Secret Lair of Writing

Be a part of my journey by offering feedback, asking questions, and even suggesting prompts for character-building exercises! I am also looking to make connections with other writers, as well as comic book artists! Will interact as @thewomanintheshoppe

[kal8elle]

-- Part 1 here --

-- Part 2 here --

[zeearts]

for @crimson-amarone's crossover Trigun x My Adventures With Superman fic! Thank you for letting me draw two favs 🥹

[angelltheninth]

This man did the fucking KABEDON! I love these two so much!

[jetslay]

My Adventures with Superman sketches by Tokitokoro.

[jetslay]

My Adventures with Superman #6 variant cover by Tokitokoro.

[americana-antihero]

I was scrolling too quickly and thought Superman had a man bun. Then I realized how epic that would be - a long-haired Superman whose hair miraculously ties into a neat man-bun during his Magical Girl transformation. Imagine a frazzled Clark Kent with a lazy bun just trying to do his best, always accidently snapping hairties because he is too strong. Imagine Lois helping him do his hair, putting it in all sorts of crazy styles because she prefers her own hair to be short.

I COULD GO ON.

The artwork is absolutely stunning

[hotteaandhistory]

This hit home, and I think it will resonate hard with all my creative friends, here. You are amazing and brilliant and I BEG YOU to keep creating!! ❤️❤️❤️

[magicalyazsparkles]

[squarebracket-trickster]

B) Create something that has issues but is easily editable into something later on that meets your standards.

This.

Me, through gritted teeth: you can't edit a blank page. You can't edit a blank page. It's easier to edit bad writing than to get it perfect first draft. I know it's atrocious - I know - but the fact is, I know it's atrocious which means I can already see the problems, and that's the first step toward fixing them. If you were a bad writer, you wouldn't see the problems. You wouldn't think this draft was atrocious at all. Shhhhh

[scribe-cas]

Gently ask yourself what 13 year old you would think of your current draft. Would they think it's cool?

If they would, you win

[leebrontide]

You know what I like better than a miscommunication in stories? Incompatible worldviews.

MC was told, explicitly, something about what is going on. And they wholesale dismissed that data because it doesn't fit at all within their concept of the people/systems/dynamics involved. That person is wrong. They are mentally unwell. They're stupid. They're lying. I know better. I was taught better. I know who to trust. I am more rational.

And you let that unreliable-ass narrator convince your audience to dismiss the information you handed them right out in the open.

Good shit.

[americana-antihero]

@sniickerdoodles Violet and Cade 👀

[girlsilverrruns]

the need to talk about the characters vs the fear that all of my analysis is just empty prose and surface level understanding

[americana-antihero]

@sniickerdoodles this is how I feel all the time

[americana-antihero]

About my characters -

General info: This is my main project, and it has no title set in stone yet. I often refer to it as "Violet and Cade's Story." It's about a girl who is trying to unravel the mystery of her father's death and her mother's psychosis. Her journey leads her to the City of Innovation (city name subject to change), where she crosses paths with what she can only refer to as a "superhero." Can he help her?

Violet Crowe - this is the main character. The story starts with her in her early 20s. She is very reserved, a soft-spoken and sentimental type who takes her time to thoroughly think things through. She is guided by both logic and her emotions, but often finds herself needing to choose between the two.

Cade Parsons - the superhero. He is just trying to find out who he is, whether he is a good man or a bad man. All his life, he has been told what he should and shouldn't be, and he has gotten it wrong time and time again. Just once, he wishes he could help someone because he WANTS to, not JUST because it's the right thing to do.

Feel free to ask questions about these characters or the project!

[americana-antihero]

It feels like I have been in the planning stage of my main project forever now. It's been a little over 2 years, and it is a challenge to know where to start. I think I get discouraged because I want everything to feel cohesive, "avoid plotholes at all costs." And then I realized - even the most acclaimed writers have plotholes in their work. Some of the most entertaining works of fiction were birthed without a planning stage.

I am proud of myself for investing the time that I have into this project. I am considering it a major feat rather than something holding me back. No matter when I finally start writing this story, I can feel confident about how I have set it up.

[americana-antihero]

Random life-blogging (so I don't accidently fall asleep before I need to go to work):

I am so exhausted rn. I should not have stayed up watching Ghost Adventures so late. I feel like I got enough hours of sleep, but my dreams and general feelings while at rest were disturbing. And I have to head to work in about 30 minutes. At least I have some coffee to get me going. I might go for a walk....or I might just play mobile games. I'm hoping that after work I can just get back home, get in comfortable clothes, and watch My Adventures With Superman. I've barely touched season 2

[americana-antihero]

Burnin Desire

She's the girl the hero fell in love with, and she knows it.

He takes her everywhere she goes, and she can't tell what's cuter - that he says it's so he can protect her, or because it's a guise for spending time with her.

They fly together; he holds her in his arms, and she drapes hers around his neck. She is his view, and he is hers, but even more breathtaking is the city below - a city he has the power to conquer, if he wanted to. She looks down and sees a land of opportunity, but she is hopelessly perched in the safest place on Earth. In his arms, she cannot fly on her own.

A leap of faith would be a fall from grace. But still, the urge burns through her veins; the impulse tenses in her muscles.

He notices. Is she scared?

Slowly, he takes her back down to the ground.

[writing-prompt-s]

You’re a regular office worker born with the ability to “see” how dangerous a person is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. A toddler would be a 1, while a skilled soldier with a firearm may score a 7. Today, you notice the reserved new guy at the office measures a 10.

[captain-acab]

You decide it’s best to find out what you can about this person. Cautiously, you approach his desk. He’s a handsome man, tall, but with a disarming smile. How could such a friendly guy with such cute, dorky glasses be dangerous?

You extend your hand. “I noticed you’re new here. What’s your name?”

He shakes your hand warmly. His gaze is piercing, as if he’s looking right through you. “The name’s Clark,” he says. “So, how long have you worked for the Daily Planet?”

[misscrazyfangirl321]

This one wins.

[janothar]

It’s been a few weeks, and one of Clark’s friends shows up.  She’s pretty and all, enough muscle that she must work out.  First thought would be that she should be maybe a 6.

Clark’s introducing her around.  “This is my good friend, Diana, she’s in from out of town.”

You blink, and take a step back in fear.  You’ve never seen an 11 before.

[aniseandspearmint]

The day Bruce Wayne shows up for his long promised interview with Lois Lane, you can’t help it, the mug your holding drops from your fingers and sends a shock of hot coffee and ceramic shards across the floor.

Clark stops a few feet away and squints at you worriedly from behind those ridiculous glasses you’re 99% sure he doesn’t actually need, and asks tentatively, “Everything all right?”

You ignore him in favor of staring at the inky dark numerals hovering over the beaming fool gesticulating some fantastic yacht story for a gaggle of secretaries and minor columnists.

That’s it. Your gift has officially gone haywire. There is no other explanation. Because there is absolutely no way that Brucie Wayne is a 10.

[petitstar]

At this point, you’ve seen it all. Miled manner reporters and billionaires at a 10 and a model-like woman at 11. You were really starting to doubt your power. The day you really stopped believeing in it was when Bruce Wayne came for another visit, and this time with a kid. The kid couldn’t be more than 10 years old, a bit on the short side.

He was an 8.

[lainathewitch]

The day you started believing in it again was when you saw on tv the formation of something called the justice league.

There were those same numbers over superman, batman, wonder woman and robin. That’s when you put two and two together. You wonder how nobody at the daily planet noticed that Clarke was Superman with glasses. You wonder why you didn’t notice. You wonder why nobody put two and two together that Diana Prince and Wonder Woman looked exactly the same. You look in the mirror as the realization hit you and you see your own number change from a 3 to a 9.

[rainnecassidy]

IT GOT BETTER

[somewhat-honest-abe]

Despite this, you go about your life. You don’t talk to Clark – Superman? – and kept out of his way. His girlfriend Lois Lane – she was a five when you first met, but now she’s a nine just like you – tries to get you to interview Bruce Wayne, but you refuse. You meet other people in Clark’s group of friends with high numbers. The daughter of the police commissioner from Gotham. The forensic scientist from Central City. More and more people to avoid and worry about.

Meanwhile, your paranoia gets to you. You start working out. Training in self defense. Studying the Justice League, trying to find its members. Finding out all their identities so you can be ready.

One day you wake up with a ten above your head.

That day you get a call. You recognize the area code. Gotham. Your heart is in your throat. You should throw the phone away, run. They’ve found you. You’re doomed. You might be a ten, but you can’t beat them all.

You pick up the phone anyways.

“Hello?”

“Hey, this is Clark Kent. I was wondering if we could talk.”

Your mouth goes dry. “About what?”

Clark’s voice goes quiet. “Well. About the Justice League.”

[somewhat-honest-abe]

You stiffen in your seat. Your adrenaline kicks in, and your eyes dart around the room. You can hang up, pack, grab a plane ticket to wherever and disappear. Your passport hasn’t expired, and you’ve been talking to Perry White about a vacation anyways. You could say it’s a family emergency and never come back.

But they’d find you. You know they’d find you. They’re goddamned superheroes. They can carry buildings. They could probably manage finding you.

“Hello?” Clark’s voice returns, tinged with concern, and suddenly you stop. Calm down. They’re the good guys. At least they’re supposed to be.

“Yeah, sorry, just a little shocked you–”

“Caught up to you?” Clark asked. He laughed a little, but it wasn’t teasing. His voice had his regular ease, the same casual tone he would employ to talk about the weather in the break room. “Yeah. Lois noticed your odd behavior, actually. We didn’t realize it was linked to the League until you refused to interview Bruce, and then we knew something was up.”

“Speaking of Bruce Wayne, are you using his phone? Your area code is Gotham, not Metropolis.”

Clark laughed. “Damn. Lois wasn’t kidding when she said you were the best investigator working for the Daily Planet.”

“I just notice things is all.” You laughed nervously. You still can’t shake your general unease. This guy could kill you without any effort. You’re no match for him, or for any of his friends for that matter. Hell, Batman didn’t even have powers and he’d still fuck you up.

“Yeah, and that’s a skill we could use around here. Would you like to talk about joining? Bruce can send you a car, bring you here–”

“No,” you say, sharper than you intended. “Sorry. I’d rather meet in public, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course. Lunch or coffee? It’s still early, but it’s a bit easier to cram all of us in a restaurant than a coffee shop.”

“Lunch, I guess. And no superhero stuff.”

Clark pauses, then sighs sadly. You’ve heard this sadness before in rare amounts. When bad things happened and fear and greed overtook people, he’d always frown and sigh, like someone watching their best friend self destruct, unable to help or save them. “You’re afraid of us. Aren’t you?” His voice is concerned and hushed.

A pang of guilt starts to replace the fear. “You can throw around buildings like a sack of potatoes, Clark. Your friend is powerful on an impossible level, Bruce’s kid is a fucking eight–”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Clark said, the sadness disappearing. “You have a number system for us?”

“Look, it’s a whole thing. I’ll talk about it over lunch.” You grab your laptop bag. “Where are we meeting?”

Clark said something to someone else. “Got any restaurant ideas? They want lunch.”

Bruce Wayne – you’ve heard enough interviews to recognize his voice – said, “Saffron’s pretty good.”

“Jesus,” someone else said. You’ve heard the voice, but you couldn’t place it. “I keep on forgetting you’re rich.”

“You don’t think it’s a little much, Bruce? The pay at Daily Planet is good but not that good,” said Clark.

“I’ll cover their tab.”

“Okay…” Clark returned to the call. “Saffron, in…thirty minutes? You’re downtown, right?”

“You can get a table to Saffron in thirty minutes?” said the strange voice. “Boy, am I glad I made friends with you guys.”

“Yeah, that works.” You’re a bit hesitant, but you swallow your nerves. At least for now. Your thoughts about threat levels made you forget that Clark is a decent guy. All you could do is hope that he thinks you’re decent, too. “See you then.”

“See you then. Be safe. Bye.” Clark hangs up, and you’re left in your room. The worry is starting to turn into something different. Excitement.

You shove the phone into your pocket, grab your keys, and head out the door. You’re so full of restless energy you walk the whole way there. Once you arrive, you catch your reflection in the mirror and notice that you’re starting to suit that ten above your head.

[harbingerofsoup]

KEEP GOING!!!!!!!

[somewhat-honest-abe]

The hostess takes you to a hidden corner of the restaurant. It’s mostly empty, as though it’s only just opened. Sitting at a long table, chatting politely, was the Justice League.

They aren’t wearing masks or uniforms, no bright colors and costumes. Clark Kent is in his usual office wear, Bruce Wayne is wearing a tailored suit, Diana Prince dons a nice blue dress, and Oliver Queen wears a nice button down. You don’t recognize two of them – a twenty something in jeans and a hoodie, a man in a green shirt, and a burly guy in a baggy t-shirt and old jeans who looks like he had just washed up from the sea. All of them, aside from Diana, are tens, of course.

Clark Kent stands, shakes your hand when you come in. “Glad to see you made it.” He introduces you to the others, and they all shake your hand quite happily and greet you like a friend. You learn that the guy in the hoodie is Barry Allen, the dude in green is Hal Jordan, and the beach dude is Arthur Curry. Waitresses, all ones, twos, and threes, come in with drinks, and one plops a mug of coffee in front of you, along with a small menu. Clark Kent gives you a knowing gaze.

Once the waitresses clear out, Bruce sits up straight. “Clark, would you rather I do the honors?” His silver watch glitters in the light from the windows.

“No, no, Bruce,” Clark says, setting down his glass of water. “I think it’s best if I ask them myself.”

Within a moment, you piece it together. “You want me to join the Justice League?”

Clark Kent cracks a smile. “How’d you guess?”

“You call me out of the blue, mention the Justice League, invite me to Bruce Wayne’s place, and then here, where you introduce me to a group of people who all look strikingly similar to the members of the Justice League.” You take a sip of coffee. “Subtlety is hardly your strong suit.”

Barry Allen laughed. “They got you there on that one.”

“Well, you’re right. At first Bruce wanted to handle the situation himself,” – you’d rather not think about what handle was a euphemism for – “but I insisted we do some more digging. We did, and what we found was…surprising. To say the least.”

You look at him oddly. You aren’t normal – no one else saw numbers floating above people’s heads – but you weren’t surprising. Your parents were the only ones who knew about your ability, and they’re long gone. You’ve got no checkered past, no odd history–

“You have powers.” Clark’s voice was clearly impressed.

“How did you find out about that?” The fear comes back, forming a knot in your stomach. “I’ve never told anyone else about it.”

“It’s not hard to notice,” Barry Allen says in between sips of soda. “Most of the information we got we got from Lois after she’s hung out with you.”

“I’ve never her told her anything about the numbers, though.”

Oliver Queen sits up, flashing you a confused look. “Numbers?”

Okay, something’s not right here. “The number I see over everyone’s heads,” you say, keeping your voice low. “It ties into how dangerous everyone is. Usually it’s just a one or two, maybe a three or four or five if they’ve got some kind of training or if they work out or whatever. Almost everyone at this table has a ten.”

“Almost?” Diana furrows her brow.

“You have an eleven,” you add.

Diana nods, smiling with a bit of pride and making an “I told you so” face to Bruce Wayne, who rolls his eyes. Oliver Queen clears his throat as Bruce and Hal pass him a couple bills.

“Ignore them,” Barry says, rolling his eyes at the three of them. “What you said was interesting – I might have to ask you a few questions on that later – but it wasn’t what I found. Remember the sensory and memory study you did when you were ten?”

You do remember it. Your parents were contacted by a scientist friend of theirs who needed kids to run a study on memory and stimuli. You remember it clearly. The large sterile room, the tests, the person conducting them, a handsome woman with a four above her head, the questions, the smell of latex gloves and fresh bleach. But you don’t remember the results. You were never told the results, other than that they were good, though with a test like that it was hard to say.

“Well, I found the tests. And they were superhuman.”

[mentallydobious]

Oh shit this is the best one!

[rjmeta]

Please please please keep it going!

[obsessed-and-ace]

“Wait…” You couldn’t even process something that ridiculous at first. “My best friend all through high school was in that trial too, that’s how we met. She was a lot of things, but superhuman wasn’t one of them.”

Barry reached in his pocket and pulled out a pocket sized composition notebook and paged through it.

“What was the name?” Oliver demanded as you, and everybody else at the table watched Barry, but you were the only one who didn’t know what he was doing.

“Uh… oh! Me? Sorry. Her name was Irene. Irene Schumer. Why?”

Barry went back a page and then looked up from the book at all of the heroes around him and shook his head sadly.

“When did you last talk to Irene?” Diana asked gently. Too gently. Gentle to the point that you knew something terrible was up.

There was a tightness in your chest as you tried to remember. I guess it had been a while, but not a lifetime ago. You still saw her spouse posting stuff on Facebook with their kid. But now that you thought about it, Irene was always tagged in the picture, but not in them… “It’s been a few years. Maybe… nine?”

After they all exchanged a glance, Bruce said solomnly, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but we have it on good authority that Irene has been killed.”

Shit.

Suddenly the room seemed to dim and all of the Justice Leauge were looking at you, Clark even leaned towards you as if he expected you to break right there. But you had more tact than that.

“You have it on good authority? What the hell does that even mean, Mr. Wayne? Who’s authority is good?”

Clark stopped Bruce from talking and slowly explained, “Once we found out about the… nature… of the experiment, we started trying to track down the results and the participants. Something that Barry found out… well… every year, one person from the trial was killed.”

“Sorry to interject,” Hal suddenly spoke.

That was the first time you actually paid attention to him. His features were nearly as strong as Diana’s and Clark’s, but his hair was much more… shaggy?

“But we thought that maybe the reason they were being killed was because of how dangerous the testers determined them to be-“

He stopped when you snorted.

“Impossible,” you insisted, “Irene was the only fully grown adult I’ve seen with a 1 above her head. I’ve had a three as long as I can remember until recently.”

“Until recently?” Diana repeated.

Oops. Probably best to leave out the fact you were a ten right now.

“Maybe,” Clark said when he saw you didn’t want to answer, “it has something to do with the type of power it is.”

Clark seemed to be trying to put you at ease more than anybody else sitting at the table.

“A person with superhuman abilities or whatever can’t give off a one. That’s… insane,” you started arguing.

“Unless her power was deception,” Oliver muttered. He looked at Barry and asked, “how many people are left from that experiment that haven’t died, disappeared, or become incompacitated?”

He didn’t even look at the book before saying “just one”

Every eye fell to you again.

It was like someone poured something hot over your head. Your scalp burned and tingled and then it trickled down your neck and spine and made your shoulders ache until your arms tensed. You had to decide if you believed them or not. They were supposed to be the good guys, Clark seemed to think you two were friends, but some of the stuff they were saying was… ridiculous. Impossible. Inconceivable. Unbelievable. Just… You picked your coffee up and took a drink. To mask everything you were thinking.

You set it down and tried to lighten the mood by saying, “Might need something stronger.”

That pulled a few smirks out of some.

“Okay,” you sighed, “let’s say-hypothetically- I believe you and I’m willing to go along. What is… I mean, what do you want… what are you gonna do about it?”

“Well, we started with meeting up with you for lunch to see if you’d be interested in joining us. Joining our little team.”

You examined all of them. Perfect, poised, powerful, with some kind of super power- besides Bruce (you assume). You had none of that. You had a history of hapkido, a green belt in tae kwon do, and saw floating numbers above peoples heads. That was hardly as impressive as anyone else at the table.

“Why would you want me to?” You finally asked. “It doesn’t make sense. I’m not a hero. I can’t throw buildings, or fly, I’m not bulletproof, at all. That’s not a… liability? Or a bad idea?”

“None of us think so,” Bruce Wayne leaned forward.

“Mr. Wayne-“

“-Bruce,” He corrected without making much noise.

“Bruce. What do you think I have that somebody else doesn’t have?”

It was a while before he said, “Skill. Spirit. Talent. But more importantly, a calling to be part of our team.”

Destiny.

The word your grandmother had said to you everyday since your parents died until her death echoed in your head. Everything leads to your destiny, but you have to know when you’ve reached it. Was this is? Did you reach it?

“So,” Bruce said abruptly, “What do you say?”

[mantha-has-fallen]

You paused for a moment, your eyes drifting back down to the coffee on the table. What did you say? If you accepted their proposal — if this wasn’t just one big prank — what then? What did they expect you to do? What did you really have to offer? Nothing like this ever came for free, without consequence. What were you going to have to give up?

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Glancing around, you could see that everybody’s eyes were trained on you expectantly. They were waiting.

Where had your confidence gone?

“I-” Your throat caught on the words. Not a good sign. You tried again, much more successful this time. “I’m going to have to think about it.” You could practically feel the whole table let out bated breaths. Disappointment and something else rang through the air like a gong, reverberating inside your skull.

“I understand,” Clark Kent, a man you’d known for over a year now, nodded as he sought to relieve the tension in the air. “It’s a big decision to make. I trust that you’ll make the best one.”

“Yeah,” Barry agreed. “I mean, my entire life changed the day I decided to become the Flash.” Your attention — and your head — snapped in his direction. So that was who he was? Your realization must have been clear, as he had made eye contact right after saying it with an upturning of the corners of his mouth that read something like: Oops… Well, too late now.

Diana spoke next, “Yes. The life of a hero is very different from that which you have known so far. You must make this choice for yourself.” Sincerity breached her face as she leaned slightly forward in your direction. “But I firmly believe this — the Justice League, with us —  is where you belong.”

Your eyes roamed around the table at everybody who had not yet spoken, taking in the malcontent clear on many of their faces. Guilt pinged in your brain against your will. No, you weren’t allowed to feel guilty. You had as much of a right to deny their offer just as you did to accept it. Besides, you didn’t even refuse yet, just extended the deadline.

You didn’t fail to notice Hal, Bruce, and Oliver’s silence, but right now the anxiety latching onto you was more concerning. Discomfort was racing up your spine and you couldn’t help but be reminded of the values that floated up above everybody’s heads; By agreeing to meet this group of people, you had knowingly put yourself in more danger than you had ever been in before. You rose to your feet and addressed the table once more.

“Thank you for your offer. As you understand, there is a huge choice in front of me and I need time to consider it more.” You nodded at them, receiving a few nods in return. “I will contact you with my answer soon, after I think about it.” You glanced at the two that you knew how to talk to — Clark and Bruce, of which the former was probably the best option — before turning away and taking careful, measured steps past the empty tables in this section of the restaurant.

As you approached an archway that led to a busier part of the restaurant, someone — was that Oliver? — spoke up. “Wait a second, we’re really just going to let them go? Just like this? They know our identities, you can’t tell me that’s not dangerous.”

A different voice this time, one you couldn’t quite make out. “Why wouldn’t they accept? This is a chance of a lifetime and-”

The words faded into obscurity as you got closer to the entryway.

There was so much for you to think about, so much for you to consider. What kind of changes would there need to be if you accepted? What about your friends and family? What would this mean for them? How much would you need to lie to them about this? What would happen if you told the truth? Would they be safe? How much danger would be in store for you? How much danger was already in your life? Your mind wandered to the notebook that Barry carried; Obviously, there was already a lot in store for you if everybody else was-

Your thoughts wandered to Irene. Somebody that you had known for so long and now she was dead. What of the others on that list? All of them were dead too. All of them were kids that you had met back when you were ten. Just kids. And to think that they had been dragged into this just because of something their parents signed them up for? That they were just kids when they were condemned to this fate? When they were sentenced to death? That didn’t settle right with you.

Your feet never carried you any closer to the entrance. Injustice and anger and courage welled up inside of you, replacing the fear and anxiety and uncertainty that had been there before. This was the chance of a lifetime, something that would most likely carry you toward your destiny; you couldn’t just walk away now. Especially when chances were that you were the next target of whoever was behind this. You had to do something, if not for yourself then for all of the others that didn’t have the opportunity to protect themselves. Something was stirring inside you that made you turn in the other direction.

Somebody must have heard your brisk walk back toward the table, because all of them, all of these superheroes, were looking at the doorway when you came through. Fear no longer rose up when you saw these people again; you were a ten too, just as dangerous as almost all of them. You could handle yourself. This was what you were meant to be doing with your life, you could feel it. You stood at the end of the oblong table, next to where you had sat previously, and took a deep breath. Determination coursed through your veins and when you opened your mouth, you spoke the words that changed the course of your entire life:

“Screw this whole ‘thinking about it’ thing… I’m in.”

[gaeasun]

The work they had you do wasn’t much. It wasn’t fighting robots with lasers or flying demons. But there was more to do than just fighting.

They paired you with someone with a face you couldn’t connect with anyone you’d seen on the news. Probably because he didn’t have a face. He did, however, have a number 9 floating above his head. He didn’t give you a name, just a moniker: “The Question.”

You made an offhand remark saying if you were going to work together, does this mean you should go by “The Answer”?

He didn’t laugh. From his pocket he pulled out a stack of photos. “Alright, wise guy. Let’s get to work.”

You went through the pictures one by one, rattling off the numbers you saw. You didn’t have to explain your powers at all, which makes you wonder if the League had already told him about your powers, or something else. Every number you said he noted in a weathered brown book. You asked why a book, why not a computer. “Nothing’s safe,” he muttered. “All electronic devices ever made have a backdoor installed within. This pen has led to block permeable vision, and other isotopes designed to confuse satellites.” If not for the 9, you would have slowly backed away.

You did that for a couple months, him showing you various people and you telling him how dangerous they were. There were some interesting occasions too, such as when numbers appeared over seemingly innocuous things. A cat that was a six, a computer that was an eight. One time a rock was a five. After going through the pictures he’d attach them to various points on a wall and connect them with little colored strings. By now you had learned that he (probably) wasn’t crazy, as you tended to be more surprised by the numbers you saw while he nodded in understanding.

Maybe you were even friends.

Eventually, you passed some unseen test of his and graduated to field work. When you arrived he sat you down on a chair and told you not to move. You didn’t recognize your own face in the mirror after he was done. He gave you a set of nice clothes with some serving company embroidered on the chest and told you to meet him in the car when you were done changing.

You didn’t quite realize what was happening until you got there and saw Bruce Wayne come up to the stage to talk about some worldwide charity.

The person who served him his food had an 8 above their head. You flashed the corresponding number of fingers at Question and he in turn clicked out something on a little pen.

Bruce Wayne spilled his nice red wine all over his food and himself as soon as he sat down and excused himself with a flashy smile. Robin, now a 9, came later and took him down with a number of frankly ridiculous and inhuman acrobatic moves.

You did a number of those sorts of “missions” as you called them (so you could switch between the Mission Impossible and James Bond theme in your head), and they all went smoothly, with no one the wiser as to the part you’ve been playing, thanks to Vic’s disguises.

Until.

Until one day, you were walking through the halls of some company that had a secret and nefarious scheme of world domination going on, according to Q. You walked together quietly through the halls, anonymous thanks to his acquisition of security uniforms. Considering your growing skill in martial arts, and the impressive repertoire Q had (one of these days surely you’d beat him. Or at least make it though without landing flat on your behind) you could theoretically be security. Although trying to take down this place probably would make you bad at your job.

There were some mid-leveled people walking the halls. Nothing really worth checking out. Until.

You don’t know why you turned your head. You supposed it wasn’t anything too suspicious, but something niggled you. Maybe it was Q’s paranoid tenancies rubbing off on you.

That woman had been a 6 when she walked by you. When you turned back, she was a 7.

As soon as she turned the corner, Q spoke first. “Well, she’s supposed to be dead. Isn’t that interesting.”

“What?”

“Never mind that. What’s her number?”

You told him the weird part of her number, while he made no move to elaborate. He told you to carry on while he tailed her, and before you could protest he was gone.

Oh well. This wasn’t the strangest thing Q had ever done. You had a comm that you were certain also functioned as a tracer on you, so you weren’t too worried about being on your own.

All else failing, you could yell for Superman. He’d hear you.

After a few more corners you suddenly found yourself confronted by two burly looking men. “Boss wants to talk to you,” they said. It was definitely not phrased like a question. You played along and looked confused but agreed, before they sandwiched you in, front and behind, and shoved you in an elevator.

It went down a long way. The further you descended, the more your anxiety rose. It had been a long time since you’ve felt this nervous. But now you at least had some more skills and experience behind your belt. You’d be okay. Probably.

They shoved you behind a door and closed it behind you.

The woman from earlier was there and leaning against the wall, Q nowhere to be seen. You really hoped he was just somewhere nearby and not unconscious (or dead).

Her number was now a 5. A little flame curled around a twirling finger. The number changed to a 6, and the flame grew.

You weren’t really paying attention to her though. There was another woman sitting on an important-looking chair. A familiar woman, with a 10 above her head. As you watch, the zero fades out, leaving her with a 1.

“Irene?” You choked out, throwing all pretenses and disguises out the window. “You’re alive?”

“Of course,” she smiled, and stood. “And I’ve been waiting to get you alone for a while.” Your blood ran cold. “What?”

“Oh, it’s not to hurt you, I promise! It’s about the tests.” She walked closer, until she was eye to eye with me. “Remember those tests, from when we were young? I know what they found.”

You swallow. The comm in your pocket buzzes. “What?”

“Bestie,” she grins. “We are going to become gods.”

[tsunamiwavesurfing]

goat fight. non-negotiable.

[sunfortune]

[freckled-heart]

#LISTEn listen most marvel fights feel so contrived and fake and like la-dee-da-superhero#but this one was REAL and had me on the edge of my seat and still does#partially bc of the street clothes not costumes#partially because steve is fighting 1 on 1 and gets stripped of his shield quick#and he has to show like his physical combat skills#and the ACTING on both their parts.. fucking ace#esp chris evans tho like his face looks PANICKED how often do u see captain fucking america panicked??#anyway in this essay i will (tags via @asterlark)

[dubiousculturalartifact]

I think it’s also very important that this is a fight in which the characters *actually interact with their environment* in a way that feels real. Like, yes, have superpowers but there’s no cartoon physics involved, no obvious sense that this was filmed on an empty set with a greenscreen and the background was added later, or that they’re filming without even the people they’re fighting being present, just ‘look over here and make a hand gesture’. The shield gets stuck in a car, there’s that awful moment of the knife sliding along the side of the van that cues up with the mounting tension in the soundtrack. Bucky’s arm impacts the pavement and actually dents it, etc. They’re jumping over/behind the cars and getting thrown into them/into the pavement in a way that feels more visceral than just ‘whoosh there was a wire & we CGI’d in the rest’. t has a sense of real world space to it, and that adds to the feeling of real world stakes.

[mikkeneko]

This is one of the few fight scenes I can recall seeing that makes a little knife look like a real threat. Like I am legit scared for Steve when that thing darts in, because he’s not wearing armor and it really feels like the WS could open him up like a can. I feel like movie fight scenes don’t usually hit that note with knives.

[americana-antihero]

Wait, did Invincible just drop some episodes? When did this happen?

Welp, I know what I'll do tonight!

[t4nku-deactivated20240405]

what's more fucked up

finding out you're secretly a robot

finding out you're secretly a clone

Voting ended onApr 2, 2024

[t4nku-deactivated20240405]

you're required to participate in this poll btw. i need data

[thebatcreature]

Oh he thinks he's so funny