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mihidecet · 4 years

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SBi d&d AU: Tubbo

Aka: Tibi’s MCYT WritingTober, day 20!

From @the-only-gamer-gost ‘s list of prompts, another entry for “Fanmade AU” ahahah And as requested by a super cool anon: “ i'd love to see more of tommy's backstory in the d&d au! especially if we can meet tubbo?” :D

Ask and you shall receive! You can also find Tubbo’s reference sheet made by the wonderful @whatimevendoinhere here! Also, @rigatonipastaroni made a super sweet comic about the reunion, waaay before the chapter was even posted!!

There is nothing quite as sad as a bard with a broken guitar.

It happens during a fight, a sadly-not-that-unusual spar with a rogue elemental that had decided to mess with a village just because they had been bored.

Absolutely unrelatable. Tommy's patron had commented, the absolute hypocrite.

Still, the overall business had been quite straightforward: get to the outskirts, find the bad guy, kick their ass, profit.

Nothing they hadn't done before.

And like everything they expected to go smoothly, things went wrong.

Tommy would say that thankfully nobody had gotten hurt, and everyone was perfectly fine, and they'd gotten a particularly big reward for something that standard.

Wilbur would say, instead, that his guitar had been irreparably damaged, its neck snapped in half and body ripped apart, shards laying on the ground like blood, a gruesome heart-wrenching sight that would haunt him until the end of times.

Tommy's patron had warned him that his second-degree cousin was a bit dramatic, but maybe it was just standard bard behaviour.

To be fair, the guitar was mostly gone.

Wilbur had picked up as many pieces as he could and stuffed them in its case, but no amount of mending cantrips had been able to fix it. Phil had tried, but he didn't know how guitars worked and it was hard to discriminate where each shard needed to be placed in order to mold it all back together, like a freakishly hard jigsaw puzzle.

And Wilbur had been extremely proud of his guitar, as apparently it had been a gift and a memento of his grandiose adventures. Sentimental values and such.

Not that Tommy could say anything about it, not after the friendship bracelet incident.

For about a week, every time they stopped by a town, they looked for a carpenter first, a musical expert second, and an arcane expert third.

They never managed to fix it. The thing was, it happened to be a weirdly specific and skill-needing task, so nobody they found was either confident enough or prepared enough to do it.

So they moved on, and the bard's lament continued.

It gets to the point where one night, the innkeeper approaches their table during one of Will's performances - the tiefling had insisted in keeping the tradition of offering his musical entertainment in each tavern they resided in, now with just his voice and sometimes his flute, but being unable to have music as he sang and vice versa was truly different.

That night, Wilbur is singing a ballad so sad and tear-jerking that the innkeeper actually approaches them and asks if everything is alright.

"Oh- oh, yes, my apologies, everything is alright. -" Phil instantly responds, looking quite awkward "- It's just that his guitar broke, and we haven't been able to find anyone to fix it. It was of great personal importance."

The innkeeper nods understandingly, an expression of deep empathetic sadness on their face, before their eyes light up.

"You know, I might just have what you need. You guys are lucky, the Fixer Upper just arrived a week ago! If he doesn't know how to fix it, nobody will."

After obtaining a brief explanation of where to find this infamous "Fixer Upper", who apparently works for free and will probably ask for food, shelter or protection as he moves to the next town over, the innkeeper leaves them be, assuring them that it'll be the solution to all their problems.

Phil finds himself, despite the overall skepticism, feeling a bit of hope. If nothing, at least he might be able to convince Wilbur to buy a new one - make new memories.

Even Wilbur is less enthusiastic than usual when they tell him, but after all they've been redirected to plenty of miracle workers that turned out to be unable to do anything.

The only thing that feels a bit off, is how Tommy's patron keeps giggling in his head - the way he does when he knows something Tommy doesn't. It's a bother, but Tommy's too tired to try and investigate.

The "Fixer Upper" is staying in a farm just outside the village, apparently sleeping in the barn.

He comes to the village every couple of months, apparently used to circling back around the same couple of dozen of places, constantly travelling from one to the other and helping out whoever needs something fixed. The innkeeper that recommended him apparently had him fix their son's prosthetic leg, which has been working better than ever.

The fact that he never asks for compensation is what keeps them all on the defensive: nobody does anything for anyone without coin on the line, so Wilbur is already somewhat expecting to find yet another old relative making deals with young children.

Yes, he is still a bit bothered by the fact that his second degree cousin spends half of his time inside Tommy's head.

No, he's not going to bring it up.

Approaching the barn, an increasing cacophony of sounds greets them, and Wilbur starts looking less and less convinced and more and more like he wants to leave - not to blame him, the noises are definitely not reassuring.

They enter the barn, where one side is perfectly fine and the other has a bunch of mechanical and metallic parts strewn on the ground.

At this point, Techno has a hand on Wilbur's arm, either to instill some confidence in him or to keep him from running away with the shattered guitar.

Then all of them stop, frozen in their tracks, as something completely out of the ordinary appears from behind a wooden wall - that is quite an extraordinary feat, considering the peculiar array of people they are.

There's a huge block of metal, vaguely rectangular shaped and painted black and yellow, floating towards them. It has what looks like the spinny part of a windmill rotating at embarrassingly high speed over it, and the noise it makes vaguely resembles that of a low hum, or maybe a buzz.

Two large semi-transparent circles - its … eyes? - emit a soft light that shines against Phil's palm as it bumps against him, the elf cooing with an adoring expression.

"Hello dear, you're not one of nature's children but you are alive, aren't you?"

Even Tommy, who has no idea how magic or nature works - he made a pact with a demon for a reason, alright? - can see that it's an impressive display of craftsmanship.

Wilbur is looking quite confused on Phil's right, but he's no longer needing Techno to keep him from bailing on the whole thing. And to be honest, if somebody's able to make … this, maybe they'll be able to fix his guitar.

"AH- Visitors! Sorry, I hadn't heard you coming in-" a short figure stumbles in sight from behind a pile of apparently garbage.

The short man, who appears to be human, had wild brown hair, somewhat darker in certain spots where black oil seems to have gotten stuck. There seems to be oil and soot all over his clothes and hands, where bandages cover his fingers.

On his head reside a pair of goggles - multiple lenses of different thicknesses and colours appended to its sides - and he's holding a wrench as if they'd interrupted his work, which would explain the worrying noises.

The mechanic has a bright welcoming smile on his face when he appears, which immediately falters the moment he sees the infamous mercenary group, expression turning to fear. Which is understandable, given their fame of being quick, efficient and rather costly, unless they're working for the good of all.

Then it turns to shock, when Tommy takes a tentative step forward from behind Phil's back. Which is less understandable.

"Tubbo?" Tommy's voice calls, almost breathless. The boy takes off his goggles and blinks. The wrench he was holding clutters to the ground.

"Holy shit, Toms."

The warlock lets out a strangled yelp, then blinks out of existence in a puff of bright red smoke, reappearing right in front of the other boy and picking him up in a bone crushing hug as he laughs - more joyous than Wilbur's ever heard him - and the two of them fall to the ground.

When Tubbo is still a teenager, he loses his best friend to the prejudice and scorn of their hometown.

All they need to see are the buddying horns on his forehead, the flames licking at his fingertips, the reddening skin around his eyes, and they banish him.

They come for him, in the middle of the night, and find nobody but his parents in his home, because Tommy has always been smarter than he let on.

Half a day earlier, Tommy had said his goodbyes to the last few people that deserved to know where he was going; never once asking for his parents' forgiveness for something he always knew he was going to do - Tubbo had never seen his best friend more sure of anything, even at the worst moments, when the ritual was about to begin, or the few first weeks when he had to use all his coins to buy salve for burns.

And so Tubbo was left alone, left behind.

It lasted for one day.

Tubbo had never been particularly gifted in the craft his parents had tried to teach him - glass blowing was definitely not his forte, his hands too strong, his grip too tight - and he'd never shown any latent arcane power. Books on the arcane were long, boring and complex, the glyphs all looking the same and mixing with each other on the page.

But that didn't mean anything to him: he was going to do great things, with or without magic, and he was going to find his best friend again.

Fate wanted to keep them apart? Tubbo was going to stare Fate in the face and laugh.

If the glyphs and arcane chants of the mages weren't going to cooperate, he was going to force his hands into the fabric of the arcane plane and pull magic out by himself.

And again, why stick to prayers and dealings with other entities when he could just make it himself?

To be fair, it does take him a lot more time than the couple of weeks of research and half-and-hour-deal that was Tommy's experience. But Tubbo's always been a quick learner.

The day he finishes his big project, he leaves his home, ready for adventure.

He has a map of the coast, enough coin to pay for emergencies and a backpack full of the tools he needs to offer his assistance to whomever will need it.

His marked path will bring him around the same towns. Tommy is bound to pass by at least one of them during his travels.

Tubbo's going to be alright.

Tommy's eyes are absolutely not, under no circumstances, shining as he tries to squeeze the life out of his best friend.

Tubbo is just laughing, which is quite rude in Tommy's personal opinion, he should be struggling to breathe due to his impressive strength.

"Look at you! You made it!" The mechanic cheers, squeezing tighter - which, ouch, when did he become strong, it must have been all the working with metal, this is the worst possible outcome. Tommy lets him go for a moment, leaning back to splutter and wave wildly at the mechanical bee still intent on bumping its head against Phil's hand. By the Nine Hells, Tubbo made a living bee with the attitude of a puppy out of metal.

"I made it?! You made bees!" Tommy protests, feeling a swell of pride for how far his best friend has come. On a completely unrelated note, there must be light shining insistently in his eyes.

"I know! Aren't they cute! Ah! Let me introduce you to them!" Tubbo exclaims, hurrying to stand up - nearly elbowing Tommy in the gut - and grabbing his hand so that he can drag Tommy towards the bee from earlier.

Then he stops in his tracks - which makes Tommy slam into his back and get oil stains on his favourite shirt - as he realises there are three other people in the room, all staring at them with varying degrees of amusement.

"So, what just happened?" Wilbur asks, looking quite shell shocked.

#mcyt writingtober #sbi dnd au #now sbi&co #dnd au #technoblade #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #philza #ph1lza #tubbo

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amajikilvr · 3 years

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warm aromas - tamaki amajiki

word count 1.9k

reader type filipino , gender-neutral

premise tamaki gets a taste of your cultural during a first date

For the record, you weren’t terribly nervous about this date. At least not any type of uneasiness worth noting. It was a fluttery kind of anticipation that shot your butterfly-filled stomach into your chest, all the way up your throat, and then finally falling back down before repeating and repeating. More than anything else, you were excited.

It was just Amajiki, after all. Well, he wasn’t just anything. Amajiki was a beautiful kaleidoscope of oddities that you had yet to have the pleasure of discovering. For now, you simply knew him as the tender boy in your class with immense talent and heart.

You considered him a great friend and had been willing to take a leap of faith in an effort to pursue something more. And it seemed like your bravery was paying off so far.

Walking into the warmly lit restaurant, you took a deep breath of the aromatic atmosphere and felt your heart jump and shake as Amajiki’s sweet face came to mind. You couldn’t see yourself ever forgetting the way his complexion had brightly glowed like the surface of a fresh cherry when you asked him out after class.

The familiar older woman working at the front waved and greeted you by name and you did the same with a notable extra twirl in your step. She raised an eyebrow at you, aged forehead wrinkling in amusement.

Needless to say, not even a sudden run-in with your worst enemy would’ve been able to take your good mood down a single notch.

And there he was, already sitting at a back booth that was tucked away and hidden from the majority of fellow patrons, which didn’t surprise you in the slightest.

You grinned and held back a squeal as you plopped down in the seat across from him. “Hi! Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

Amajiki immediately shook his head, indigo tufts of hair bouncing comically. You wanted to just reach out and ruffle them.

“Y/L/N! You didn’t! I was just early, sorry. I was so worried about making you wait for me. Sorry.”

“Aw, that was sweet of you, Tamaki.” You watched his cheeks flush at the use of his given name. Hesitantly, you let your hand hover over his. “Can I?”

“O-oh, yeah.” His face went pale before gradually going an even darker shade of red crimson.

You leaned forward and gently grabbed his hand, a little shocked to feel it trembling. “I’m really happy to be here, you know. Especially since it’s with you.”

Amajiki gulped before taking a long steady breath. His lips curved into a small smile as he made tentative eye contact with you for the first time.

“Me too… Y/N.”

“So, have you ever tried Filipino food before?” You asked after a moment of comfortable silence between you two, still relishing the feeling of his hand in yours. “Hado-san told me you were an adventurous eater…”

“I guess I am. My quirk kinda relies on a diet with plenty of variety. I’ve grown to really enjoy trying different kinds of food, practicality aside.” He paused, clearing his throat, and glancing away. “No Filipino food yet, though.”

“Well,” You gave his hand an experimental squeeze. Amajiki’s breathing went shaky in response, but he squeezed back. “I think you’re really going to like it.”

You’d discovered this restaurant after searching the Internet for somewhere in this city that served authentic Filipino cuisine. Finally, you found this nice family-owned place with delicious food, albeit you still preferred your mother’s cooking, but that was a given.

“Then I’m excited.” Amajiki gave you another wobbly smile. “Not that I wasn’t excited before. I was up all night thinking a… Oh, that’s embarrassing…”

You laughed softly, not at him, but hoping to reassure him. “No, that’s actually cute.”

Tamaki’s eyes went wide and instead of the blush returning, he went as white as a bedsheet. “Oh god… I’m sorry, I’m just so embarrassed. Y/N… Sorry…”

He covered his face with his free hand which was shaking significantly more by now. You were slightly concerned he might get up and run for the nearest corner.

“Tamaki, it’s okay.” You wanted to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, but you settled for squeezing his hand some more in hopes of not further overwhelming him. “It’s all good, don’t worry. I really like you.”

He opened his mouth as if to respond, but was interrupted by the arrival of the waiter who you had already grown quite friendly with over the years. You made a bit of small talk before ordering several classic dishes for Amajiki and you to sample together.

“Y/N,” Amajiki spoke up once you two were alone again. Thankfully, he had time to recover while you ordered and color had returned to his face as a result. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What is it about me that you like?” The last part was practically whispered and you had to guess whether you heard him correctly. “I just didn’t expect any of this is all…”

You tilted your head, smiling at Amajiki as you looked over his face carefully. He was beautiful on the outside too. His jawline was sharp and prominent, skin clear and soft-looking, and his eyes were sparkling and expressive. You could never get over the color, a startlingly deep shade that was only missing a background of stars and planets.

“Well, firstly, I think you’re very attractive.” You watched Amajiki choke on the sip of water he’d taken. He coughed a few times before silently blinking at you and you took it as a sign to continue. “You’re just so vibrant. When you’re using your quirk, you light up the whole room. You do without it too. And watching you work so hard and improve this year has been amazing. You inspire me without even trying and I couldn’t be more thankful for it.”

Amajiki made a small gasping noise, borderline a squeak, before squeezing his pretty eyes shut. He took a couple of deep breaths before sighing heavily. “T-that’s… Wow… Y/N, thank you. Thank you so much.”

He kept his eyes closed as he finished, blushing immensely again. “I think you’re beautiful… And smart. And kind. And… Oh my god, sorry, I might need a minute to just-”

“Tamaki.” You nervously brought your hand to his face and cupped his cheek. It was incredibly warm. “Is this okay?”

The response was shockingly quick. “Y-yes.”

You took another huge risk and just hoped it would pay off in the end. “Can I kiss you?”

A pregnant pause this time. Your heart was working overtime and you swore you could hear it pounding from inside your chest. Amajiki was quivering ever so slightly under your touch. You shouldn’t have asked, it was probably too much happening too fast.

“It’s okay if you don’t-”

Amajiki cut you off almost frantically. “No! I mean, yes, you can. Please…”

You gathered yourself and leaned even further across the table. First, you planted a chaste and sweet kiss on his other cheek. Going for his lips took more courage, but you did it. This kiss was longer than the other, but not by much. You didn’t care. As it turns out, Amajiki’s lips were as soft as they looked.

“Was that fine?” You asked, concerned when he still wasn’t opening his eyes. You felt a bit jittery yourself from that kiss.

They flew open at your voice. “It was great, I just need to go…”

He made a weak outward gesture and you gave him a comforting smile. You understood without him having to say it. He just needed a moment to himself after all of that.

“The washroom’s over there.”

Amajiki stood up, his hand coming loose from yours and your other hand falling from his hot face. “Thank you. I really did enjoy that, I just need a minute. Sorry, this is so rude of me…”

You shook your head sharply. “I don’t think that. Go ahead, take your time. I get it. I really do.”

“All that matters is that you feel comfortable.”

“Okay. Thank you.” He seemed relieved as he stared at you, actually gazing into your eyes, before rushing off towards the door you had pointed out to him.

Now alone, you smiled to yourself and placed a finger to your lips, still shell-shocked by the turn of events. You had actually kissed Amajiki and it was everything you’d imagined and more. Things couldn’t be going better and you two hadn’t even ate yet!

It wasn’t too long before your order arrived and Amajiki returned nearly back-to-back.

“Perfect timing,” You greeted him and took note of how he was no longer shaking like a leaf. “I might’ve gone overboard… don’t know if we’ll be able to finish all of this ourselves.”

“You’d be surprised by the size of the meals at Fat’s agency.” Amajiki chuckled as he took in the plates of steaming food laid out before you two. “What should I try first?”

You feigned being deep in thought before grinning. “Hm, just pick whatever.”

He reached for the platter of puto and you followed suit. They looked delicious, extra fluffy and topped off gooey cheese. Amajiki watched as you popped the entire thing in your mouth with zero reservation.

“They’re little steamed rice cakes.” You explained after swallowing.

Amajiki took a bite out of his and finished it soon after before grabbing another. “Mm, they’re very light. Do they always have cheese?”

“Depends, but a lot of the time, yeah.” You answered while helping yourself to a second of your own. “Hey, What could you manifest out of this?”

A mischievous twinkle flashed in Amajiki’s eyes as he raised a finger in a “wait a minute” fashion. You wanted to giggle at how his face scrunched up in concentration, but held back for his sake. After a short moment, a pair of small pale horns shot out from his purple hair.

You let out your laugh, nearly choking on puto in the process. “Nice!”

His cheeks were rosy as he scratched at the back of his neck. He looked focused once again before the horns seemed to be gone in the blink of an eye.

“Dairy products are always fun.” Amajiki stated while sipping his water. “I could’ve given myself two stomachs but I thought that was kinda gross…”

“Just a bit.” You agreed, laughing softly. “But also kinda cool.”

Next came the lumpia, a dish comparable to egg rolls. Amajiki seemed especially pleased as he took several bites out of one.

“Really good.” He confirmed with a nod. “Pork inside?”

“Yup.” You kicked him playfully under the table. “Think you could manifest one of those curly pigtails? Like in the cartoons?”

Amajiki froze like a statue midchew.

“Just kidding.” You reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. “Glad you like it.”

“I-I think I like you more, Y/N.”

The lunch date continued on. It was a quiet moment while you two were enjoying a hearty noodle dish when you were struck with a wave of warmth that filled you from head to toe. You felt so at home, sharing this piece of your culture with probably your favorite person ever.

Amajiki appeared utterly relaxed as he ate, cheeks tinted with a very soft pink. You noticed both of his pointy ears twitch a number of times and were puzzled before you remembered something Togata had said to you once.

“He’s done it ever since we were kids. When he’s really happy, his ears will do this twitch-thingy, but try not to point it out. He gets really embarrassed.”

It might have been the cutest sight you’d ever seen.

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the-remainder · 3 years

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The Red Seas Scrolls - 1 - Change

Furidashi Podcast

This essay is inspired by possibly our most articulate and verbose fans - furidashipod.com - a curious mix of game design and academia with plenty of mood. They had an afterthought on The Remainder, in which the mechanisms of desire in the story was singled out, dissected, laid-bare and scrutinised. Click here to give it a read, it's fun and possibly illuminating.

For the record, yes, I am tooting my own horn a little bit. It's nice to be appreciated. I appreciate you spending your valuable time and brain cells to read these words, you beautiful human-being you. See? It feels nice, right?

Desire?

This post got me thinking, what are we actually doing with desire? It occurs to me what is interesting about desire is how you the reader experiences Vyn's wobbly steps along the way to literally self-discovery. Each step takes them toward a bit of knowledge of who they are, granting satisfaction, but then immediately leads to the knowledge of how much they've forgotten, inducing despair and further desire to move forward. One step forward, two wobbly steps sideways. Since Furidashi has so beautifully observed this aspect, I shall go in a different direction, to explore a deeper, more fundamental level of what is at work, at least according to me.

There is a feature of story-telling that is so common as to be taught in schools and courses these days, it can be found in just about 100% of stories featured in main-stream novels, comics, and games. If you've read it, seen it, or heard of it, it contains this feature. It's the fact that when a character has a desire for something and takes an action toward fulfilling their desire, they inadvertently make their situation worse and are set back. They will renew their effort, try a different tact, and make some progress forward, then another set-back will, well, set them back further. They will be locked in an escalating cycle of increased effort and set-backs until ultimately they must give their all, and face the ultimate set-back, total destruction of them selves and what they hold most dear.

Stories are made this way because this resonates with the audience, this resonates with the audience, because the audience feels and recognizes the truth of it, they see this and say to themselves "this is how life is."

This is certainly how games are, each bit of strength you gain is soon trumped by a tougher enemy, and every stage you move forward ups the stakes of how much rewards you could gain if you win. Games that don't do this quickly bore you, because without the alternating ups and downs, you'll either defeat all enemies with ease, or be ground into dust repeatedly by stronger foes.

How is this like life?

What is life but an endless series of alternation between win and loss, joy and despair, pleasure and pain?

Sure, but can we simply it, by taking away what is not essential, so that we can be left with the essence?

An endless series of alternation between gain and loss, joy and despair, pleasure and pain.

An endless series of alternation between gain and loss, joy and despair

An endless series of alternation between gain and loss

An endless series of alternations

This is the essence. Change. Life is change.

When a story can capture the essence of life, it is a good story, but not as good a story as it can be. Why not?

Human beings don't like change.

Change is unstable, unpredictable, undependable. There is no discernable end, one end is only another beginning.

Human beings want to know where they came from and where they're going. They want to know that the path they walk leads somewhere definite, preferably with a big, chunky treasure chest waiting at the end, after all their fighting and toiling. And they want to see this reflected in the stories they read. They want to see Frodo destroy the ring and then live in peace forever. They want to see the Knight save the princess and live happily together. But when one steps back and look with a broad enough lens, one realizes that there is no peace forever, given enough time, another powerful being will fall to greed and create the rings, the world will be thrown into turmoil again. Another dragon will come and abduct the princess, or else the knight and princess will find out they don't actually like each other and it was just a heat of the moment thing, and file for divorce, and the custody battles, ad infinitum.

When faced with a sea of change, the human desire is for it to end, for there to be an island refuge where the waves of change no longer shakes and sways one. This only works on paper, or the silver screen, but not in real life, because life is change, and this desire is for permanence. This is a problem. Life is change, and change is a problem for people who desire permanence.

Stories that end on a comma and not a period are more "life-like" because they accord more with reality. Leaving something unsaid, some event unresolved, helps the reader imagine what could come after the last page. But is this the perfect way to tell a story?

How stories end is not the whole story.

People care very much about how stories end, which is a reflection of how they see life. If the end of a story is all that matters, then readers will only read the last page and be done with the book.

Similarly, if life is a race, then the finishing line is death and the fastest way to get there is suicide, but who will consider that some kind of victory? However, if life is a dance, and death is the bell that signals its close, then what matters is not how it tolls but rather how one danced before then. It is not so much the end that defines the story.

For a story to be truly good, it must address the essential problem of life, which is the conflict between the reality of change and the unrealistic desire for permanence. This problem is so intractable that to even think of solving it seems impossible, something belonging to the realm of fantasy. That is where a good story comes in. Stories illustrate what is possible, so that the readers can imagine the impossible. They take something from fantasy and attempt to bring it into reality, through inspiration and demonstration.

A truly good story

would have to be one where a character, having been astray and adrift in the sea of change for so long, having floated up and sank down so many times that they're utterly exhausted and distraught, and has not the strength to fight the waves anymore. That's when they try the untried, the illogical, the opposite of what they had been doing this whole time, they give in to the waves of change and accepts them for how they are. A strange thing happens then, they find that in this giving up of enmity and opposition, they stop alienating themself from what's around them. They start to accept the ups and downs, and move with them, make friends with them, and to dance with them. They're no longer concerned with how they are and how they wished the waves would be, they're just the movement, just the dance. And soon, in this dance of joy, of acceptance, of giving up, they realize what had been happening the whole time. There was no one there to begin was, there was only the water, there was only an errant wave that got caught up in a whirlpool and imagined it was something separate from the Seas. And now it has realized the truth and laughed itself out of existence. Now there are only the waves, only the Seas.

Change is not a problem when there is no one to struggle against it. The problem is solved by the personal experience of discovering that it was only a delusion.

Is such a story possible?

#the remainder #visual novel #interactive fiction #amare game #the red seas scrolls #writing

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

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B lea se, pblea se give us a full continuation of the Cameraman comic I beg 😔🙏

Summary: After accidentally growing to the size of a giant, Cameraman makes some poor decisions that lead him into colossal trouble.

A written continuation of my one page Cameraman comic!

---

[[MORE]]

It wasn't uncommon for the Society for the Shellacking of Souper Boris's HQ to suffer considerable damage on occasion, especially since there were three villains living there. Plotting their next big hit with varying degrees of ingenuity and force, which often left things quite the mess in general.

But nothing that the big burly wolf with the volatile temper, or even the twisted demoness with sharp tongue and coiled arms ever did, could come so close as to compare with the absolute madness of Cameraman's more, shall we say, cinematic plots…

It was true that he was the least aggressive and troublesome of the trio when working with them in causing mischief. More often than not he even opted for the easier things in their plans, like petty thievery and slight vandalism, while the Brute and Miss Twisted handled the flashier things that really got the cops angry with them.

When he did things solo however… Well he'd wanted to make it big as a movie director once, and it showed.

His one-man plans were convoluted and honestly quite ambitious.

They also ended with him wrecking the base with whatever invention he came up with that week.

Never on purpose really! He was just a little clumsy.

Although, at this very moment, he was anything but little...

By his reasoning, the plan would have been flawless. Finish calibrating his shrink ray that took him weeks to construct, use one of the Society's inconspicuous vehicles to cart it all the way to the city, and then use it to shrink Steven Spigberg's annoyance of a studio all the way down to miniature size. Knock it down to its actual level, since it did nothing but hash out the same stale unnecessary sequel plots over and over again.

A spectacular lesson in humility, or at least Cameraman had envisioned it as such.

He hadn't accounted for accidentally bumping and reversing the controls, causing his machine to zap him instead of the test subject he'd been placing upon a little pedestal (just to see if he didn't accidentally disintegrate his target), and ending up in a completely avoidable colossal sized mishap instead.

But then he supposed he could still make part of the plan work. After all, the idea was that he'd be able to fit the studio in his hand…

"Oof… My head…" he could really do without the aches, but then again he'd just grown a whole lot in mere seconds. The fact he hadn't simply exploded should be more than reason to overlook the growing pains. Patting his own head carefully to check if he hadn't cracked his casing, he felt his pinky brush against something odd and that should be there. "Hm?"

Feeling over it with his index finger, Cameraman carefully searched for some manner of grip before carefully pinching the unknown object between two fingers and bringing it over to his lens to inspect it.

To his great surprise it was the Society's base. Mostly intact, although missing a large part of the bottom from him outgrowing it. The upper floor looked intact enough, albeit the horn fixture he was holding onto was now bent from him gripping it.

"My goodness it's so small… or rather, I'm the one who's quite big…" he squinted, shutter zooming in on the damaged windows. He could sort of see his two roommates staring out at him with expressions he couldn't quite make out. "Oh! Hello there, sorry for the state of the base. Things took quite the unexpected turn as you can see..."

Rather than get a reply, both of his partners in crime seemed to huddle up in a corner and cower.

That was odd… Missy and Brute weren't the type to be intimidated. Especially not by him. Maybe it was the heights.

"Right… I'll set you down now. I've much to do still, even if not everything has gone according to plan." He carefully set the damaged base back onto the swamp grounds, being mindful of the shallows so his two friends didn't end up sinking and drowning. "It's as they say. The show must go on!"

Once the base was safely on the ground, Cameraman began standing up. He was surprised by the sensation of vertigo as he did, groaning as nausea hit him.

He felt… Heavy. Stumbled a bit as he righted himself, and nearly toppled all over again. Had gravity increased on him? Probably… his feet were sinking into the marshy ground as well, so his new height and weight were not any easier to handle on such unstable terrain.

"Walk it off, it'll be fine you worrywart… Just a matter of getting used to this." he shook his head and took a few tentative steps forward. His shutters clicked in annoyance as he kicked up the murky water as he moved. "My poor socks are going to be soaked through… I hope to dry up once I've reached the city. It wouldn't do to enact revenge while drenched… I might catch a cold."

He kept on walking, finding it steadily easier to move as long as he kept himself going. Just a matter of getting used to it as he'd thought.

Luckily his growth hadn't just brought unpleasant side effects. It had greatly improved his perspective as well!

He could just about see the big city in the distance and he was quite excited to look it over up close.

The once-little camera toon had seen the rooftops plenty of times (mostly from being either thrown by his partners in crime or from being carried by that no-show lupine interloper, and then a chowder enthusiast of an angel), but never at this scale. He assumed it would likely be like looking down at an impressive maquette, a much more detailed one than the miniatures he'd whittled out for the base's planning room (which had been reduced to rubble he was sure). More detailed. More deserving of more than a slight glance.

Wouldn't hurt to take a few photos before he took what he wanted.

Bouillonburg wasn't the largest of the cities in the country, but it was still considered a major location in of itself. It was home to several hundreds of toons, had multiple quaint businesses, and at least two very nice parks to fill in the picturesque idea of an urban zone.

The perfect place for a myriad of Pluto's youngest legions to prove their worth through acts of both evil and mischief.

Today however, trouble presented itself not in a grinning imp with a head shaped like a half-moon, but in something tremendously massive lumbering towards the unsuspecting city at a slow but long-reaching pace.

The first warning was a slight tremor spaced out like rhythmic thumping. The kind that caused liquids to ripple in their containers.

Then the intensity of the shaking gradually climbed, and people began to grow nervous when objects began to fall off shelves, or when the glass windows began to creak and shake against their frames.

When the shadow of what could only be considered a colossal sized monster fell upon the city, that's when folks really started to panic.

Crowd dispersal went as you'd usually see on a disaster flick, with lots of screaming and running as several hundreds of toons attempted to flee the giant's humongous steps. Not that Cameraman noticed this.

He was much too distracted staring at all the buildings he was so used to look up at, rather than examining from up and above.

"This is all so very adorable!" He marveled as he peered into an office building, squinting at the many workers in their little cubicles. "I wish I could make miniatures as detailed as the real deal…"

He reached over to poke one of the windows, and winced when his finger went through.

"Oops…" he withdrew his finger and stared down at the many shards of glass embedded in it. It didn't hurt, the fabric had kept it from piercing skin, but it had still startled him. He was so focused on it he didn't see the toons inside running for the stairs and elevators in pure terror. "That's a lot more fragile than I thought… I should refrain from touching glass."

Shaking off the shock, Cameraman's gaze went downwards and his attention was caught by a phone booth.

Crouching down he peered at it with his curious lens.

At his regular size he needed his portable step ladder to reach the phone (yes he was quite short, so what?), but at this height he was more than capable of reaching over the rooftops of the tallest buildings.

"Well it's not like I need to make a call right now either way… But it sure looks charming." He focused on it and took a picture. His flash went off with a loud crackle, all around him more toons fled from the noise and bright light that hurt their eyes.

With more effort than should be necessary, Cameraman got back onto his feet and carried on his merry way. He stopped on occasion to take more photos of the many buildings and tiny structures.

Completely oblivious to the damage he was causing as he trekked forward.

His footsteps caused the ground to quake violently, the sound of his reverberating voice made glass crack and ears ring, and his weight was splitting concrete apart as if it were made of styrofoam.

To him this was all in good fun. Good harmless fun, because he wasn't antagonizing anyone.

Just seeing the sights and appreciating his new perspective on life.

This quickly changed when he reached his destination.

"Right… There it is." The object-headed toon rubbed his hands together eagerly as he caught sight of his target. Steven Spigberg's studio. That fat swine's precious little cash grab factory was about to get literally uprooted by the very toon that horrid film director scoffed at and turned away. "Let's see who's insignificant when I'm the one owning your precious little studio…"

Sights set Cameraman walked on, not once looking where he was treading and his thick shoes making quick work of benches and parked cars (and really anything else) that were unfortunately in his path. It didn't occur to him that he should be watching his step.

The studio was nestled between another office building and a coffee shop that also serviced object and object-head toons (a rarity since most others disliked non-food based smells near their pastries and beverages of choice). It had the best hydroquinone and nicest rolls of film he'd ever had, so it was a shame such a blight ruined it for him.

He wondered briefly what they'd build on the soon to be vacant spot. Hopefully a book store to compliment the aesthetic of the coffee shop.

"Let's see… there's going to be pipework in there, so best to go down and up, like carefully picking a flower, roots and all." He rested the back of his hand on the ground and pressed his fingers against the very bottom of the studio and then, in one swift motion, he dug his fingers under and pulled up. He expected the building to just pop out of the ground with ease, not for his hand to pass through like it was made of sand. "O-oh!"

Startled by the destruction of the building he'd planned to steal, Cameraman pulled his arm back abruptly. Swinging it to the right and crashing right through a section of the office building.

Yelping in fright he moved back, his left foot coming down on top of the coffee shop and crushing it as if he'd stepped on a cardboard box. Bringing his hands up in horror Cameraman stepped back once more in a panic. He stared down at the rubble in dismay.

"Oh goodness… I… I didn't mean to do that!" He knelt down hoping to find a way to correct his mistake, but as soon as he grabbed hold of any solid looking debris they crumbled in his grasp into fine dust. "F-fiddlesticks…"

He was too big to fix what he broke.

Looking back at the slightly damaged office building, Cameraman stood back onto his feet and peered inside. The stairs and elevators were blocked by rubble and there were several people trying to unblock the way out.

"Oh… wait I can help you down!" He reached in, hoping that helping these people would compensate for ruining their workspace but, as soon as the toons saw his hand they began scrambling away, their high pitched shrieks barely registering in his audio receptors. The fear in their movements however… "You don't need to be afraid. That was an accident I swear!"

He tried to reach the group, leaning forward just a little bit more. Then gravity caught up with him and the camera toon's shutter widened as he realized too late that his balance was way off. He tumbled forward, taking out the rest of the building with him.

"AUGH!!!" He hit his head hard on the ground, a sharp pain in his shoulder causing him to instinctively prime his laser and blast the nearest "threat".

Except there wasn't a threatening foe causing him any harm. Just the helpless cityscape.

Taking a second to sit up and shake his aching head Cameraman looked down at his shoulder, wincing when he saw a long metal bean stabbing through it.

His gaze then locked on with the damage he'd caused up ahead.

There was fire, a lot of it, and just now he could make out the terrified city folk scrambling all around like scared ants.

Glancing around at the path he'd taken, the object-headed toon noticed all the destruction he'd caused while having his silly little fun.

"Oh no…" he was a villain, that much he accepted. But he'd never really done something so terrible that it hurt several hundred people on such a scale.

He'd never killed anyone before, or dreamt of doing such a thing.

Looking down at the three buildings he'd crushed, and the ones currently ablaze, he doubted that was true anymore. "This wasn't what I wanted…"

He needed to get out of the city, before he destroyed something or hurt anyone else.

Looking around once more however… well easier said than done.

The path ahead was on fire, the way back was already in quite the state, and the only other exit he could see looked a little narrow. Still it was worth risking considering all the people heading towards where he'd come from in the hopes of escaping. Escaping, as if he were doing this on purpose…

Narrow streets it is. He'd just have to suck in his belly and keep his arms up for however long it took to get past this new hurdle. Hopefully his arms wouldn't tire before he was clear.

Taking a deep breath, Cameraman stepped forward, now very aware of just how cramped the tiny sidewalks and roads were.

"Oof…" he winced as his heel just about crushed the front of a parked car "I hope that was insured…"

His knee caught the side of a tree, snapping it like a twig, and he pulled his hand away from the way of a power line as he tried to maneuver through the streets.

Sideways should do the trick…He sucked in his gut and began side-stepping through the cramped pathway he'd picked.

What was it with apartment complexes and tiny balconies that faced alleyways?

The escape ladders he could understand, but why the balconies?

The camera toon groaned as his chest and back got poked and scratched by hard edges and sharp rails.

His aching shoulder was already bothering him enough.

"Just stay calm and you'll be through in no time…" he told himself as he kept on moving. And then he gulped nervously as he felt the alley narrow further. "... Oh this is a problem."

Against his better judgement he continued… And immediately stopped as he felt his hips jammed against two buildings.

Trying to push or pull away made both buildings shake dangerously.

"... Come on…" his arms were starting to tire. He needed to figure out how to get away without breaking anything else. Glancing down to see if there was a safer way to unwedge himself, his shutters fell upon one of the balconies of the building ahead of him. He focused on a tiny lady surrounded by several flowers that was staring up at him with wide eyes. "... Uh… hello?"

The lady shrieked and immediately started throwing her potted plants at him.

He winced and kept his lens well away from her range. Impressive that she thought a few hits with a few vases would save her from something more than twice her own size, but also quite annoying.

"Please stop." If he tried anything he might just hurt her, and honestly that wasn't really his style. Taking punishment like this was also not his style. "If I could I'd be out of your hair already."

He leaned back from another hit and yelped as he felt his back bump against the other building. The pressure suddenly giving away and sending him tumbling back like a house of cards falling in on itself. Kicking up dust and debris up into the air around him.

Once the cloud settled he sighed.

Great, at this rate he'd be known as Klutzzilla, destroyer of private property...

Blinking his shutters he looked back up at the lady with a glare. She seemed to get the hint and fled back inside of her apartment.

"Right…" he went back to the laborious chore of getting back on his feet. He was really starting to get tired of this repetitive charade.

If it weren't the guilt keeping him from bashing through the city to get back home he would have already done it. "No, no that's not the correct way to do this, don't let this get to your head… the Society only needs one big brute…"

He wondered what his two friends might be doing. Likely fixing up the base and waiting to chew him out for making a mess of things.

They might want to wait for him to tell them how to rebuild his shrink ray so that he'll be easier to scold, rather than both yelling up at him.

Back up and at it again, Cameraman left what remained of the alleyway and began to tiptoe over the various urban obstacles. Phone booths, more parked cars, benches, the occasional straggler running by and performing an impressive Wilhelm impression, and even a kiosk or two (the first one he couldn't help snap a picture of, despite the circumstances everything still looked gosh darned cute to him!). It was a little like being a child all over again, playing hopscotch.

Only someone had strewn legos and other toys all over the rectangles.

He was also not particularly good at hopscotch, and jumping around with an injured shoulder was really not a good experience.

The people and infrastructures were also not liking the impact of each jump.

Cameraman winced when several clothes lines and other miscellaneous objects began to fall from the sides of buildings.

"And they say misfortune only doubles on Friday the 13th, the moment I gained a few feet I've been nothing if not plagued by bad luck!" He poked the metal bean protruding from his shoulder and fought back the urge to scream. "I hope this doesn't get infected. I'd be very upset with myself if that happened… or worse, what if I get tetanus?! My shots aren't due until Thursday!"

Well if the clinic he frequented hadn't yet given out and collapsed from all his mucking around that is…

"Ok Cameraman, don't freak yourself out like this... Think of home." Yes, home, away from this poor city. Back with his friends who'd no doubt take pity on him as soon as they saw him hurt.

Villains or not, they weren't heartless spawns of evil… err, well at least two of them. But even Missy had a heart. They weren't monsters. "Yes home. Home…. The swamp is that way, just avoid stepping on anyone."

Renewed vigor carried him forward, only stopping to make sure fleeing citizens weren't accidentally crushed underfoot.

He really did not want murder to be added to his criminal records.

Although he was pretty sure involuntary manslaughter would end up there somewhere after this ordeal was dealt with.

"There we go, nice and easy. No more tomfoolery." He was pleased with how the streets were opening up. The smoke back there was getting pretty thick in the air though... Was the wind blowing his way or was he imagining it?

It was irritating his ventilation system for sure. Irritating it quite a bit actually.

"Gosh darn soothy smoke!" He scrubbed at the discrete vents irritably, almost like someone scratching their nose.

He shook his head vigorously, finding it difficult to see now that his shutter and lens were welling up with lubricant, trying to dislodge the sooth filtering in through the seams. "Oh it itches!"

Helplessly scrubbing at both the leaking lens and his ventilation system, Cameraman was suddenly overcome by the enormous need to sneeze.

Uh-oh.

"Do not sneeze, you know what happens when you sneeze!" His desperate scrubbing and scratching increased in intensity as he tried to prevent the inevitable. The moment the mechanism to prime his laser sight clicked on, he immediately looked up as a way to prevent further devastation. "A-ah… Aah...AACHOO!!!!"

The laser shot out of his lens as he stumbled back, zooming upwards at high speed and hitting a previously unnoticed news blimp that had been flying overhead. The object-headed toon said nothing as he watched the darn thing fall out of the sky like a swatted fly, and collide with another building further away before bursting into flames.

He covered his face and groaned in frustration. Was there anything in this city he hadn't broken yet?!

"Dang it…" If not take pity on his physical injuries, then surely Missy and Brute would take pity on his bruised ego instead.

It took far too long to get out of the (ruined) city. No matter how careful he'd tried to be, Cameraman had simply brought tremendous devastation with each tentative step towards being home free.

If he stopped to think about it, it made perfectly logical sense.

He was used to his actual stature and weight, so suddenly becoming some sort of titan had completely tipped the scales for him.

His regular clumsiness cranked up tenfold as he tried to navigate a world that was suddenly more fragile than he was accustomed to.

Of course in his current state he didn't really have the time to sit around for a moment of introspection, nor to contemplate on the fact he'd been an idiot and gone through with an idea that was doomed from the start.

From the moment he'd bumped the controls to this very moment in time, where he was tiredly stumbling back to the Society's HQ.

The metal beam stuck in his shoulder yet to be pulled out, since every instinct told him that doing that right now wouldn't be good for him. He needed to be sure he had help to deal with that.

And, as that thought entered his mind, something slowly clicked.

Stopping in his tracks Cameraman looked around in confusion.

Where… where was the base?

He was sure as all heck that he'd placed it in the shallows, and that was right there, next to that rotten log wedged by that one rock that looked like a hippo.

"Where…?" He scratched his flash's connection point in confusion as he glanced around. "I could have sworn I placed it here…"

He squinted, focusing on the murky water before crouching down to try to look for the distinct devil shaped building.

He even went so far as turning on his light, but it didn't pierce deep into the filthy water's depths.

Racking his memory to be sure he wasn't mistaken, he recalled placing the base right there and leaving.

He'd stumbled a bit, but he hadn't moved anywhere near the base, just splashed up a little water over his boots and… and…

His building sized boots…

Horror struck him as it suddenly dawned on him that what he'd perceived as little splashes were likely waves several feet in height, with the crashing force of a freightliner colliding with a steam boat…

"Oh no…" he carefully placed his hands in the water and began to feel around for the base, dragging himself forward and searching desperately not just for home, but for his friends as well. "Please be ok!! Please be ok!!!"

All that came up was random junk people had carelessly thrown in the swamp. The SSSB's base was nowhere to be found, and neither were Cameraman's only two friends for the matter… likely washed out into the deepest part of the swamp.

Likely… likely dead, from being trapped in a sinking base, because their friend was an incompetent fool.

"Oh goodness… no, I… I didn't…" the combination of the pain on his shoulder and exhaustion made him stop his fruitless search. As realization sunk in deeper, grief took hold. "I didn't mean to…"

Sniffling loudly, the camera toon hid his leaking lens in his hands and began to cry.

He'd ruined everything because of some stupid vendetta against a film studio! And now he'd be stuck as a klutz of a giant, alone and cold forever!

Sobbing loudly into his hands, Cameraman didn't notice the sounds of even splashes as someone rowed towards him, and was too caught up in his own sadness to register something beginning to tap against his knee.

He thought it was probably just flotsam that he'd loosened during his desperate rummaging.

When the tapping was replaced with a sharp jab, however, he did pull his hands away and rub at his lens to clear up the tears.

Staring up at him looking a complete tired mess, were Miss Twisted and Brute, both standing atop their base which they'd strapped to some sort of bizarre makeshift raft they'd fashioned up of logs, branches and whatever they could find that could make it as buoyant as possible.

The rows they'd improvised were also just several sticks tied together, and Missy had used the gripping end of hers to poke him to get his attention.

He was so dumbstruck he didn't say anything, which seemed to annoy the demoness.

"CAM YOU BETTER BE READY FOR A WALLOPING BECAUSE ONCE WE FIX UP THIS MESS I'M GONNA BEAT YOU SO HARD OVER THE HEAD YOU'LL BECOME AN INSTANT CAMERA INSTEAD!" He could just barely make out her high pitched screeching, but lord if it wasn't the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard! Shutters welling up all over again, the object-headed toon carefully scooped up the base from beneath the water and carefully brought it closer.

"HEY PUT US DOWN! WE'RE NOT A TOY YOU BIG… Big… Cammy are you crying?" The embers of Miss Twisted's ire were quickly extinguished by concern as she caught sight of the big fat tears dripping out of his lens.

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE BOTH DEAD!" He cried out, choking back another sob as he watched them both flinch and grab at their ears in pain. "P-pardon my outburst… I'm just so relieved I… I thought I'd drowned you both accidentally!"

"No, but that almost happened! Cam what were you thinking, making yourself into some big behemoth? How's that gonna help you at all?!" She tapped her foot impatiently. "Take it from a demon pal, the bigger they are, the harder they fall! I've seen archdemons topple like dominoes because they thought bigger was better… it's a stupid macho sentiment that ends in tears and humiliation."

"This wasn't what I was going for, believe me… I err… I merely miscalculated the calibration of my machine and this sort of… Ended up being the result." He looked as sheepish as one could without an actual face.

"You messed up and tried to save face uh?" She deadpanned as she dropped her arms again at her sides. Brute merely watching the exchange.

"Yes…" he admitted hesitantly as he glanced back towards the city. He could still see the smoke. "In hindsight, I should have realized that was foolish of me… Where's the fun in being a villain if there's no city left to practice villainy upon?"

"Cameraman destroy whole city?!" Brute gawked up at him in dismay.

"Not ALL of it… just err… 75%?" An explosion in the distance made him flinch. "Make that 95%..."

"I'll say… there's also something frigging stuck to your arm!" Missy pointed out, grimacing at the sight of the embedded metal beam currently still on his person.

"I know… I didn't want to touch it until I knew for sure I could have it looked at… which I can't right now." He also didn't want to touch it again. It really did hurt quite a bit when he poked it!

"Uh… how do fix Cameraman?" Brute asked. "Me no think lab ok…"

"No, no it's not. Cammy crushed it with his big fat butt." Missy groaned. "Please tell me you know how to rebuild your machine so we can revert this…"

"I do recall how to recreate it, yes. However, at this size I can't do so myself…" he carefully set down the base onto his knees so that he could rest his arm a bit. Making sure to stabilize it, he brought his knees closer to himself and leaned his head down so that now his lens was overing close to his two friends.

His shutter clicked shut as both reached up to pat the rim lightly in an attempt to comfort him. "I know you've likely gone through an ordeal already due to my carelessness… but could you perhaps build it for me? I really don't think it'd be wise for me to ruin any of the building materials."

"So needy, you big dumbo…" the demoness chuckled "Fine, we'll clean up your mess. But you're so doing our chores for the next month."

"And help with Brute's and Miss's plans!" The beefy wolf added.

"Deal." He held out his pinky so they could shake on it. Once both the smaller toons grabbed it with their little (cute) mitts, he carefully raised it up and down.

"Right! Off to work we go!"

It ended up being more of a one girl job to build a replica of the ray gun that Cameraman had created, so while Miss Twisted busied herself with that particular task, Brute had gone ahead and repaired the base. He was used to doing it by now, with just how often it got wrecked.

It was only natural he was picking up a few tricks on how to fix it up nice and quickly, without sacrificing stability and comfort.

He thought it was nice to have a home for a change, rather than some dingy alleyway or a prison cell, so he made sure to maintain it when needed. He was sure his two friends appreciated that tender act on his part. His way of showing a softer less thuggish side while still getting to show off his impressive musculature.

Call him a meathead all you wanted, he liked showing off what got him somewhere in life (through his own effort).

Once done, Brute nodded to himself in satisfaction before going to check in on the others. He came out just in time to see the metal beam once piercing through his friend's shoulder crashing down into the water, and then the femme fatale of the group firing a well aimed energy beam at the wounded object-head looming over her.

Brute covered his one eye to avoid looking at the bright light, and then uncovered it once the world dimmed back to its normal lighting. Not that there was that much sunlight left anymore, the sun was setting pretty quick as it was late in the afternoon.

Still he could just about make out a familiar tiny figure just hovering up in the air for a few brief seconds, before gravity caught up and brought him back down and crashing into the freezing water.

"10 points for that spectacular belly flop! What's your score, big guy?" Missy grinned impishly as she watched their friend resurface and splutter a bit from the shock of getting drenched by the swamp's murky embrace.

"Meh… Brute gives it an 8. Brute has seen better." The lumbering wolf shrugged as he moved over to pick up the trembling toon that was barely able to lift his arm. The wound looked very nasty and needed to be disinfected asap now that it had come into contact with a direct source of filth and bacteria "Cameraman need nurse Brute now. Fix up arm real good!"

"T-thank you big fella… I do f-feel a little woozy…"

"You boys go on ahead, I'm getting rid of this hunk of metal… More trouble than it's worth." She pointed at the ray gun "From now on, no mucking around with sizes!"

"Yes ma'am" both replied at the same time before Brute carried the injured Cameraman inside.

Missy watched them go before simply reaching over to the main panel and ripping out the wiring, disabling the miserable piece of mechanical junk for good. Once that was done, she simply kicked the ray gun into the water and dusted herself.

Satisfied with the deed, she briefly glanced towards the thick smoke in the distance and shook her head.

"What a shame... But hey, at least Cammy brought some scrap metal back…" she glanced at the half submerged beam. It was stained by whatever chemicals the little guy had to pass for blood, but it was an easy enough thing to clean off "Should get to stripping that before it gets too rusty…"

She went inside looking for that one big saw she'd gotten as a reward from Papa Pluto, for ruining some rich snob's party by dumping laxatives into the punch.

That had been a fun night, and that saw could cut through almost everything including solid metal.

On her way back out, she peered into the Society's shared bedroom and nodded at Brute who had just walked out holding the first aid kit.

"How's that shoulder of his?" She asked.

"Cameraman will live. Him asleep now, like little baby." He stepped aside to show her this and, sure enough, there was the shorter of the three curled up in his drawer bed. Tucked in and capped lens tucked under his uninjured arm. It was kind of cute watching him sleep so peacefully after such a rough day.

"Aww… poor little guy tuckered himself out. Must have had a pretty long day playing in the city."

"Ah-yuh." Brute nodded in agreement as he set the kit aside. He looked back at her almost curiously "What do Brute and Missy do now?"

"Well I was gonna strip that beam for scrap, but that'll be noisy… Cammy needs his rest, so why don't we go to the city and loot some goodies while everyone is too busy to stop us?"

"Me like plan!"

"Knew you would, big guy! Come along then!" She made sure to carefully close the bedroom door, but not before looking at the sleeping camera toon one more time. Yeah, he'd earned his rest. "Sweet dreams, you little weirdo…"

And with that done, off they went to cause some more trouble.

All the while their friend dreamt of the simpler things in life, like causing minor mischief with his two (and only) greatest pals in the whole world.

No more dreaming too big, he'd stick with the small-fry stuff thank you very much!

#eps writes:#bendy and the ink machine #batim #bendy crack up comics #cameraman #miss twisted #the brute #long post

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arecomicsevengood · 4 years

Text

AGING ALTERNATIVES

We live in a culture that worships the large-scale spectacle of the obvious. Partly because of this, the most affecting thing a person can do is something with a large amount of effort behind it, delivered to a small audience: An elaborate meal cooked for a loved one, a labored-over zine in an edition of ten. But of course, time has this great leveling effect, and attempting something large scale can easily crash and burn, and in so doing become something only for a limited audience.

There is an ongoing conversation being had about older comics but they are almost always superhero comics, with some weird eighties genre trash thrown in. This conversation includes a great many alternative cartoonists, but it is very rare for a forgotten art comic to slide its way into the discussion. There’s numerous reasons for this: The larger the print run, the larger the chance a work will find its way to a bargain bin. But also, artists are competitive, and largely inclined to promote themselves or their peers. Once an artist is no longer producing work, they are rarely championed.

Obviously, not everyone finds their way into “the canon,” but you would think that work intended to be somewhat personal would end up being valued enough by individual people that you’d hear about it now and again. The case for alternative comics is the same as it ever was: It’s an artistic medium that can do anything, and it’s released in the fairest most egalitarian way, via mass production, for it to find people who will support it. The art is immediately striking in a way that gives it an edge over the written word, but it’s distributed to shops across America rather than galleries, and so should have long life after its initial release. Of course, the vision falters due to the reality that most of what gets produced is pretty bad, and not really expressing anything particularly unique or individual, and this only goes unspoken at the time of a work’s release due to admiration for the amount of labor that nonetheless went into it.

But what ends up happening in retrospect is this thing where banal superhero work gets reevaluated, with certain aesthetic decisions dictated by the technology of the time (like the coloring) becoming romanticized and recognized as things of beauty, while tons of black and white comics made by people who were desperately trying to push the medium forward and make something that works as art or literature get tarred with a blanket dismissal, associated with either the indulgences of the highest-profile practitioners or simply casualties of their pitiful attempts at graphic design. Only the small handful of practitioners whose publishers have steadily championed them and kept their work in print get to escape this fate. But obviously, if you’re working at something risky, you might end up working with publishers who are not economically viable in the long term, or, if they are, it’s because they’re being subsidized by projects way more commercial than yours.

There’s plenty of stuff which had a large enough print run for copies to be found, but functionally exist at the level of visibility of a zine. But, while I might be interested in extending the same amount of charity I would to someone making work with no hope of commercial success, to engage with the work honestly means that the fact that it was attempting to find its place in the world of commerce must be taken into consideration when thinking about the goals it set out to fulfill. That so much fails to meet these commonly-held goals can make one feel pretty depressed about the medium, and maybe this is another reason for people to avert their eyes: When you’re talking about superhero comics of a certain vintage, while they might not have attempted to be art, at least the people making them got paid.

Obviously, The Comics Journal has been fighting this fight for decades. I am sure all of the books I am going to write about, they have already covered, and they probably came to the same conclusions, and depending on the writer, they might’ve been more entertaining to read than I will be. But I want to offer these reconsiderations in light of all the other reconsiderations being made, that are coming to the opposite conclusion of what The Comics Journal would’ve. It is easy to look back at the 1980s now and say, for instance, that Elektra Assassin is a better comic book than American Splendor. There’s a discrepancy between what is the best work being produced at a given historical moment and what is the most exciting scene to be a part of. I like to think if I had been writing for the Comics Journal in the early nineties, I wouldn’t have gone all-in praising Palookaville, but I get that in the moment it would’ve felt important to do so. Now, of course, there is very little that feels exciting at all, in the context of real-world community, due to the global pandemic. This is an incredibly lonely moment, and nostalgia has a powerful allure.

But I’d like to ensure the nostalgia we feel compels us to fight for what’s human, rather than allow us to simply surrender our past to the colonizing forces of corporate interests. In the interest of the human, I will not make any grandiose claims for the works I’m writing about. I’m not describing anything as a masterpiece. These instead fulfill the humble virtues of being charming, cool, interesting. They didn’t upend my value system of what the comics medium could be. But, since it was all of the Picturebox releases that shifted my perspective on comics on its axis when I was in college that caused me to ignore some of this stuff, that its virtues can endure after such a flip is itself notable. Anyway, I have no reason to have written such a long preamble. I could’ve easily just made separate posts for each comic I wanted to talk about, but all this additional context seemed important to me to articulate. All of these are books I bought online over the past few months.

Shuck Unmasked, by Rick Smith and Tania Menesse

Feel like the main thing holding this comic back is a certain lack of joie de vivre to its line. There’s a certain cuteness to its designs that seems reminiscent of Jeff Smith or Goodbye Chunky Rice era Craig Thompson but it’s a little bit stiff in ways those cartoonists aren’t. The mask Shuck wears resembles the face Chester Brown draws himself having in Paying For It. I feel like this is maybe the only comic I’ve seen that frequently has dialogue that’s misspelled in an attempt to capture phonetic dialect and presents that through lettering that feels like a font. There’s a sense of being rounded instead of being scratchy, a lushness that feels hinted at, but also tamped down. There’s a literary flavor to it, an attention to the language, a deliberate and delicate sense of stately melancholy that’s present.

The Shuck of the title is a demon, living on Earth, tasked with making sure the dead don’t escape the afterlife and roam around. Despite his horned form, he’s able to wear the mask of an old man, and fit in with his neighbors, which include a little girl, with whom he develops a bond. There’s a gentle quality to it, but also a sense of darkness that prevents it from being cloying, an interest in the esoteric that suggests the profound. The premise could be a recipe for sitcom-ish stasis, but actually the status quo shifts quite a bit, over the course of these self-published comics, collected into a book by Top Shelf. It feels like each individual chapter should be reread a few times before proceeding on; the chapters have a nice density to them. That’s the funny thing about a lack of velocity to the line, it suggests a studiousness with which to approach it, but doesn’t invite the eye to return to it. Two issues of a sequel were self-published afterwards, I would read those.

Tales Of Woodsman Pete, by Lilli Carré

I’ve heard a couple people call Lilli Carré the best cartoonist of her generation. The first time I heard it said, I had never read anything by her, but I was struck by the assertion because there’s so many heavy hitters in that cohort I’m not comfortable making such declarations about anyone. There’s a collection of Carré’s short stories I’ve checked out from the library, but I found that collection inconsistent, with notable highs that didn’t still didn’t quite bowl me over. This could be partly an issue of format - Few cartoonists of Carré’s generation have a short story collection of their work available, and it might not be the best way to examine the work and see its strengths.

(A sidenote irrelevant to the larger thrust of this conversation - I started keeping a google doc of what years cartoonists were born, and have a my own idea of “generations” of cartoonists in terms of whose work it makes sense to consider alongside one another. 1960-1967 is one cohort, then 1968-1975, then 1976-1982, then 1983-some point unclear to me at this point, there’s a generational divide for sure but I don’t yet know the rules of it. I lump Carré in with Eleanor Davis, Dash Shaw, and Michael Deforge, rather than the slightly older group which includes Kevin Huizenga, CF, and Sammy Harkham. That’s not to say the people championing Carre are making the same distinctions, these generational lines are weird and arbitrary and some people are “on the cusp” and everyone chooses their own peers to a certain extent. However, I do think these generations are important or useful to think about, in terms of who came up with access to alternative newspaper strip jobs vs. the Xeric Grant vs. Tumblr, and it’s just generally interesting to think about what was around to serve as an influence at a formative age. People born after 1967 have had very few opportunities or chances for institutional support, by my reckoning. Over time, more people became acclimated to making uncompromising art, and there also became way less economic opportunity for people making work intended for adults. I suspect the forthcoming generation will be more inclined towards making content for kids because they grew up with things targeted to children, and they can be part of the push to make that stuff more diverse. This coincides with all of the economic infrastructure except for libraries being obliterated.)

Tales Of Woodsman Pete is a smaller object, of digest proportions, that Top Shelf released, early in Carré’s career. It’s worth noting her style nowadays is far more experimental and minimal, although I suppose at the time her work might’ve been considered pared-down, closer to folk tales than novels. This comic follows a woodsman, who monologues to no one, speaking to the trophies he’s made of his kills, in a series of short strips. This is juxtaposed against bits involving Paul Bunyan and his ox Babe, who share a camaraderie between them that doesn’t truly abate Bunyan’s sense of loneliness. It is, like Shuck, a gentle thing, and is able to conjure up some emotion, but I wonder if the sense of tweeness present within it is something Carré feels she’s outgrown? That’s not to say I object to it, just that I recognize a shift away from that stuff. I believe Carré is a Calvino fan, this stuff might be closest to the early stories in Our Ancestors, but Calvino’s work became far more overtly experimental afterwards. I don’t know, I still don’t have a bead on who Carré is or where she’s going. And that’s great, why should I?

Hectic Planet: Checkered Past, by Evan Dorkin

In high school, I read a Hectic Planet comic called The Bummer Trilogy, and liked it a lot. That was a single issue collecting three short stories that were the last work Evan Dorkin would do with the characters. While in retrospect, high school is probably the ideal age to read this material, those strips still feel more mature, in a sense of being personal, than much of Dorkin’s work. He’s written some superhero comics for the big two that never did much for me, and he has some collaborative genre comics I’ve never read, but he’s most associated with his humor cartooning, which I have kept up with despite only finding them intermittently funny. There’s always a sense of Dorkin as a performer of his material, where the humor tends to feel angry, but his most self-consciously autobio material is about the fact that his psyche is a dumping ground for assorted pop culture detritus. What’s interesting about this material is that is, in fact, still kind of immature, but it’s moving away from the science fiction premise, to be present enough to make jokes and talk about feelings. It’s the falterings towards finding a voice and having confidence in it, a youthful move towards what might not be maturity, but is, at least, work. So chunks of this are about a dude who’s heartbroken because he caught his girlfriend cheating on him and so he’s annoying all of his friends by complaining all the time and he’s thrilled to meet girls who like the same bands as he does and he goes to the grocery store and only buys junk food and while this might sound dumb, in context, it’s the beginnings of a worldview that feels fairly true to life for someone who would’ve been that age, at that point in time.

So, considering the era, and the sense of a science fiction premise being abandoned, it might make sense to think of this comic as following in the footsteps of Love And Rockets, albeit from an East Coast Jewish male perspective, and nowhere near as good. It almost feels like if a low-budget eighties sci-fi movie had cast a stand-up comedian in it, and when the budget got cut, they let him fill out the runtime with his routines and riffs, in an attempt to make it a star vehicle in case he ever got cast on SNL. Slave Labor put out a lot of alternative comics, and they all kind of got looked down upon to one degree or another. Much of what they published is both really poorly drawn and nakedly chasing whatever youthful subculture audience they could. Dorkin is easily one of the better artists they had, but the desire to be cool according to the terms of the subculture of the times makes for comics that feel dated now. All the characters in this book are really into ska, the back of the book has all these images taken from ska compilations and 7-inches featuring the characters. But that’s also interesting, because sensing the book’s quest to find its readership lends such authenticity to the young adult milieu, of what it means to be on your own and trying to find your people. It’s from a moment in time when talking about young people put a work in dialogue with alternative culture and not major book publishers, who due to generational differences, would not have understood any of the things this comic is about.

(This piece is sort of a variation on what I talk about in my article in But Is It… Comic Aht 2, by the way. There, behind a beautiful Lilli Carre cover, you can see me talking up more explicitly “all-ages” comics Slave Labor published, like Zander Cannon’s Replacement God, and Scott Roberts’ Patty Cake. Halo And Sprocket was a little bit later than the time period the article focuses on, but I liked that as well. Maybe the most interesting thing I’ve read from Slave Labor that wasn’t all ages and was never collected into a book would’ve been Jon Lewis’ series Ghost Ship. I also like the issues I’ve read of Bernie Mireault’s The Jam, which ran at multiple publishers, and I would like to read more of.)

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orangeoctopi7 · 4 years

Text

Bonding Time

Hey y’all, it’s the latest chapter of the Spider-Stan AU! Consider it a late Christmas present. Or... wait... is it still Hanukkah? Have a happy Hanukkah present then!

Breakfast the morning after McGucket left was awkward, to say the least. The only sound was the steady crunch of chewing cold cereal punctuated by the occasional scrape of a spoon. Stan pretended to try and solve the maze on the back of the box of Penta-Grahms, even though it was easy enough for a five-year-old. Ford stared so intently into his bowl it appeared as though he was trying to use it as a crystal ball.

Eventually they both finished eating, and Stan finally broke the silence.

“So, what kinda tests are we runnin’ today?”

“Well…” Stanford trailed off, remembering his argument with Fiddleford the day before. Maybe he could be a little more honest with his brother. “Truthfully, we’ve run about all the physical tests I can think of, so far. We’ve, uh, we’ve learned a lot about how the mutation has affected you and your physical capabilities. And your health.”

Stan’s face fell. “Oh… soooooo… no more tests... does that mean… you want me to go?”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” Ford said hurriedly.

“Well, I mean, I don’t wanna stay if you don’t want me to.”

“Who ever said I didn’t want you to stay?”

“No one, I just don’t wanna seem like I’m leachin’ off you.”

“Nonsense!” Ford corrected him. The beginnings of a hopeful smile formed on Stan’s lips. “There’s still plenty more we can learn from you!”

“Oh.” Stan’s almost-smile changed to an annoyed frown before his brother even noticed it.

“I’ve got some inventions I was working on before another project came along and took up most of my time, but you’d be perfect to test them!”

“As long as we don’t have to take any more blood samples, sounds good to me.”

And so Stan followed his brother into a small storage room, with just a few small windows, where several odd objects were sitting around, collecting dust. It all looked like junk to Stan, but obviously Ford knew what it all was. He picked out a large pair of goggles, a pair of weird gauntlets, and what looked suspiciously like spandex, before leaving the room and heading outside.

Ford sat down on the porch steps and tried on the goggles. They were comically large, even fitting over those huge nerd glasses, and made him look even more like a great horned owl. The eye pieces slanted at an angle, reminding Stan of an oni print he’d seen in a Japanese gift shop back in Portland.

After just a couple of seconds, Ford pulled them off, blinking rapidly and massaging his eyes. “They seem to be working, but I can’t wear them for long without getting a horrible headache.”

“What’re they supposed to do?”

“They’re light filtration goggles, meant to help see beyond the visible light spectrum. But they take in more light at once than the human eye can typically handle. I was hoping, with your improved senses, you might be able to make use of it. Either that, or it’ll just give you a headache faster.”

“Gee, thanks.” Stan rolled his eyes, but took the goggles anyways. “Whoa!” He exclaimed when he put them on. The world seemed brighter and more colorful with the goggles on, like someone had fiddled with the color balance on the TV.

“Is it giving you a headache already?” Ford asked with a touch of concern.

“No, my head’s fine. But wow, this… this doesn’t look real. It feels more like I’m lookin’ at some fancy paintin’ of the woods than a real forest.” Stan continued to look around when he noticed a strange trail of purple that definitely hadn’t been there before, leading into the forest. As he focused on where the purple line disappeared into the trees, the goggles whirred, and suddenly his vision zoomed in on the spot. “Whoa!” he repeated.

“The goggles can read the muscle movements in and around your eyes to magnify when you’re looking at something in the distance.” Ford explained.

“Yeah yeah, I noticed that part.” Stan stood and walked towards the trail, “But I’m seein’ some weird purple stuff here.”

“Really?” Ford followed him and crouched down, low to the ground, to get a better look at what his brother was staring at. “Right here?” He pointed to a tiny gnome footprint in the dirt.

“Yeah, except it’s a whole line of little purple streaks like that, leading into the woods…” Stan followed the line back towards the cabin and saw it snake around the corner “...and into your front yard.”

Ford’s eyes widened “That’s the trail the gnomes take to my garbage can! You’re telling me you can see it as a different color?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda hazy purple.”

A triumphant grin spread across Ford’s face. “This is incredible! I originally invented these to enable me to visualize residual weirdness, but whenever I tried them on myself, the visual input was too much, and I couldn’t make out anything through the sensory overload! But it actually works!” He grabbed Stan by the shoulders and turned him back towards the woods. “Tell me, do you see anything else?”

“Uhhh…” He scanned the woods, looking for any more colors that looked out of place. “There’s a tree over that way that looks… I dunno, too green? That one with the really thick trunk, near the edge of the clearing.”

Ford followed his brother’s gaze as best he could, squinting at the trees in the vicinity and finding the thick trunk in question. His eyes widened when he got a good look at it, and he suddenly rushed back into the house. Stan didn’t even have time to ask what his brother was doing when the researcher reappeared on the porch, holding a megaphone in one hand.

“Steve, I told you to stay away from the cars in this clearing! If you take one more step towards my brother’s car, I will get the chainsaw!”

Stan was beginning to think his brother had finally made the leap from eccentric to just plain crazy when the tree trunk, which had to be a few yards around, was lifted out of the ground. Stan pulled the goggles off, sure they were malfunctioning. His jaw dropped in disbelief as he realized it wasn’t a tree at all, but the foot of some bark-skinned giant. A flock of startled birds rose out of the woods and the ground shook as the giant stomped away, it’s full form hidden by the giant redwoods which swayed as it moved past.

“Sorry about that.” Ford turned to him and put down the megaphone. “Steve seems to have some kind of problem with cars. He wrecked mine before this cabin was even finished, and I’ve had to chase him off from Fiddleford’s truck a few times. You might want to park a little closer to the house, he’ll only reach so far out into the clearing.”

Stan just stared at his brother, mouth agape.

“Steve?” He finally groaned incredulously.

“He acts like a Steve!” Ford said defensively.

***

After Stan moved his car so close to the house you couldn’t even open the passenger-side doors, they moved on to the next invention Ford wanted to test. The two of them climbed a ladder in the library to the roof, then scaled the steep wooden shingles to the highest peak.

It was an easy climb for Stan, with his ability to stick to walls, but he was impressed by how at-ease Ford seemed up here with just his boots and his sense of balance.

Ford helped Stan put on a pair of strange gauntlets, made of a bulky, segmented wrist strap and a sort of button on a stick that rested just above Stan's palm.

“So, you hold down the paddle here,” Ford pointed to the button thingy that extended over Stan’s palm from the gauntlet thingy around his wrist. “to release the pressurized fluid. The stream will solidify into a sticky fiber ten times stronger and lighter than a steel cable. It’s the same basic principle they use to make nylon, but with an even more robust substance. You just swing it out towards whatever surface you want to use as an anchor, then once it’s stuck, jump up and swing forward. Double-tap to release the fiber, and repeat. When the fluid runs out, hold down on the cartridge,” He pointed to where the cartridge slotted into the wrist gauntlet thingy, “And it’ll pop out. Then turn the wrist strap to the next compartment with a new cartridge.”

“Uh, ok…” Stan nodded, looking over the strange device. He thought he understood what to do.

He took aim at a sturdy looking tree that towered above their perch on the roof of Ford’s cabin. A stream of white goo shot out, quickly weaving itself into a chord of spider silk as it sailed through the air and finally found its target. Stan gave the chord an experimental tug, making sure it was secured to the branch. It held firm.

“Now, the real trick it to pick out a second anchor, take aim with the second web-shooter, and secure a second line while swinging from the first line.” Ford continued.

“Are you even sure the first line will hold me?” Stan asked nervously. He’d mostly gotten over his fear of heights when he gained the ability to stick to walls, but the woods didn’t leave him a lot of options to catch his fall.

“Absolutely. I already tested it out when I first developed this technology.” Ford assured his brother. “I just never got past the first swing because… well, I completely tore my arm out of its socket.”

Stan stared at his brother incredulously. “It’s a good thing I found you before you killed yourself.”

“I was fine! I was wearing an amulet that grants the wearer telekinetic powers, so I caught myself before I hit the ground!” Ford bristled defensively. “And technically, I found you.”

“Whatever. It’s still a miracle you’ve survived this long on your own.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“I wasn’t on my own--”

“McGucket told me you only called him out here a few weeks ago.”

“Well yes, but I…” Ford trailed off. Stan could see he was having an internal argument of some sort. He didn't even notice when Stan gave a start as that strange, twinging version of his spider-sense returned.

This was the first time Stan had ever felt it during the day before, and as he tried to concentrate on the sensation, he was more sure than ever that it had some connection to his brother. Something was wrong with Ford. No, not wrong with Ford. Something wrong was happening to Ford.

But just as soon as he’d noticed it, it passed, and the next thing Ford said threw him off so much, he forgot about his spider-sense for a time.

“I’m not the only one who’s lucky to have survived so long on my own.” Ford said, casting his gaze downward. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before, when you told me my specimen had bitten you, and that it was affecting you. I can’t imagine what undergoing that kind of genetic mutation on your own must have been like. You could have died!”

“...Oh…” Stan squeaked. He didn’t know how else to react. He’d never felt like he could have died, not from the spider powers showing up, anyway. There had been plenty of times he’d gotten himself into trouble with the mob or creditors or gangs and he’d felt like he could have died, only to discover a useful new ability. Like sticking to walls when he was pushed off a building, or superhuman strength when he broke himself out of a locked trunk, or inhuman agility when he’d literally dodged a bullet.

“In my defense, you weren’t being sympathetic to my ruined science fair project at all.” Ford continued. “It really did seem to me like you were just being a massive jerk and trying to worm your way out of taking responsibility like you always do.”

“Wow, you are terrible at apologizing, you know that?” Stan grunted.

It was Ford’s turn to roll his eyes. “Nevermind. Let’s just test these web shooters out already.” he said flusteredly.

This unexpected apology caught Stan off guard. He'd volunteered to come out here and be a guinea pig in exchange for room and board. Stan didn’t really mind; it gave him an excuse to stay and… keep an eye on Ford. Yeah. Nobody could deny the nerd needed looking after. Stan certainly didn’t have illusions that things could ever go back to the way things were between them before. No way. He definitely wasn’t getting his hopes up. No one could prove anything.

Eager to leave this awkward conversation and his conflicted feelings behind, Stan jumped off the roof, swinging on the chord. It felt great, like being a kid on a rope-swing again. As he felt himself swing to the opposite end of his human pendulum, he looked around for another good tree branch to anchor from. It was like his spider-sense slowed down time as he found a target, took aim, fired the second web shooter and released the first line, all in a fraction of a second. For just a heartbeat, he was weightless, before swinging forward on the second line. This was fun! It was hard to be worried or upset about anything when he was swinging through the trees like Tarzan.

He managed to reach the outskirts of town in just a fraction of the time it took to walk, and nearly as fast as it did to drive. Stan figured he could get there even faster than driving with enough practice. He enjoyed the view at the top of the old bell tower for a moment, then swung back to Ford’s cabin.

The nerd looked like their birthday had come early when Stan got back. “That test-run went better than I could have hoped! How far did you go?”

“To the old bell tower in town and back.”

“Really? In that short a time?” Ford pulled out his journal and started writing excitedly. “And you never slipped, or ran into anything? The line never broke or detached?”

“Nope. I almost hit a few trees but I always changed course in time.”

“Incredible!” Ford grinned. “Let me see the fluid cartridge, how much did it use?” He grabbed Stan’s wrists and popped out the cartridges without waiting for Stan to answer. “How many lines would you say you used, round trip?”

“Uh, I dunno… maybe ten? Twelve?” Stan guessed. He hadn’t known he was supposed to keep track.

“Hmm… and only used about a fifth of the fluid in the cartridge. Good to know.” Ford jotted the info into his Journal, then snapped it shut. “Fiddleford is going to be so excited to hear this when he gets back! Oh, and it's going to make salvaging parts so much easier!”

Stan raised an eyebrow. He’d used his powers for his fair share of ‘salvaging’, but somehow he doubted that was the same thing his brother was talking about now. “What kind of salvaging are we talking here?”

Ford got that insufferable ‘I know something you don’t’ look on his face. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Ford I literally have super-powers from a radioactive spider. Try me.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

***

They spent a few hours out on the roof, testing out the web shooters. How much fluid did one line use? How many lines did it take to travel a mile? How far could he swing on just one line? Did it take more lines to make a sharp turn? How fast could he travel?

Stan was pretty sure Ford would’ve had him out there all night, swinging back and forth between the forest and the cabin, if not for an incident in the late afternoon. Stan was trying to beat his time from the cabin to the main road when he picked out a branch to anchor from just within sight of the roof. He’d just released his previous line and was about to line up another anchor when he heard a sharp crack. He felt more than saw the dead branch he was anchored to break. He panicked, and instead of thinking to fire the second web shooter and create another secure line, all he could think of was grabbing onto a branch, or a ledge, or a wall, or something to catch his fall. He must have fallen at least 15 feet before he finally stuck to the upper limb of a giant sequoia. Immediately, he hugged it like a life preserver.

“Are you ok?” He heard Ford shout from the roof, witness to the entire embarrassing snafu.

“Fine!” Stan yelled back, his heart still beating a rapid drum solo in his chest.

“I think that’s our sign to stop for the day.” Ford hollered.

Stan didn’t need to be told twice. As much as he had enjoyed himself with the web shooters, this near-accident showed he wasn’t exactly a natural at it. He’d probably do a bit more practice a little closer to the ground before trying that again. Perhaps he wasn’t completely over his fear of heights after all.

***

After yet another canned dinner, Ford brought out the last shelved invention from the storage room. To Stan’s untrained eyes, it looked like several rolls of stretchy, colorful fabric.

“Something tells me these aren’t just to add some accents to your wardrobe.”

“No. It’s an extremely durable fabric. I ruined one too many sweaters while out doing field work, so I developed something that’s water-proof, tear-resistant, protects from abrasions, keeps warm, and most importantly, doesn’t get burrs or stickers caught on it.”

“So, what? You want me to see if I can tear it with my super strength?”

“Well, yes. But also…” Ford paused to collect his thoughts, thinking about how to word what he wanted to say. “I think it could improve your costume.”

Stan blinked. “What’s my costume got to do with anything?”

Ford sighed, looking anywhere but at his brother. How to word this? “I want to help you.”

“I thought that was the whole point of me comin’ out here.”

“No. Well, yes, but specifically… Stan, you’re a hero, don’t get me wrong, you’ve saved so many people, but I know you could do even more with some help.” He finally looked his brother in the eye. “I want to help you be a better crime-fighter.”

Stan broke the eye contact almost immediately. “Uh, Ford, I can’t believe you haven’t already pieced this together yet, but… I’m not really a crime fighter.”

“Not technically, no, and chances are you’ll never be officially sanctioned or acknowledged by law enforcement, but that doesn’t make you any less of a hero. And that’s why I want to help you! You could finally have cutting-edge technology at your disposal!”

“I’m not a hero, ok?” Stan finally burst out. “I never set out to be one, and you of all people should know I don’t act like one.”

“But… but all those people you saved!” Ford protested. “I’ve read the articles! The eye witness accounts!”

“Sure, I may have been in the right place at the right time, and if I saw people needed help, I helped them. That’s just what decent people do, genius! It doesn’t make me a hero! I’m sorry a bunch of nerds blew things out of proportion and made you think I was one.

"The truth is, I've mostly been using my powers to steal. Money. Food. Jewelry. Clothes. Money. Whatever I needed to take care of myself. All those people I threw in jail? Folks I owed money. Enemies I wanted off my back. That's not the kind of stuff a hero does."

At first Ford's only reaction was a blank stare. He was taking a while to process this new information. For all these years he'd had a vision of what he expected the Spider Man to be like, and now, twice in one week, those expectations had been turned on their head. Finally, he collected his thoughts.

"You may have done what you had to to survive. You may have been taking advantage of your powers. But with that power comes a responsibility to use it for good!"

Stan rolled his eyes. "Responsibility? Yeah, right! Like I owe the world anything! The way I see it, these powers are the least the universe could do for me after all the ways life has screwed me over!"

Ford opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but after a moment's pause, he just sighed and shook his head. "Don't you see, Stanley? You've already made a difference in the lives of the people you saved. Hundreds of people already see you as a hero. Why not embrace it?"

"What do you care!?" Stan huffed. "You just wanna play the hero like when we were kids, don't you? Only if you can't be the hero yourself, you'll just live the dream through me."

“Is that what you think?” Ford shook his head sadly, “You just don’t get it.” He trudged back down the stairs to the storage room, the colorful bolts of fabric under his arm.

***

That night, Bill returned to Ford’s dreams. The researcher was getting used to his muse showing up almost every night now. He was also getting used to the otherworldly being’s impatience.

“WOW, FOUR-EYES REALLY DID YOU A FAVOR, LEAVING YOU ALONE WITH YOUR DEADBEAT BROTHER, HUH?”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but this is the first time I’ve felt at home with Stan since we found him in Portland. In years, actually. While I still wish Fiddleford didn’t feel the need to lie to me about it, I think him leaving for a few days was the right choice. Yes, things are still… fragile,” Ford admitted, as he thought back to their argument earlier after dinner, “But our relationship now is better than it’s been for over a decade, and I’m hopeful it will continue to improve.”

“OH, I’M GLAD YOU’RE HOPEFUL ABOUT THAT. ONE MORE SHORT-LIVED HUMAN FAMILIAL BOND RESTORED, WOO-HOO.” Bill rolled his single eye, and then signed “IT JUST SEEMS LIKE SUCH A WASTE FOR SUCH INCREDIBLE POWERS TO GO TO A GUY WHO’D RATHER USE THEM FOR HIMSELF.”

“It’s... unfortunate, yes.” Ford agreed, his annoyance at his brother resurfacing, “But not entirely unexpected from Stanley. At least he’s used his powers to help people in need when he crossed paths with them.”

“STILL, YOU COULD BE A WAY BETTER HERO THAN HIM! I MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP YOU THERE.”

“Thank you, Bill, but no. Despite what my brother thinks, I’m really not interested in becoming a super hero myself. I’d much rather be recognized for my scientific accomplishments.”

Bill shrugged. “ALRIGHT, BUT IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND, I’LL BE RIGHT HERE WAITING TO MAKE IT HAPPEN!”

***

Stan wanted to scream into his pillow when the twinging, unusual version of his spider sense returned late that night. Sure enough, if he concentrated, he could tell it was strongest in the direction of his brother’s bedroom. But then, Stan got an idea. Those goggles from earlier! They’d helped him see some weird stuff out in the woods, maybe they’d give him a clue as to what was going on with Ford.

So he crept out of bed, down to the storage room to retrieve the goggles, and then into Ford’s room. Stan barely stifled a gasp when he put them on. A halo of sickly yellow was radiating from Ford’s head. That definitely hadn’t been there this morning.

This time, Stan just sat there and watched. Every other time he’d felt this sensation it had come and gone in just a few minutes, maybe even seconds, but this time he was going to really pay attention and figure out what it was, and where it was coming from. What Stan figured out was, of course, really weird. Whatever it was, it seemed to be coming from everywhere, but it all converged on one point: Ford. That’s why Stan had such a hard time pinpointing it that first night, and it was why it had seemed to be coming from Ford all the times he’d felt it before.

After twenty minutes of watching and just trying to familiarize himself with the sensation of this peculiar spider sense, something finally happened. The yellow halo surrounding Ford’s head shifted, and the ghostly silhouette of a triangle appeared. It had a single, slitted eye, just like all those freaky effigies Ford had all around the house, and in the split second before it disappeared, it looked straight at Stan.

“... What the H?” Stan exclaimed under his breath.

****

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#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Spider Stan AU #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #This Jerk #My writing

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rebelcourtesan · 5 years

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Carnival Row - SPOILERS

I wanted to enjoy Carnival Row and in some ways I did, but when it comes to the better fantasy show this weekend, it has to go to the Dark Crystal, which I’ll talk a little bit about, but no spoilers on that.

SPOILERS FOR CARNIVAL ROW BELOW

Pacing was a problem. Sometimes it was too rushed other times too slow depending on what plot line they were on. To be honest, I felt that maybe we were supposed to get more episodes to really flesh out the world and characters, but Amazon decided to go with less episodes.

The Dark Crystal didn’t have this problem as it was a full ten episodes with three plots that interwoven together into one larger plot. Another advantage the Dark Crystal had was it had plenty of lore and world building to draw on.

Carnival Row, being an original series that isn’t based upon a previous franchise, film, books, or comics, has to start from scratch. Now this has served well in other franchises such as Charmed (original series), Supernatural, Xena Warrior Princess, etc but those shows were able to take the time necessary to build up their respective worlds and lore.

Granted Carnival Row only had 8 episodes to establish itself and that may be a handicap, but what bothered me is that fae creatures behaved like humans but with wings and horns. Granted, this was used as a means to show that fae are no different than humans, but that’s the thing, they aren’t human. Or not suppose to be. Other than their physical appearance they didn’t have any distinguishing mannerisms.

Let’s take a look at Mass Effect races for example. The Asari, beautiful blue alien that are all female are the diplomatic and wise. Turians are militaristic and disciplined. Salarians are geniuses and tech-wizards and scientists. Each race has an overall background, history, and mannerisms that set them apart from each other and humans.

The same could be said for Star Wars, Dragon Age, Lord of the Rings, and Babylon 5. With Carnival Row, other than appearance, I couldn’t differentiate between fairies, fauns, and others. Were the fauns warriors or laborers? Fairies, were they artists or scholars? And they barely touched upon the rest of the fae that we’ve seen. Again, I understand the first season was only 8 episodes, but that may be the problem in itself.

It felt like we were only getting part or half of a season. Sometimes the pacing felt rush and characters that were introduced were just as quickly dismissed or forgotten. The Ravens that Vignette join only appear for a few episodes, enough to menace Vignette and then are forgotten. Philo’s friend who I’m assuming was locked away for being a werewolf (if that’s the reason, then they didn’t make it clear), what part did he have to play? Even Portia, Philo’s human love interest who dismissed once she serves her purpose. (Hated her guts for what she did to him, bitch).

It feels like there were originally suppose to be more episodes, but Amazon either say do less or they split the season in half and we’re getting the other half in season 2. When the season ended, I didn’t feel satisfied, but I wanted to see more.

That being said, when season 2 comes out, I’m going to watch it. My experience is that if a new tv series (especially one with it’s own world) doesn’t have mettle the first season, the second season usually brings it. First season is introduction, world building, and getting to know the characters and second season is where you can really sink your teeth into the world.

This season also felt like they were setting up the villains for next season with Jonah and Sophia using the political hot spots with the fae to gain power. Philo learning there is a prophecy about him becoming a great and powerful leader. And the faun cult causing problems.

Do I think season 1 is bad? Honestly, no, I think it’s okay. It doesn’t misrepresent itself and it’s exactly as advertised though some people are claiming Amazon said it was a PG-14 rating when someone tried to watch it with their children they were shocked by the F-bombs? What about the gore and nudity and sex?

It has some really cool moments that I enjoyed such as Philo learning that the first murder victim is actually his mother and him confiding to Vignette that he’s half-fae. Those were really eye opening moments for me and drew me back into the story despite its flaws.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to season 2 and I really hope they bring it by then.

#carnival row review #carnival row spoilers

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shewhowantsmouseears · 5 years

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The Little Peach, Chapter 5

Notes: As always, huge thanks to my amazing editor, Drucilla!

Feel free to read this after you finish the chapter proper. Good? Good.

For those of you who recognized the role of the Monkey, you might be wondering what in the world I was thinking - and for those who have no idea who that is, it was a VERY short-lived Disney toon based on Belgian comics. The story I'm basing this on required a monkey, but as I traversed through Disney monkeys, most of them were either one-shots or would have basically been another Pluto. So I stumbled upon this familiar face and thought - why the heck not?

Summary: As Mickey resumes his journey with his new alley, he discovers the unique advantages of his so-called curse.

Mickey and his new friend were very happy together as they traveled through the forests and plains. Mickey found he had plenty to say, and Pluto was an excellent listener so Mickey would regale him with tales of his amazing father. While Mickey was glad to have a companion, and his first real friend to boot, there were two big issues that needed to be solved. The first was that while now Mickey could see where he was going, he still couldn't be sure if it was in the right direction of the Princess. The second was that now that he had a traveling ally, he needed to expand his resources – he'd already devoured his bread and cheese, and he knew a big dog like Pluto would need a big meal.

“I suppose we ought to find a nearby town to grab some food,” Mickey said out loud, Pluto walking at a brisk pace. “But I haven't got a coin to my name.” Stealing was out of the question. “I guess I could try to work for it. I'm sure there's something a little guy like me can do.” Pluto didn't nod, not wanting Mickey to fall off his head, and instead gave a little 'yipyip' of agreement. “Hey, we can work together! Two heads are better than one. You sure are a smart pup.” Now came the matter of actually finding a village – and hoping it wouldn't delay them too far from their journey.

They traversed over a hill, and at first, it appeared luck was finally showing them mercy, as Mickey could spot the faint signs of buildings down below. It was quite the small village, one could walk right through it in less than fifteen minutes, he guessed, if you were normal sized. But whatever luck had been granted to the two was swiftly taken away – as they began to approach the village, they could hear shrieks of horror and sounds of destruction. Mickey jerked right to attention. “Oni must be attacking the village!” he declared, and he whipped out his needle-blade. “Pluto, we gotta help these people!”

Pluto woofed, again agreeing, and began to run as fast as all four legs could take him. Frightened men and women ran past the dog, not seeing the tiny samurai atop. Pluto headed for the opposite direction of the fleeing villagers, which took them to a very tall inn, which was the town's pride and joy. Hanging from a window was the source of the problem, although it was so high up Mickey couldn't tell if it was man, beast or Oni – he assumed Oni given how it was ripping through the wood and brick of the building, banging its fists to break the windows and throwing out whatever it could reach of the rooms inside. What a truly terrifying Oni! It was going through that building like it was mere paper!

Yet Mickey was puzzled as Pluto came to a stop at the building's base. The Oni at his village had destroyed Grandma's farm as part of the battle and to subdue the villagers into submission. What was the point of ripping apart a building?

“PUT ME DOWN!” A voice yelled from above – the “Oni” had taken a man from within the building and waved him around recklessly. “I SAID PUT ME DOWN, MAURICE, I SAID – Actually, on second thought, the ground is rather far, isn't it? Is there a way you can put me up?” The request was ignored, and the hapless victim was thrown down hard into a passing wagon – the force of his fall so great that all four wheels fell off at once. The saving mercy was that it had been full of hay, so when the man slid down onto the dirt, he wasn't dead – though the pain might've made him wish he was.

Mickey tugged on Pluto's ear to direct him towards the moaning man, and he sat up once they were close. “Sir, are you all right?”

The man didn't appear to be much younger than Mickey's father, and Mickey wasn't sure if his black nose was swollen from the landing or had always been that huge. He dizzily sat up, his loose-fitting robes covered in as many spots as his natural fur – yellow with black dots – and his tail appeared to be endlessly long. The man shook his head, then pulled his tail back, using it as a makeshift belt to keep his outfit from sliding off. “I'm alive, kid, which in this world, counts as all right.” He then finally looked at who was taking to him, and his eyes were wider than clean dinner plates. “Ooorrr, maybe not, considering the concussion I'm apparently having.”

Mickey could guess about the confusion. “Your eyes don't deceive you, sir. I'm really this small.”

The long-tailed man might have debated about head injuries versus reality if the “Oni” on the building hadn't let out a monstrous roar. The man let out a grunt as he got to his feet. “I can't believe he's doing this! If he keeps this up, he might destroy the entire town!”

“But why would he?” Mickey asked, still curious. “Oni are supposed to be taking over the towns, not totally destroying them.”

“That's no Oni! That's my pal, Maurice!” He pointed towards the offending obstacle, and as it began to climb down, Mickey couldn't see any the trademark horns on his head. Granted, being a gigantic, muscular, purple gorilla wasn't really much better, given how it was ripping off window hinges and using its big feet to kick in large cracks. “But it's the Oni's fault, I tell you! He wouldn't do this if he was in his right mind!”

There was a story here, with not a lot of time to tell. “What did the Oni do? What happened, sir?”

“First off, enough with the 'Sir's! That's for snoots, snobs, and seniors! I'm in the prime of my youth, I'll have you know!” He undid his tail belt, and began whipping it around like a lasso. “Second, name's Marsupilami! Mars for short, Mister Marsupilami The Manly Magnificent for long! And third... you need to get going while the going's good! A shrimp like you is only going to get hurt!” He then threw out his tail, and it whipped around Maurice's left leg, tugging on it tight. “Leave this to me! Maurice and I are best friends, and he wouldn't lay a finger on me!”

“Sir – ah, Mister...Marsupilami? Didn't he just throw you?”

“Well, sure, he didn't lay a finger on me. He laid four.” Any further leaps of logic were put on hold as Maurice grabbed the tail used to constrict him, and yanked Marsupilami forward, using him as a crude wrecking ball into the building over and over.

Mickey winced, and then began to hop off of Pluto's head. “I'm not going anywhere until we stop this guy! Pluto, help the villagers steer clear of this mess, they might trample one another!” Pluto yipped, and jogged off to help corral the scared townsfolk, leading them away from Maurice's rampage and the piles of damage he'd been leaving around. Maurice released Marsupilami after five more good whacks, jumping onto the ground and hitting the dirt with his clenched fists over and over, letting out another primal roar.

Mickey knew he couldn't best the beast in battle, but as he watched the giant gorilla stomp around, one thing looked off – Maurice continuously kept trying to stay on his right leg, but kept falling onto his left, as otherwise he couldn't keep his balance. Yet every time he used his left, it only made him madder, and made him cry out louder, as he punched a hole right through a nearby house. Mickey kept this note in his head as he came to the collapsed Marsupilami's side, trying to lightly poke him back to consciousness. “He's madder than a nest of hornets that were kicked six ways from Sunday! What did the Oni do to him?”

“How I would love to tell you, little boy who I'm still convinced isn't sort of pain-induced delusion...” Marsupilami rolled onto his side, eyes rolling this way and that. “But, here's the deal. I don't know exactly what they did – the came into town this morning, trying to take it over for their King, you know the whole song and dance. Maurice and I decided to do the brave thing and retreat until our help was needed-”

“You ran away.”

“Retreated. Anyway, just as we were in the clear, all of a sudden Maurice yells at the top of his lungs, and goes bananas! At first I figured he's trying to scare off the Oni, and I tell you, they were scared off! But they must've done something to him, because he began trying to wreck everything he could get his hands on! He beat those Oni good, sent them packing, but then he began hitting anyone who came near! I've been trying to set his head straight, but it's like he can't hear me!”

Stranger and stranger – as far as Mickey understood it, the Oni didn't have the power to make anyone behave in any certain way. If they could, taking over Japan would be a cinch. “I think you're looking about this the wrong way. If there's something wrong with your friend, we have to find the wrong and right it!”

“And how do you suppose we do that?” Marsupilami pushed himself to his feet, wobbly due to all the aches and pains he'd suffered trying to get Maurice to stop. “Look at him! He's all muscle! Even his brain is muscle! If I, his most trusted confidant, can't get through to him, what makes you think you can?”

“Because giving up is not an option!” Mickey countered. If Marsupilami wasn't going to do anything but argue, then Mickey had no choice but to act. He held onto his blade with both hands and ran for the gorilla, despite Marsupilami calling him every name for “fool” in the book and then some. As Mickey got closer, the ground shook harder, and Maurice kept smashing and throwing, throwing and smashing – oblivious to the very small samurai near his feet. Mickey didn't quite have a plan of action in mind, but standing by was not an option.

“Kid, you're gunna get killed!” Marsupilami called after him, cupping his hands around his mouth. “You're gunna get squashed! Flattened! Pancaked! The tiniest smear on the ground!” Yet no matter what clear danger Marsupilami yelled about, the young boy wouldn't come back. Was he insane? Or just dumb? He couldn't make heads or tails of it, and seeing as his tail could go on for miles, he felt very sure about this.

Mickey didn't run away, but he did wind up running back and forth in circles – with the gorilla stomping around so much, it was taking every ounce of Mickey's energy just to dodge those big feet. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up this pace – but as he kept running and watching the stomping, he thought he saw something underneath the gorilla's left foot. It happened very quickly, but because Mickey was so small, he knew what he'd seen. If his guess was right, then... a plan instantly formed.

He jumped onto a piece of debris, and then onto a piece of roof that had fallen from the building. “Marsupilami! I need your help!”

“Did you finally come to your senses, kid? Get out of there!”

“I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you! If you really thought this situation was hopeless, you would have 'retreated' and left him behind! But Maurice is your friend, isn't he? So if you want to help your friend, you'll do exactly what I say!”

Marsupilami opened, then closed, his mouth. For such a small lad, he saw more than most people, and understood them far quicker. He stuck out his lips, hemming and hawing before admitting defeat, twirling his tail around in his fingers. “Not that I really think any idea of yours is going to work... but let's say for the moment I'm willing to listen. What is it you want me to do?”

Mickey used his blade to point back to Maurice. “Instead of just grabbing one leg, use your tail to grab them both! Get him to fall on the ground!”

“That won't hold him down for long, he'll break out of my grasp!”

“I don't need long!” Mickey thrust a fist to his heart, eyes shining without fear and with determination. “What's more important, believing I'm wrong or helping your friend?”

When it was put that way, it wasn't really a choice at all. Marsupilami gritted his teeth, and began to whip his tail around. “Yours is going to be one tiny funeral ceremony, boy... here I go!” He spun his tail around as far and fast as he could before throwing it forward, ensnaring both of Maurice's legs. With a great, mighty tug, the gorilla fell flat on his back, though he continued to put up a ferocious fight about it.

Mickey stepped back, and then jumped off the roof piece, needing only one swift motion with his needle to undo what he saw – Marsupilami thought he saw something pop out of Maurice's foot – and when Mickey landed, the world was still and calm. Maurice immediately stopped his bellowing, blinking up at the sky, slowly breathing in and out. Marsupilami's eyes bulged. “What the... what happened? What did you do?”

With a bit of pride, Mickey walked over to what had caused the whole mess and picked it up – a tiny, sharp rock. “Big guy just had this stuck in his foot, is all! I think he ought to start wearing shoes, might help him out.”

Pluto returned at this moment, and obediently strode up to his master, giving him a sniff to make sure all was well. Marsupilami stood there for another moment or two in disbelief before walking up to Maurice and unwrapping his tail. “How're you feeling, big guy?”

Maurice sat up, and rubbed his sore foot before giving a thumbs up. Without his pain and rage, he had a much happier, albeit sillier expression on his face, with several yellow teeth sticking out in all directions. Looking at him now, Mickey felt as if this cheerful fellow wouldn't want to harm a fly. Marsupilami offered a hand to help the gorilla up. “All that fuss for one rock? I never would have guessed! But it was so small, I never would have seen it either... only this kiddo could've! Astonishing as it is to believe, perhaps I was wrong about you. This calls for proper re-introductions.” He cleared his throat, bowing deeply with a reaching arm, and Maurice did the same. “My name is Marsupilami! And this is my gorilla pal, Maurice!”

“I'm Mickey...” On instinct, Mickey almost said his family name, but managed to stop himself at the last second. Considering his father's great shame of him, perhaps it was not yet time to reveal who he was related to. “And this is my friend Pluto.” Pluto woofed, bowing his head. “But is there still something wrong with your friend? He hasn't said a word.”

“And never will, too.” Marsupilami replied with a half shrug. “Big fella never has. So I do all the talking for him... and most of the thinking, too. Friends forever, him and I, which comes with its ups and downs. The ups is that, in gratitude for helping him, allow me to treat you folks to dinner.”

Mickey's growling stomach was more than pleased with this offer, but... “What's the downs?”

Marsupilami glanced over at Maurice who smiled sheepishly. “Well, when the townsfolk find out that the Oni had nothing to do with Maurice wrecking everything, they're going to be the smallest bit miffed. After our meal, we gotta banana split... although I'm not sure where we could go.” He shrugged helplessly, then began to wrap his tail around himself again. “We've mostly been scavengers, you see. We find the things that need to be found – fat fish in the river, ripe mushrooms pluck for the picking...”

Mickey's stomach growled even louder, although it was a growl of an idea. “Y'know, me and Pluto are on a journey towards the capital of Japan, and have a long ways to go... but we don't know what's good to eat or even how to get it. Why don't you come along with us? I'm sure they'll have plenty of room for you both once we get there.”

Marsupilami and Maurice exchanged a look, wordlessly communicating with their hands. Maurice gave two thumbs up, and Marsupilami slapped his hands together. “All right, you've got yourself a deal! We'll show you the lay of the land!” First things first, that promised dinner. Marsupilami led the way, swinging the tip of his tail around like a toy. “All the way to the capital, though... I've never been, but they say the Princess there is a real beauty! A one of a kind gem – but just as hard and stony. Whatever you're planning to do there, you'd better steel yourself.” Maurice grunted, seemingly concurring with his friend, and thumping a fist to his chest. “Maurice is right! If she's a gem, then you need to be stone!”

Mickey wasn't really sure what that meant, but he figured these men were older and wiser and thus had to be right to a certain degree. If the Princess was going to be stubborn about the Lucky Hammer... well then, Mickey would be more stubborn! Yet even the most cold-hearted of brutes would surely understand his very small plight. He didn't care for the idea of being a sharp stone in the Princess' foot. As much as he longed for heroics in battle like his father, he had to admit he was relieved that he didn't have to hurt Maurice to save the day.

Was that how a samurai was supposed to act and think? He kept these thoughts to himself, as he and his new allies shoved food down their stomachs as soon as possible before the frightened villagers understood there was nothing to be frightened about.

Yet when the group of five all departed from the village, they left behind something unusual – Mickey, Marsupilami, and Maurice had all been so distracted that they never realized that one or two of the townsfolk had seen the final fight for themselves. One man's facts turned into another's gossip, becoming more and more wild with every passing whisper and word. Much as the wind easily carries a leaf, so did the story carry on, leaving the village and passing through the lands.

“Did you hear? Far back into town, with a great big cry, the legend himself – the Inch High Samurai!”

~*~

Donald and Daisy, for their part, had yet to hear any rumors, not that they were staying in any one place too long to listen to them. They had only one goal in mind, and were willing to sacrifice sleep and food in order to get there as soon as possible. Only when one saw the exhaustion on their partner's face did they ever stop to eat and sleep, and even this was often a struggle that wound up in a very loud argument.

As they neared a nearby forest, their current argument – Donald was insisting Daisy ride atop his back so her weary feet could rest, while she countered his body was already strained and she wouldn't strain it further – reached a fever pitch, the married couple continuing to shout while holding hands with each other in a loving fashion. The image this created was both very adorable and very ridiculous.

“WILL YOU BOTH SHADDAP!” A loud voice boomed from the forest, causing both ducks to jump in surprise.

Donald pushed his wife behind him and drew out his blade. “Who goes there?”

“We goes here,” a tired voice replied, softer and relaxed than the first. “And we are just trying to get some sleep. If we sleep every time we're hungry, we won't be hungry.”

“I'm not sure you've got that right,” Daisy said, poking her head over Donald's shoulder. Donald frowned, and dared to inch closer to the source of the noise. Within the forest, two Oni were laying down flat on their backs – Hutch and Pacuvio, the very same Oni that had captured Pluto. The sight of their horns made Donald tighten the grip on his sword, ready to do battle, even though the two were so thin and tired they looked like they'd lose a fight with a goldfish. Daisy, on the other hand, saw an opportunity. “Have either of you seen a boy that's only as small as a peach pit?”

“Can't say we have,” said Pacuvio, eyes closed and hands folded on his chest. “I would've definitely remembered seeing a little boy.”

“Can it already!” Hutch barked, holding himself tightly and rolling onto his side. “If I'm awake, I'm hungry! Last meal we even got close to having was that dog, and it got away! Pacuvio, you should have tied it tighter!”

“I tied it as tight as I could, Hutch, but... aw, I'm too hungry to argue.”

Donald spotted the torn rope laying in the grass, and picked it up, tempted to use it to tie up the Oni even if they could barely open their eyes. It was difficult to fight against old instincts. Yet as he held it up, he saw tiny marks on the rope that appeared very familiar. “Daisy, come look at this.” She appeared at his side and squinted, before her eyes widened. “I know he liked to use that sewing needle of yours as a blade, but...?”

“Oh, he did come through here!” Daisy squealed with delight. “A sign that he's alive! Maybe we'll find him before we even reach the capital! What wondrous news!” She was so overcome with joy and merriment that she thrust her hands into her satchel and pulled out a huge chunk of bread. “You two, you must have this!”

Donald let out a WAK instead of a “What!”, and both Oni bolted upwards immediately. Without giving it a second thought, they yanked the bread out of her hands and began to devour it. “Daisy! What are you thinking, giving the enemy our food?” Donald slapped his hands on his hips.

“These two aren't my enemy, and they gave us a lead on our son,” Daisy replied, taking the rope and hugging it close to her chest, as if that was the very boy she loved so dearly. “I don't care what they are, that's good enough for me!”

Donald gritted his teeth, but given how fast the bread was swallowed, there wasn't anything he could do about it now. He rubbed his temples, and tried to put the pieces together of what he had learned. These two Oni had captured a dog to eat, and Mickey freed it without being spotted. That was... hm! Well! So what if he wasn't spotted? He was very small, it would have been difficult to spot him anyway. And what if the dog wound up biting or, even worse, trying to eat Mickey? His foolish kindness would have been for nothing! What right did Mickey have to go around trying to save people when he could never save himself?

His aching arm began to throb much harder, and Donald winched, rubbing it in an effort to soothe his nerves. Hutch wiped his mouth on his arm. “Phew... I was so close to death's door, I think I saw death's windows and basement. Now we can go back to what we were doing in the first place – taking over villages for the Oni King.”

“See!” Donald snapped, his hand beginning to pull out his blade. “I knew it, they can't be trusted! Look at how they repay your kindness! You're the one, Daisy, who put those fool thoughts in Mickey's head! Kindness will get you killed!”

“A lot of things will get you killed,” Pacuvio said after a great big yawn. “And not even trying to take over one village will definitely get us killed by the Oni King.”

Daisy shut Donald's mouth with her fingers without even looking at him, though Donald grumbled very loudly as she held him. “Is that true? He'd be willing to kill his own people if they don't do what he wants? That's awful! Can't anyone stop him?”

“Only a stronger Oni can defeat the Oni King.” Hutch said as he rose to his feet. “That's the way it's always been – the current King became King after he killed the last one. If some other Oni came along and defeated the King we have... we'd have to obey him too. But right now, there ain't anyone stronger than he is. He's super smart!”

“A master of disguise.” Pacuvio added.

“He knows the ways of mortal and Oni!”

“He's tricky and mean and has unpleasant body odor.”

“And once he realizes we haven't sent a signal in forever-”

Suddenly Pacuvio jammed an elbow into Hutch's ribs, making him cough and sputter, nearly upchucking the bread he'd eaten. Hutch realized what he said, and shifted away uneasily. “Uh, that is, I mean... aw, all that starvation made me stupid!”

Pacuvio looked back and forth between Donald's blade and his ally's fearful face. He clicked his tongue, then backed away. “In exchange for the bread, we'll let you keep that bit of info, and no one has to fight today. C'mon, Hutch.” He took his friend by the arm and lead him away – Hutch, who was much bigger and stronger than Pacuvio, was nervously biting his nails, horrified at what he had let slip. It was almost as if he'd have preferred to starve to death.

“I wonder what that was about,” Daisy said out loud once the Oni were far gone – she had no worries about those two taking over any villages, and if she had to guess, those two would probably wound up right back here in the same situation. It was a sad state of affairs. “What do you think they meant by a signal?”

“Once we reach the capital, we can tell the Princess and they can figure it out... but we can't waste time wondering.” Donald took his wife's hand and roughly led her back to the trail. Years ago, he would seized onto that grasp of knowledge, and never let the Oni go without spilling more. The current Oni King was so wrapped up in mystery that a single clue was worth a fortune. But now?

Now all he could think of, much to his frustration, was that if he had been in Mickey's shoes... he would've done the exact same thing.

#disney #fanfic #the little peach #mickey mouse #pluto #donald duck #daisy duck

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wffsg · 3 years

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A scant few moments later, the red-faced lord shoved the table over in fury

“They will try to send out ravens,” he told Black Balaq. “Watch the oakley m frame ice iridium maester’s tower. “It wouldn’t need to be a big one. The seventh voice would be the Dornishwoman now escorting Myrcella home. The Lady Nym. For the night is dark and full of terrors. This my own consciousness of truth would not allow, in the present instance. The book is a truthful picture of life, with the dark outlines beautifully portrayed. The life—the characteristics, incidents, and the dialogues—is life itself reduced to paper. The silver queen has put an end to that. A table and set of pieces was duly produced. A scant few moments later, the red-faced lord shoved the table over in fury, scattering the pieces across the carpets to the sound of Yunkish laughter.. Oh, Vanya, what a bitter, terrible time is before us!”. Call it the Horn of Darkness. If the Wall falls, night falls as well, the long night that never ends. “Lord Ramsay is not done with me.”. His guests were in danger. They had to get out fast. When you have a little one, there are plenty of items you need to have readily accessible. Your baby bag doesn have to be old, dingy, or falling apart. Such bags that work very well for this and they have plenty of room for all you may need. Years ago, it seemed, when he still had some strength in him, when he had still been defiant. Nobody will doubt that, had the Southern members taken such a stand against the divinity of our Lord, the division would have been immediate and unanimous; but yet the Southern members do maintain the right to buy and sell, lease, hire and mortgage, multitudes of men and women, whom, with the same breath, they declared to be 207members of their churches and true Christians. The Bible declares of all such that they are temples of the Holy Ghost; that they are members of Christ’s body, of his flesh and bones. And a jug of wine. I must frankly admit, however, that, either owing to the derangement of my nerves, or my new impressions in my new lodgings, or my recent melancholy, I gradually began at dusk to sink into that condition which is so common with me now at night in my illness, and which I call mysterious horror. It is a most nike jean jacket oppressive, agonizing state of terror of something which I don’t know how to define, and something passing all understanding and outside the natural order of things, which yet may take shape this very minute, as though in mockery of all the conclusions of reason, come to me and stand before me as an undeniable fact, hideous, horrible, and relentless. novolux 60 led The only circumstance which she has omitted in the narrative was one of additional inhumanity and painfulness which he had delineated. Before their hearts could beat again he had passed on, searching for his own, for One Eye, Sly, and Stalker, for his pack. His wolves would save him, he told himself.. The hall thrummed to the sound of a hundred low voices, echoing off the pillars and the marble floor. It made an ominous sound, angry. It’s really as though you didn’t believe yourself in gioco cubo di rubik amazon what you design for us; as though you look upon it all as a joke, as an absurd fancy, as a comic farce. And I remember I sat zapatillas estilo valentino there before the old man, saying nothing, with unconscious fingers tearing the brim of my hat, which was torn already; I sat and, I don’t adidas mariposasknow why, waited for Natasha to come in. We are not surprised that under such a course, on the one hand, the number of slaves decreased, till there were none in modern Europe. We are not surprised by such a course, on the other hand, that they have increased until there are three millions in America.. “Mance Rayder’s bowmen must have loosed ten thousand arrows at us, judging from the number of spent shafts we’ve gathered up. Instead he made

cizme din denim

the rounds of the pyramid from top to bottom, to ascertain that the sentries were all at their posts. That took most of the morning. I made a big haul that time. In short, Nellie was a great help to me at that point . Natasha looked on the ground and did not answer. If he has any master, he is hereby notified to come forward, prove property, pay charges, and take him away, or he will be dealt with as the law directs.. We were in too great a hurry . Too great a hurry . “Good. I was afraid … I begged my father to leave one of my brothers as castellan, but none of them wished to miss the glory and ransoms to be won in the south. One other anecdote which this lady related illustrates that peculiar devotion of a slave to a good master, izraeli kézműves ékszerek to which allusion has been made. “I touched upon her sore place. He’s there . “Mushrooms,” the scaun rulant inchiriere magister announced, as the smell wafted up. The names make you say, oh! The prices make you say no. We all want bargains. We want cheaper things, so we turn around and say fine, I'll take a fake. Hearing the voices while mini melissa picole vidro still in the kitchen, I stopped the doctor for a second and overheard the prince’s last sentence. Yes, it is a good idea. “Yes, Alyosha,” she went on with bitter feeling. As for synthetic fur, you can often spot the clues that give it away: unnatural looking color, a rough or scraggly texture, broad even striping or a signs of a repeating pattern. Genuine chinchilla has a unique characteristic that no rabbit or synthetic fur can imitate. The hairs are actually tri colored: they grow out a charcoal color, then lighten to a dove gray ending with a black tip. All crimes are wiped clean when a man joins the Night’s Watch, they say. Holly’s cloak was fastened with a silver clasp, and Frenya had a girdle of hempen rope wound about her middle from her hips to breasts. It made her look even more massive than she was.. Gaunt and bent and crooked, with a left shoulder half a foot higher than his right, he had a scrawny neck, squinty grey eyes, and yellow teeth. The trees in the avenue were fancifully hung with many-colored lanterns,—drums beat, bands of music played, the houses of the President and other high officials were illuminated, and men, women and children, were all turned out to see the procession, and to join in the shouts of liberty that rent the air. Of course, all the slaves of the city, lively, fanciful and sympathetic, most excitable as they are by music and by dazzling spectacles, were everywhere listening, seeing, and rejoicing, in ignorant joy.

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sleepdragon · 7 years

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Burn it ALL Down: The Story of a Super, a Sidekick and Fans at a Comic Con...

Comic Con is a magical time of year where we get to see the actors out and about promoting their show to dozens of places, chatting about themselves, each other, fans and their characters. It’s a time where we get to experience behind the scenes of those shows we love, and as fans do we ever look forward to it.

This comic con ran sour for many people, and people feel what they feel and I’ll never invalidate the if’s but’s or why’s. But I am going to take a moment to discuss some unsettling things I’ve been seeing in the Supergirl orbit, then I’ll address the giant elephant that has been shitting on the carpet.

1. Representation Matters: Alex came out in the most amazing way; it was positive, uplifting, embracing and beautiful really – she got to be all of Alex. Fan-fucking-tastic and about bloody time.

a. She got the girl. Yay? Except I feel that Alex lost herself in the girl. She forgot that she had a sister. She marginalised Kara in every possible way. She didn’t plan to spend Earth Birthday with her sister, her sister who is celebrating the day that she lost everything. The day that represents her being on Earth longer than Krypton – but hey, she got the girl.

b. The girl is played by someone who, from all accounts is a lovely woman. She’s dating Casey Affleck; oh noes fire her, we don’t like him. Wait, the girl isn’t a POC because she is part Italian and Irish. People, Italy has black people. They do. They can quite marginalised there too. But she wasn’t good enough to play a POC on TV (which BTW she has never been referenced on the show has Latina)… wow, are you fucking kidding me?

2. Diversity Matters: James has nothing to do, let’s make him the most useless vigilante since that relationship with Kara didn’t work out (thank god, it was so shoe horned and not sustainable).

a. Diversity Matters but just throwing a POC on screen isn’t enough. Give us something more. James was not my favourite character, still isn’t. He still deserves better.

b. Diversity doesn’t mean that the character has to be likeable, but they have to get the same amount of thought as every other one. But even much of the fandom didn’t care about his side lining, that was disappointing.

3. Relationships are invaluable but the romance, and the ‘shipper wars have not been.

a. Sanvers I want to love, but I don’t really think I like Maggie, and I don’t like who Alex has become with her.

b. Karamel Not the best, but I can understand why Kara would latch onto someone when she was literally abandoned by everyone in season 2. No, I don’t think it’s okay he lied to Kara about who he was, but it was unsurprising Kara forgave him. Probably the most believable thing in the relationship.

c. J’onn and M’gann if people want to talk about toxic relationships – she saved his life and he repays her by imprisoning her for no good reason, and during that time M’gann developed Stockholm Syndrome and fell in love with her capture. Yay! Positive.

d. Danvers Sisters who now? Were they a band or something, because damn if they didn’t break up in season 2. They were once the heart of the show, and when that was lost the show was lost.

e. ‘ships are important and there is plenty of ocean out there for them ALL to sail. Problem is that the infighting started and it became every ship for themselves, because obviously the individuals chosen ship was the least toxic of them all. IMO, all the canon romantic relationships this season were shit, they devalued every one of the characters. Speaking only for myself, I still struggle with what J’onn did to M’gann…

i. Some fandom ‘ships were toxic and when a guest star comments on that, at a convention, and the threats and vitriol he received there is a systemic problem. Thankfully not all SuperCorp fans are like that, but the problem is for the actors and creatives they may not see the flip side.

ii. All fandom ‘ships had toxic members who screamed loudly and sounded like spokespeople for the ship. It’s unfortunate, but it happens.

f. Friendships are important if anyone can remind Kara’s friends of that, I’d be forever grateful. Remind her Foster Mother and Space Dad for extra points.

4. KARA MATTERS: The show is called Supergirl, so obviously the most important character should be her. Although Supergirl did get more time than Kara, but I feel as we moved away from Kara we lost the humanity too. It’s why I did adore the addition of Lena to the show (if they make her evil…) I feel that when we lost Cat, we lost Kara. I’m hoping we get more Cat this season to make up for that.

And yeah, Melissa said that Kara’s world ended when she lost Mon-El but she expanded on it in the ET interview – the woman has lost next to everything and the hits keep on coming. All she is seeing is loss – and that, that is the product of someone who has terrible abandonment issues. Now, if they could actually explore this throughout the season…

Now, much of the online fandom has been shitting on each other (I will reiterate not all), the actors and creatives and then Comic Con happened. One of their first interviews of the day Jeremy was asked to reprise a little skit he did last year and sing the events of last season, so he hit on the main storyline affecting those in attendance (which is why Sanvers was overlooked) – unfortunately he made a tone-deaf joke that hurt people, Melissa kinda joined in and everyone laughed.

I do believe he hit on it because of the SuperCorp fandoms notoriety, but I don’t think it was designed to invalidate the LBGT community. I don’t believe it was a homophobic remark, I just think it was a stupid moment that any human has had. Not even a saint could claim they haven’t accidently hurt someone by not understanding something, or joking about it. It happens, but to assume that the intent was malicious goes against everything else they have both done in the past, and Melissa said later the same day (before all this blew up). It even goes against what Melissa said later in the same interview.

Yes, I am aware that she called Jeremy “brave” for what he said, but no I don’t think that means that she wanted to invalidate the ship. I think it means that she thinks he is brave to want to take on the fans, and that he was fucking stupid to do it. Melissa may not really do cons, may not do many signings on set – but she does stop for fans on the street and she has been an ally for years. I do not believe a single moment erases everything they have done in the past, nor do I think it makes them a bad person now.

What I do believe is that it makes them human. The problem is in many cases that’s the last thing we want (or need) celebrities to be, we hold them up as the perfect representation of whatever we need them to represent. We falsely idolise them, so when they fall it hurts, it hurts a lot. But that hurt, the hurt from our idolisation, isn’t their fault. That’s like when we discover that our older siblings, or parents or grandparents are just human. They didn’t hang to moon and the stars, even though we thought they did.

Now, these humans did something well, human. As a member of the LBGT community I will only speak for myself (and I do ask can everyone do that, no one voted for official spokespeople so lets not pretend to have them), they didn’t upset me. I don’t feel devalued by them. They owe me no apology.

Jeremy has issued a 2 part apology, and no it’s not perfect but he isn’t perfect. None of us are, I’m not going to tell anyone to give him a chance or forgive him. I am going to say that you should forget but c’mon – people are telling him and Melissa to choke. They are wishing a show that hires hundreds of people to be cancelled. They are calling out and attacking their personal lives, how it any of that okay? So much of fandom is NOT okay with the way it’s responding. Being hurt I get, threats of any kind is just ridiculous and intentionally malicious.

Maybe this can be a learning curve for everyone, starting with realising we are all but human. And we will all make mistakes.

(I also decided not to tag sanvers because I will not go into a tag when I don’t like the ship)

And for the love of god, don’t ask an actor to validate your ship. They see what they see, you see what you see. That’s okay, that will forever be okay, they never have to meet.

#supergirl #sdcc #supercorp #melissa benoist #jermey jordan #tone deaf jokes #representation matters #threatening people when you dont get what you want shouldnt be accepted #celebrities are people #stop celebrity idealisation #this is why so many avoid fandom #does fandom have to be so toxic to everyone #lucky to know awesome fans #lets all be awesome

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marcoandmarty · 7 years

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Why I’m Writing Marco and Marty

(Some kvetching, some oversharing, some meandering)

Hey, gang!

Today’s MM will be posted in the late afternoon, I suspect. Feeling sick today so I am catching up on sleep. Gonna try to make a concerted effort to get back on schedule this weekend, but I also wanted to say a few words on what’s been going on in my life.

I moved to Brooklyn almost a year ago today. Before that I was briefly living in LaGrange, Georgia with my parents after moving out of Saint Louis where I had lived for a couple of years. Before that I was living in my hometown of Peoria broken up briefly by six months in London. And before that was college at Champaign/Urbana, the U of I. That’s where this comic strip began and despite the attempts I made to revive the comic in the past four years, I’ve only just now felt able to come back to it. That’s somewhat inaccurate; it’s only recently that I’ve recognized that I need this strip in light of everything. I think Trump’s incumbency, general Weltschmerz, and personal issues have made me realize that alcohol and cigarettes are not really a solace any longer. So, when I moved to Brooklyn, I eighty-sixed the cigs (It helps that they’re 13 bucks a pack here) and this year I haven’t touched any form of alcohol (knock on wood.) I don’t know if I was an alcoholic exactly, but when you get to the point where you’re saying “I need a drink,” you may want to consider whether your attachment to the sauce is healthy. I dunno though. There are plenty of folk who don’t have caustically addictive personalities and power to them. I, however, am lousy with vices and have to start putting a cap on ‘em.

Another reason I’m avoiding alcohol is my weight. I think a lot of people have commented on how Marty has gotten rounder over the years, and that is no accident. In STL, I got to be 320-something pounds which was getting hard to live with. I am not making a moral statement that thin is blameless and fat is sinful. For me, I was having trouble breathing and my blood pressure was skyrocketing. Since then, I have been coming down and trying to diet and exercise everyday (though exercise is not linked to successful weight loss over time but is good for blood pressure and your brain, &c. &c.) And that's been going pretty well, but I’ve got a long way to go. This year I’ve been having pre-diabetic symptoms and a lot of random infections and rashes but no adequate healthcare to really do anything about them, so I am ... basically trying to eat better on the main in the hopes that some of these issues are related to allergies. So, yes! That’s where I’m coming from.

I also have been working for my sister’s company and due to some recent happenings, I’ll be looking for new work in about 2 months or sooner. Money is already extremely tight, and I am gonna have to really be adamant about finding work and following through on that. My self-discipline has gotten better over time, but I am still not exactly a go-getter, type-A, savvy self-starter (Or whatever the current buzzword bullshit for that is). On top of this... god... NYC. I owe more in taxes than what I typically see in my bank account at one time. So, am pretty beleaguered at the moment concerning this.

Oddly, this is still the best place I’ve been in my life -- mentally and actually. I don’t feel as helpless as I used to even though there are these bleak moments here and there. I attribute part of that, at least, to posting a Marco & Marty strip everyday. I dunno. It’s one of two New Year’s resolutions that I’ve kept. I tell myself that it doesn’t have to be good it just has to be. I’m not nearly as disciplined at it as I want to be, but I’m at least delivering something everyday. The reasons I gave these past four years for not writing the strip were various: I need to write something new, I don’t have anything to say in this medium, I have to allow myself time to do real work, I don’t want to be known for doing a half-assed furry-slice-of-life comic. And here’s the thing -- I’m not writing the great American novel here. Hell, I’m not even writing the great American webcomic. It’s an excruciatingly niche thing. But it’s in me to do it, and it gives me something back. Gonna emphasize that.

It’s in me to do it, and it gives me something back.

How many things in our life even work that way? Unless you’re inordinately wealthy or landed gentry, you’re a wage-slave. And if not, you’re in some sorta system that is pushing force down on you in some way, right? We aren’t basking in the sunlight, children scampering and capering in a halcyon age depicted by Winslow Homer. We are just trying to fucking survive. So, having anything ... ANYTHING that gives back something to you, that makes you feel beautiful, resonant, open, fatiguingly happy or sorrowfully alive. Anything that makes you feel, even, only one or two notches away from “mediocre” into “okay...” Even that is a small miracle of a kind. You should raise an eyebrow at somebody who waxes rhapsodic about anything. More than likely, they’re trying to get you to download a fucking app. But really. Devote yourself to something that is in you and gives you something back. As long as it doesn't hurt somebody else or yourself, I’d recommend it. Maybe you cultivate a garden because that speaks to you or maybe you paint faces on spools or maybe you make meals for shut-ins. You know the thing! I can’t tell you the thing. Nobody can sell this to you and nobody can give you a valid reason to do it. Only you.

I am sure I read in Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert the phrase “all art done for yourself becomes help” or something, but I am having a hard time turning the wheels today (at home sick today.) I have been so touched by people saying that Marco and Marty has affected them in some way. I have gotten more comments from doing that than I deserve. And I was always working something out for myself with that strip. Coming out of the closet has been a long and awkward closet because it just feels like you’re still in some kind of Narnia somedays but still. When you share things that are inside you, the barely burning fire or the wounded bird or the half-melted snowman, people understand and are helped by that. And it isn’t selfish to try to help yourself. Don’t let any fucker take the wind out of your sails saying it’s selfish to make something just for yourself.

You are not the sum of all the things you didn’t do; you are all the things you make manifest like newspaper boats on a pond. And not everything you do will be perfect or even seaworthy and accepting that is the only way forward. I have a really hard time with that. The word “perfect” comes from the latin perfectus meaning “completed.” Perfectionism is demanding that we be complete when we are not yet done. It’s almost a death wish to wish to be perfect. We need a new working rubric of self-worth.

Be enough instead. That whole Brené Brown song and dance. Enough means being happy with a small something in your life. It will help your relationships, the general goals you’re undertaking, your mood, all things. Honestly. If I was writing a self-help book, this would be my thesis. Finding what you have inside you that also gives you something back in energy and satisfaction... that isn’t always easy. I am not being blasé about this. I recognize that this is an issue for a lot of folk. Nor am I saying you’re always able to find the time to do some things. But I also kind of think you make time for the things that matter. And you get to say what matters. Don’t let shitty people define your priorities for you (though also don’t ignore what are important factors like... paying rent and bills and all.)

Sorry, this is a long voyage down to the horn. I brought up the vexations and problems I have been having and ostensibly why I write Marco and Marty. I dunno! It may not be for the reasons stated. There might be something behind all this. But I do think I write it to stay sane (or relatively sane). I have a lot of dread and despair, but there’s slight relief with having a thing with which I progress everyday. That’s not always enough, but some days it is.

Anyway, I should actually post something soon.

Thanks for reading

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techdomes · 6 years

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At its core, Insomniac Games’ new adventure strives to make you feel like Spider-Man. And, thankfully, Marvel’s Spider-Man on PS4 succeeds at nearly every swing across Manhattan’s rooftops. I was left delighted at nearly every step of its 15-hour adventure thanks to a surprisingly deep tale that mines the plights of both Spider-Man and Peter Parker to great emotional success. Underpinning that engrossing narrative is an excellent set of webswinging mechanics, which — combined with fun gadgets and plenty of puns — makes for thrilling action in both the massive setpieces and in the quiet, confined corridors of tense sequences. Insomniac’s first foray into the realm of Marvel superheroes is a continually exciting adventure whose open world and combat are only occasionally caught up in a web of overly familiar trappings. Swinging around feels, quite simply, spectacular. There’s a small learning curve, but after getting comfortable with the basics, it’s nearly effortless to make Spider-Man look graceful in every swing, leap, and lunge. And man does it feel good to find the right mix of jumping, crawling, web zipping, and wall running.

I’ve spent hours just soaring around the skyscrapers of New York City, testing the momentum of my swings to find just the right point to gain an extra boost of speed, or leaping off the Avengers Tower to test how close to the ground I could fall, just to swing out in the nick of time. Similar to how God of War’s Leviathan Axe felt so good to throw around, Insomniac has found web-spun gold with Spider-Man’s swinging mechanic, enhancing it with additional moves like a focal point webzip that allowed me to turn any ledge, beam, or satellite tower into a jumping off point to continue my non-stop movement. Open-world traversal hasn’t been this smooth since Sunset Overdrive (which, not coincidentally, Insomniac also developed).

Doing What a Spider Can

And, happily, no aspect of New York’s architecture can really stop Spider-Man. Discovering how a powerful, but nimble, Spider-Man tackles fire escapes, both vertically and horizontally, or watching him slip through the metal grating of a water tower is endlessly entertaining. His animations are so detailed that no matter the obstacle, I got the sense that I could truly do whatever a Spider-Man could.

That was surprisingly true of indoor locations, too. The main story missions often took me into large-scale interiors, sometimes for light puzzle solving, and occasionally for stealthy takedown scenarios. For anyone who’s played the Batman: Arkham franchise, the framework is largely the same: enter a room, avoid being detected, and use a mix of gadgets and (relatively) quiet web takedowns to take down the crowd.

Insomniac has found web-spun gold with Spider-Man’s wonderful webswinging.

These stealth scenarios perfectly highlight Spider-Man’s talents — especially his love for designing gadgets. There’s a methodical thrill to plotting out the order I wanted to web up enemies, whether luring an enemy out toward me for a stealth takedown or by firing off a web trap that would stick them to a wall. There’s enough enemy variety (some react differently to your webbing than others, like big brutes that can’t be taken down as easily) that I always enjoyed the light bit of strategy these sections demanded, and would happily work my way through a dozen more.

Of course, Spidey gets up close and personal with foes a lot of the time, too, making for combat that’s equally fun, if a little slow to show its true depth. At first, I found myself pretty much just punching and dodging, occasionally webbing up a foe so I could focus on a more powerful baddie. But as I unlocked more skills from Spider-Man’s skill trees and gadgets, combat became an improvisational delight. After some leveling, I could pull an enemy’s gun away and smack him in the head with it, while a previously planted web trip mine strung two other enemies together. I’d then web-zip my way to a floor above me to smack an enemy off a railing while simultaneously sending a spider drone after two more foes. That balancing act consistently delivered on the powerful and fun fantasy of being Spider-Man. To be fair, Spider-Man’s combat owes a lot to the aforementioned Arkham franchise, right down to the slow-motion crunch when you take out the last baddie in a bunch, but that template is sped up dramatically in order to take advantage of Spidey’s nimble nature.

That feeling of fluid movement only falters during boss battles. Insomniac throws in some big and exciting boss fights full of tense action. They’re sparingly involved, as many of the more fascinating setpieces of the story don’t involve one-on-one fights. But because the adventure is both front and back-loaded with boss fights, there’s an odd lull devoid of huge bouts right in the middle of the story. That’s not inherently bad, especially as a lot of great character work is done in the second act alongside those blockbuster action sequences. But because the first couple of bosses boil down to round-based pattern recognition, they felt a bit simple and rote. Unfortunately, that becomes pretty noticeable with the huge gap in major villain encounters. Still, there are some smart and fun twists in boss battles toward the end of the campaign to look forward to.

The combat and gadgets fulfill the fun and powerful fantasy of being Spider-Man.

The variation in Spider-Man’s fighting style and inventive gadget arsenal — which is hardly a surprise given Insomniac’s knack for wacky weapon wheels in series like Ratchet & Clank — is also extended to Spider-Man’s wardrobe. His portable closet of unlockable Spidey suits all come with their own powers. Each power can be used independently of the outfit once unlocked, which is a godsend. It’s a joy to swap among some of the unexpected late-game duds, though I’ve become quite fond of this Spider-Man’s new main suit. That said, I largely relied on the first couple of powers for almost the entire campaign. The singular power to fill out your focus meter for special finishers or to restore health from Peter’s white-spider costume was so consistently useful that I didn’t want to give it up, and I never felt like the world encouraged me to use the others. Swapping between mods to adapt to specific side challenges — like one that could prevent my combo counter from immediately resetting with each hit — was always more useful than swapping between different abilities.

Concrete Jungle

Spider-Man’s New York is an absolute blast to swing around, in part thanks to how gorgeous the shiny skyscrapers of the city look. Spider-Man does have its graphical hiccups — for example, the faces of Peter and other key characters are spectacularly animated while less notable characters are flat and often out of sync with dialogue. But its New York City is undeniably gorgeous, particularly on a PS4 Pro. Swinging around at dusk as the calm oranges of the setting sun hit the reflective glass of New York’s skyscrapers at just the right angle evoked some of the most calming, zen-like gameplay sessions I’ve experienced in awhile.

Marvel’s Spider-Man doesn’t offer a a 1:1 recreation of New York City, but most of the key landmarks — including my old apartment — are recreated faithfully. Neighborhoods have distinct enough character to be discernible as I swung from one to the next. Yes, certain aspects of the city, like water towers or certain building fronts, can start to feel repetitive. But Insomniac has done a pretty great job of capturing the city’s look with the sheen I’d expect for a world full of superheroes and super science.

That feeling is only magnified by the score. Spider-Man’s main theme recalls the triumphant horns of the MCU Avengers score, rising at just the right moments as I raced to stop a crime or to save some locale from a villain’s evil plot. Outside of the main campaign, there are dozens of other side objectives scattered throughout the city, which add another 15-20 hours of exploring, though my enjoyment of them varied greatly. I was never outright bored by any task, but some were reused so often that I found myself running through the motions of scenarios I once found exciting. The fourth or fifth time you figure out how to take on a horde of enemies committing a crime or fend off waves of enemies at an outpost is still entertaining — the fortieth is much less so. It dilutes what starts as a fun, heroic act into a repetitive, going-through-the-motions activity that often had a knack for popping up just as I was making my way to a major story mission. Outside of stopping those optional crimes, Taskmaster’s tough combat, race, and stealth challenges kept me coming back for better scores. And though finding landmarks and backpacks encouraged me to hit every corner of the city, the activity itself was pretty easy. Peter outside of his suit can also engage in a couple science minigames, one of which is essentially the pipe challenge from the original BioShock. I have a soft spot for that type of puzzle activity, but their inclusion contributes to some of the campaign’s odd pacing issues. They’re introduced just after your first real taste of being Spider-Man, and then interrupt the action anytime Spider-Man needs to do something science-related within the story.

The brilliance of what the world could have been can be seen in a handful of brilliant side missions. One tied nicely into the main story, culminating in an optional boss fight. Another suite of tasks forced me to actually have a good sense of New York’s neighborhoods. These sidequests helped bring the world of Spider-Man and its open New York City to life — I just wish a few more of them cleverly gave the world and my actions more significance.

Update: A day-one patch for Spider-Man has introduced a wonderful photo mode to the experience. It feels like the next evolution of photo modes before it, being so bespoke to Spidey himself. Being able to create comic book covers or panels is a delightful twist, and effectively allows you to create your own Spider-Man comic books should you want to.

Slow-Spinning Redemption

Thankfully, the story consistently delivers that sense of weight and impact, albeit after a somewhat slow start. Insomniac’s Spider-Man is one who has a history in this world, and it feels earned thanks to smart integration of familiar villains rather than throwing them at the screen for the sake of fan service. The script allows time for the central villains (and Peter’s relationship to them) to believably develop, making for some emotionally powerful scenes toward the end that definitely had me misty eyed on a couple of occasions.

I appreciated Insomniac’s surprising amount of restraint when it came to villains, but I loved the focus it put on Peter Parker and his relationships even more. I played Spider-Man to be Spider-Man, but I’m so happy I got to be Peter, too.

I played Spider-Man to be Spider-Man, but I’m so happy I got to be Peter, too.

Peter’s story is one of mentorship, smartly showing how he can simultaneously look up to one mentor, while becoming one, too. That dichotomy offers Spider-Man voice actor Yuri Lowenthal a chance to convey Peter’s various facets, and he does so with an emotional honesty that made this version of the Spider-Man one of my favorites on screen. Peter is someone who can succeed while he makes mistakes, and that juxtaposition offers a wealth of relatable material that carried me through much of Spider-Man’s story.

I won’t spoil Miles’ part in the adventure, but I enjoyed his inclusion and, thanks to a charming performance, I was as endeared to him as I was to Peter.

Spider-Man’s story is as captivating as anything the MCU has offered

Perhaps most of all, though, I loved Peter and Mary-Jane’s relationship. It’s well-trod territory, but Insomniac injects new life into it, in part thanks to Spidey and MJ actors Lowenthal and Laura Bailey’s performances. These are two people who have a history together, and watching them try to figure out what future they have, if any — as friends, coworkers, or more — is an absolute joy to watch.

A number of Peter and MJ’s scenes feel instantly relatable, from the two having their first dinner in months together, navigating whether they’re comfortable with one another, to Peter trying not to lose his cool over a misinterpreted text. It’s one of my favorite romances in a game ever, and contributes to a story with personal stakes as captivating — and often much more — as anything the MCU (and most superhero movies) has delivered.

The Verdict

I wanted Marvel’s Spider-Man on PS4 to make me feel like Spider-Man: To sail between the highrises of New York City, to nimbly web up hordes of enemies, and tussle with familiar, animal-themed villains. Insomniac Games’ first foray into the world of Marvel handily delivers on all of that. But what I didn’t expect from Spider-Man was to come away feeling just as fulfilled to have inhabited the life of Peter Parker. Aside from a few odd pacing issues, which momentarily took me out of the experience of being a superhero, and a world of optional missions that don’t always quite live up to the heft of the main story, Insomniac has delivered a Spider-Man story that both surprised and delighted me, coupled with gameplay that made me feel like Spider-Man nearly every step of the way. The Wall Crawler’s open world doesn’t consistently deliver the thrilling moments of its main campaign, but the foundation laid here is undoubtedly a spectacular one.

TechDomes Score: 10

#TechDomes2018

Marvel’s Spider-Man PS4 Review

#Gaming #Playstation4 #Review #Sony #SpiderMan

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happymetalgeek · 6 years

Text

When you are a bit of a geek and nerd about statistics as well as the usual Music, Movies, and Games (as well as books and comics) there is the inevitable keeping an eye on site traffic and social media figures.

Its been an amazing six months, even with personal ups and downs which has affected the site. In the last six months along with Darren of Metal Planet Music and Jonny of Belfast Metalheads I have had phenomenal opportunities thrown my way that never in a million years did I ever think would happen.

I have reviewed live gigs like Sons of Apollo, Tremonti, Myles Kennedy, Motionless in White with Ice Nine Kills, Thirty Seconds to Mars, Vambo, StoneWire, Scorpions with Megadeth, Reef, Anvil, Raveneye, Elvana, The Undertones with Brand New Friend, Buckcherry with Stone Broken, Steel Panther along with Wayward Sons, Jeff Tate’s Operation Mindcrime, Jimmy Barnes, Diamond Head with Stormzone, Lock Horns, Tenacious G, The Raven Age and none other than Iron Maiden.

I have reviewed plenty of albums like Anvil, StoneWire, Ten Ton Slug, Seething Akira, MotorJesus, Climate of Fear, Thuum, Kill The Unicorn, Elder Druid, Leaves’ Eyes, Back Roads, Blues Pills, Blackfoot, and Goya.

I have interviewed Brian Tatler of Diamond Head, Raveneye, Vambo, Bumblefoot from Sons of Apollo, Godsticks, Stonewire, Anchorlane, The Picturebooks, Stone Broken, Anvil, Rews, Jimmy Barnes, Toby Jepson (Wayward Sons, Little Angels), and Geoff Tate (Operation Mindcrime, Queensryche).

Had my content shared on other websites such as Jace Media, Blabbermouth, Rock N Load, BraveWords, and 695 The Rock,

Reviews have been used and quoted by Asher Media, Ten Ton Slug, StoneWire Website and StoneWire Facebook, Vambo, Awake Again, Milk White Throat, Dyad, SlimBoy, and Seething Akira.

I have seen the website grow from January to June (first real six months) even when the website went quiet for a couple of months. And it has seriously blown me away.

As to Facebook, Instagram and Twitter the interactions have also been mind-blowing with over 200 followers on Facebook, over 100 followers on Instagram and Twitter. even more so with the followers themselves. Sabaton, Vambo, StoneWire, Godsticks, New valley Wolves, Scimitar, These Wicked Rivers, Cursed Sun, and Baleful Creed on Twitter. On Facebook the list is incredible of those who follow the inane rubbish I put up and includes band members, music PR and the ordinary punter. Instagram is the same. Its also a real buzz when the likes of Ron ‘Bumblefoot’ Thal, Reef and Steel Panther actually like your posts and share them.

It has also been a pleasure working with the likes of SD Entertainment, Wilful Publicity, Savage Gringo, SaN PR, James Rollins PR, Central Press PR, Jeff Robinson PR, Peter Noble PR, Duff Press, Cosa Nostra PR, Asher Media, BJF PR Wall of Sound PR, WDFD Records, Napalm Records, AFM Records, Sony Music, Rockshot Records, ROAR (Rock of Angels Records) and many many more. Not to mention going to the Harmony Live Festival and the Stone Free Festival.

I have had over 81,000 impressions on Twitter with a total Re-tweet reach of over 1,250,000; over 10,000 unique visitors to the website with over 200,000 hits of information accessed; over 100,000 post impressions on Facebook with a reach of over 60,000. Mind-blowing. In six months, for me, this was insane.

Photo by Darren McVeigh, Metal Planet Belfast

Delighted to meet Brian Tatler in person

Meeting with The Raven Age

Michael Burrough, Lead singer of The Raven Age

Meeting the Safire crew

It is a great way to get experience and upskill in a lot of different communication areas. I have learnt a lot about content management, building websites, looking closer at how social media works, how music PR works, even down to making it as easy as possible for people to immediately see what any article is about. Even doing this six month roundup has made me have a good look at some of the earlier articles and tidy them up to be consistent with how I am doing things now. Consistency is still a bit of a bugbear, but even doing this little retrospective has led me to tweak and rejig older posts to try to get a better feel to the overall site.

Some seriously basic stuff, but it has been a great experience picking it all up and alongside quite a few excellent mentors who have a huge amount of experience in the music journalism field.

The NEWS section has not stopped with loads of emails dropping into my inbox with lots of upcoming news. I am already thinking of a HIGHLIGHT post on improving how press releases are structured – I have found that just straight forward text with a couple of links to streaming services (like YouTube, Deezer, Spotify etc) and at least two or three pictures (at one of the Band) is the best for websites like this. The easier I can upload content the faster the PR company’s press release gets published.

One thing that has hit me is the number of social media platforms there are and perhaps the need to concentrate on those that deliver the best results (Lest be honest – I am looking for traffic to my site!!) But I will persevere for the moment as I get to grips with all that each one can do. Some may not be as useful to me as they may be to others. So plenty of learning still to do.

There is also still lots to do, and though the main focus so far has been on music more will be coming with regard to gaming and movies/series/books/comics.

And made many friends along the way and as such have a bigger family now. Metal is a great thing indeed. And most importantly, its been lots of fun along the way. It can not be underestimated how much this project has helped me with my own mental health. (and on that note – if you live in Northern Ireland check out Metal For Life – a small charity working for better mental health outcomes for those within the metal community)

So THANK YOU to each and every one of you who has supported me in one way or another. Be it following Facebook, Pinterest, Instagram, YouTube, Google+ or Twitter; listening to the interviews on Soundcloud; visiting the website; sharing anything I put up; bumping into me at gigs and having a chat; and most importantly those who have given me the opportunities to do this – not just Darren or Jonny but also all the Public Relations and Record companies.

I might add that having looked at July’s statistics, it was a good job I was sitting down.

HIGHLIGHTS: The journey so far - the first six months @BelfastMetal @MetalPlanet72 When you are a bit of a geek and nerd about statistics as well as the usual Music, Movies, and Games (as well as books and comics) there is the inevitable keeping an eye on site traffic and social media figures.

#2018 #Statistics

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