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five-rivers · 3 years

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@lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks came up with this op!Danny/Marvel AU!

BTW I need help naming this newest proof that I can't keep anything to a short little one-shot.

Loki was not, and never had been, a good man. For that matter, whether or not he’d ever been a good boy was debatable. His mother would argue that he had, but she would very likely be the only one. Well, except for Thor, perhaps, but that was because he was an idiot who could drown in three inches of nostalgia. Like he didn’t remember every time Loki had humiliated him. Maybe he didn’t, for all that he kept falling for the same trick over and over again.

It made Loki’s late nights studying the arts of illusion, misdirection, and lying seem redundant. Almost. Not everyone was as dense as his big brother.

No. Loki had never been a good man. He had, however, been a free man.

Free to run or hide. Free to explore the nooks and crannies of Asgard, to uncover her secrets in ways few cared to do. Free to walk hidden paths between the Nine Realms and even farther flung territories, where his people did not and had never ruled, to play games, make deals, have adventures, take risks. To be. To exist as his own creature.

He had been free. He had.

But on one of those little secret excursions, he had discovered something that had made even his flippant, slippery heart clench with fear. A ravening plague, spreading across the stars. The death of half of everything on the horizon.

Loki was not a good man. What cause did he have to care for all the sundry others in the universe? There were too many. It was too much to ask.

But Asgard—His home, even though the had long ago realized the blood in his veins originated on very different soil. That was different.

Asgard, he could help. Asgard could survive.

But it had to be strong. It had to have strong allies. None of this barely-held peace, this enemy eternally at their gates. It needed strong leadership. Not his brother’s simplistic view and longing for the glory of war.

Loki was not a good man. But he was one who could get things done.

Before he knew it, he had burned all his bridges behind him. In one case, a literal bridge that was literally broken.

And he fell.

And he fell right into the hands of the one he had feared enough to do this. Broken enough for poison to drip into the cracks. No one knew where he was, no one could know where he was, except, perhaps, Heimdal, and Loki sincerely doubted Heimdal cared. No one was coming for him. No one was looking for him. No rescue was forthcoming.

He was alone.

Asgardians were considered gods for a reason. Their bodies and minds were much more resilient than the average mortal’s. But Thanos’s people had been titans, and there was a reason for that, too.

Thanos enjoyed breaking him.

And Loki turned his lies on himself. A skilled master of games always had one gifted opponent, even alone. Hadn’t he wanted to rule? To command? To see a world, any world, prostrate at his feet? To be given the recognition and praise of which he was so worth?

To pull something, anything, out of the fire?

(If he had spent less time learning how to spin lies and more on how to see the truth, he might not have believed it. A better, wiser, man would have. But Loki was not a good man. And he was very skilled in his craft.)

So, his new master put a weapon in his hands, and he went off to conquer a world.

Danny was used to rude awakenings. He was used to those rude awakenings being full body chills and ghosts, not someone knocking on his door.

Blearily, he pulled himself out from under the blankets. Quasi-military government facility or not, the beds were comfortable. Maybe Mom or Dad had gotten themselves locked out of their room? Or Jazz—No, not Jazz, she hadn’t come with them. She was at college, not being flown places by Mom and Dad’s suspiciously generous new consulting job.

At least it wasn’t the GIW.

He stood on tiptoe (curse his perpetually short body) to peer out the peephole. His parents’ buff, one-eyed, and incredibly imposing new boss stood in front of the door, hands on his hips, slightly sweeping back his long dark coat. If Danny listened carefully, he could hear two other people near the door, and… was that an alarm? Yes. Faint, but present, was a warning klaxon.

Okay. Danny would bet his right arm that something had gone horribly wrong with whatever his parents were consulting on. Didn’t explain why the boss was in front of his door.

Unless they’d gotten the rooms mixed up, somehow?

Ugh. Danny wasn’t paid enough to deal with this.

He opened the door. “What-?”

“Phantom,” intoned eyepatch guy with great solemnity.

Danny immediately tried to close the door. The guy stuck his foot in the jamb, and, sure, Danny could have crushed it, but that would be a jerk move. He didn’t think this guy was going for a pirate look, after all.

“We need your help.”

“I’m not sure what you think I can help you with,” yelled Danny over the beating of the helicopter blades. He’d remained stubbornly in human form. “My parents are the scientists. This sounds like a science thing. Not a punching-people thing.”

“We spoke to them earlier,” said Fury, “and we have plenty of scientists working on the theories they brought up. You’re the one with practical experience.”

“Practical experience in what?”

“Interdimensional portals,” said the woman, who had yet to introduce herself.

As if this whole thing wasn’t already giving him a bad feeling. “My parents built an interdimensional portal. Again, you should be talking to them. They’re the ones you’re paying.”

“We could pay you, too,” said Fury, “but we assumed you would want to avoid letting your parents know about this, as you’re still a minor and they have control of your bank accounts.”

Danny stared flatly. “This is blackmail.”

“We aren’t threatening you,” pointed out the woman.

“Emotional blackmail,” said Danny, glaring, daring her to challenge him on whether or not he actually knew what blackmail was.

In the meantime, the helicopter landed. Danny unbuckled and hopped out, trailing slightly awkwardly behind Fury and the woman. He didn’t want to stand out, but he suspected that, being the only kid here and being in the general vicinity of Fury, who radiated authority, that was a lost cause.

“This is Agent Coulson. Coulson, this is Phantom.”

Danny’s mouth went dry(er) at how casual the introduction was. His eyes went nervously to all the other people running around the field. With all the noise, it was unlikely anyone had heard, but still…

“Can you not? Secret identity and all? Unless you’ve told everyone herealready, which, rude.”

Fury sighed. “How bad is it?” he asked Coulson.

“We’re not sure,” said Coulson. “That’s the problem. Big fan of your work, by the way,” he added as an aside to Danny. He glanced at the woman. “Agent Hill.”

“Background?” asked Fury as he led the way into the building.

“The first energy surge was four hours ago. Dr. Selvig’s equipment picked it up – He’s the head scientist on this project.”

“Dr. Selvig isn’t authorized to test,” said Fury. “We wanted to run his plans by the Fentons.”

“He wasn’t testing. He wasn’t even in the room. He called it ‘spontaneous advancement.’”

“It turned itself on?”

“What are the energy levels?” asked Fury before Hill’s question could be answered.

“Climbing,” said Coulson.

“Mr. Fenton,” said Fury, “any comments?”

“Look, I don’t even know what this thing that you built looks like or what it’s a door to.” Danny frowned as a thought occurred to him. “You’re not expecting me to fight whatever comes out of it, are you? Because, unless you’ve got a ghost portal down there, I can’t make guarantees.”

“It’s called the Tesseract,” said Coulson. “It’s supposed to be a connection to the other side of space. A source of unlimited energy. At least,” there was a note of humor in his voice despite the evacuation taking place around them, “that’s what the scientists say.”

“A door to space?” asked Danny, firmly shoving down his excitement at the prospect. “Like, a Stargate?” It was no good, he could practically feel himself sparkling. He took a firm grip of his core and reminded himself he might need to fight before the end of the day.

“Well, no,” said Coulson. “It’s this little… cube… thing.” He made a shape with his hands.

“Oh,” said Danny, mind still whirring. “You know, if it’s really a tesseract, it isn’t a cube in just three dimensions, so bigger things could come out of it than you’d think.” He’d seen some weird portals in the Ghost Zone.

“Well, right now, we’re just getting energy.” They entered a large room with an extremely sci-fi setup. It looked like they were planning to shoot some kind of laser across the room onto a platform surrounded by strange-looking panels. There were men with guns scattered around in what was probably a well thought out formation Danny couldn’t see. There was also a dude with a bow sitting up in the rafters. He frowned down at Danny as he noticed Danny noticing him.

“Dr. Selvig!”

“Director!”

“What do we know?”

Danny allowed himself to be distracted by the centerpiece of the room, a piece of machinery built around what was indeed a little cube thing. He tilted his head and approached, trying to get a better view of it around the people in lab coats and protective gear currently swarming it. He caught mention of radiation a grimaced.

It was unlikely to kill him, but, really, everyone here should probably be wearing more PPE. You never knew what was going to come out of an interdimensional portal, after all. Except trouble. Trouble was a pretty safe bet.

It was pretty. Blue. Reminded him a little of a blue raspberry ice pop. Part of him wanted to lick it. Which was stupid. He didn’t want to wind up half what-ever-lived-on-the-other-side on top of his regular ghost nonsense.

“Mr. Fenton?”

Danny jumped and turned, refocusing on the adults, who had multiplied while he’d been daydreaming. The guy with the bow had joined them.

“Mr. Fenton? Like the Doctors Fenton I spoke to earlier?” asked Selvig.

“Yeah, it’s—”

This, of course, was when everything decided to explode. Sort of.

The blue cube shot out a beam of energy that had more than a little in common with the Fenton Bazooka’s portal setting. The beam terminated on the platform, a portal rapidly forming.

Danny slid into a fighting stance, and barely even noticed as blue energy washed over the room, throwing many less-prepared people back.

Something shaped like a man stepped through the portal.

Danny did not break his stance. Still. “An alien,” he whispered, eyes wide. If they were friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space. If they weren’t friendly, maybe they’d answer his questions about space after Danny beat them up.

(Danny did not go ghost. Did not even think about going ghost. There were too many people here, and the space was too open.)

Fury attempted to negotiate. Danny approved. Not everything that came through an interdimensional portal was necessarily evil.

Except this guy apparently was. Go figure. He could also deflect bullets and was very good with throwing knives, which led to Danny having to pull several of the gun guys out of their own line of fire as well as the alien’s line of knife. Who would have thought an alien’s weapon of choice would be throwing knives? The energy-blasting spear was much more in line with his expectations.

The bow guy proved to be more competent than the gun guys. This didn’t really surprise Danny. Bow guy sort of had to be competent. Otherwise, no way would they let him go around with a bow. Like, seriously. A bow.

Even so, bow guy was fighting an alien and—

“You have heart,” said the alien, raising the spear.

Danny pushed bow guy out of the way, and his mind fuzzed out.

(The human part of it, anyway.)

Loki didn’t know what a child was doing here, and he didn’t particularly care. The boy would do for a hostage, at least. He had a mission he had to fulfil, or else…

Or else.

“Please don’t,” he said turning with a shadow of his usual lazy affect, vaguely insulted that the human thought he could be sneaker that him, “I still need that.”

The human went on and on, apparently burdened with the delusion that he was on the same level as Loki.

Loki was burdened with other things. A glorious purpose. Glad tidings. Freedom. What could be better than freedom?

“A world free from what?” asked the human.

“From freedom,” said Loki, and wasn’t that what he believed, now? Wasn’t that what he’d been shown? “Freedom is life’s great lie.” He would know. He was an excellent liar. “Once you accept that, in your heart—” He batted away an arrow and tsked. “Shield me, boy,” he demanded. Had Thanos misrepresented the scepter’s powers? Or was the boy merely—

A dome of green surrounded him and the boy, thrumming with magic the likes of which he had only seen once, in a tome thrice forbidden.

“Oh,” said Loki, almost purring. “You are interesting. What are you?”

“Half human, half ghost,” replied the boy, tersely.

Loki had never heard of such a creature. No matter. He’d be sure to make good use of him.

“Grab the scientist,” he said, nodding at the balding man who had been with his brother when he’d fought the Destroyer in the desert.

Loki wanted the archer. He seemed interesting. Useful.

Fenton was under thrall. Phantom knew what that felt like. A hundred feet under red water, trying not to drown, whispers everywhere. Pulling. Pushing. Prodding.

This was different, but the principle was the same.

Neither half of him could truly ‘fight’ the other. Fenton and Phantom were a single entity. Not two in lockstep. Even so.

Fenton grabbed onto Dr. Selvig, as ordered. Phantom made sure that was all they did.

“What are you doing, boy?” snapped Loki. “Follow me! Bring the scientist.”

And so, they followed.

Loki breathed. Acquiring Barton had been the right choice. The boy was powerful, but, perhaps because of his unique biology, did not have Barton’s presence of mind, and couldn’t have led him to such wonderful allies.

Allies.

These weren’t truly his allies. Nor were they subjects. They were…

Loki forced himself to breathe. He just had to follow the mission. Follow the mission, let Thanos’s army through. He’d been promised this world. He would have this world.

And then he could be… His mind stuttered over the next word, and he shook his head, trying to drive out the painful buzz of Thanos’s herald and mouthpiece trying to contact him.

He looked up at the drones bustling around, all according to his will. Except the boy, who stared at him, somehow managing to be both utterly blank and challenging at the same time.

He was alone, here.

He was alone.

But what did it matter? Bad men always wound up alone, and Loki… Loki could never be a good man.

#danny phantom #marvel cinematic universe #avengers #dannymay 2021 #dannymay 2021 day 28: alone #dannymay #danny phantom x marvel cinematic universe crossover #op!Danny/Marvel #Not much op!Danny yet tho

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poptimus-prime · 3 years

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Here is what the kids call my highly disorganized, half-baked list of stuff that could have been done with Jack to make him a better character.

@yeetmetothehell I am sorry if you are disappointed by my ideas.

“Optimus was more like...Jack.” OK…so show us that.

In my opinion...Jack seems like he was intended to be written to be almost a parallel to Orion’s journey to becoming Optimus Prime, at least how he is used in the plot. Jack is described as “smart and responsible”, which can also be read as “hardworking and responsible” and really this can be achieved in narratively using a few points, IMO:

Long hours in his room/the library studying outside of work and school.

Filling out the background of the garage more with sketches/print outs of motorcycle blueprints (to keep the idea that Jack really wants a motorcycle and show hints of extreme dedication, but they’re kept in the garage rather than his room to metaphorically show that distance he’s put between himself and what he wants)

“Man of the House”/”Grew up too fast” (This will be discussed more later but TL;DR “I’ll handle the electric bill this month, Mom”)

Somewhat fragile work/school/life balance that Jack somehow perfectly maintained before meeting the team

Orion was very physically passive. Jack seems to be intended to be written as passive but it comes off as an apathetic reluctance that Orion doesn’t possess (Orion may not believe in violence but he clearly wasn’t unwilling to communicate his thoughts; it’s how he got the title of Prime in the first place.) However, Orion had to learn to become more outspoken over time probably, so we can keep him as being aloof/reluctant at the start of the series.

“Man of the House”/”Grew up too Fast”

It’s no secret Jack came from a nonconventional home; June is very explicitly portrayed as a single mother with a dad nowhere in the picture. However the situation surrounding Mr. Darby is unknown. The way June talks about it makes me personally feel like Jack’s dad either ran out or divorced June and doesn’t bother with his kid. Dysfunction in the family really just goddamn changes you TBH. (can confirm bc hi, I come from a dysfunctional home) Sometimes you just grow up super fast. Jack probably spent his childhood missing his mom as she worked shifts at the hospital and seeing how lonely and hurt she was. He maybe went out and got a job the first day he could and helps with smaller bills (“I’ll handle the electric bill this month.”), or maybe other expenses like groceries and his own phone bill. June probably makes enough to comfortably support her and her son, especially given her job and the cost of living in rural ass desert Nevada. But Jack still does this anyways--it’s how he copes with his issues after what happened with his dad. Doubling down and trying to be what he thinks is the bigger man because his dad couldn’t be fucked.

This would make the disruption him letting the bots into his life creates more staggering; June doesn’t expect her son to pay bills, but the sudden change in behavior (skipping out on work) would be a cause for concern because sudden shifts like that are Usually Signs that Something is Very Wrong. Especially because Jack is usually responsible and open with his mom; he would have told her if he was gonna cut hours at work, theoretically.

Jack feels like he has to constantly put his own wants aside to contribute to his household. Even if June doesn’t force this expectation upon him, it’s a feeling that he will have, especially if he watched his dad just abandon him and June. Maybe he has resentment towards his dad for this and that is causing some anger he’s keeping tightly under wraps? And maybe the bots give him an excuse to do something he actually wants to do for once or some excitement in his life and that’s why he goes along with it? Lots of options, people!

Clothing Choices: The Hoodie™

You are going to have to deal with me being a whore for costuming choices and what they can mean. The show has a problem with the humans wearing the same shit every time they’re on screen and I’d love to rant about all of them (yeah yeah I get it saving money) but I’m focusing on Jack right now. Give Jack a hoodie 2020. A grey one or some other dull and drab color. And make him actually always wear the hood (except like in scenes where he is working bc workplace dress codes obviously) As time progresses, the drab hoodie is changed to a more vibrant color, but he still always has the hood over his head. And then, at a pivotal moment, the boy takes the hood off. (You could even throw in Miko cracking a joke about Jack actually having hair if you really wanted TBH.) Why this? The narrative is that Jack is constantly holding himself under wraps because of his self-imposed responsibilities. As he starts to become more into his own, he decides to express himself more with brighter colors, but still has some reservations. When he takes the hoodie off, that’s when he’s fully realized himself in this process and thus completes the parallel.

Actually make him interact with Optimus in a meaningful manner.

Arcee can still be his guardian in the field and I think working on strengthening their relationship is vital. But also, if you’re gonna make Jack the confidante holding the key to Vector Sigma, there actually has to be...meaningful interaction. Optimus asking Jack what he’s so engrossed in reading and Jack explaining the book he’s got with passion before shutting himself up and saying “it’s kinda dumb though” or something. And Optimus just responds “I don’t think it’s dumb, tell me more.” Coaxing him towards more self-discovery and expression. Optimus maybe sees more of his old self in Jack and starts attempting to be a quasi-paternal figure without really thinking about it because he is, after all, Dadimus. Jack maybe lashes out about how he doesn’t need Optimus to be his dad and that makes the space between them tense for a while. Eventually Jack comes to apologize and maybe there’s an important Talk.. Just a few ideas I will expand on later. I feel like forgiveness and lack thereof is a good theme--I know I was held back for a long time because of how convoluted the concept of forgiveness is with family.

The Character Arc

So, what would Jack’s character development throughout the events of season 1 be? My basic idea for a Jack arc that mirrors Orion’s self-realization and coming into Prime-hood without being a carbon copy is essentially:

Jack is portrayed as a responsible, hardworking, studious teenager who constantly turns down chances for fun and excitement to handle his responsibilities. Has clear dreams for after high school and for his own personal life; but he’s constantly contemplating and changing his mind about whether he will or not because he’s extremely dedicated to helping his mom and all that. However, he still gets super curious about Arcee and gets swept up by her in the Vehicon chase, and he still has whispers of courage and protects Raf during the altercation. He first tries to ditch Team Prime because he’s concerned about his responsibilities, but eventually returns because he’s drawn to the opportunity to finally go buck wild for once in his life (even if he spends his time being hesitant about everything.) His hesitancy and dedication to severe self-imposed responsibility is a result of his inability to move on from what his dad did to him and his mom; he’s under the impression that he 1) Has to forgive someone to move on, and thus 2) He cannot move on because his dad isn’t there to bother to say sorry and take on his position as Dad. In essence, he becomes less the character telling Miko to stop and more the character being pushed by Miko to be more adventurous. In lulls in action, Optimus starts to take interest in him when he notices his constant hesitance to express himself and is just being dragged along rather than going willingly. Has a conversation with him about a book Jack’s reading, which Jack attempts to shut down because it’s “dumb and childish,” but Optimus urges him to continue. The idea that June knows about Arcee as a bike and Jack explaining that he bought a motorcycle as a fixer-upper for dirt cheap can stay. (He probably still is saving up for his motorcycle.)

The longest portion, after Optimus starts interacting with Jack on a level of bonding and gently coaxing him to be himself— Jack becomes more outspoken and he’s shown as curious, analytical, quick witted, and has a deep sense of justice. Being young and craving a childhood lost to his trauma and self-imposed obligations to help his mom with running the household, he suddenly starts spending more time at the base pursuing hobbies and going on missions rather than studying and work, which concerns June. She tries to press Jack, and is met with what can be described as typical teenage headbutting that gets progressively worse. She grounds Jack after the fight, MECH takes her, the rescue happens. (That makes sense to stay in this narrative IMO.) Around this time, Optimus has effectively started becoming Jack’s own Alpha Trion—teaching him things that he’s picked up that he may feel apply to Jack. Jack interprets one of these lessons as Optimus trying to be “dad” and he’s not having it. Makes it VERY clear that he does not need a dad (“didn’t need one before and sure as fuck don’t need one now”) and definitely snaps at Optimus, which then pushes his progress in the arc closer to the end. He eventually comes back to apologize, and Optimus forgives him. He and Optimus have a heart-to-heart about one of the hardest lessons Optimus has had to learn—how to let go of the past without forgiving those who have hurt you and refuse to make amends, so that you may determine your own future. It’s very clear he’s talking about Megatron, even though he never says his name. Jack takes this lesson to heart.

His final bit of development before the hood removal thing probably happens during the events of “Rock Bottom” and reinforces that hard lesson, right when he’s faced with the option to off Megatron. Maybe there’s some taunting about how Optimus preaches softness and forgiveness too much when Jack refuses to kill him. Jack gets angry, and he’s about to fucking do it. But then he stops, takes a breath, and says “Optimus doesn’t preach forgiveness, he preaches moving on from those who refuse to move on themselves. He will never forgive you, but he’s learned to live on despite what you’ve done.” Soon after this, when Megatron comes to the base, Jack takes off his hood, stares Megatron right in the face, and says “This is not forgiveness, Megatron. Don’t you forget that.” Later, when Optimus gives him the key, he tells him something along the lines of “you have grown since we’ve met, Jack, and even though there is still a long way for you to go...” he hands Jack the key. “...Remember that even I am a work in progress.”

Anyways this is again, half-baked. And needs lots of polishing. But it’s something.

#luna.docx #No I will not be tagging this outside the blog #I am self conscious about it

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irondadbigbang · 4 years

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IronDad Big Bang 2018 Masterlist

Masterlist below the cut! Or read on AO3.

with great power comes great parenting by marvelsmostwanted @marvelsmostwanted

Tony Stark’s favorite intern, Peter Parker, is struggling to keep his newfound superpowers a secret. Tony is just trying to keep him safe. Meanwhile, a nosy reporter has taken a sudden interest in both of them.

(Alternately: Steve Rogers, newly arrived in the 21st century, is sent undercover by Nick Fury to find out where Spider-Man came from. He learns a few things about Tony Stark along the way.)

art by @bluepepperart

Letters Leading Me Home by Tahlruil @tahlreth

Peter Parker has been Tony Stark’s #1 Fan for years, even if he is only almost ten. He wants to be just like Tony when he grows up, especially when it comes to the kinds of sunglasses he wears. When he finally gets up the nerve to send Tony a letter, it sparks off an exchange that lasts through years and a lot of hard times. Tony’s just the best and nobody would ever be able to prove otherwise to Peter - even meeting him in person probably wouldn’t change that.

art by @abraxasjin

In Our Thoughts by Angelchexmex

Peter knows something is wrong. It’s in the way he can never remember Gwen and Harry’s names, and he’s sometimes terrified of Captain America even though Steve is his Pops, and the world seems more dream than reality. Now, Peter just has to figure out why he keeps remembering someone named Ned and MJ and why he wants to call his Dad Mr. Stark and why he can see a girl dying in his dreams. Most of all, he just wants the pain in his side to stop. Maybe Loki can help?

art by @alstonnovak

how to train your superhuman quasi-son by nasa @nasafic

In which Peter sits on rooftops, Tony talks about thermodynamics, and Aunt May bakes cake.

Or: how Peter and Tony’s relationship evolves from awkward friends to adopted family (without any actual adoption being involved).

art 1 / art 2 by @hereandnowwearealive

To Find A Home by Aceofstars16 @aceofstars16

In an AU where all of Peter’s family are killed during the Stark Expo, Tony ends up taking in Peter as a means to improve his status with the press. It seems like a dream to live with Mr. Stark, but can the Stark mansion really be a true home for Peter?

art by @shoyzz-art

Boxed In by spideystilinski

It’s been seven months since the events of Civil War. It’s been two months and six days since Liz Allen moved to Oregon with her mom. It’s been two months and three days since Peter declined the offer to be apart of the New Avengers. It’s been a month and fifteen days since Peter was trapped under the rubble of a collapsed building. And Peter was fine, he really was.

Until he wasn’t.

Love Will Thaw by Marvelous_Maniac @marvel-ous-maniac

After a mission goes terribly wrong, it's up to Tony and the team to find Peter before it's too late. Will Peter survive? Or will he become the servant of the great and powerful Živa? Read for some great Hurt/Comfort, bonding, and a pretty damn fluffy story about Peter and Tony growing closer.

NOT Civil War/Homecoming compliant- basically the accords happened and everyone is fine and happy!!! (Like we're all secretly wishing they will be)

Also- May leaves Peter to stay with Tony because she wants Peter to be safe and learn about being a hero and Peter lets her because he doesn't want to put May in danger. So that's that. (They visit on some weekends though, but that's not featured in here)

art by @runningandnotslowingdown

close to my heart, never to part by parkrstark @parkrstark

During patrol one night, Peter comes across something that leaves him and Ned dumbfounded. The next morning, Ned is dropping off a now two-year-old Peter at Tony’s. Not only does he have to figure out how to turn him back, but he must watch him. Tony wonders what he’s supposed to do with the now toddler-Peter for the next two weeks…until he slowly starts to wonder what he will do without this boy after the two weeks are over.

art by @shoyzz-art

Love Will Keep You Safe by AriRomanoff

When Richard dropped off Peter in Tony's care while he and Mary went off on vaction, he didn't expect to not only lose two of his closest friends, but gain a son as well. Especially a son with spider powers. As Peter grows up and talks about how he wants to be a superhero too, a new super shows up one day out of the blue. But- hold up, where does Peter keep disappearing to? And why did he take to calling Steve Pops instead of Uncle?

of friendship and affection by Breyito @breyito

After the secret is out of the bag (literally), Peter has to include his Aunt on the superhero thing. Tony is all for it, especially if it means getting to see embarrassing photos of his newest protegé. Giving life advice is not something Tony is particularly good at; but fortunately, when it comes to best friends he’s had a pretty good run.

(His health might not be ready for all the mini-heart attacks this kid gives him on a daily basis, though.)

art 1 / art 2 by @hereandnowwearealive

…and when you can’t crawl... by JolinarJackson @jolinarjackson

In the aftermath of the Vulture and May finding out about Spider-Man, Peter should be happy. May is allowing him to continue his patrols and Tony is making good on his promise to mentor him.

Peter is anything but fine, though. Struggling with nightmares and his insecurities, Peter’s life begins to unravel for good when he becomes the target of a violent school bully, and his only refuge in his duties as Spider-Man is destroyed following a tragic failure.

Tony and May, trying to figure out the dynamics of raising a teenage superhero between the two of them, are forced to watch from the sidelines as Peter refuses to accept help out of fear of appearing weak … and reaches his breaking point.

art by @shoyzz-art

5 Times Peter Parker Didn’t Hug Tony Stark by myglassesaredirty @my-glasses-are-dirty

…and one time he did.

art 1 / art 2 by @dchanberry

Remembering September by sunbean72 @tonystark5ever

As Tony confronts his past demons using BARF, Peter’s enhanced senses allow him to experience the world differently from others. When BARF malfunctions and someone needs to rescue Tony, Peter might be the only one who can save him.

art by @runningandnotslowingdown

#IronDad Big Bang 2018 #masterlist #fic #art #peter parker #tony stark #spiderman #iron man #irondad #spideyson #irondad and spideyson #marvel #mcu #avengers #fanfic #fanfiction #fanart

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racheljoyscott · 7 years

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Unanswered Questions

Small sampling of either the deviations from the official report that arise in witness testimony concerning Columbine High or very odd but barely mentioned facts within mainstream reports include:

Eyewitness reports of up to a dozen shooters, some of them adult men

NATO vehicles on the scene less than fifteen minutes after the commencement of the shooting; and SWAT teams reported shooting at students and at each other

Eric Harris was undergoing extensive psychiatric treatment and was taking the quasi-hallucinogenic "anti-depressant" substance known as Luvox, yet his psychiatrist was never questioned

Harris' father, Wayne Harris, had extensive Air Force intelligence links from his time at Plattsburgh air force base (even after its closing)

Several of the bombs found in the school were said by (quickly reassigned) law enforcement authorities to have been too complex for such inexperienced teens to have built by themselves.

The number of witnesses pressured by police to change their stories - Bryan Frye, Courtney Haulman, Jennifer Tindall, etc.

If you read the search warrant for Eric's house after the massacre (pg 25676), it states "Detective Nick Rogers of Denver Police Department responded to REDACTED South Reed Street, County of Jefferson, State of Colorado, with the Denver and Sheridan Police Departments SWAT Team at about 2:00 p.m. Upon arrival, they discovered Eric Harris' parents and sister inside the house." There's more, of course. But who was the female inside the house?

The bank teller (Erik Buckner's mom, pg 1331 of the 11K) who told police that Chris Morris, E&D came into her bank and cashed their checks on April 9th, and that Chris Morris withdrew all the money in his account. What did he use it for?

Why did police concentrate on setting up a perimeter at the same time dispatch(via phone) is hearing the sound of gunshots within the school?

Why did it take police so long to enter the school, and why did it take almost three hours for them to reach the library, the area where the shooters were last seen? Who gave the orders not to go in?

Why did over 100 eye- and ear- witnesses dispute the official theory of only two shooters? Why did over 40 of those witnesses identify other participants BY NAME?

If the two shooters committed suicide shortly after noon, as police claim, how come at least 35 witnesses saw or heard suspects/gunshots/explosions after that time?

Why are there conflicting eyewitness accounts on the place and manner in which at least four of the dead victims were killed? Were victims being moved around? Was the crime scene being rearranged?

If left-handed Klebold shot himself in the left temple, why was his suicide weapon found clutched in his right hand?

How did students manage to keep seriously wounded teacher Dave Sanders alive for more than three hours while awaiting rescue, yet he was dead within 20 minutes of the police taking control of him? His corpse was later found with his shirt off. Is that first-aid? Or a sure-fire way of sending someone into shock?

What was the motive? Why would two teens who were not bullied, did not hate everyone, and were not psychopathic suddenly decide to destroy the lives of a dozen fellow students and themselves just six weeks before graduation?

Why would Harris and Klebold plan for a suicide mission and at the same time make normal plans for a post 4-20 future? Like seeking help on an English class essay from a teacher a few days before the attack, like making a date to see a movie the day after, like putting in a work schedule for the next week, like going to an out-of-town college with your dad to pick out a dorm room, like making plans to visit your old friends in New York.

Where is the gun shot residue(GSR) test evidence for Harris and Klebold and the other suspects?

Why was fingerprint evidence for Harris and Klebold not found on all but two of the hundreds of obects gathered at the scene? Whose fingerprints, if any, were found on the weapons seized?

Why does the official story claim, without a shred of evidence, that it was Harris and Klebold that set the South Wadsworth diversionary bomb (an incendiary device that exploded a couple of miles away from the school minutes before the shooting started)?

Why did authorities claim the two shotguns seized had no serial numbers when later documents clearly show they did have serial numbers? Why did they not try to find out who sold Harris and Klebold the Hi-Point 9mm rifle and the pump-action shotgun that were used in the shooting?

Were the school administrators warned, as rumored? Who was Principle Frank DeAngelis looking for, as reported by one student who saw him running up and down the interior cafeteria stairs right before the shooting broke out?

Why did a science teacher tell his students that they had been expecting a fire drill? Was a bomb found in a trash can on 4-19, as one source indicated? Were bomb threats phoned into the school on the morning of 4-20, as two others claimed?

Why didn’t the Final Report conclude that shooters entered Science rooms 1 and 8, when numerous shell casings were taken from these areas?

Why didn’t the Final Report mention the brief exit of a shooter on the east side, according to many eyewitnesses?

If the person seen on the roof of the school was a repairman, as police claim, why do witnesses say he was holding a weapon? Were shell casings found there, as some said?

Who scheduled ‘crisis training’ drills at Columbine High Schol(CHS) in the weeks before and what was the exact nature of this training?

What was a Denver police officer and a Jefferson County sheriff doing at Columbine High Shcool that morning before the shooting started?

What does reputed video evidence from the library and admin office areas show? Why does local media refuse to release on-scene video footage from the first half-hour of the incident?

What happened to all the evidence taken from the computers of the trenchcoat mafia gang?

Where are dozens of missing interviews of students, especially those in the science hall? Why are there still thousands of pages of investgatory materials that have never been made public, including hundreds of reports of non-Columbine witnesses and tipsters?

Why has the school district’s own report on the shooting, which included the extensive disciplinary records of the trenchcoat mafia associates, not been made public?

Did investigators even try to interview Harris’ psychologist, the man perhaps best positioned to know his mental state at the time?

Why did investigators show a remarkable lack of curiousity about connections with numerous similar school violence-related incidents occuring around the same time in the metro-Denver area and around the country?

Why did LAPD and Los Angeles Sheriff’s Office personnel travel to the scene afterwards? What was the subject of a 10-minute phone call made by the NYPD to the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office on 4-20?

Who invited the FBI and the ATF to the scene?

Why was the US Attorney’s Office (federal) consulted on ‘prosecutive decisions’ for this local crime?

Why was all but one of the seven ‘investigatory’ teams headed or co-headed by an FBI man? (the one exception was a team headed by a CBI(Colorado Bureau of Investigation) man, who was himself ‘ex’-FBI) Was the entire crime scene ‘federalized’ soon after the shooting started, under powers granted by the ‘Anti-terrorism Act’ (“for the protection of the people and the state”) signed by President Clinton exactly three years before- on April 20, 1996?

Why did FBI special agent Dwayne Fusilier not recuse himself from the investigation, as his son helped make a Columbine school video two years before that eerily mimicked the shooting?

What were two high-ranking military figures (a colonel and a general) in cami uniforms doing at the scene? Why was a memorial service at a public park afterwards ringed by military trucks? Who authorized a flyover by military jets and why?

Feel free to add on.

#columbine #eric harris #dylan klebold #conspiracy

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courtneyalexandramulvay-blog · 7 years

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Things I wrote down when I was stoned and sitting outside

Just sent a text that read “I have diarrhoea too”. Did not think that would be a text I would send today. Life is unpredictable

I should get another dog and call it Pepito

I do wonder though if the reason for me getting Brian is just so I can get more compliments from strangers

Why did you give me that artwork you owned I only told you one time that I liked it I didn’t say it so you could bring it over to my house the night I cooked you (delicious) dahl and rice and raita and papadums and I drank wine (you weren’t drinking) and then we didn’t see each other again for a long time and now I have to have your stupid art in my room that I don’t even like that much. I only said it to be nice and make conversation because making conversation with you can be really hard and when I don’t know what to say I just give compliments

I don’t mind doing some low key stealing – ie putting expensive vegetables through the self check out at Coles as less expensive vegetables – because I lose important/expensive things all the time and someone must find them and have them and that is giving back

Sometimes I do feel bad about masturbating if my dog is in my bedroom but not bad enough to stop halfway and make him leave the room

I tend to go on as many dates with someone as required for them to feel comfortable enough to come to my house and want to lie in my bed with me (can be 1 date, can be 10) and watch something on my laptop and I will always tell them I don’t have a Netflix account (I don’t) so they have to use theirs and the good thing about Netflix is that is always stays logged in so after that date I usually stop replying to their messages and use their Netflix account for as long as possible until they notice. Sometimes, (currently) I have the luxury of being signed into a family Netflix account and I use the little sister’s account and no one is ever the wiser. Until they are, and I have to download Tinder again

I was worried that if I did go over to his house with no concrete plan for leaving, then maybe I would just stay there forever like I used to and we wouldn’t leave the house for days and we would sit on the back porch staring at each other smiling and smoking joints and eating Dahl and doing blind contour drawings of each other naked and then all of a sudden before I knew what I was doing we would be having sex again (good sex because I liked him a lot, and it was passionate, but bad sex because I rarely orgasmed, unusual for me) and then we would go to sleep and the whole cycle would start again the next day and we would torture each other like this until one of us got scared and we had to stop hanging out with each other for a while. So when he asked me to go on a bushwalk with him to fly his drone I insisted on bringing Brian so that eventually I would have to leave, I would be the scared one, not him. I would have to go home and feed Brian. Brian needed to go home. These sorts of strategies I attempted to put in place to make my romantic life less confusing sometimes worked, but sometimes didn’t, like when he fed Brian the leftover stir fry he made me and when Brian fell asleep on his kitchen chair anyway, so it seemed fine that I fall asleep there too, unsure of whether I would leave tomorrow or in five days or five years or ever. I remembered the feeling of being trapped in a quasi-relationship (not a relationship) with an alcoholic narcissist. It was fine though, because he was fun, and that was all I wanted in a romantic partner, I was ready and able to palm off any red flags in exchange for my ideal quality: fun. It was like going to India and accepting the fact that toilet paper doesn’t exist so you have to wash your asshole with just cold water and your hand. You get your own shit on your own hand but its okay because you’re having a great time eating paratha and getting stoned in Goa

I easily convinced myself that my rapidly increasing weed habit was completely fine and only natural, because I never smoked weed in high school, so I deserved a period of my life to dedicate to being a stoner, in fact I owed myself this habit, as if it were a milestone I was just passing through a little late

I remember one of the first times I believed my dad was actually a sex offender/child molester/rapist/whatever the most polite way to say that is. I was maybe 17 or 18 and I remembered being 12 and having to go and visit him in jail every weekend and one weekend my stepmum told me a lie that there was a specific dress code at the prison and someone had told on us and gotten me and my sisters in trouble for wearing skirts (whoops, there I was, messing up again) because no one was allowed to wear skirts and I only realised later that this was a lie and of course people could wear skirts but she only said it because it probably wasn’t a good idea for young girls to walk into a room of adult male sex offenders, showing off their young legs, and I only now realise the weight of all of that on myself really. But at the time I just believed her lie and never wore a skirt again. Maybe because I had been lied to so many times at that point I didn’t know how to decipher the truth anymore or maybe it was just easier to believe everything everyone said because I wanted to do the right thing and I didn’t like getting in trouble. Maybe it was easier than second guessing anything anyone told me, an activity that would send me down a rabbit hole I definitely wasn’t prepared for at that point, not now, not ever really

I remember once when I was 13 and I was addicted to eating cheese and bacon shapes while watching the OC and I overheard my mum say on the phone to her friend “all my kids are fat, how did I end up with fat kids?” I remember hearing it then I remember hearing it years later when I was 15 and obsessively addicted to running up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down the hill at the lake behind our house I remember hearing it when my sister fainted from not eating and had to go to hospital for a long time, she was 13 and I was 15. I remember hearing it the only time I was good at a sport at school (cross country) when I was in year 11 and 12. I remember hearing it near the end of a race and it would always be me or Claudia at the front. Claudia, exactly who you would expect to be at the front of a race: a school prefect, with perfect hair and perfect teeth and perfect tits and was smart and good at everything and nice to everyone and her family lived in a big house with two parents and three kids and a pool and a Thermomix and they were one of those families that go on skiing holidays and both the sisters have boyfriends who look the same and they get invited to go on the skiing holidays too. And then there was me, someone who you would not expect to be at the front of a race at all; probably sitting on the sidelines eating strawberry and cream lollies instead and listening to my green iPod nano and complaining. My family had never been overseas and I didn’t have a boyfriend or a Thermomix. But there I was, at the front, my bleached blue hair barely moving in the wind (the bleach meant it could’t move much at all), proving to everyone that I was the kind of person that did surf club on the weekend and had lots of other extra curricular activities too, and went on dates (not real ones, just blowjobs in the back row of the cinema) and bought expensive junk food from the school canteen with money I stole out of my mum’s wallet. But the fact is I wasn’t and never will be. Luckily, my anxiety or whatever it was that made me want to projectile vomit/ scull my mum’s bottle of rescue remedy (alcohol) before every race got the better of me and I quit cross country forever and basically refused to do anything resembling a team sport, or a sport, ever again.

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thesylvalining · 7 years

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Back in the US, one of the first things I usually notice is the freaking roads are huge. It’s one symptom of reverse culture shock, to be sure and surreal is the key word. Then experiences like this happen which assure me yes, I have returned:

Two nights ago…

Benjamin (my gorgeous uncle): I think we left a bag of stuff at Walmart.

Me: Oh no! We should go back for it. But I’m in my pajamas…

Benjamin: So? It’s Walmart…

Me: Good point.

Dorothy, I am definitely not in Kansas (Italy) anymore, where leaving the house in PJs is socially uncouth. So where am I exactly? Colorado. “Home” but not home. If you haven’t seen Rudy Mancuso’s hilarious “Gosh Bless You” video please do so now so you understand the rest of this paragraph. Although I know there’s someone out there in particular who will appreciate this… it’s like I’m somewhere between Heck and Kevin. I am so grateful and excited to see friends and family but simultaneously, it’s a quasi-thank Gosh moment–mostly because I’m never, ever ready to depart Italy. So at least for now, it goes along with ping-pong balls that don’t bounce and having to stand pretty much all the time… 😉

Anyhow, I’m already on my next adventure before finishing my last. What a sin! So, let me redeem myself by catching us all up…

Day Five: Dobbiaco-Big Hike-Dobbiaco

Morning light shone on Tent City, illuminating the rare slivers of un-camped upon grass and a certain silver van housing the newest member of Operation Vacation: Loic! The door cracked, revealing a fancy black and red road bike. The morning sun glinted off three sharp butcher knives which came with their own set of jokes about Loic being either a Belgian master chef and/or a friendly murderer.

Either way, we welcomed him at our shanghai’d picnic table for breakfast. Finally the day broke chilly but with a promise of ample sun as the day progressed. Perfect set up for a long @$$ hike (for Lisa and I) and a million kilometer bike ride (for Loic).

After parting ways, Lisa and I hopped on our steeds and rode several kilometers on dirt to the start of a trail that only climbed, oh, 2000 meters. However, it was swallowed heartily by the massive landslide like a college kid chugging beer. A big yellow bulldozer parked at the trailhead told us–in so many words–to figure something else out. We pulled out our well-worn map and located number 33, which also marched straight up a mountain like a bighorn sheep on crack. Done!

On the trail, sweat began to swiftly collect and cascade down our bodies as if they were fast-melting Popsicles. We soon found ourselves teetering high above the valley floor, the sound of the roaring highway below lowering to a stubborn drone. After awhile we took a break at a high alpine spring to fill up and let things air out…

After a couple hours of steep, steady climbing the trail finally attempted a semblance of flatness. At the end of the day, the undeniably steep route on Lisa’s GPS–named Garminio–resembled something like a Redwood tree.

Holly landslide Batman!

Another world up here…

Even higher up, above 2000 meters (6500 feet), we found the expansive, rocky beginnings of yet another landslide from the recent extreme storms. We picked our way through an uneven, alien landscape which briefly eclipsed the trail.

After we picked it up again at a confluence, we popped over the first ridge, rewarded by a breathtaking expanse of alpeggi (high alpine pastures) and the piercing ridges of the mountains beyond. Behind us, a group of thick gray clouds gathered, like nosy old women peering through their blinds at the youths egging the house next door. We looked at each other; should we turn back, or press our luck?

Ha! Is there even a question? Besides, the skies didn’t feel menacing like they did on National Pressing Your Luck Repeatedly Day at Tre Cime. And just ahead, we were about to make a few new friends…

And then down, down, down we went like little rolling stones decked out in matching freaky light backpacks and a fine mist of dried sweat. By the end, we’d marched 20 kilometers (13 miles), climbed 1500 meters of elevation (4920 feet) and descended about the same. Near the end, uneven pavement was starting to look like somewhere I could sleep a solid eight hours…

We tried hitchhiking the handful of kilometers up the road to fetch our bikes but we had about as much luck as a nerdy, shy, acne-covered kid on prom night. Italians, it turns out, are not the pick-you-up-on-the-roadside type, even when you’re two cute girls with matching lightweight backpacks, a fine mist of dried sweat and big ol’ smiles. Resolutely, we tacked on a few more kilometers walking back to camp where Loic, bless his little creepily sharp-knife owning heart, saved the day. He left via van to rescue our bikes, leaving us to our own devices via Lisa’s tarp. We stretched and watched the clouds (and I devoured almost an entire package of cookies, which actually did semi-wreck my iron stomach for about six minutes).

Afterwards–so as not to evoke the curious tempers of the weather gods, in particular His Highness Rain–we made pasta. With everyone else. And then waited in line for a shower –a lukewarm shower. With everyone else. And then waited in line to do freaking dishes. Dishes are often painful enough already, without having to wait around to do them. With everyone else. That was it for me: I’d rather do math for 48 hours straight then endure one more day of organized camping. With everyone else.

Day Six: Dobbiaco-Val Visdende-Danta-Wild Camping

In the morning, it was time for another lovely, leisurely, sun-soaked cruise from Dobbiaco to Val Visdende. Although we didn’t plan it–we didn’t so much plan as let things evolve–the ride was beyond pleasant. Bike paths first, through the valley:

Then a really dope lunch at a Konditorei (German/Austrian confectionary/cake shop) with a view of the Tre Cime’s shapely backside:

And one small climb to the top of Monte Croce pass.

The rest was a literal bomb downhill. We zipped through a quaint villages and passed tons of road bikers heading up what we were going down (I was jealous–what a climb!).

Can’t argue with the views…

Flat City.

We lingered in one village for a time after Lisa’s steed Wanda got a flat. Tortured by the tantalizing aromas oozing out of the bakery on which Lisa’s limping steed leaned, we ogled the tiny, antique spike she pulled out of her tire. And then an entire, large family from Romania materialized from the pastry-laden air and proceeded to pump up Lisa’s tire. The dad literally dispatched his teenage army to help and they did so gladly as we grinned. So sweet and unexpected, these instances while traveling by bike!

At the riverside campground in Val Visdende, we decided against camping with everyone else (again). Our decision was cemented by egregious, suspicious glares from the odd proprietor, based on what exactly? He was overheard saying “Where is their car?” as we walked over and sat in the late afternoon sunlight enjoying a 2.5 euro Spritz at the campground bar (aka giving him our money). Although in retrospect, suspicions could have been exacerbated by Lisa and I grunting and cussing through dozens of push-ups by the big yellow Caterpillar (the heavy equipment, not the pre-butterfly) in the corner of the campground parking lot…

So we utilized the river just as you would expect a few vagrants would (please note Loic showering in the background):

Then we packed up, stashed and locked the bikes in a clandestine location and moved on in van to the tiny town of Danta, located on a steep hillside overlooking the majesty of the Alps. Loic–bless his murderous, beer-chugging heart–spotted a poster for a town festival there. Turned out to be a very, very good decision because of:

The views.

Don’t you wanna, wanna go to Danta…

Traditional antiques on the streets at the town festival. There were some amazing crosscut saws as well, which aren’t produced anymore, at least in the States…

The cheap, delicious food and drink (two euro Spritz and three euro, generously portioned grilled sausage and veal sandwiches).

The entertainment–starting with Lisa’s slightly drunken renditions of Italy’s pop darling Ligabue, courtesy of a cover band. Sorry Italy, but every single one of those songs sounds the same to me 😀 But the lead singer, wearing an ACDC shirt and belting out one cookie cutter tune after another with an unlit cigarette in his hand was literally priceless.

The antics–starting with the enthusiasm of the drunk crowd, particularly one fella who danced with airplane arms for hours on end and the time I had to pee and managed to do so in a pile of nettles. The pinnacle was a really drunk dude who looked like Adam from HBO’s Girls and who decided doing a buttload of pull-ups on the tent was a fine idea. He chose a spot front and center in front of the band, his face a picture of determination, like a baby pooping. He knocked over a beer and the tent looked like it was in an earthquake before a good Samaritan managed to pry him off of it.

The company 🙂

And then–with way too many Spritz still rattling around in our systems, particularly Lisa’s and mine–we popped up the road to find a “wild” camping spot. WITHOUT everyone else. In Italy, there’s just one small problem: camping outside of campgrounds is, well, illegal. Illegal… oh no 😉 Obviously we didn’t care as we located a sufficiently quiet, dark field off the top off the pass. Loic parked the van and we deployed our tent in the perfect, hidden spot. To say we pitched it would be a stretch… we kind of threw it up, staked the doors and passed out.

Day Seven: Wild Camping-M. Aiarnola Hike-Sappada

In the morning, we got a very good laugh out of our floppy, crooked tent. And the perfect, hidden spot? Not exactly. From the road, the bright saucer of a tent stood out on the green, soft grass like a Democrat at a Trump rally. In the morning, in fact, Lisa heard an older couple speaking in Italian (as they cruised by on the trail just across the road… oops), “They can’t camp there.” Of course I didn’t hear a single thing because I once slept through a fire alarm in college and nothing has changed since.

We breakfasted roadside (to many an amused glance at us smearing on sunscreen by a van strung with various tent pieces and bike apparel). And then, a hike. It began oddly mellow. I relaxed into an off-day pace, ambling past countless quaint and/or kitschy holiday cabins. I should’ve known then something was off…

An hour later:

Not that I wasn’t stoked to be dominating yet another steep, Dolomite ridge, with eye-popping views as far as the eye could pop. But there was a tired devil and a tired angel on either shoulder, in rare agreement: it was time to rest. Even my blood hurt. But of course by then we were here:

We had a couple more hours stomping around above treeline, watching the swirling clouds and chatting with the bazillion krummholz trees (German for “twisted, crooked or bent,” and appearing exactly thus, thanks to harsh, high elevation weather). And then there was the time we decided not to take the detour…

Trees=handrails, so as not to fall down…

This!

What goes doggedly up must come tiredly down and that meant us–but on a relatively nice trail with actual turns, this time.

Figuring out which way to go…

Look we’re still going up Sylva! You happy ’bout that??

Traversing up high.

The way down!

And then–and then!–we rested in the best way possible by locating a truly delectable restaurant at the base of a nearby ski slope. We gorged ourselves on local grub like canederli with cheese and speck, pizza, giant ravioli (casunziei), tiramisu…

Food coma settled in quickly; Lisa was quietly freaking out all night/day about leaving Wanda (her kick@$$ touring bike) in a hiding spot and we barely made it there to check on it and the GD Musing before succumbing to a nap. Loic enjoyed the undeniable comfort of a mattress in his van. Lisa and I enjoyed the questionable comfort of the tarp atop a cement landing near the river, smattered generously with rocks the size of walnuts. Screw the Princess and the Pea (or the Princesses and the Pebbles)–we passed out immediately.

Post-nap, we had enough go juice to ride up and over into the long, picturesque valley that housed the town of Sappada.

Loic parked his van down by the river and we scoped out a sufficient illegal camping spot in the woods on the other side.

Before we rode, we stocked up on groceries for a campsite dinner, after which we would set up our tent in the cover of darkness. We also scoped out a nearby “beerfest” but didn’t stay long: Loic the Belgian Beer Boss was nonplussed by Forst beer, the only chugging choice. Food prices were a bit high and inside it was hotter than the inside of a sweaty biker thigh. So off we went for dinner under the stars.

All of us were whooped, so we didn’t last long post-grub. But my excitement to lay down and pass out was dampened by two elements:

The terrible and terribly loud rock music resonating from the sweaty beerfest. Somehow, the farther we got, the louder the Metallica covers became. It was almost like the guitarist was playing in my ear, his long, straggly 80s rock hair tickling my ear. But no… that was just the…

Ants. Lots and lots of ants. Over the last days and as we scoped out our campsite by the river, we spotted anthills the size of small Mayan ruins. None of these ant-thropological wonders was within Forst beer can-throwing distance, so we figured we’d be safe. As soon as I stood outside in the dark, with ants racing up my legs like they were enrolled in the world’s largest ant marathon, I saw the error of our ways. Later on in the night, when I sat up to use the bathroom that is the forest, a flurry of ants dominated the tent’s mesh like a computer screen of binary code. When I opened the mesh hastily–with more than a little trepidation–a wave of ants crested the bottom of the tent like an army of peppercorns on legs. Lisa’s side of the tent wasn’t so bad–but I was screwed.

Day Seven: Sappada-Ovara

Convening at the van after reclaiming our tent from The Ants (the ground literally moved under the vastness of their army), we had some breakfast. Loic was itching to road ride so he took off shortly after, leaving Lisa and I to our own devices. Our devices included a whole lot more downhill–we couldn’t have planned our route better if we actually planned it. And it was gorgeous, twisting like a piece of licorice through a lush, wooded canyon containing a river and any number of ivy-laden, whitewashed, tile-roofed fairytale villages.

In quiet, scenic Ovara, home to the infamous Zoncolan climb (another thigh-busting Giro d’Italia classic, which Loic was currently dominating), we pulled off the main road. And went straight uphill. For a moment, Lisa and I wondered if we hadn’t accidentally landed ourselves on the Zoncolan–but the views from our camp were well worth it.

Finally, this camp was just our speed: simple, cheap and deserted. Once Loic returned, tired but exuberant after punishing himself on the Zoncolan, we set up shop. Soon, we were sipping Spritz before walking into down for dinner:

Across the way, a certain green roof enchanted us, appearing clothed in dragon scales.

“How are those tiles so green?” Lisa said, sucking down a block of cheese.

“I wanna go up there,” I said, sucking down a Spritz.

“Mmmmm,” said Loic, sucking down half a bag of potato chips.

The next day, we’d get a closer look at the mysterious green roof, and much, much more… but of course, we hadn’t gotten that far yet. Until then bye-bye–or mandi mandi (pronounced mahn-dee mahn-dee) in Friulano dialect!

As Easy As DEF: Dobbiaco, Esercizio, Fruili Back in the US, one of the first things I usually notice is the freaking roads are…

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