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Why not more books and more works and more art about Miles and about Ororo and about Sam Wilson and about all of these characters who have all of these storylines and all of this work already produced about them in the world of conventional publishing? And yet so little time and attention paid to them comparatively in the world of fanfiction.
Phoebe Sinclair in “Episode 135B: Race and Fandom Revisited: Part 2.” Click through to listen or read a full transcript.
“Don’t tell me you actually thought your clothes would last two decades while you were out here hugging trees...” Phoebe laughed. There was finally a rustle in the trees to her right, and she snapped her head to peer up in the dark leafy branches, trying to make out his tall form.
“You know, for a vegetarian you’re really damn heavy...” She laughed, despite knowing he wouldn’t hear her.
"Mm, look who’s awake,” Phoebe said, shifting through the over-growth covering Reid’s sarcophagus with the delicate toe of a very expensive shoe. “When did you climb out of your tomb?” It was now that she could see the signs, the rustle of vines and the snapped twigs around the place he’d been allegedly resting for so many years.
“You say that as if I’ve ever died.” The elf’s voice rang as clear as the night sky while lacking just as much warmth. “You and I don’t have that in common” He was nowhere to be seen, though she suspected he was in the trees somewhere, acting the proper stereotype.
i made a deal and woke up sworn i have the devil in my bone oh, this love of mine my only crime
The moment Reid stood, Phoebe smirked in delight.
“At least the nature spirits are on my side tonight,” she said, her demeanor shifting from humbly pleading to delightedly devious.
“‘Eh?” Reid asked curiously, turning to peer at her. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that the rain will clean you so I don’t get a mouthful of mud, you filthy creature.” Her eyes glossed over black, like ink filling a bowl of water. “Now come here to me.”
“I was already immortal, Phoebe,” Reid croaked, his voice sounding cracked and broken.
“Maybe,” she said, tearing the thin skin of her wrist with her own teeth. “But now you’re mine. Here, take my blood.” She pressed her bleeding wrist to his mouth, and he managed a few feeble swallows before losing consciousness.
