The way all the 2020s have done so far have been making me categorically against every new generation of tech that comes out is insane. Like I'm from a technological boom generation, saw the first portable phones, nokias & blackberries & flipphones etc, and the first smartphones, and the first ipods & ipads & tablets in general while still having cassettes & DVD & MP3 players around so I know how all of it work, I had computer classes in high school, I did the transition between home desktop computers to laptops and back to gaming computers. But then they started to put internet in your printer & microwave, everything has ads & AI now and every update is worst than the last. I literally loved technology and they ruined it
Choke. Just think about it, seriously. Think about what choking is and imagine speaking while it’s happening. That would fuckin’ hurt, man.
Hiss. Look, it’s just not possible, okay? No matter how “evil” you want your character to seem.
Snarl. Animals snarls. The Beast from Beauty and the Beast snarls. The Hulk snarls. You know who doesn’t snarl? PEOPLE WHEN THEY’RE SPEAKING.
Shriek. Come on, 99% of the time, “shriek” is not the word you want.Let’s face it: if you put an exclamation point at the end of the sentence, your reader gets the picture. Don’t bring to mind banshees and screaming toddlers.
Sneer. I’m not even going to bother explaining this one. “SNEER” ISN’T EVEN A SOUND.
Choked is not meant to be taken literally, an obstruction in the throat. It means they’re having difficultly speaking, they’re forcing the words out with difficulty. Often used when the character is convulsed in tears or laughter.
Hiss is a low, threatening whisper. Raw, guttural, vicious. It is NOT a literal hiss like an animal, it is a tone of voice that serves the same function. Someone will hiss that they’re going to cut your throat- a message from one person to the other.
Snarl is the same kind of thing. Not literal, it’s a tone of voice that serves the same function. It’s raw and gutteral like a hiss, but more savage than vicious. It’s loud, it’s showy, it’s intimidating. It’s very alpha male, big man, look at how fucking dangerous I am. I’ll take ALL of you on. Even if they’re snarling at one person in particular, nobody better back them up or they’re gonna get fucked up too.
Shriek. Come on, seriously? We’ve all heard people shriek either in fear or outrage. High pitched, loud, out of control, feminine. Men can shriek, but it’s funny and emasculating. Think angry italian women throwing pots and pans or ladies on tables who just saw a mouse.
Sneering is contempt whether it’s a facial expression or a tone of voice or both. There are a hundred different ways to sneer with your voice, but it all adds up to the same thing.
Danny Fenton stormed into the Daily Bugle building like a man possessed, camera slung over his shoulder, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. His black T-shirt was on inside-out, his jeans had something suspiciously green on them (was that ectoplasm? Probably), and he looked two seconds away from spontaneous combustion. “I GOT THE SHOT!” he howled across the bullpen, startling at least three interns into dropping their coffees.
From behind a stack of papers that looked like it could topple and kill him at any moment, Peter Parker popped his head out like a whack-a-mole. His brown hair was tousled from stress and probable head scratching, and his sharp brown eyes narrowed like a cat spotting a laser pointer. “What shot?” he said, voice dripping with suspicion.
Danny slapped a photo onto the nearest desk, narrowly missing someone’s lunch. It was a pristine, perfectly lit shot of Phantom — that is, himself — battling some ugly sludge ghost over Times Square. Midair. Lighting perfect. The skyline behind him dramatic as hell. He looked like he belonged on a propaganda poster for ghost superheroes.
Peter’s nostrils flared.
J. Jonah Jameson himself, like a vulture sniffing out fresh blood, materialized from his office with the speed of a man half his age. “FENTON! MY BOY!” he bellowed, grabbing Danny’s shoulder with a grip that felt like being caught in a bear trap. “THIS is what I’m TALKING ABOUT! Parker, you see this? This is journalism!”
“I take great shots!” Peter barked defensively. “Better than this amateur!”
“You take shots of that masked menace Spider-Man standing still like a mall Easter Bunny!” Jameson roared. “Fenton here got the flying ghost punk throwing a goddamn ghost punch! Action! Drama! Fear! It’s what the public wants!”
Danny tried very hard not to preen like a smug cat. Peter looked like he wanted to throttle him with the camera strap.
Danny leaned over Peter’s shoulder with all the subtlety of a Mack truck. “You know,” he whispered, “maybe if your subject actually moved once in a while instead of just posing for you, you’d have better material.”
Peter gritted his teeth so hard Danny could practically hear them shattering. “Maybe if your subject wasn’t a literal glowing neon sign with no sense of stealth, your photos wouldn’t look like paparazzi shots from a concert.”
“Oh, is that why my shots sell and yours just gather dust in the bargain bin?” Danny chirped.
“Screw you,” Peter said sweetly.
“Boys!” Jameson barked. “Less flirting, more photos!”
Danny and Peter exchanged murderous glares, which lasted exactly until Jameson stomped away and slammed his office door so hard the windows rattled.
“I hope Phantom drops you off a building,” Peter muttered.
“I hope Spider-Man webs your face to a moving bus,” Danny hissed back.
Neither of them knew that later that night, Phantom and Spider-Man would be perching on a water tower together, eating street tacos and gossiping about the villains they’d fought that day.
“You’re kidding,” Phantom — aka Danny, in his ghost form, white hair glowing faintly under the moonlight — said, laughing so hard he nearly fell off the water tower. “Green Goblin threw a pumpkin bomb at you? Seriously?”
Spider-Man, legs dangling off the edge like a kid on a swing set, groaned into his mask. “It wasn’t even Halloween. I don’t even get thematic consistency. And he monologued for like twenty minutes about being the ‘spirit of mischief’ or some crap. Like, bro, get new material.”
Danny howled with laughter, clutching his stomach.
“And what about you, Casper?” Spider-Man teased, nudging him with an elbow. “You and that sludge monster. Heard it made Times Square look like a Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards slime zone.”
“It tried to eat a hot dog cart,” Danny said, still giggling. “I had to bribe it with a corn dog just to get it off the vendor.”
There was a long, comfortable silence as they sat there, munching on tacos, the city sprawling out beneath them.
“Hey,” Spider-Man said after a moment, “you ever feel like… weirdly lucky? Like… we’re the only sane people in this town?”
Danny snorted, accidentally inhaling some shredded lettuce. He coughed violently. “Oh, God, no. I’m the most unhinged person I know. You’re just enabling me.”
“Glad to be a bad influence,” Spider-Man said solemnly, bumping his shoulder.
They grinned at each other, the best of friends, utterly oblivious that by day they were mortal photographic enemies ready to commit homicide over who got the front page.
The next day, Peter and Danny both showed up to the Bugle at the exact same time, both slamming their best new action shots onto the desk with the kind of passive-aggressive force that cracked the laminate.
Jameson, sipping what smelled like pure battery acid from his coffee cup, squinted at both photos. One was Spider-Man in a perfect mid-swing action shot, muscles taut, city blurred behind him. The other was Phantom blasting a giant ghost in the face with a green energy blast, looking like an angel of vengeance with glowing eyes.
Jameson looked up at both of them. “I’m putting them both on the front page,” he said gruffly.
Danny and Peter stared at each other in horror.
“Joint credit,” Jameson added gleefully.
“WHAT?!” they shouted in perfect unison.
“I’M NOT SHARING A BYLINE WITH HIM!” Peter shrieked.
“HE STILL USES AUTOFOCUS!” Danny screamed.
“I’LL AUTOFOCUS YOUR FACE!”
“I’LL SHOVE A CORN DOG UP YOUR–”
“OUT!” Jameson roared. “OUT, BOTH OF YOU, BEFORE I THROW YOU OUT!”
They bickered all the way down the hall, accidentally knocking over a filing cabinet, a poor intern, and somehow setting a potted plant on fire.
Later that night, Phantom showed up to their usual rooftop hangout with two burritos and a soda.
“You will not believe the jackass I had to deal with today,” Danny said, dropping dramatically next to Spider-Man. “This punk at my job thinks he’s better than me just because he’s been there longer or whatever. I swear to God, if I wasn’t trying to maintain a secret identity–”
“Bro,” Spider-Man said sympathetically, handing him the soda. “I feel you. There’s this guy at my job too. Cocky little bastard. Thinks he’s so great because he got a few good shots of you.”
Danny nearly choked. “Of me?”
Spider-Man nodded. “Yeah. Just because you are a little flashy, everyone thinks it’s hard to get a decent shot of you. Like, no offense. All that brat needs to do is just stand there with a camera for five minutes and he’ll get praised by our boss.”
Danny felt personally attacked but chose to let it slide. “Sounds rough, man.”
Spider-Man peeled off a piece of his burrito. “Maybe we should swap workplaces. You go deal with my guy, I deal with yours. Mutual destruction.”
Danny smirked. “Tempting. But I don’t think I could survive two minutes without punching Parker in the face.”
Spider-Man nearly dropped his burrito. “Wait. Did you just say Parker?”
Danny froze. “Uh. No? Maybe? Shut up.”
Spider-Man leaned closer, suspicious. “Do you work with Peter Parker?”
“Do you?” Danny shot back.
They stared at each other.
“Wait,” Danny said slowly. “You know him?”
Spider-Man shrugged. “Yeah, kinda. I work…in the vicinity.”
Danny narrowed his eyes. “So you know he’s an annoying, smug, camera-hogging little–”
Spider-Man laughed nervously. “Haha, uh… yeah… he sucks…”
Danny glared at him, not buying it.
Spider-Man cleared his throat. “ANYWAY. Uh. You know what else sucks? Ghosts. Ghosts suck. No offense again.”
Danny laughed and threw a chip at him. “None taken, Webhead.”
Meanwhile, across town, Peter was already spiraling internally.
“Oh my God, my best ghost buddy is probably best friends with my biggest work rival.”
“Oh my God, my best ghost buddy IS my biggest work rival.”
“Oh my God, I am the problem.”
The true chaos didn’t erupt until the annual Bugle Staff Picnic.
Danny showed up late, sweating through his T-shirt, sunglasses perched on his nose, and a single bag of chips as his contribution. He was halfway through dodging Karen from Accounting’s attempt to set him up with her niece when he froze.
Peter Parker was across the lawn. Talking animatedly to someone. Gesturing. Laughing.
Laughing exactly like Spider-Man.
Danny’s soul left his body.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no, no, no.”
Peter turned. Their eyes met across the sea of coworkers.
Danny saw realization dawn in Peter’s eyes at the exact same time.
Both of them mouthed a silent “OH SHIT.”
Peter dropped his burger. Danny dropped his chips.
They sprinted toward each other at full speed. Everyone else thought it was some dramatic teenage romance moment and started cheering.
“What the hell!” Danny whispered-hissed as they collided behind a conveniently parked hot dog cart. “You’re Spider-Man?!?”
“What the hell!” Peter whispered-hissed back, grabbing Danny’s collar. “You’re Phantom?!?”
They stared at each other in horror.
And then, slowly, devilish grins spread across both their faces.
“You know,” Danny said thoughtfully, “we could use this.”
Peter leaned in conspiratorially. “Team up?”
“Ruin everyone’s lives?” Danny agreed.
“Front page domination,” Peter said.
“Partners in crime,” Danny added.
They shook on it, sealing a blood pact of chaos neither the Bugle nor New York City would ever recover from.
J. Jonah Jameson watched from his office window, sipping his coffee suspiciously.
Something told him he was about to have an aneurysm before the summer was over.
Danny, hanging out at the top of a building with a giant planet on top of it, is about to fall asleep.
Which would be bad, since he's sitting on the edge of the building.
He goes for flights if he can't sleep, just to burn off the energy, and it looks like his energy is burnt out.
Time to go home.
He stands up, stretches, and lets out a tired sigh.
"Alright, guess I'll die." He says, preparing to go ghost.
Except suddenly there's someone floating in front of him, scaring him out of doing the transformation and making him lose his footing. Just as he starts to fall, though, that same person catches him.
"Son, let's talk. I just want to make sure there's not a less permanent solution to whatever your problem is right now."
Danny looks up and comes face to face with Superman.
Shit.
This is going to be so awkward, he can already tell.
To be fair, I don't think the problem is Superman not being able to deescalate the situation... It's that Danny needs an excuse to get out of this awkward scenario he's found himself in without exposing his powers... Or getting put on a suicide watch.
So now Danny is in a very awkward situation where this might be perceived by him as an awkward situation where he's trying to get out of a conversation without outing his death themed powers, and to Superman this is an emotional moment where he wants to help what he believes is a troubled youth thinking of ending it all.
Though imagine how Clark will feel if he thinks he talked Danny down (w he takes the boy near the park and leaves to go save others...
Only as he's flying off, Superman immediately notices Danny's heartbeat (it was slow and distinct, not as fast as it should but still functional) fading right behind him a bit later (as Danny finally becomes Phantom once he's alone) and believes the teen ultimately decides to take his own life regardless.
Clark began to cry for the young lad as he flew onwards regardless, believing he had failed to inspire hope in Danny and strengthened his resolve to improve past where he had failed. He couldn't save everyone, but that doesn't mean he couldn't try.
Meanwhile Danny, who has been around ghosts for too long that his perception of death has been warped, is just flying back incredibly sleepy not really sure what to make of Clark's speech (it was like 50% white noise at a certain point he's too tired to concentrate)
Maybe he goes on another nightly flight sometime later and Kal-El sees this young spirit with a face identical to the boy he couldn't save sitting on the edge of the Daily Planet watching the stars above.
there is no discourse between gen z and millenials. we are siblings. come on lil bro, ill take you to amc. yeah we can go there early and play the arcade games before the movie starts.
Why do the two reblogs read like a soldier dying in their friends arms and talking about when they’ll get back home to give them a bit of comfort before they die
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