedroom before meeting his gaze.

"Alright, Peter, I'm going to set you up in bed now."

"Sounds grea-" Peter was once again, clamping his hand over his mouth, pathetically dragging himself over to the toilet to prevent throwing up all over himself again.

Erik saw his distress and lifted the toilet lid and seat, prompting Peter to start heaving into the sad and dreary porcelain bowl. Each dry or productive heave sent another pulsing wave of pain and violent nausea from his stomach to seemingly every conceivable inch of his body in a viscous cycle of suffering. Erik could do nothing but watch as the silver-haired boy wretched in agony, each heave causing his breath to hitch, caught in his throat, as another bout of sick rushed up past his lips, crashing into the toilet bowl.

Erik wanted to reach over and rub Peter's back or offer a semblance of physical comfort for the anguish he must have been feeling. He'd often do this for his daughter, Nina, whenever she had a stomach bug. Erik reached out his hand, only to quickly retract it, shaking haunting thoughts from his mind. This boy was not his child, and in no way would he ever come close to being Nina. What was he thinking?

Guilt quickly overtook the memories as Peter finished his session of sickness. He sagged limply against the side of the toilet, face still partially hidden by the rim of the bowl. When he looked up at Erik, he looked awful. Beyond awful.

Red-rimmed eyes, clearly there as Peter attempted to stop the obvious tears from spilling over, met cool yet collected ones, the former's being full of pain, not just from this embarrassment or the physical turmoil he'd just endured, but something else. Erik knew those eyes. He knew them because for so long, they were the ones he'd stared at in the mirror, day after day, for years, until he'd found Charles, only to come face to face again with those demonized eyes in the form of an immature mutant puking his guts out on his bathroom floor. They were the eyes of a young man who was lost, feeling alone, hiding a part of themselves they wanted to let go, to set free, so they could truly be happy, yet he couldn't possibly decipher what could be internally destroying the boy.

"I-I'm sorry you had to watch that..." Peter said softly as his head lolled over.

"It's fine," Erik replied with a tone to match that of Peter's.

"I'm pretty sure... that I'm done. For now?" It came out as more of a question, but at this point, Peter wasn't trusting any signal his body was sending him. Every impulse had been smudged and cloudy in his mind, and paired with the seemingly endless headache and the relentless chills racking his body from the fever, Peter was sure that if his mind were a computer hard drive, it would have self destructed out of a deadly virus slowly hacking into the hardware.

But alas, Peter was no computer, and so he was stuck with this mystery illness, cooped up in his room, unable to run, with Erik mother-hecking Lehnsherr. His fever-addled mind was barely functioning at this point, so he didn't register anything but dizzying blurred images swirling around his head and slightly-grumbled voice swimming in his ears as Erik scooped the kid up like a newlywed bride and carried him off to bed.

Peter had never been more grateful to grace the comfort of his duvet, ready to sleep. He halfheartedly grabbed at it in an attempt to cover himself and finally warm up. Erik sighed with pity, grabbing it for him and draping it over his shoulders before moving over to stand by the nightstand and awkwardly watching Peter try and get comfortable.

Despite the obvious fact that his body wanted him to sleep, Peter's mind was racing everywhere except the realm of unconsciousness. Every thought was emphasized ten-fold as it bounced around his head until the only things remaining were his want, heck, his need, to tell Erik the truth, and the hesitant and unsure anxiety lingering in the background of his subconscious that was stopping him from doing just that.

Fevers, though, as Peter was quickly learning, tended to do weird shit to what your brain was really trying to accomplish, often scrambling any message you tried to expel to the point where it may or may not have even been your true intentions. And hell, it was an even bigger gamble if you'd remember any of the dumb shit you'd done or said. It was as if the heat had boiled all the potentially embarrassing memories away, which was at least kinda nice.

With everything happening, Peter thought it best for Erik to just pack up and scoot from the premises, as not to accidentally say or do something stupid that might come back to bite him in the ass later, but Peter wasn't about to pull an asshole move on the man who'd just helped him despite not being obligated to at all.

So, instead of verbally asking, Peter did the next most "mature" thing he could have in his debilitated and helpless situation. He pretended to be asleep in a pathetic hope that Erik would leave on his own. He didn't. Peter ended up looking like he was trying way too hard to be asleep than any real asleep person, and after a few minutes, Erik caught on.

"Peter, I know you're not actually sleeping," Erik said, not putting on any sort of specific emotion.

Peter cracked one red and tired eye open, meeting Erik's gaze yet again. Peter sighed and turned over onto his side, back to the other man, bleary eyes trying to focus on anything that wasn't Erik. Sleep, a seemingly effortless task for most, eluded Peter as he let out an a low whine. This was miserable.

"Hey, Erik?"

"Yes?"

"I umm... never mind..."

"What were you going to say?"

"It's nothing... I just feel stupid since I can't even do the easiest thing on the planet."

"Is there anything I can do?"

The question struck Peter like a cold dagger to the heart, it sounded so much like something his mom would say, who was practically the only person he wanted in that moment. Peter didn't like to be weak or expose any of his fears. He preferred to be distant and reserved, to hide all that insecurity with stupid dry humor and sarcasm. His mom and his sisters were really the only ones who he'd truly been open with, and when faced with these new circumstances, finally able to reconnect with the father he never had, he was frozen in place, and after pushing people away and closing himself off for so long, not knowing what to do to reach out and truly face what he needed to.

Completely internally and externally overwhelmed, Peter let his dam of pride burst, letting his emotional flood pour out of his eyes in the form of earnest, choked sobs. He bit his lip and weakly rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to hide his distress.

Erik was taken aback, taking a step towards him, before backpedaling as fast as the initial paternal instinct had seized him. He didn't know what to do. Erik was conflicted, scared of overstepping boundaries, but wholeheartedly wanting to comfort the clearly suffering boy lying in bed in front of him.

And in a flash of instinct, an unspoken, deep-rooted, yet unknown draw towards the silver-haired boy, Erik sat down on the mattress, back meeting Peter's, and leaning over his shoulder to rub his back

Erik's hand was shaky, unsure if it should truly be there. He felt the heat radiating off Peter's skin through his t-shirt. Erik glanced down further to Peter's face, and despite the hands trying (and failing) to cover his eyes, saw it covered in a new sheen of sweat quickly mixing with his tears, pale and pasty with angry crimson patches sitting pretty as pictures on his cheeks and forehead. Everything in that moment accentuated both how awfully awkward Erik and truly terrible Peter felt.

Erik didn't even know if Peter was lucid anymore. He was breaking down into tears, shivering and being comforted by someone who was practically a stranger. Eventually, the sobs dwindled into whimpers and Erik's nerves were starting to taper off himself. The room fell into a weirdly calm silence as the two decided to not say anything. Until Peter's shaky voice cut through the room.

"Y-you know... when I was a dumb little kid, I thought I-I could outrun germs. Look at me now. I can't even cook a f-freakin' omelette without making myself sick... I never needed to cook for myself, it was always my mom, or Hostess cakes."

"..." Erik wanted to say something, anything, but he was unsure what, or if Peter would understand.

"I can't do anything right... life tosses me chances and I just fuck em' all up."

Erik soon realized Peter was no longer talking about his omelette, but something deeper.

"I just wish... you could've d-done this for me when I was still that dumb little kid. I wish for so much to be different. I'd always wanted a d-dad, and when I finally figured out who he was, I learn he'd gone off to kill the president! I-I don't know..."

"W-what?"

"I m-might not be able to outrun germs, but my entire l-life, I've outrun everything. The law, my responsibilities, adulthood... But now, the one time when I finally can't run from anything, out of all of my problems, I gotta face you of all things. N-not the way I thought this would happen..." Peter's words died out as he fell silent.

Erik wasn't sure he'd heard Peter properly. Until something in his mind clicked. Everything he's done up until now: "my mom once knew a guy who could do that..." and "I'm here for my family too..." Oh my god, he thought, I'm... I-I'm Peter's... father? Who else had he been with before his wife... Magda. Oh god.

Erik pulled his hand away from Peter's back. This caused Peter to moan and flip onto his back, staring directly at Erik, eyes cutting straight to his heart like knives.

"W-why'd you stop? It was nice..." Peter admitted shyly.

"I-I need a second, Peter. I'm sorry," Erik sighed as he pushed himself off the mattress.

Peter said nothing as his eyes drifted back to his bedspread. Disappointment lurking behind his bloodshot irises.

Erik walked off to the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He stared up at himself in the mirror, hands gripped tightly around the basin. This couldn't be happening. Not after Nina, not again. Erik was just... terrified. Terrified of the idea of getting close again. Anyone who's ever been a part of Erik's family... had died. His parents, his wife, his daughter; he didn't want Peter to join the list of people the universe was just deemed to kill. He knew that Peter was far from dying, it was a simple fact that the kid couldn't cook and he'd fed himself something underdone. Yet, it was all happening, it was all too fast, and everything felt so damn scary.

He knew, deep down, that this was the truth. It only made sense that the Magda didn't wanna tell her son that his dad was an internationally targeted terrorist that's murdered dozens of people, and this kid had no reasons to lie about it. God... Erik didn't know how to feel, what he should do, but he did know that had a need to comfort Peter, who'd just confessed a secret he'd been hiding for who knows how long, and was now laying alone, probably feeling abandoned again, after pouring his heart out knowing full well it might be shot down.

Whether it was all intentional was yet to be seen. Again, fevers did weird shit.

Erik let out a low sigh and opened the door, finding Peter curled up on himself as best he could, softly whining, mumbling incoherently to himself. Erik stepped over and sat down on the bed again, the entire mattress dipping from his weight.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I am very happy you told me..." Erik was searching for the right words, "the truth."

" 'r welc'm" Peter mumbled as his puffy eyelids slid over his tired brown eyes.

"Is there anything you need me to do for you right now?"

"J'st... stay please. I-It's embarassin', I know, but I just... my mom used to do it..."

"Alright, Peter. I'm not gonna leave, so just try to sleep, okay?"

Peter didn't need to be told twice as his mind and body worked in harmony, finally allowing Peter to be lulled off to the realm of unconsciousness. And although he knew it wasn't necessary, Erik wished to add to the intimacy of this quiet moment, a type of moment so rare and inconstant in both of their lives, so he pushed himself up against the headboard, laying out flat on the bed, and carded his fingers into Peter's silky silver locks. And out of habit, maybe a sort of tendency he'd developed from doing it with Nina, or an obligation to share what he felt Peter deserved, he began to hum his family lullaby, ever so slowly and softly, drowning out any other thing the world wanted to toss at them. Because in that moment... Erik and Peter had found something they'd both been missing for so long, peacefulness and contentment. And for that short night, it was all they needed.

[albertacancer]

Lessons Learned Outside the Bell Curve: The Story of Tricia Antonini, 20-Year Cancer Warrior

         It was a Saturday in summer of 1997 when Dr. Chris Brown, then 41, reported for on call duty at the Tom Baker Cancer Centre in Calgary. He picked up his patients’ medical charts and commenced his rounds at the room of a new leukemia patient. As he strode into the room, he noticed a young woman who appeared to be in her early twenties, sitting on her hospital bed poring over a mess of books spread out before her, while her mother hovered nearby. The patient had diamond-blue eyes and apple cheeks that were swollen like those of “a chipmunk, due to extreme mucositis,” a condition that often affects chemotherapy patients and leaves them with swollen faces and excruciatingly sore oral tissue. In his naturally cheerful manner, Dr. Brown introduced himself to the patient saying, “Hello, I’m Dr. Brown, and I’m on call for the weekend.” The young woman looked up at the doctor and regarded him with “laser beams.” Without speaking, the young woman communicated so much in a single look; strength, intelligence, determination. Her name was Tricia Antonini and she would go on to demonstrate all of these qualities in spades over the next 20 years.

The young woman looked up at the doctor and regarded him with “laser beams.” Without speaking, the young woman communicated so much in a single look; strength, intelligence, determination. Her name was Tricia Antonini and she would go on to demonstrate all of these qualities in spades over the next 20 years. 

Tricia’s true story begins 23 years before that moment on May 21, 1974 at Pasqua Hospital in Regina, Saskatchewan. On that spring day, Lou and Marie Antonini gratefully welcomed their second child, a baby girl, whom they called Tricia Louise. Dad Lou Antonini, a burly man with a thick moustache, remembers the day they brought their daughter home, “Then, we had one of each. She filled our family.” 

Mom Marie Antonini, a pretty woman with dark hair and wide green eyes, says, growing up, Tricia was an easy-going child who was always busy with extra-curricular activities and who never subjected them to ‘those scary teen years.’ When asked if Tricia’s incredible strength ever revealed itself early on, Marie recalls a time when Tricia overcame, seemingly on her own, an instance of grade-school bullying. As a gifted child, Tricia excelled in school and often put her hand up in class which sometimes led to her being teased and ostracized by her classmates. Marie remembers, “…one of the teachers spoke to me at an interview and said, ‘I don’t know how she comes to school’, and I didn’t know what she was talking about… [Tricia] wasn’t really sharing with us, so we didn’t realize how bad things were, but you know she just stuck through that year and then kind of went on… I almost think it even strengthened her.”

“…one of the teachers spoke to me at an interview and said, ‘I don’t know how she comes to school’, and I didn’t know what she was talking about… [Tricia] wasn’t really sharing with us, so we didn’t realize how bad things were...”  

When she reached high school, Tricia began to shine. She had moved on from her mean girl experience and found a group of good friends. Among those friends was Tasha Westerman whom she met in grade 10 and whom she remains best friends with to this day.  Tricia participated in a number of activities from school council to band to swimming and demonstrated talent in art and music. In addition to playing the flute, French horn, and jazz piano, Tricia loved to create art and was regularly called upon to hand-draw many of the school’s event posters. Best friend Tasha Westerman remembers how Tricia was in high school, “She was always really social, always willing to help out when others needed it. She would stay after school to help with events, organizing or fundraising or anything.” High school also gave big brother Brandon Antonini, now 46 and a father of 11-year-old twin boys, new reasons to look out for his pretty, younger sister. “I found out she went on a date with one of my friends… There was nothing good about it, it wasn’t allowed and was quickly snuffed out!” Always her “protector” since childhood, Brandon would later prove just how much that title meant to him when he would become the donor for not one but two of Tricia’s unheard of three stem cell transplants. When asked about his childhood with Tricia, Brandon warmly recalls one summer in the early 1980s when they watched National Lampoon’s Summer Vacation with Chevy Chase close to two hundred times and the way Tricia always supported him throughout his athletic endeavours as a competitive swimmer. Upon graduating from high school (and much to her art teacher’s dismay), Tricia chose to pursue a career in accounting at the University of Regina and then began working for PwC through an accounting fellowship in 1995. Upon completing her degree, Tricia moved to Calgary to continue working for PwC Calgary in January of 1997.  There, while still in her first year as a chartered accountant articling student, Tricia signed up to play in the firm’s annual golf tournament. Though she managed to play all 18 holes, Tricia collapsed at the end of the tournament and was rushed to Red Deer Hospital where she awoke feeling embarrassed. Thinking perhaps she had had too much to drink, mortification quickly turned to panic when she was told by doctors she had leukemia and was transferred by ambulance to the Tom Baker Cancer Centre. A biopsy confirmed this suspicion a few days later and she began her first chemotherapy session. Before beginning treatment, however, she was adamant that she wanted to write her final exam to become a chartered accountant. Cancer or no cancer, Tricia had plans.   Together with her doctor it was decided Tricia would cancel her registration in an exam prep course but still write the qualifying exam, in a separate room away from the other students to mitigate risk of infection given her immune-suppressed state. Dad Lou Antonini recalls this trying time and his daughter’s determination to continue with her plans despite the life-threatening diagnosis, “I remember when she was first diagnosed, sitting on the floor, so sick from chemo, still studying [for her exams.]” Some months later Tricia received her first stem cell transplant (her brother Brandon was the donor) and a year later she wrote her final accounting exam (a process that takes 4 days and 4 hours of exam writing per day) and passed. In December 2002, when Tricia was 28, she threw a Toast to Life party to celebrate 5 years of cancer freedom. She welcomed her friends, family, and doctors, and thanked everyone for their support. She also encouraged them all to ‘engage the moment’ and ‘toast life’ every day.

Three weeks later, Tricia felt tired and her lips looked pale. The leukemia had returned. 

As Tricia underwent chemotherapy for the second time, her doctors considered whether a non-related stem cell donor might improve her chances of remission. A match was found. The donor was a man from Germany. Two years later, she would find out his name was Oliver. Once Tricia was in remission again, she travelled to Europe for the first time and met Oliver in his small town outside Bavaria, Germany. She returned to work and continued volunteering with First Connections, a support program through the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society of Canada, as a peer counsellor for newly diagnosed leukemia and lymphoma patients. She resumed her duties as Board of Trustees member for the Alberta chapter of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society of Canada which she helped found earlier in 2002.   Friend and fellow peer counsellor and Provincial Advisory Council (PAC) Cancer member Lorelee Marin remembers how dedicated Tricia was to improving the lives of Albertans facing cancer, “Tricia always shared her perspective in a beautiful and compassionate way, she was always focused on the "patient-first" approach to care and [on offering] solutions…” “Tricia always shared her perspective in a beautiful and compassionate way, she was always focused on the "patient-first" approach to care and [on offering] solutions…” It was 2004 and life was good, but it was about to get even better. Tricia’s employer made her an offer she couldn’t refuse: relocation to Manhattan for three years to work on an international project with PwC’s global head office. Tricia didn’t hesitate for a New York minute. She embraced the opportunity and fearlessly hopped on a plane to New York City in the summer of 2005. Once there Tricia leaned into her career and, in her free time, pursued her dream of acting. She walked the city’s endless street blocks and found something to be amazed by on every corner. She met people from different parts of the world and grew her circle of international friends. She sat in restaurants where tables were jammed too close together and she fell in love with the pad thai where the restaurant employees recognized her by her weekly order. Tricia was in the zone. About a year after moving to New York, she was preparing to leave for a weekend in the Hamptons when she got a fever. Another leukemia relapse. Tricia’s relapse was diagnosed on July 17, 2006 at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Centre in New York, but opted to return home to Calgary for treatment so that she could be near family. She flew home with her mom on July 19, 2006 and drove directly to the Tom Baker Cancer Centre where she met with her doctors. The following is an excerpt from Lou Antonini’s journal about his experience with Tricia’s second relapse: The doctors then told us that a third bone marrow transplant would not work… and that there were two courses of action to take: One, enjoy the balance of time she had left by extending it as long as possible with transfusions of blood products. (This way she would not go through the hell that chemo creates, and [live] a few months, in relative comfort. [Two], hit it hard with two sessions of chemo and then, if that got her to remission, go into a third 'maintenance' phase that would be continuous and could extend her life to a few years instead of a few months, again in relative comfort. The problem with the second choice was that she could go through the first two phases of chemo and all the torture and still not be in remission.

Tricia was not ready to give up and chose to fight again. And fight she would. On July 30, 2006, just 10 days into her first session of chemo and with next to no infection-fighting white blood cells, an innocuous black mark appeared at her central line incision. 

Her blood pressure began to drop and she was quickly admitted to intensive care. In just one hour the black mark had bloomed and was identified as necrotizing fasciitis or, as it is better known, flesh-eating disease. Hospital staff prepared Tricia for emergency surgery which was needed to scrape away the deadly bacteria before it had any more chance to spread. After surgery Lou Antonini went to see his daughter and broke into tears at the sight of her:

When Tricia returned from surgery she was on life support with both breathing and feeding tubes in her throat, a catheter in, and a wound the size of my hand that extended from just below her Adam’s apple down about 5 inches and 8 inches across. Everything had been removed including her front neck muscles and it was at least an inch deep. I remember after seeing it for the first time I cried on and off for about three hours. Tricia was kept on life support and in the five days following surgery developed two cold viruses as well as pneumonia. With no immune system to even fight a cold sore Tricia’s condition was grim.  Doctors advised the family to prepare for the likelihood that Tricia would not survive her stay in intensive care. The doctor added that even if she did survive, they would not be able to continue with chemotherapy which would leave her only a few months to live, at best.  Devastated, Lou and Marie Antonini sought the opinion of Tricia’s first oncologist. Tricia’s doctor agreed with the original prognosis but noted that Tricia’s white blood cell count had risen unexpectedly overnight. Cautiously, the doctor told the distressed couple that there may be a glimmer of hope if Tricia’s white blood cell count continued to rise. Over the next two weeks, Tricia remained in the ICU with her neck exposed. Her parents took alternating shifts and together stayed at her bedside 24 hours a day, seven days a week. As days went by Tricia’s white blood cell count eked gradually upwards. On August 11, 2006 her breathing tube was removed. The next day she was discharged from ICU and sent back to Unit 57 at the Tom Baker Cancer Centre.  Things were starting to look up. A biopsy was done to determine the state of Tricia’s leukemia and whether she could resume chemotherapy. When the biopsy came back, the results revealed that Tricia’s leukemia was in remission! Despite only 10 days of chemotherapy, the plan had worked. Tricia and her family were ecstatic and breathed an enormous sigh of relief that she was stabilizing.  A couple of months later, after extensive physiotherapy, multiple complications, a skin graft, and removal of her feeding tube, Tricia was discharged.

After Tricia’s harrowing experience in the ICU, she and her parents packed their bags for Maui. According to Tricia, when they arrived to the island she could barely walk on her own, “I had to use a wheelchair to make our connection, so my mobility was still in a state of recovery... When we went down to the beach, I had to get help. By the end of it I was snorkeling by myself, and I could get up by getting onto all fours. I got so much stronger in that period of time. We were like, How can we get back here? It’s an energy of different sorts, and it’s healing.” One year following the family’s trip to Maui, Tricia was approved for a clinical trial thanks to the combined effort of Dr. Brown and the team of doctors in Calgary and Dr. James Young, attending physician, Bone Marrow Transplant Service, Division of Hematologic Oncology, Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Centre in New York. A year later, on June 12, 2008, Tricia received her third stem cell transplant (a claim only a handful of people around the world can make.) Once again, her protector Brandon Antonini was the donor. The next six years would be filled with the blissfully ordinary events of everyday life: birthdays and baby showers; drinks with friends and dinners with family; weddings and funerals. There would be highs and lows (or peaks and valleys as Tricia and Tasha came to refer to them): returning to New York to visit with friends, helping Tasha through her own cancer diagnoses, making Avenue Magazine’s list of Top 40 Under 40, saying goodbye to her Grandmas Mary and Amanda, returning to Maui with her family, and saying goodbye to her friend Ryan, Tasha’s first husband, to brain cancer. In 2011 Tricia joined Alberta Health Services’ Patient Advisory Council – Cancer (PAC – Cancer) and used her remarkable communication skills, business acumen, and first-hand experience as a cancer patient to improve cancer care for Albertans across the province. Lorelee Marin, fellow PAC – Cancer member, remembers the way “Tricia showed us all how we [could] make a difference.” And though Tricia knew she was living outside the bell curve and that every day was a gift, she was completely unprepared for what she was about to learn. The following is an excerpt from Tricia’s blog published November 2, 2014:

I haven't posted for well over a year - because life has been good and busy and no major health developments to report.  I even just a month ago was in NYC speaking at the Sloan Kettering Cancer Centre's transplant celebration, reporting that 6 years and 3 months later, no sign of leukemia.  Was transferred into the "long-term patient" clinic at the Bone Marrow Clinic in July.  Leukemia seems to be quiet right now.

Unfortunately a couple days ago, I found out I have a new challenge to deal with - Breast Cancer.  Yep. WTF.  Exactly.  My first mammogram at age 40 prompted an ultrasound and then biopsy last Monday and Thursday afternoon I went to the Bone Marrow Clinic and got results - invasive ductal carcinoma.  Just about lost my breath and my mind at that moment.  Totally believed the scleroderma (skin thickening GVHD from transplant #3), scar tissue from 4 central lines in my chest over 17 years and oh yeah, scar tissue from the surgery and skin graft I have in my neck and chest following flesh-eating disease was showing up in the ultrasound as unusual.  But probably the most convincing argument that this would NOT be cancer, was that I already did that.  3 times. Once more, Tricia was facing cancer. Her course of treatment for her breast cancer involved a bilateral mastectomy and chemotherapy. It was the doctors’ belief the cancer had not metastasized. Once again life marched on and Tricia marched along with it. She went back to New York in October of 2015 for Memorial Sloan Kettering’s 20th Annual Transplant Survivor Celebration, an event close to Tricia’s heart. In January of this past year, the Antonini family made their annual pilgrimage to Maui, home of Tommy Bahamas, one of Tricia’s favourite restaurants, and the site of her incredible, 2007, post-ICU recovery. This past April Tricia began to experience headaches and went to the emergency room to get checked out. She was told she had five tumours in her brain. Two days later Tricia posted an update on her blog about the most recent development in her health. At the end of her update she shared a piece of writing that she had written in conjunction with a painting she had made entitled The Black which Tricia painted to convey the pain and suffering associated with loss. Below is an excerpt of Tricia’s The Black:

The Black by Tricia Antonini

While I would agree with people who say that I am a positive person, and that my ability to stay positive has helped me overcome many challenges, I feel the need to articulate the depth of moments where it is impossible to be positive, or where I have felt simply too tired to live… I used to believe, or possibly hope, that life was overall fair… I don’t believe this to be true anymore.  I think shining the spotlight on the darkest moments, understanding, in detail, how we managed to get to the edge of the water we almost drowned in, how we didn’t bleed to death, how our heart managed to heal after being torn to pieces, makes us more capable of surviving the next hit.  No matter how many times we are hit.  And focusing on how black the black is makes the white extraordinarily more vibrant. Ironically, Tricia wrote The Black three weeks before learning about her metastatic tumors. Tricia, now 43, is currently in Calgary receiving palliative care for metastatic brain cancer. She maintains that while her breast cancer diagnosis felt “like someone came [up] behind me and smacked me in the head” and that learning about the metastatic brain tumours felt too foreign and too surreal to seem possible, she says she is not consumed by the questions that haunt so many cancer patients. ”I have had moments where I would say, Well, why is this happening? … Why me? Why not someone else? Because I’ve been doing everything I should be doing when you get told you have cancer. I’ve been volunteering, I’ve been giving back, I’ve been helping to raise funds, I’ve been a mentor for people, I’ve stepped back from my life and changed what I’m doing at work… I’ve been really listening, and I’ve been making the changes that you should make. And having the perspective that you should have…” But then Tricia realizes, “… there’s really smart people working on Why? … And they’ve been working on it for decades, and if they haven’t figured it out, I’m not going to figure it out today. And I have no energy, anyway! So why would I waste it on a question that is impossible to answer?” Tricia continues our conversation by discussing the importance of research, the narrowness of ‘The Cure’, and her own personal thoughts on cancer: “…people say, Well, there’s so much money that goes into research and they still haven’t found ‘The Cure.’” For one thing, we’re talking about thousands of diseases, not one disease. It’s grouped [under] this big name called cancer, but it is such a misnomer because they are so different, all of them… the focus shouldn’t be about funding ‘The Cure’ (and if we don’t find the cure, we’ve failed), it should be about funding more moments, creating more moments for people. I mean for me right now, they say [my cancer] is terminal, but you could give me more moments. My friend Ryan who passed away, Tasha’s late husband, he survived for about 15 months longer than they expected [thanks to a clinical trial] before he passed away. The moments that he had in those 15 months, unbelievable! …that ‘more moments’ idea is so true and it extends beyond cancer. Whatever we need to do to have more moments, particularly more potent moments [is] a big deal. To have more moments when the prognosis shows you’re not going to have any more? That’s still miraculous. It’s just as miraculous as a cure.” When asked about how the passage of time feels now that she knows it’s dwindling, Tricia attests that “life is not about a timeline, it’s about potency.” She believes that people are “canvasses walking around” and for every moment that we engage fully with the world and allow ourselves to truly be seen, we exchange a bit of paint with one another. Tricia believes that you can either go through life a “blank canvas” or become a “Jackson Pollock”.  Time, Tricia says, is irrelevant. Moments are what matter. Potent moments. And lots of them. Last week on November 22, 2017 at the Tom Baker Cancer Centre, surrounded by her friends, family and medical care team, Tricia awarded fellow philanthropist Elaine Moses with the inaugural Tricia Antonini Award for her contributions to creating a positive and hopeful environment for patients undergoing treatment on Unit 57, Foothills Medical Centre (FMC) and the Blood and Marrow Transplant (BMT) Clinic in Calgary, Alberta.

Written by Diana Gaviria

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Be like Tricia and help create more moments for Albertans facing cancer.

What you can do

Donate to the Alberta Cancer Foundation and help fund life-saving care and ground-breaking research right here in our province.

If you are between the ages of 17 and 35 and in good general health, register to join the One Match Stem Cell & Marrow Network and give someone like Tricia a second chance at life.

[swimintothesound]

The Crossroads Between Objectivity and Nostalgia

Something I’ve spent the majority of my “adult” life grappling with is the intersection between art and nostalgia. It’s a concept that I’ve only recently come to recognize but has essentially acted as the thesis for this entire blog without me even knowing it. As a result, this post feels like what the past year’s worth of writing on here has been building towards.

Reflecting on my most recent metalcore-infested post I began to think “why do I love these albums so much?” Even within that blog where I’m gushing over these albums, I repeatedly felt the need to clarify that I don’t think they’re great feats of art. Is that because I’m embarrassed of liking them? Probably… But there’s more to it than that.

In that same post, I also talked about my positive (or not-so-positive) memories associated with each album, and I even gave a wine-like pairing of what I was doing while listening to each album. Earlier this week Of Mice & Men surprise released a new song called “Back To Me” with their new line-up sans-Carlile. It’s always a bummer to see someone leave a band (especially due to health-related issues) but it’s also a bummer to hear a band without the member that you held most dear. Listening to the new song led me down a Tidal-binge on the rest of the band’s greatest hits. Over their eight years as a band OM&M have undergone a significant shift in sound, transitioning from breakdown-heavy metalcore, then nu-metal, and more recently full-on buttrock. It’s not a transition I love, but God knows I respect their freedom to chase that artistic dragon. When I pressed play on the band’s 2011 standout O.G. Loko I realized something: when all’s said and done, this track (from an album I’ve barely listened to) didn’t sound all that different from the band’s 2010 album that I hold so dear. Someone coming to the band from an outside perspective would probably find the two indistinguishable.

A brief history of Of Mice & Men

I’ll be the first to admit metalcore is a genre that breeds repetition and cookie-cutter behavior. Fans know what they want, and most bands are happy to give it to them. That’s another one of the reasons I respect OM&M’s shift toward nu-metal and away from their origins: it’s a risk. At the end of the day, there’s not that much of a different between the band’s first album and the second. The difference for me was that I listened to the first ravenously during an awesome time in my life, and only listened to the second a few times at most. There’s probably someone a year my junior who feels the exact same way about the band’s second album compared to their third. And so on and so forth.

To get away from metalcore (and back to myself) I’ve spent the last several months ranking and re-ranking my favorite albums of all time. Some of the categories like classic rock were easy. Not only because it’s a genre I’ve been listening to my entire life, but those albums and songs have saturated our culture for decades. There’s some sort of rough consensus in the collective unconscious that The Beatles are great… and you know what? I agree. Because of this weird conflux of pop culture, history, and personal experiences, I can easily say that Abbey Road is not only my favorite Beatles album, it’s also an incredible piece of art that I feel no shame (or risk) in elevating on a high pedestal.

Then I look at hip-hop. The genre’s been around since long before I was born, but it was a genre I only started to personally engage with a few years ago. As a result, most of my favorite hip-hop albums are from that exact time frame. I know they’re not all “incredible” (at least not as incredible as Abbey Road) but part of that is recognizing my own inexperience with the genre. I know, I know, I know there’s older hip-hop I need to listen to that are essentially as “classic” as Abbey Road, but it takes time and effort to become fluent in a genre. I have barely listened to Jay-Z, UGK, Madvillain, Biggie, 2 Pac, and a whole host of other artists that I know are great. It’s like that guy who hasn’t watched Star Wars. He knows it’s a good movie, but you incredulously asking “Seriously? You haven’t watched STAR WARS?” just discourages him. 

I recently watched Casablanca for the first time a week ago (shout out to Mother’s Day). That’s a movie that’s frequently held up with Citizen Kane and Godfather as “literally the best movie of all time.” For years I’ve known that it’s great. It’s been on my “to watch” list… and you know what? It was pretty good. What can I add to the conversation about Casablanca that hasn’t been said before besides ‘yep, everyone was right, it is really good.’ There are other movies like Fight Club and From Dusk Till Dawn that I recognize aren’t peaks of cinematic triumph or artistic feats like Casablanca is, but you know what? I like them more. I like them more because I’ve seen them more, I’ve had more time to digest them, and I have more positive memories tied to them. That doesn’t mean they’re better than Casablanca, but I like them far more.

Back to music. 

In creating that list of my favorite albums I’ve fudged a lot of genres, added categories, and made incredibly arbitrary distinctions, all because I wanted to fit more albums on there. I don’t put all those genres or albums on the same level. My favorite metalcore album does not stack up to my favorite classic rock album, that’s comparing apples to oranges. Or apples to pool cues.

A separate conversation within this is exactly how long an album should take to be placed among your “favorites.” And even more: what about an album that’s new to you, but “classic” within its own field?

Up until this year… Hell, up until a couple months ago, I’d never listened to The Strokes debut album Is This It. Until 2017 the only three Strokes songs I’d heard were “Reptilia” (shoutout Rock Band 1), “New York City Cops” (shoutout iTunes DJ, you will be missed), and “When It Started” (shoutout Spider-Man 1 soundtrack). Ironic since “New York City Cops” and “When It Started” were swapped on the US version of Is This It due to 9/11… but I’m getting wildly off-topic here.

Pictured: A bastion of high art 

The point is that it took me seventeen fucking years to listen to one of the greatest “indie” records of my lifetime… But is it fair for me to claim that? Sure I like Is This It a lot, but I’ve only listened to it about 10 times according to last.fm. So is consensus swaying my perception? Is two-decade-old critical acclaim forcing me to enjoy an album more than I really do? Is personal shame making me think higher of the record than I should be? Maybe, but I don’t think so. Is This It is great, no matter how you cut it. Removed of nostalgia, I enjoyed it and continue to play it every couple days.

Meanwhile, another album that didn’t quite make the cut into my favorites list was 2016’s Psychopomp by Japanese Breakfast. It’s an album that I adore, but (again) I’ve only had a handful of months to really sit with the album and let it marinate. As much as I wanted to say ‘this is one of my favorite indie albums’ I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. This is an album I’ve listened to more than the Strokes, yet it didn’t carry the acclaim of “definitive album of the 2000’s” and thus I didn’t feel comfortable ranking it up against the classics. Same with Car Seat Headrest’s Teens of Denial. I love the album, but I don’t feel comfortable enough with my personal feelings toward it, nor its place in history to confidently place it amongst my favorites of all time.

I’ll admit I’m overthinking all this. All these albums and movies are great, and at the end of the day, nobody really gives a shit about my “list” or ranking of these albums. Yet this is a concept I’ve been struggling with lately on an artistic level. How can you stack an album that you’ve been listening to for a decade up against anything else? How can a movie that been heralded as the greatest of all time (for 75 fucking years) really compare to anything that I’ve seen a dozen times? How do you even begin to compare the two? 

To bring this full-circle (and give a total cop-out answer) I think the answer is a case of “beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.” Those two OM&M albums are great. I think they’re an acquired taste for sure, but an outsider to the genre would probably hear two songs next to each other and probably think ‘these are different songs?’ 

I think all these qualifiers are sliders. Personal history. Critical acclaim. History. Context. Time. are inextricable from art. I guess I’d argue the art can still be judged on its own in a vacuum, but that’s not how anyone judges it… ever. We hear, see, and experience things on our own terms.

I guess if anything I’m arguing that personal history (nostalgia) is one of the most powerful influencers when it comes to my interpretation and experience of art. I use music like a time-traveling drug. You know that feeling when the holidays hit and you hear “Silent Night” for the first time? I have a calendar year’s worth of songs like that. I have albums that bring me back to distinct times, years, and moments in my life. I love that art can do that. I love that this coming August I can put on Frank Ocean’s Blonde and it will transport me directly back to Summer 2016. That kind of personal connection to music is something that can (sadly) never be duplicated. The beautiful part is that we all have our own narratives like that. We all have a list of albums… or movies…. or food… or podcasts… or whatever that evoke something within us. I’m just far more obsessive about documenting my own. 

My own history. My own context. Some far-off part of my own mind is the reason that I don’t like one Of Mice & Men album as much as it’s nearly-identical predecessor. Unfortunately, that conflux is something that can never be fully translated or explained no matter how hard we try. That unique perspective is the one thing we share, even if nothing’s shared. And that’s what we bring to art. That little piece of us that adds onto to something that’s already an inherently human and beautiful and pure creation. It’s what makes art beautiful. It’s what makes the world beautiful.