#marvin is like... my favorite detail of this series? but yes i like him a lot

[totheidiot]

hitchhikers guide to the galaxy for the fandom ask:)

AAA 100% was hoping someone would ask for this fandom so so so let's go let's go

favorite male character : judging by my blog theme, it should be obvious... marvin the paranoid android, my beloved... i feel so deeply for his character, i think about him all of the time...

favorite female character : favorite character of the entire series, the one and only tricia marie macmillan. my only gripe ever with the series is how it handles trillian in particular. by far, she was the smartest person in the entire main cast. the curse of being a female character in classic science fiction series 😔😔😔😔

least favorite character : i have no idea about this... I enjoyed every character in the series very wholeheartedly. the main cast of arthur, ford, marvin, zaphod and trillian, all the other side characters.

favorite ship : forthur, of course, never misses. but surprisingly, I really like zaphod x trillian as well, they have so much potential and they are worth developing. if i ever wrote a ship!fic for h2g2 (specifying ship!fic, because i have particular moods where i feel like writing a gen marvin-centric fic and one of these days, i might just give in), i would wrote for them.

favorite friendship : though forthur is my favorite romantic ship, i like their friendship too much. they are one of those parings that are compelling in both a romantic and platonic context. alternatively, i also like zaphod's dynamic with literally anyone.

favorite quote : h2g2 has such BANGER quotes, i have to make a top 3 list for this question. three of my favorite quotes in no particular order:

the obligatory "the story so far: in the beginning the universe was created. this has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move."

"now the world has gone to bed / darkness won't engulf my head / i can see by infrared / how I hate the night. / now i lay me down to sleep / try to count electric sheep / sweet dream wishes you can keep / how i hate the night - marvin."

"there is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers exactly what the universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. there is another which states that this has already happened.

worst character death : MARVIN'S DEATH. IT AFFECTED ME IN A WAY NO WILL EVER UNDERSTAND. bro was not present the entire so long and thanks for all the fish book and in the LAST FEW CHAPTER HE SHOWS UP. ONLY TO DIE. it was so tragic to me, "i think i feel good about it" right after "we apologize for the inconvenience." if i think too much of his death, i will cry.

this made me so happy you have no idea moment : an odd scene to be happy about but that marvin lullaby scene in life, universe and everything. for a non-marvin option, another one of my favorite moments is the one at the end of the restaurant at the end of the universe where the scrabble pieces spell out "what do you get if you multiply six by nine"

saddest moment : marvin's death but also the whale and petunia scene. that scene with the sperm whale should not BE THAT SAD. this series is one of my favorites and i will remember a detail from it and i will be more at awe and more in love with these books. like the thought process of the bowl of petunias like "curiously enough, the only thing that went through the mind of the bowl of petunias as it fell was oh no, not again. many people have speculated that if we knew exactly why the bowl of petunias had thought that we would know a lot more about the nature of the universe than we do now.” AND NOW THAT IN LIFE UNIVERSE AND EVERYTHING, WE KNOW THAT IT WAS ONE OF AGRAJAG'S REINCARNATIONS.

favorite location : i have got to be 100% honest... i do not understand the different locations in this series at all. like the whole deal with krikkit and milliways just went right over my head. just to answer this question, let's just go with magrathea because that's really important.

[internalsealpanic]

Cosmonauts

Summary: You always call Tim space related nicknames. No one knows why.

A/n: This is technically a follow up to Art Gallery Smile but it can be read on its own. This was posted on mobile so Idk how bad it got formatted. Will edit when I get to my laptop.

Warnings: mentions of panic attack and anxiety. No graphic detail but just in case. (Yes, I gave Tim anxiety. Fight me.)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“IT WAS ZOMBIE ADJACENT,” Roz protests, shoving another one of Tim’s fries into her gaping maw in a vain attempt to stop the petulant pout retching its way to her lips. You roll your eyes hard enough that your entire head follows along with their movement, taking a nibble of your own fries. Roz scowls, mouth twitching the way yours does (4 times to the left and 4 and a half times to the right) it was honestly the only way to tell that you two were related in any shape or form. 

“It wasn’t even close, you deep-fried stick of margarine,”

“It shambled, didn’t it?”

 

“So does Space Case over here when you don’t funnel enough caffeine into his system, what’s your point?” You bite out leaning back, slinging your arm over the back of the bench and over Tim’s shoulder making his breath hitch. Tim can feel his skin heat up. For once, he’s thankful for just how much Roz hordes your attention.  He’s starting to run out of excuses for the color of his cheeks. Not that you ever fell for any of it from the way you hummed every time he stammered out his excuse. 

 

Based on the way your hand flexes and not so subtly moves away, you noticed his flush but made no comment. Instead, you grin- all sharp teeth and cocksure and smug bastard- leveling your older cousin a look which roughly translated to ‘Checkmate, motherfucker’. Despite his apprehension, Tim can’t help the smile that twitched on to his lips. Your eyes flickered to him. It might just be his imagination but Tim was pretty sure he saw fondness chip away at your smug grin. Tim kind of wants to lean into your arm but instead, he leans forward pretending to pay attention hiding his smile in his hands. His face is gonna get tired from smiling too much around you. 

"It wasn't even close,"

"It was freaky looking,"

"Damn woman, you're being real judgy there,"

“Back me up here Duckie!” Roz screeches, shoulders hiking up making her look like a frazzled cat about to hiss pulling Tim away from his reverie. You roll your eyes all the way to the back of your head while Steph just snorts. Tim sighs. None of you have stopped calling him ‘Duckie’ or ‘Ducktective’ after that stint of being ‘Drake’.  Admittedly, it wasn’t his best idea but you didn’t have to laugh that hard and slap your knee. When you were done laughing, you vehemently protested the name change by wearing your precious, well-kept, one of a kind Red Robin hoodie for the duration of the ‘Drake’ thing. You had said it was to bring him back to his senses (sense of fashion).  Maybe you just wanted to fluster him. He certainly couldn’t put it past you. It worked. Oh, it definitely worked. Now, all he could think about was how nice you looked in his colors which inevitably lead him to think about how nice you would look in his shirts, in his clothes- Damn it. He’s doing it again. 

Roz clears her throat. It is loud and rough and it makes all of you wince despite the already loud atmosphere of the cafeteria. Really what does Roz expect him to say? One, Tim wasn’t fully paying attention. How could he when you two are smooshed together on a cramped cafeteria bench with you still wearing your Red Robin hoodie? Tim’s surprised he isn’t keeling over. Two- 

 

“See! Even our darling-” Tim’s brain short circuits. “Space Cadet can’t even defend your bullshit,” you laugh reaching over to Roz’s drink leaning a little too close to Tim’s face. He can almost feel the heat radiating off your skin. 

 

If I lean in just a little more, I could probably…

 

“It isn’t bullshit!”

 

“You’re right! Bullshit has more substance-”

 

“Sooooo, what’s with all the space nicknames for Tim? When do I get one?” Steph asks casually, popping another of Tim’s fries into her mouth. 

 

Has he even eaten any of his fries? It’s almost gone and he’s eaten at most one.

 

You choke making a pained noise, likely due to said carbonated drink going into your nostrils (and possibly your lungs), as you turn away. Your neck visibly red from where Tim is sitting. Based on the sparkle in Steph’s eyes, she can see it too. A manic grin spreads on Roz’s face wide enough that Tim legitimately worries that it’ll split her face wide open. A shrill sort of giggle escapes her which has you whipping your head to her direction to scowl at her. It does absolutely nothing to deter the sheer glee on her face as she sneers back to you. Some secret conversation passes between the two of you. Tim and Steph watch in slow motion as mortification creeps on to your face. 

 

Suddenly (not really), Tim’s thankful that his only sister is practically a saint. At least compared to the horror that is Roz. 

 

Actually, now that he thinks about it, you have a plethora of space-themed nicknames for him when you aren’t busy calling him whatever endearingly aggravating name Steph came up with that week. 

 

Cosmo

 

Space Case

 

Space Nuts

 

Rocket Man

Martian Manhunter

 

ET

 

Marvin (the Martian)

 

And your favorite, Cosmonaut.

 

At first, he figures it was because of his obsession love for Star Wars and Star Trek but no, that couldn’t be it since you had started calling him that long before you two ended up marathoning the entirety of Star Trek instead of working on your project. He can still remember just how engrossed you looked while watching as you hugged your knees to your chest leaning forward as you waited for the next episode to start up with bated breath. Your features highlighted by the glow of the laptop screen making it very easy for Tim to memorize the contours and angles of your expression. Yet another moment Tim really wanted to capture with a photo. You even did your mouth twitch thing without noticing.

 

 He really wanted to just keep an entire album of all the different expressions you made. Wait. That sounds weird. Does it sound weird? It probably does.

 

 Then again, maybe you called him those because of just how much of a weirdo he was. He couldn’t blame you if you did. But he found that highly unlikely. Sure, you can be mean at times (a lot of times) but you were too oblique for that. Years in customer service made sure of that. Your jabs were usually of the subtler, more needling variety. The type that makes you pause for too long.  Plus, you said every nickname with a fondness that made his heart skip a beat. It was like when you called Roz or Steph ‘Fucker’. Maybe a little warmer. Or he could just be imagining that. Probably. Hopefully not. It was hard to get the honey-sweet way you said them out of his head.

 

Maybe they were just jabs. Lighthearted one. They could have just had easily been comments on just how much he spaced out. Tim has a tendency to live in his own head and it shows especially when he’s stressed or tired or both. Sometimes he would completely shut down as a result of excess anxiety. He can still remember the number of times he had let his anxieties run rampant letting them drag him away from the moment. His breaths were too quick to back then. He felt like he was gonna faint but then you just smiled at him like you were there for him which as it turned out you were. You gently squeezed each segment of his fingers until his breaths slowed. Even when he did fully calm down, you didn’t relinquish his hand. You held them firmly in your own even as you looked entirely unsure of what to do and what to say. You didn’t whisper the usual ‘you’re ok’ or the classic ‘you’ll be fine’. No, you just sat there with him quietly. Letting his feelings ebb and flow as he needed them to. 

 

Tim really isn’t sure what he did to deserve even knowing someone like you but he would do it again and again if it meant being able to stick close to you. 

 

Roz, ever the agent of chaos, throws a conspiratorial smile around the table like a flail. You look like you’ve been hit by one.

 

“Sorry, Steph. You won’t get one,” she says glancing at you. Steph pouts before she and Tim follow Roz’s gaze expecting you to glower or snarl or get up to deck her. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. You just kind of sit there frozen and mortified with a face that simply says ‘Oh. God. This is happening.’. All you can really do is mouth a ‘fuck you’. This obviously pleases Roz. Say what you will about Roz, but there is abso-fucking-lutely no denying that she is petty as hell when it comes to revenge. Nothing is sacred to this woman. Nothing.

 

“Why’s that?” Steph asks innocently, smiling around her bendy straw also enjoying this rare chance to torment you. 

 

“I’m so glad you asked!” Roz answers her voice twisting into a horrifying facsimile of a daytime talk show host. You peel your arm away from the backrest and place your arms over your head and neck as you do in an earthquake drill bracing for impact. By the way, you were shaking, you’d think there was an actual earthquake. Your reasoning can’t be that stupid. 

 

“My dear Stephanie-” Steph scrunches her nose at the overly sweet tone Roz lathers on her name but makes no move to interrupt. “(y/n) only uses space-related nicknames for people they think are- and I quote- ‘waaaaaay outta their league’,” You let out a pained groan and Steph’s face unfurls as she lets out the loudest snort, loud enough to draw the attention of several tables around them. 

 

Tim’s mind is still reeling, still trying to process what Roz just said. 

 

Him?

 

Out of your league? 

 

Excuse him, isn’t it the other way around? 

 

What the hell? 

 

“Tim, for the love of Alfred, please unhear that,” you plead wetly, parking your head out just enough for Tim to see just how red your face has gotten. “God, please unhear it or I might just die,” Tim kind of didn’t doubt that you would. Steph somehow laughs even louder at this. Roz, not one to miss pouring salt in the wound, laughs along with her. You look like you wanted to implode out of existence.  You could certainly try but Tim seriously doubts the universe is kind enough to let you escape. 

 

Yeah, Tim’s brain has officially left the building. He’ll be back at 9 o’clock sharp tomorrow. Promise. 

 

“You mean to tell me that-” Steph chokes, unable to control her laughing fit. “-You’re telling me that you’ve been watching them pine for each other for over a year now and you just let them?!” Steph wheezes still holding her stomach.  

 

Roz looks offended and makes a whiny little noise. “Weeeell, technically I offered to wingman-”

 

“YOU WERE GONNA CHARGE ME FIFTY BUCKS,” 

 

“Hey, matchmaking is hard,”

 

“It isn’t worth fifty bucks!”

 

“You’re right! It is worth so much more,”

 

“God, I hate you,” you groan into the table. 

 

“God can’t help you now, kid,”

Tim frowns, mind backtracking to dissect the information. Apparently, his brain decided to clock back in. 

 

They knew. Even Roz ‘I don’t give a shit what you do as long as it doesn’t affect me’ Andrada, noticed. Was he that obvious?

A year? Wait. No. Over a year. They knew about this for over a year. 

Lastly, what do you mean each other?! As in mutual? Mutual pining? 

As if reading his thoughts, you ask “Wait… what do you mean each other?”

 

Roz blinks at you not entirely sure if you’re being funny. When you give her a look, she slumps back in her chair. “I’m related to a dumbass,”

 

“That you are. Speaking of dumbasses-” Steph whips her attention to Tim giving him a shit-eating grin.”-You said you were waiting for the perfect opportunity to ask (y/n) out, right?” Steph waves her hands doing jazz hands as she points at your still dumbstruck figure. She’s smiling as if she was the world’s best wingman at the moment.

 

 Tim suppresses a groan. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured it,”

 

Roz reaches into her pocket and produces a lighter. Grabbing the last of Tim’s fries and lighting it. “There. Mood lighting. Do the thing.”

 

“Ah yes, because surely the scent of burning potatoes is gonna sweep (y/n ) off their feet,”  Tim said flatly crossing his arms. He knows he’s definitely focusing on the wrong thing but as with all things it was easier to procrastinate. This is especially true when you’re afraid of the outcome.   

 

Roz huffs, waving the fry to extinguish it and muttering something about beggars and choosers. “Trust me kid that isn’t hard to do. Besides, did you not hear the part where I quoted (y/n) about you being ‘outta their league’,” You open your mouth to protest but slam it shut when Roz gives you a lopsided grin looking like she had a mountain of dirt on you which she likely did. He was definitely thankful that she has never met his family. He’s pretty sure Gotham wouldn’t survive. 

 

“How could I possibly be out of (y/n)’s league. I- I don’t- I mean- I’m not-”

 

Your body twists his way fast enough that he’s sure you either have whiplash or a twisted spine. Your eyes are set on him glowering as if he’d said something wrong. He’s pretty sure he didn’t although he did have a talent for putting his foot in his mouth. Your jaw is set tight, your teeth almost grind. He could see the tight hitch in your shoulders. He is 100% sure you’re going to deck him. 

 

“Do you want it listed alphabetically or what?”

 

“What?”

 

“Structure it like an argumentative essay. Speak nerd.” Roz instructs, earning her the full force of your glare. Your face pinches even more. Maybe this was the part where you implode. 

 

You suck in a calming breath before turning back to Tim. 

 

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are a fucking moron, and here’s why:” Taking another breath, you turn to face him fully your cheeks reddening but you press on either from pure unadulterated spite or determination. 

 

“You quite literally co-run a multibillion-dollar corporation. You’ve been doing that since you were seventeen apparently. You know several languages and you are not only fluent but proficient. You’re well versed in an insane amount of fighting styles. You are the smartest dumbass I know-” 

“Preach!” Steph jokes. 

 

“-You can basically operate any machinery I put in front of you. I have no doubt you can Macgyver one up if you fucking wanted. You could hack into any system you want just as a joke. You could probably throw the entire global economy into the toilet just for shits and giggles. Need I go on?”

 

Tim looks at you wide-eyed and speechless. You shrink a little as he continues to gape at you but you keep looking him in the eyes daring him to refute your claims. Really what was there to say? As much as he wants to come up with something witty to snap back at you, his chest is too crowded with warmth from the absolute sincerity of your voice. He knows you didn’t set out to make him fall deeper in love with you but he feels like he’s in free fall with your gravity pulling him downwards. Tim can feel the heat rising to the tips of his ears. 

 

You shrink again, your mouth twitching. “I-” Another calming breath. “I said too much. But my point stands!” The infinitesimal gap he felt between the two of you practically vanished. Still, he could do nothing but stare. Words fail him in the most inopportune moments even when you look so desperate for any kind of response.  You swallow thickly looking like you think you’ve ruined everything when the fact was you haven’t. Quite the opposite really. Tim feels like he could take on the entirety of Gotham’s rogue gallery right now. Still, his brain was drawing a blank. 

 

“Mood,” His brain has short-circuited and is now beyond repair. His palm is in his face before he even sees your reaction. You give him an entire speech about how great he is and all he can say is ‘mood’. Looking over at Steph and seeing her phone on her hands, he can tell she’s already transcribing the events to the group chat. Well, It can’t get any worse. 

 

You giggle snort eyes slamming shut from the force of your laughter. Joy suffuses throughout your tense body, loosening your tense muscles. “Thank you for proving my point,” you say between gasps.  

 

Tim falls victim to the infectious smile spreading on your face. He feels the warmth crowding his chest grow fuzzy. 

 

Now’s your chance.  

 

Tim takes a steadying breath. He rolls his shoulder back to straighten his posture. He waits for you to calm yourself a bit. When you do, he asks as confidently as he can “Are you free this Saturday?”

 

“No,”

 

Oh crap. He knew he screwed up. He feels cold seep into his feet.  

 

You shake your head at his panic. “I work Saturday, ET,”

 

“Oh, I-”

 

“I have all of Sunday off though,” A hum of excitement spreads through his limbs. “Name your time,”

 

“9 AM?”

 

You give him a look roughly translating to ‘You aren’t going to lose sleep over a date, so help me’.

 

“11:30?” He corrects. You smile and hum seemingly making the oxygen in the atmosphere disappear. He finds that he doesn’t mind, not when he feels like he’s floating on zero gravity. 

 

-------------------------------------------------

Bonus: 

 

Steph: Tim’s a dumbass😌🙃

Damian: Thank you for stating the obvious, Brown. 

Step: 🙄 Do you wanna hear about it or not?

Dick: 👀We’re listening…

Steph: (Y/n) made this whole speech about Tim and all Tim could say was 'mood' cycgu9c8ychic8td 5d8fcouv9ygpuv

Jason: F

Duke: F

Cass: F

Babs: F

Dick: F

---------------

Thanks for reading!!!!!

Taglist:

@idkmanicantenglish, @batarella, @batarella-mini, @birdy-bat-writes, @anothertimdrakestan, @founduebitches , @lucy-roo

[voidendron]

The Outside: Chapter 61

Series Ask Blog: @asktheoutside​

Chapter 61: Fan Favorite Chapter Warnings:  Swearing, Minor Injury (bruising, sprains, dislocated fingers) Characters: Dr. Schneeplestein, Natemare POV: Dr. Schneeplestein

April 10, 2031, 4:00 PM Los Angeles, California

Fingers combing through grayed hair, then a huff. A shake of the head and one hand playing with a spool of thread. Two weeks. It had been over two weeks ago. Marvin was alive. But what if he hadn’t survived? What if…

No. Don’t think that way. He’d survived.

Schneep ran a hand across his face and grit his teeth together. His card. Why had he given it to Mad? He couldn’t…remember, now. The details were there, but just out of his reach. Fuzzy, if he tried to grab for them. Like an apparition in his peripherals as it wisped away when he turned to look.

Setting the thread neatly in the wall-mounted cabinet, just above eye level, his mouth twisted as he closed the door. He tipped his head slightly. Studied his own face in the mirror on that door. He brought a hand up to brush at the healing wound in his cheek. It had started scarring over, but he still winced at the contact. It felt like it was bruised. Was Natemare sure he’s gotten all the chips out of it? Hopefully. Schneep really didn’t feel like dealing with an infection…

He glared at his reflection, and it glared right back; studied his eyes just as he studied its.

He pursed his lips when his gaze fell on his false eye. It was too bright now. Too much like Seán’s. The other was darker than it had been. Not by much, but darker nonetheless. The difference was small but still too noticeable for his liking. If someone was to stop and stare long enough, they’d be able to tell. He was doubtful that Natemare and Devilplier, at the very least, hadn’t noticed the difference. Whether they thought it was heterochromia or realized it was a prosthetic, at least they didn’t stare or question his ability to do his job.

A sharp buzz on the counter next to him made him jump. He’d gone without a cellphone for so long that he’d forgotten it was there. It was used, not the best one out there by any means, but at least the other garage members could easily get in touch with him, now. The messages were from Natemare. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He…honestly wanted to say he considered the Sharp a…friend? Maybe? They were snarky with one another, but it was kind of endearing, in a way. Mare made him feel like he belonged somewhere.

Natemare: Could use you at Garage C. Idiot over here broke his hand

Natemare: …I think?

…You ‘think’? he replied

Natemare: Hey, I’m no doctor!

Schneep groaned at that.

You acted as doctor before I came here! How do you not know?

Natemare: …Cuz I wasn’t a doctor?

You are hopeless.

Natemare: Screw off.

Natemare: I’ll be there in a sec to bring you here.

Pocketing the phone with a roll of the eyes, he crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. If Natemare was going to be there, he wouldn’t bother throwing together medical supplies. He’d just have the Sharp magic them up.

Schneep straightened just as Natemare appeared in the room. Just as quickly as the Sharp had come, both of them were gone from the little clinic. The doctor stumbled when his feet hit solid ground again. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to teleporting. He didn’t hate it, but it certainly wasn’t his favorite method of travel, either.

The Sharp led him to a bench at the garage’s…was it west? wall. Just by looking at the guy, Schneep was almost positive he was one of the garages’ mechanics: Oil-stained coveralls, calloused hands, and grease smudging his skin. He’d probably been working under one of the vans. The doctor had noticed weeks ago that they liked to leak.

A shake of the head, and Schneep seated himself on the bench next to the man. Human? Ego? Some other Figment? He didn’t know. Oddly enough, he was finding that he cared less and less. The garages were a strange combination, and the humans to work in them knew about the Egos.

Maybe that’s why the look the mechanic was giving him as he grabbed the man’s injured hand was putting him on edge.

“Is there something you want?” he finally asked as he cupped the hand between his to See the damage.

At that, the man startled. “Sorry. Sorry. Just uh… Would I know you? You’re an Ego, right?”

“Yes?”

The mechanic went silent for a bit after Natemare snorted. Schneep had to wonder why the Sharp found this so amusing. At least the hand wasn’t broken. Two dislocated fingers, the hand swollen and sprained, with some pretty nasty bruising, but no fractures.

Turning to face Mare, he asked, “You know what a wrist splint is, yes? I will need one. As for you, what the hell did you do?”

More laughter, from Natemare nonetheless as the doctor gestured for the clean rag near the mechanic. The damn things were scattered everywhere.

“Not my fault…” the man mumbled. “Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumbass over there slammed my hand in a fuckin’ van door.”

When Schneep’s eyes landed on the duo in question, they scrambled out of his sight. No wonder Dev needed a competent doctor. He was surrounded by idiots.

“Bite down on this.” As soon as the rag was in his hands, he was shoving it back at the mechanic.

“Wh—no! Why?”

“What are you doing now?” Natemare had the wrist brace grasped loosely between two fingers as he leaned back on the wall next to the bench.

“You have dislocated fingers. I need to reset them, yes?”

“B-but shouldn’t you use like…anesthetic or something?!”

All Schneep could offer was a slow blink. “…I have never in my life used anesthesia.”

The mechanic’s face paled. “Y—” He brought one finger up in a “one moment” gesture. Schneep couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that. “You…are a real doctor. Licensed and shit? …Right?”

“I will have you know I am 100% Real Doctor! I—”

“Wait. Wait. Dr. Schneeplestein? No fuckin’ way!”

“I—yes?” It had…been a while, since he’d heard his last name. His real one. Not his alias.

“Shit…I loved that community, and—and you’re right here! I’m talking to you!” The mechanic was grinning wide. So excited. “You were my favorite!”

Schneep grimaced at that. A…fan. He’d never really considered the fact that he might meet a former fan who would recognize him. How… What was he supposed to think of that? He should be happy. Right in front of him was a fan who had admitted that Schneep was his favorite! Wasn’t that wonderful? Wasn’t it?

He couldn’t bring himself to smile back. His mouth twisted, as if in distaste. Maybe it was distaste.

“I want nothing to do with the fans,” he said at last. It was…colder than he’d intended, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty when the man looked taken aback. “I am your doctor. That is all.”

When he glanced at Natemare from the corner of his eye, the Sharp didn’t seem phased in the slightest. It was common to feel as he did. Right? He was sure that it was. Bitterness toward the fans; Schneep felt it! He knew at least some of the Septics and Ipliers did, too. Did the Sharp? Mad? Devilplier?

A shake of the head. It didn’t matter. He needed to focus on the task at hand.

He couldn’t look the mechanic in the eyes anymore. All he could do was shove the rag back at him and, yet again, demand that he bite down on it. The mechanic made it harder than it needed to be when he kept jerking his hand away. Made it take longer than it should have. Schneep would be lying if he said his nerves weren’t wearing thin. Humans really were weak. Even Kyler would have bit his tongue and bore it as tears pricked his eyes. And he was just a child! Did Figments really have that much higher of a pain tolerance?

Finally, finally, the mechanic was sent on his way with instructions on how to care for the sprain over the next few weeks written clearly on a piece of paper, along with commands to revisit with Schneep.

“…Jeez.” Natemare had a brow arched as he watched the human stalk off. “You’ve seriously never used anesthetic? That’s not very reassuring.”

Schneep just waved him off. “I have no need for it. I have ability to knock my patients out with a little touch of my hand to the head. Why would I bother with anesthesia?”

“Huh. And what if your hands were injured or somethin’?”

“…I—I probably would not be doing a procedure if that was the case anyway? Besides. The abilities are held in the aura, not the physical form.”

Brushing himself off as he stood, the doctor gestured for Mare to lead the way. Schneep’s eyes roved about. This may have been the first time he’d been in Garage C. It was so much smaller than A! Not nearly as many people bustling about, and there wasn’t even a higher platform. It was all one level in C; two small vans (much smaller than Box) and a few motorcycles in varying states of disassembly. Honestly, Schneep doubted there were even a dozen people in there. He had to wonder if it was mostly a scrap garage.

“Ready?” the Sharp asked as he pushed himself away from the wall to stand at Schneep’s side.

One more once-over. Gaze drifting over the pair to injure the mechanic’s hand, then a man and woman throwing pallets into a corner. The woman had coveralls and boots on, while the man wore dress shoes and an almost dressy top if not for the fact it was mostly unbuttoned to reveal the tank top underneath. A cowboy hat pinned his long hair down, and he kept grumbling to himself.

…His hat was familiar. And the shoes, and the sunglasses perched low on his nose so he could peer over them.

That… Was that Edgar?

When Natemare noticed where his gaze had drifted, he just nudged the doctor. “Know him?” Schneep offered a little nod. “Guy’s more trouble than he’s worth, honestly. Jackass.”

“…Why is he here?”

“Dunno. I didn’t hire him.” Another nudge, “C’mon,” and they were back in Schneep’s clinic in moments. The doctor grabbed the edge of the surgical table to keep his balance and could only offer a glare at the Sharp.

“Warn me,” he grumbled.

A wide grin met him at that. “I did say ‘c’mon,’ didn’t I?”

“Yes, yes, fuck you, too.”

“Grow up.” Natemare offered a firm pat on the back before he turned toward the door. “You know. You don’t seem all that phased by Edgar working here?”

“I have never been fond of him,” Schneep admitted. He glared when he noticed a smudge in his glasses, right in the corner of the lens. “I am more than happy if our paths do not cross often.”

“Even if he could get you in contact with those friends of yours?”

“I…” What if..? No. “Edgar did not like the others. I doubt he has contact with any of them. Even if he did…I have a place here, yes?” He searched the Sharp’s eyes hopefully; relaxed when Mare shrugged and nodded. They wanted him there. He had a place there. He…wasn’t sure he could bare to see Marvin or Jackie or their creator face-to-face anyway. Not after Marv… God.

“I am happy here.”

[racingtoaredlight]

Leo Fender, Les Paul and the Birth of the Solid-Body Electric Guitar Industry

Interesting timing on a number of fronts...chiefly being that a book about this very subject is being released shortly.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve really dove into all the various design details that Leo Fender engineered in the 1950′s, and my favorite parts have been talking about the designs in a historical context.  Design features like the foam mute on the P-Bass “ashtray” that helped combat issues with primitive amplification.

And while I’ve alluded to things like “there not being third party parts manufacturers at the time,” I never really touched on the industry in general.  Given that some of what I’ve written the past few weeks might be fresh in the memory, it’s a good time to look at the two titans of the guitar world, and how things came to be.

***

The top picture is the two most famous electric guitar models ever made.  On the left, a reissue 1957 Gibson Les Paul “Goldtop.”  On the right, a reissue 1957 Fender Stratocaster.  The bottom picture is the third most famous electric guitar model, an original 1952 Fender Telecaster.

Fun exercise time...I’m going to take every guitar player I mentioned in my Greatest Guitarist Series, and mark if they primarily played one of these three models.  I’m going to strike any classical musicians, (non-fusion) jazz musicians, acoustic-primary guitarists and guitarists who made their impact before the Korean War.

Jimi Hendrix STRAT Eddie Van Halen *MODIFIED STRAT SRV STRAT Andres Segovia John McLaughlin Jimmy Page LES PAUL Eric Clapton STRAT (also played Les Pauls) David Gilmour STRAT (has played all 3) Steve Vai Danny Gatton TELE (has played all 3) Julian Bream Chet Atkins Pat Metheny Duane Allman LES PAUL  Les Paul LES PAUL Ry Cooder STRAT (has played all 3) Yngwie Malmsteen STRAT Keith Richards TELE (has played all 3) Wes Montgomery Tony Iommi BB King Charlie Christian John Petrucci Prince TELE James Hetfield John Jorgenson TELE Chuck Berry (has played Les Pauls and Teles...famous for ES-335) Robert Johnson Steve Howe  (has played Les Pauls and Teles...famous for ES-175) Joe Pass Al DiMeola LES PAUL Django Reinhardt James Burton TELE Brian May Jerry Garcia (has played Strats and Les Pauls) Paco de Lucia Paul Gilbert Eric Johnson STRAT (has played all 3) Brent Mason TELE Shawn Lane  Muddy Waters TELE Buckethead Billy Gibbons LES PAUL (also plays Teles)  Slash LES PAUL Larry Carlton (has played all 3, but his nickname was Mr. 335) Frank Zappa STRAT (has also played Les Pauls) Christopher Parkening Marty Friedman Robben Ford TELE (has played all 3) Jeff Beck STRAT (has played all 3) Buddy Guy STRAT Lowell George STRAT Mark Knopfler STRAT (has played all 3) Ritchie Blackmore STRAT Elmore James LES PAUL John Lee Hooker Joe Satriani Woody Guthrie Hank Marvin STRAT Kirk Hammett Dimebag Darrell Jerry Reed TELE

That is a decent representative list of great guitar players, and those three models...the Fender Telecaster, Stratocaster and the Gibson Les Paul...account for the easy majority.  And even if a guitarist wasn’t known for one, they likely recorded with one at some point in their careers.

It’s easy to know where to attribute Fender’s success...Leo Fender was an engineering genius.  Gibson, however, had an established reputation long before they ventured into the solid-body world...but they wouldn’t have made that transition if not for Les Paul.

***

The State of Things Today

Before we get into the feud, it’s probably a good idea to get to know where each of these two companies are today.  The companies we’re going to talk about in 1952 bear little resemblance to each in the modern era, having both been passed from numerous ownership groups.

I’ve talked a lot about Leo Fender’s ouster at the hands of CBS...which led to the company’s darkest period which took more than a decade to dig out of.  CBS themselves were ousted by a group of Fender employees in 1985, and the company they started (they couldn’t use the original facilities) now boasts annual revenues well over $500 million.

It’s reflected by the company’s offerings.  Never attempting to be high-end our boutique, Fender’s brilliant branding allowed them to manufacture the same instruments that Leo designed, keeping costs low and making it easy to freshen up long-standing iconic models.

Gibson on the other hand, filed for bankruptcy last year.  Long derided for resting on the laurels of their name, Gibson is another victim of predatory private equity...being used merely as a conduit to acquire more debt.  Bad news intensifies...they’re also responsible for having strict international regulation regarding the types of wood used.  Gibson got in deep doo doo for using illegally farmed woods, and varieties of woods that had been prohibited from foresting due to excessive use (Brazilian rosewood).

Their offerings were staid and stale.  Any new innovations were seen by the guitar market as clumsy and hideous.  And, making things worse, the nature of their guitars’ construction is much more expensive and labor-intensive than Fender’s ever could be.

Fender will live to see the next 50 years.  Gibson likely will not...certainly not under this ownership group.

***

This is Les Paul holding his prototype solid-bodied electric guitar, nicknamed “The Log.”  Yes, it looks ridiculous.  No, another solid-bodied electric guitar did not exist at the time.

Les Paul had a longstanding relationship with Gibson.  Gibson was good to him.  Being a jazz guitarist, the whole Gibson lineup was perfect for Les, and they gave him ample ear to chew with all his (at the time) crazy ideas.  It was a great partnership.

Me being a Fender fanboy and my comments regarding their business should by no means suggest that I’m not a fan of Gibson guitars.  I absolutely love them, especially the Les Paul model.  They feel like the guitar version of driving a Cadillac...smooth, comfortable, refined, classy.

But, like I said above, Gibson was a long established company even in the late 1940′s.  They didn’t make gimmicks.  They made works of art out of the finest woods that produced these beautiful, natural, organic tones.  Even their electric hollow-body models replicated an acoustic tone as close as possible.  Philosophically, it was going to take something major to get Gibson to budge.

"If you don't do something, Fender is going to rule the world."

-Les Paul

***

When Les Paul received Leo Fender’s prototype in 1951, he knew what it meant.

Sure, it was a gift in the sense that Leo Fender wanted him to have that instrument, but it wasn’t just an instrument, it was an overture.  Gibson was a guitar behemoth that dominated an industry that was teetering on the edge of being revolutionized.  Fender was that metaphorical disruptor.  Both were already well aware of each other.

Fender wanted Les Paul on board, plain and simple.  They were hardly even a real company at that point, and getting someone of Les Paul’s status on their roster would be a coup of epic proportions.  From a marketing and branding perspective, Les Paul was a guitarist that could’ve established their brand before they even released a product catalog.

But that wasn’t it.

Les Paul’s reputation for having prototype solid-bodied guitars had created waves.  He was a recording maven, had a giant audience, and whether Gibson wanted him to or not, exposed people to the sounds possible with a solid-bodied guitar.  Leo Fender wasn’t a musician, but he was making the same type of noise within in the industry.

Fender sent out one of his right-hand men who reported back to him on the gift-giving.  That dude thought Les Paul was kind of an egotistical dude and didn’t think much of it.  Les Paul himself actually did like the instrument a lot...a huge amount given what he said to Gibson execs...and as the two guys who were leading the solid-bodied guitar revolution, there was equal parts kinship and rivalry.

*Les Paul with Leo Fender’s gift...a 1951 “Nocaster”...called that because Fender hadn’t come up with the name Telecaster yet, and there was no model under the Fender logo.

I don’t think it needs to be said that Les Paul ended up staying at Gibson.

***

In 1952, Gibson released their first solid-bodied model that had Les Paul’s name on it.  It would define their company.  Also in 1952, Leo Fender released the Telecaster (and Precision Bass), the genesis of the company that would grow into the largest guitar manufacturer in the world.

The sheer amount of music that’s been recorded using Les Pauls and Telecasters (as well as the Strat) is simply mind-boggling.  It’s almost impossible to quantify.

While the electric guitar industry might be well past the point of peaking, they’re still a major part of American culture.  Something that’s come to define us internationally as much as baseball or apple pie.  And it’s these three models from Fender and Gibson that so many people are able to instantly identify, that have recorded so much iconic music, that will live on well into the future like a Stradivarius violin or Steinway piano.

And for a brief period in the early 1950′s, it almost came to be that the two most prominent figures in the modern electric guitar world joined forces.  Almost.  It’s a shame they didn’t...might have been a good thing, given that each was given full creative control without the other’s presence...but the modern musical world was largely impacted by these two guys tinkering around in their basements.

It’s a cool story and easy to let your imagination run wild about what they could have done together.