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wistfulcynic · 4 years

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The Bend of the Arc (4/ 4)

SUMMARY: Emma Swan hates Killian Jones at first sight. He's everything she despises in a man: arrogant, provocative, and a known criminal associate of the city’s most notorious gangster. She’s determined to put him behind bars, until a shocking event forces them together and Emma discovers that there’s a lot more to Killian than meets the eye.

THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone reading this story! I’ve been blown away by your amazing and insightful comments, and so touched. You are all thoroughly brilliant and I want to hug you. Contact-free internet hugs for all!

All the love always to @thisonesatellite for her ‘splaining, even the cold kind ❤️

Rating: M (smut and language) Words: 5.8k (of 30k total) Tags: Modern AU, enemies to lovers, bounty hunter!Emma, criminal!Killian, smut, bedsharing

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | On AO3

PART FOUR:

It didn’t take long to prepare for their departure. Neither of them had come with any luggage; Killian simply packed his tuxedo and her dress and shoes into a large plastic bag and tossed it into the back of the Jeep. They had a quick breakfast and cleaned up the kitchen, quickly tidied the rest of the cottage and then were ready to go.

Emma took a last look around as Killian reset the security system, trying to fix the little space in her memory. A heavy ache of sadness sat in her chest knowing that she would never see this place again, and Killian… she had no idea what might happen between them when they got back. What she even wanted to happen.

The drive down to the lake was a silent one. Emma noticed that the path they took down the mountain was straighter than the one that had brought them up it, keeping mostly parallel to the meandering line described by the creek he’d shown her, the one she was to follow if she ever needed to find the lake again.

The motorboat was precisely where they’d left it. Killian turned off the Jeep and tucked the keys beneath the visor, then fetched the jackets and life vests from the back as Emma grabbed the plastic bag with their clothes. She tossed it into the boat before putting on her jacket and vest and stepping aboard, with no need for Killian’s hand this time. Moments later they were underway, rounding the curve of the lake and heading back to the river that would lead them to the larger lake and the boat that had carried them to it, the one Killian claimed belonged to one of his employees.

It too was right where they’d left it. Emma frowned as she removed her vest and jacket, handing them to Killian who boarded the larger boat with them tucked beneath his arm and stowed them in a compartment beneath the seating on the deck.

“Don’t you worry, leaving things like this?” she asked. “A yacht, just sitting there, and the keys left inside the Jeep?”

“Hardly anyone lives out here,” he replied, turning another key to start the boat’s engine. “And those who do keep to themselves. It’s why I chose this place.”

Emma stayed on the deck of the boat as it purred down the skinny lake—which she soon realised was not a lake at all but a long and winding inlet that opened out into the sea. Land masses crowded the horizon, some clearly islands and others possibly part of the mainland split up by more inlets. Killian steered them gradually to their left, maintaining a more or less straight course in that direction until slowly the islands became less plentiful and a city began to resolve in a blue-grey haze before them.

“You’d better get below,” Killian told her. “And stay quiet.”

“What? Why?”

“Remember that passport you don’t have?”

“Oh.”

She went below and curled up again in the bunk where she’d slept the night of their escape, but no sleep claimed her this time. Voices filtered down from above, muffled but recognisable as Killian’s and another that sounded like a woman. Their conversation was short and soon the boat was moving again. Emma waited another twenty minutes before venturing back onto the deck.

“Aye, love, it’s clear,” Killian said with a smile when she poked her head through the small door. “We’re back in American waters.”

“So,” she said, resuming her position on one of the padded benches, “you basically smuggled me into Canada,”

“Basically.”

He seemed disinclined to elaborate, tension creeping visibly into his posture as they drew nearer to the city. Soon Emma began to recognise the skyline and about twenty minutes later they arrived back at the marina.

Killian brought the boat into the mooring they’d taken it from and tossed the lines to a short, round man with a dark beard and an anxious disposition who appeared to be waiting for them.

“Everything all right, Mr Jones?” he asked.

“No problems, Smee,” Killian replied. “Thank you for the loan of her.”

“Anytime, sir.”

The man nodded to Emma as she debarked and gave her a nervous smile. She smiled back, as warmly as she could manage, then followed Killian across the lot to where his car was parked—another thing just as they’d left it, but with one addition. Graham was leaning against the hood with his arms crossed and his badge prominent, watching them approach with a hard expression.

He and Killian shook hands, the kind of handshake men exchange when they’d prefer to exchange fists to the face, and then Graham turned to Emma. His eyes raked over her, taking in every detail, leaving her with the uncomfortable sensation that he could see everything she’d done over the past few days—that she had slept with Killian and how her feelings towards him had changed. It made her angry; it wasn’t Graham’s business who she fucked or how she felt about them, and she returned his appraisal with a cool stare.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Never better.”

Graham shot Killian another dark look. “Come with me,” he said. “I’ve got a cruiser waiting to take us to the station.”

“I’d prefer to drive myself, mate, if that’s all right,” Killian replied.

“If you must,” said Graham. “But Emma comes with me.”

“I’m going with Killian,” said Emma firmly. “And I’m stopping by my place first, to get a change of clothes.

Graham’s eyes flitted from her to Killian and back again, his jaw clenching, and she wondered if he would pull rank. Finally he gave a short nod. “Fine. Be at the station in an hour.”

He turned on his heel and headed for his cruiser, squealing out of the parking lot a minute later in a way that felt deliberate. Killian didn’t look at her as he got into his car and so she simply got in herself, hugging the plastic bag with their clothes tightly to her chest.

Killian knew where she lived. Of course he did, thought Emma, just as she knew where he lived. He went straight to her apartment, parking in her usual space and wordlessly following her inside, where she retrieved her dress and shoes from the plastic bag and held it out to him.

“Sit wherever,” she said. “I’ll just change quickly and be right back.”

He nodded, taking the bag, and she retreated to her bedroom where she shed his clothes and replaced them with her own. As glad as she was to put on actual underwear and clothes that fit—and she was very, very glad for it—the ache in her chest throbbed again as she folded Killian’s jeans and t-shirt and rolled up his socks. She ran a brush through her hair and pulled it into a ponytail, and when she opened her closet to fetch her jacket she froze.

Killian’s jacket was there beside it, the one he’d put around her shoulders the first night they met. The one she’d intentionally kept to fuel her anger and keep her determination to see justice done to him fresh and hot, and now—

Now it made her want to cry.

Slowly she removed it from the hanger and held it to her cheek. It smelled like him, that warm, spicy scent that was so familiar now. Emma buried her face in it, breathing deeply and fighting back her tears. Then she placed it gently atop the pile of his clothes and put on her red leather.

When she returned to her living room Killian was still standing where she’d left him, staring out the window with an expression she couldn’t read. He smiled when he saw her, a smile that started bright and quickly dimmed, one that seemed involuntary.

“Well,” he said, waving his hand at her outfit. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Much,” she replied, smiling back. “Um, here’s your clothes.”

“Thanks.” He put them in the bag with his tuxedo.

“And, uh, I should probably give this back too.” She held out his jacket.

“Ah.” Killian stared at it, emotion flaring in his eyes but quickly quenched. “Er, yes, thanks.” He took the jacket, not looking at her.

“Killian—”

“We should probably get going. I wouldn’t want to face Graham’s wrath if we’re late.”

“Yeah. But can we, um… can we just...”

“What?”

Talk, she wanted to say. Fix this, whatever this was that had been so fragile last night and felt shattered now. But she knew there wasn’t time and Killian’s face was shuttered again, carefully concealing all traces of the man she already missed.

She put her hand on his arm and he caught his breath. “Emma,” he whispered, “I—”

She stepped closer and he swayed towards her, reaching up to stroke her cheek with trembling fingers that curled around the back of her head as she tilted it up.

“I—” he tried again, then his lips were on hers, his arms closing tight around her. Emma whimpered and stood on her toes, pressing as close to him as she could get, her own arms twined around his neck and clinging like she never wanted to let go.

She didn’t, but she couldn’t hold on to him, not when he was still keeping things from her. Not when she could never trust him. Emma had been down that road before and she knew where it led—jail time and a broken heart, and a son she would never know.

Killian kissed her with a desperation that echoed in her soul, fingers tangled in her hair and clutching at her waist, mouth hot and demanding and achingly gentle, sweet and bitter, an elegy, an apology and a goodbye.

As their lips parted he let his forehead rest on hers, his eyes closed. “We should go,” he said.

Emma squeezed her own eyes shut, breathing him in. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”

Graham was waiting for them at the station along with what seemed like half his precinct, sweeping Emma away while Killian was corralled by the others and leading her to an interview room like she wasn’t there all the time and didn’t know the way as well as he did.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asked her. “Coffee, or—”

“I know what the coffee’s like in this place so I’ll pass, thanks.”

Graham’s lip twitched. “Fair.”

A knock sounded at the door and he opened it to admit his partner, a dark-haired man with a perpetually smug expression. “Emma, you remember August Booth?” he asked, cringing slightly when Emma and August turned to him with identical exasperated eye rolls.

“Of course I remember August, he still owes me fifty bucks from the last poker night,” said Emma. “I know this case is a big deal, but can you please remember I’m your friend and not some stranger who needs to be handled with kid gloves?”

“My friend,” Graham repeated. “Right.”

August sat across from her and laid a clipboard and a small tape recorder on the table. “Emma, I need you to make an official statement of what you witnessed at Robert Gold’s mansion, do you consent?” he asked.

Emma nodded.

“And you consent to have your statement recorded?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Sign here.”

She did, but before August could turn the recorder on, Graham spoke from the doorway. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Emma? You’ve had a stressful past few days, we can do it tomorrow—”

“No,” said Emma firmly, wishing Killian were here and also wishing she didn’t wish it. “I want this over with and I want Gold to go down.” She nodded to August. “Let’s get started.”

It took more than an hour, with Emma telling and retelling her story and August asking questions, pressing her for more details, for everything she could remember. When it was over she was exhausted and emotionally raw, with a pounding head and a fierce desire for a hot bath and a soft bed, and Killian. Maybe he would agree to stay with her tonight, she thought, rubbing her temples. Just for tonight. Just one more night.

She returned to the bullpen to find Graham waiting for her.

“Everything go okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think so. You’ll have to ask August for the details because my brain is mush, but… yeah.”

Graham gave her a sort of half-hug, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck to massage it. “You did well.”

“I’m just glad it’s done.”

“Gold’s been remanded without bail,” he informed her. “You should be safe enough to go home, though I’m placing a couple uniforms outside your door just in case. Is your car here?”

“No.”

“I’ll get them to drive you then, too.”

Emma shook her head and pulled away. “That’s okay, Killian can—”

“Killian’s gone,” Graham snapped, his face going dark.

“What?” Her heart twisted, bent and folded itself into a tight knot of agony.

“He left half an hour ago. Said to tell you goodbye, and he’s sorry.” Graham’s eyes flashed. “What does he have to be sorry for, Emma?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

He snorted.

“Nothing like what you’re thinking,” she snapped. Anger surged within her, hot and cleansing, burning away the pain.

“So you didn’t—” He made a vague gesture with his hand, scowl deepening, and oh, Emma relished this anger.

“Didn’t what?” she asked with a tight, mocking smile. “Fuck him?” Graham winced, and her smile became a sneer. “Oh yeah, I definitely did that. And you know what? I’d do it again.”

He clenched his fists, nostrils flaring. “So much for your high-and-mighty ideals about trusting criminals,” he spat.

“I never said I trusted him.” Emma intended the words to sting but her voice rose on a wobble and she spun away, pushing and elbowing her way through the crowded bullpen towards the exit before Graham could see her tears.

She was nearly there when his hand closed around her elbow. “Emma,” he said, softly and without rancour. “I’ll drive you home.”

Graham pulled up in front of Emma’s apartment and turned off the engine. They sat in silence for a moment, she desperately clinging to the remnants of her anger and he staring at his hands.

“Emma—” he began.

“Why do you hate Killian?” The last of the anger slipped away as she spoke his name, leaving the hurt stronger in its absence, leaving her wanting only to curl into a ball and weep forever.

Graham sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t hate him. Once I loved him like a brother.” He paused, his throat working. “Part of me still does.”

“But then why—”

“Because I don’t want to see you become just another woman he hurts!” Graham cried, twisting in his seat to face her. “Did he tell you about the others?”

“He told me he’d hurt people—”

“Did he tell you he had an affair with Gold’s first wife?”

“No, but—”

“Gold found out and she turned up dead. Stab wound to the heart.”

Emma’s own heart twisted even tighter. “That’s on Gold, not Killian,” she whispered.

"Maybe. But when Gold’s current wife got shot, that was Killian.”

“He shot her?” Emma exclaimed. “I thought she was—”

“She survived,” Graham said harshly. “But Killian and Gold have a lot of ugly history and he had no right to bring you into that! I should never have allowed it.”

“Graham—”

“And then the way you were looking at him earlier—he’s not worth it, Emma! Whatever you think you feel for him, he’s not worth it.” Graham swallowed hard and turned back to face the steering wheel. “I’m not saying this out of jealousy.” His voice was low and rough. “I know that’s what you’re thinking, and I won’t deny that I wish there could be something between us. But I'd be happy just to see you happy, and Killian—all he’ll do is hurt you.”

“He won’t,” she replied. Not intentionally, anyway. “He wouldn’t.”

Graham slammed his fists on the steering wheel. “For fuck’s sake!” he cried. “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”

“Every one.” Emma was surprised by how calm she felt, though the ache grew with every beat of her heart and tears hovered at the back of her throat. “I know how hard it was for Killian to lose your friendship, but it must have been even harder for you. Seeing what he became, knowing there was nothing you could do to stop it.”

“I—” He nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. It was.”

“He hasn’t changed as much as you think. He’s still a good man at his core, despite everything."

“Emma—”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to—” her voice broke “—to see him again. I know I can’t trust him.” She put her hand on Graham’s and squeezed gently, leaning forward to catch his eye. “But there is one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty, and that is that Killian Jones would never, ever hurt me.”

Graham stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “I hope you’re right,” he muttered.

Gold pled guilty to Felix’s murder, along with a dozen other charges of money laundering, fraud, and larceny. His plea came as a surprise to the district attorney, who had offered him no deal. The case against him was solid and she was hoping to make a landmark of it, expecting Gold to use all the resources at his disposal to fight the charges.

“So why didn’t he?” Emma asked Graham.

“Once his wife found out what he’d been doing, she threatened to leave him if he didn’t confess everything and accept the consequences, no strings attached,” he replied.

“Wow.” Emma gave a low whistle. “I think I like this woman.”

When Gold was sentenced to life imprisonment with no possibility of parole—the district attorney could smell blood in the water and pushed for the maximum sentence—Emma was in the courtroom to witness it. She had testified before the grand jury, coolly recounting what she had witnessed in the gallery with her eyes on Gold the whole time, unflinching even under his icy, furious glare. She thought about Killian and how his staunch support had helped her through the worst of her trauma, had brought her to this place where she could stand strong, look evil in the eye and see justice done.

You’re a tough lass, he’d said, and she was determined to live up to that.

As the judge’s gavel fell, Emma was filled with a deep, primal satisfaction, and when Gold turned as he was being led away and his eyes found hers in the crowd, she couldn’t resist a smirk. This time at least there would be no escape from that justice. Not for Robert Gold.

Killian wasn’t at the grand jury or the sentencing. She hadn’t really expected him to be, of course, but still she’d hoped… she’d hoped.

Days passed and then weeks, weeks Emma thought would dull the ache in her chest and soothe away the itch beneath her skin, the one that urged her just to call him. But the time only weighed more heavily the longer it stretched, and with each day that went by the itch to call him grew both stronger and easier to resist. She knew his number, of course, and of course he must know she did. If he wanted to hear from her he would have said so. He would have left a message with Graham, or called her his damn self. She knew that he must have her number too.

She went back to work, back to chasing criminals and deadbeats. The old thrill she felt at catching them was undiminished, but every time one spat at her or called her a cunt she couldn’t help remembering Killian when he’d been in their shoes, the challenge of sparring with him and how exhilarating it was, even when she’d hated him.

Killian was rarely far from her thoughts. She thought of him when she was bored on stakeouts and found herself wishing for a book, when she ate a piece of the fruit she now found herself buying and when she put cinnamon creamer in her coffee. She thought of him when she slipped her fingers between her legs at night and when she cried herself to sleep afterwards.

She thought of Killian every time she didn’t ask Graham if he’d heard from him, every time she resisted the urge to drive past his house and every time she bought a new romance novel, because damn it she was hooked on them now and she wasn’t giving them up just because every one reminded her of how damned much she missed Killian Jones.

Feel what you’re feeling, Killian had said to her. It’s the only way to heal.

Emma had a lot of un-felt feelings—more than a decade of them, from as far back as the day she’d refused to hold her baby though his newborn wails tore at her heart. She’d refused to feel the loss of her son or of his father, refused to mourn Neal or acknowledge the traces of love she still had for him. Refused to let anyone else get close enough to make her feel—until Killian smashed through the walls she’d built around her heart without even trying, catching her off guard with kindness and bone-deep decency from the last person on Earth she’d expected to show either.

It made her wonder if she might have misjudged other people in her life and if maybe, possibly, letting some of those people in might not be so bad. As much as missing Killian hurt—and it hurt, with an agony that sank its claws into the very deepest depths of her—she couldn’t regret the time she’d spent with him. And maybe, she thought, possibly, that was what he’d meant by healing. Feeling her feelings didn’t lessen the pain of them, but it gave her the tools she needed to manage it.

She felt guilty for giving up her baby. She felt stupid for letting Neal manipulate her but still sorry he’d died in the jail cell she’d put him in, sorry she’d never told him about their son. She felt angry at her own parents for abandoning her, and not even properly—not given her up for adoption just tossed her on the side of the road like a piece of trash. She felt weak for how hurt that made her feel and how worthless, and she felt angry at the system that allowed her to fall through the cracks of it, angry at a society that forced her to become hard just to hold on to herself.

She felt. And then she began to heal.

A month after the sentencing an envelope arrived in Emma’s mailbox. A plain manila one without much in the way of identifying markings but thick and heavy. She tossed it onto her kitchen table with the rest of the bills and junk and then promptly forgot about it, her mind all on the deadbeat father she was hunting—the one who owed over $80,000 in alimony and child support to his two ex-wives and the five kids they had between them—and there were few people Emma relished nailing more than a shitty-ass parent.

When she got home that night it was late and she was tired, looking forward to some Chinese takeout or maybe just instant ramen and her bed. She tossed her keys at the table where they missed the little bowl she kept there to hold them, landing instead on the envelope. Emma frowned at it as she retrieved them, and after depositing them firmly in the bowl picked up the envelope and examined it. The postmark was local but there was no return address, no company name or any other information about the sender.

Graham would tell her not to touch it. But even if there were any associates of Gold’s still lurking out there seeking revenge on her, Emma figured they’d just shoot her and not send mysterious envelopes through the mail. She sat down at the table and ripped it open, and instantly she was wide awake.

Within the envelope were records, financial ones, page upon page of them. Business records, bank accounts, tax documents. All in the name of Killian Jones, and each one helpfully annotated with notes and arrows and little diagrams, so that even her inexpert eye could recognise the picture that they painted.

Emma stared at them in shock. This was everything she had spent months looking for, the hidden money that lay behind his legitimate businesses. Offshore accounts, shell corporations, all so skilfully concealed that she could never have hoped to uncover them. This was what he had refused to tell her about at the cabin.

The papers wrinkled beneath the pressure of her fingers as she realised what this meant. Killian had given her every scrap of evidence the police would need to pursue charges against him. She could take it to them now and he would be arrested, and she knew that if she chose to do that he would go quietly, with no complaints and no resentment against her. He wouldn’t try to run or use clever lawyers and legal tricks to escape the consequences. She could send him to jail, where they both knew he belonged.

Or she could… not.

Something at the bottom of the stack of papers caught her eye—another, slightly smaller envelope. Emma opened it somewhat warily and stared again, this time in astonishment. Inside were more documents but these ones contained no evidence of crime; very much the opposite, in fact. One of them gave details of a foundation that had been set up to provide free shelter, counselling, and legal services to help teenagers escape abusive homes, while another described a college scholarship fund for kids in the foster system. This included money for tutoring, application advice, and SAT/ACT prep courses that would put the foster kids on a more equal footing with wealthier ones whose parents could afford such things.

There were others too, women’s shelters and free clinics, and Emma wondered how the hell Killian had managed to pay for all of this. He was rich, sure, but most of his assets were tied up in his businesses; this level of investment was well beyond what he could afford on what he had that was legal and liquid.

Her answer came in the last document in the pile. Short and straightforward, it outlined the liquidation of every single thing he owned that wasn’t strictly aboveboard, and how that money had been funnelled into the charities he’d set up. Millions of dollars, just given away, leaving him with a decent income from his remaining concerns but nothing at all like the wealth he’d had before. And it was done so neatly, Emma realised, all but tied up with a pretty red bow. The charities were funded with money that was sparkling clean, laundered so well it would take experts years to sort out how he’d done it. She could still turn him in using the other evidence he’d given her, without endangering any of the good things he’d done with his dirty money.

Killian had placed his fate entirely in her hands.

Emma laid the papers down on the table, let her head fall into those hands and sobbed. Her emotions, wild and confused for so long now, resolved themselves, solidified and crystallised into one shining and inescapable certainty. She was in love, for the second time in her life, and once again with a man on the wrong side of the law. It was history repeating itself, the one thing she’d sought to protect her heart against, but with two crucial differences: Killian was not Neal, and this time her eyes were wide fucking open.

“William Smee?”

The little man appeared at the railing of his boat, smiling much less nervously than at their first meeting and wearing a red knit cap that struck Emma as oddly whimsical. “Miss Swan, is it?” he called.

“Yes.”

“Come aboard.”

It hadn’t taken long to find him. The owner of the boat Killian had borrowed was indeed one of his employees—his, never Pan’s. Though it seemed that Smee had once worked for Gold, until he’d messed up a job and nearly lost his life for it, until Killian had given him a reason to take on a different kind of employment.

People who owe me considerable debts and loyalty, he’d said, and he’d said the man’s name as well, loudly and clearly enunciated and within her hearing.

Emma climbed up to the deck to find Smee waiting for her, still smiling, his expression polite and expectant.

“How can I help you ma’am?” he asked.

I’m pretty sure you know how, Emma thought, but she stated the obvious anyway. “I need you to tell me how to find the place where Killian moors his boat,” she said. “When he needs a bit of an escape.”

Smee’s smile widened. “I’ll do you one better,” he said. “I’ll take you there.”

Killian’s boat was there at the pier when they arrived, long and sleek and very unoccupied. Smee moored his own next to it, then turned to Emma with another smile and a proffered hand.

“Is there anything more I can do for you, ma’am?” he asked.

Emma took his hand and shook it firmly. “Nope, I can take it from here. But thank you.”

“My pleasure,” said Smee, and handed her a life vest. “Take this too,” he advised. “Or Mr Jones will have my head.”

Emma strapped the vest on securely before boarding the motorboat that was just where she expected to find it, though somewhat cleaner and with a newer engine than she recalled. It started up with a rumbling purr and Emma gripped the tiller carefully, steering the boat in a wide arc, less smoothly than Killian had but then she’d only done this once before—in an old boat belonging to August’s boyfriend’s cousin and for no longer than it took to master the basics.

She aimed the boat as best she could for where she thought the river was, altering her course twice before she found it then nearly running aground on its narrow banks. But she stayed afloat and soon found herself emerging into the lake, rounding its curve and heading for the pier, pulling the motorboat up with what she thought was impressive smoothness and securing it to the piling, right next to another motorboat of a similar style.

It took her a good fifteen minutes to locate the mouth of the stream, but once she had and had followed it a little ways up the mountain she spotted a Jeep parked along its banks. A newer model than Killian’s and in a different shade of green, but the keys were beneath the visor and Emma felt no trace of surprise at finding them there.

She was better at driving cars than boats and it wasn’t hard to follow the path of the stream, a path she remembered quite well from her trip down it several months before. Soon she spotted the cottage off to her right and turned away from the stream, navigating carefully through the trees and into the little clearing.

She got out of the Jeep and retrieved a large duffel bag from the back, withdrew from that the large manila envelope and a Zippo lighter and headed for the fire pit. Selecting a few from Killian’s store of seasoned logs, she arranged them in the pit as she had seen him do, tucking dry twigs in around them for kindling but adding no tinder. Instead she held the lighter to a corner of the envelope and watched it catch, watched the flames lick up and spread across it, devouring the papers inside. She held it up to the twigs until they caught fire then nestled it beneath them and the logs and watched the flames grow, leaping high in the air, the sparks rising up to meet the streaks of sunset just visible through the trees.

“I hope you meant to do that, love, because I don’t have any other copies,” said a voice behind her, and though she was expecting it, waiting for it, longing for it, she still gave a little start at the sound. “Do you?”

Emma turned, her heart in her throat, to see Killian standing just to the side of the porch, watching her with soft eyes and a heartbreaking smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she retorted.

His smile widened. “I definitely would.”

Her feet carried her towards him, around the pit and across the small distance that separated them, then launched her into his arms. “No other copies,” she said. “Though I kept the papers in the smaller envelope. All of them but one.”

He stroked her cheek, fingers tangling in her hair. “Emma, I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“For what?”

“Leaving you like that, at the station. I just—I couldn’t—”

“You had things you needed to do,” she said. “And so did I. But we’ve done them now, right?”

“Yes,” he said fiercely. “I swear to you, I—”

“I believe you,” she interrupted. “I trust you.”

He made a strangled noise, his eyes blazing with joy and awe and wonder. “You do?” he croaked.

“Yeah.” She smiled softly. “And I love you.”

“Bloody hell.” He pulled her closer, too roughly, his arms too tight around her, and buried his face in her hair. “I love you so much, Emma,” he whispered hoarsely. “But I wasn’t sure—I didn’t know—”

“Shhh,” she soothed, stroking his head until he relaxed and loosened his hold on her, pulling back to wipe his eyes.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said. “Even after… after everything, I wasn’t sure you could take the risk. It’s been—well, it’s not been an easy past few weeks. Months, really.”

“For me either,” she agreed. “But we both needed it, I think. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking actually and there’s so much I need to tell you. But first…” She draped her arms around his neck and gave him a saucy grin.

“Mmmm?” he murmured, nuzzling at her cheek. “First what?”

“First I’ve got a duffel bag full of marshmallows and chocolate and you, Killian Jones, are going to make a s’more. And eat it.”

His chuckle sounded low in her ear, the voice that followed it light and happy. “For you, my love? Anything.”

“Good,” said Emma, and kissed him.

—

@thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu @kmomof4 @mariakov81 @katie-dub@spartanguard @darkcolinodonorgasm @courtorderedcake @squidvisious @cluttermind @teamhook @lfh1226-linda @shireness-says @stahlop

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan #captain swan ff #enemies to lovers #finally at the lovers bit #okay it's still a bit angsty #not sorry about that tho #gotta earn that happy ending #the bend of the arc #profdanglaisstuff

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weaselle · 6 years

Text

PSA for white cishet men

Okay, so, especially for a lot of you young’uns who are getting the bulk of your social input from the internet (but also for anyone else) If you are white, cishet, and male it can seem... all of society is rallying against you. And I want to address that with you right now. The below post mentions some identities more than others, but is equally relevant in terms of racism, misogyny, ableism, homophobia, transphobia - all the phobias and isms. A large portion of society IS rallying against whiteness, maleness, heterosexuality, etc, ... and it is important that they are. And this does not make you a bad person for being those things. First, my credentials. I am white-passing, cishetman-passing, and have never been treated as anything else in my life. I am also 1/4 Japanese and some kind of nonbinary that, if I could go back 25 or 35 years and help young me understand more, would likely be a trans woman and a lesbian today. And even though I am not 100% white, 100% male, or 100% cishet, I have moved through society as if I am all of these things, even spending decades trying my best to identify as these things. And, importantly, I have experienced a full measure of all the privileges, advantages, social indoctrination and special treatment that come with those things. I want to reach out to those white cishet men who are pushing back against what they feel is unfair assignment of negativity to parts of their being and identity they have no control over. Especially when I was young, I have felt that terrible self hatred and helpless desperation that can happen when you are a decent person trying to interface with yourself about what it means to be white, straight, cis, male, etc in this society today. Unfair assignment of negativity to parts of people’s being and identity that they have no control over is exactly the issue, and if you feel it is being applied to you, the first thing you have to understand is that this is a natural, normal, and necessary part of correcting a millennia-long imbalance. Unfair assignment of negativity to parts of people’s being and identity that they have no control over has been happening to everyone without our white male cishet attributes for hundreds of years, with much more visceral consequences for them than us. You may feel that white people are cast in a bad light right now, but there were literal lynchings of black people only 10 years before I was born, and black people still die unfairly at the hands of white people only because of the color of their skin. You may feel that cishets are cast in a bad light right now, but a few years ago in my city a young person publicly perceived as male was set on fire on a bus for wearing a skirt. You may feel that men are cast in a bad light simply for being men but U.S. rape rates of women are astoundingly high... as well as things like, my mother was not allowed to get a credit card from a bank without permission simply because she was a woman. Let me be clear. As an adult woman, THE BANK required her to have written permission from her father or husband to apply for a credit card. Men have had and still have unfair access to real social power and advantage. White people have had and still have unfair access to real social power and advantage, cis-hets have had and still have... etc. This “cast in a bad light” thing, the assignment of negativity to whiteness, maleness, heterosexuality, and other identity markers you have no control over? The more sensitive you are about it, the more likely it is that you haven’t experienced the kind of visceral consequences for that negative value that others have. It can be easy to be sensitive about it, but this “cast in a bad light” thing isn’t preventing straight white men from being paid more, being promoted to CEO more, etc etc. And while YOU may feel that men are currently cast in a bad light, that’s not as true in society at large as may seem if you are white and male and NOT a CEO, and face plenty of adversity in your life. So yes. “whiteness” and “manhood” and “heterosexuality” are all concepts that are being assigned negative value right now. What you are feeling is society PUSHING those concepts out of their centralized place to make room for everybody else. When, due only to who you have been born as, you feel that push, it is not the fault of the people doing the pushing, it is the fault of our ancestors that made such pushing necessary. And it is necessary. Your feelings of self worth may well just be a casualty in society’s fight for this change. But they don’t have to be. We don’t have to feel bad, or attacked - sometimes it’s just hard not to. But nobody is specifically setting out to make us personally feel bad; that’s our own issue to deal with. What is happening in American Society (and Modern Western Culture in general) regarding these attributes, is much larger than our personal experience or lifetime. And it is far from over. YOU may feel that you have arrived on the shores of equality for all, but this society has not, and that push NEEDS to continue happening. So, while not everybody is going to be able to parse this in such terms for you, let me re-assure you. We are not trying to tell you whiteness itself is bad. It’s okay to be white. But nobody is going to feel like they have to tell you that it’s okay to be white, because politicians and banks and police in our society already reenforce that it’s okay to be white, in ways that matter more than somebody’s feelings. Similarly, most people are not trying to tell you maleness or heterosexuality is something you need to be ashamed of, but they won’t feel like they have to reassure you of that for the same kind of reasons. And some people WILL tell you that you should be ashamed of those things, and that is because THEY have been made to feel ashamed of THEIR sexuality, gender, or race. Understand that and move on from it. What is being fought against is not your literal skin color or sexual orientation or gender, what is being fought against is the concepts of the “white” “cis/het” and “male” values of these attributes as they currently function in this society. Almost everyone understands that many white/cis/het/men are good people trying their best. And, this is very important, you can be both. You can be both a good person who is worthy of love and admiration and who tries their best and who would never knowingly be a bigot, AND participate in bigoted ideology. In fact we all do. Let me give you an example of how I have been both. Now, I have made it my life’s work to be as good and humane a person as I can be, and I would never KNOWINGLY do racist things. When I was young, in my twenties, I would have told you unequivocally that I was not racist. I would have been wrong. Just one way I was wrong is something I didn’t learn until I was in my young 30′s, and it was startling. See, sometimes in this life, when scared, or in an intense situation, or even as a joke, we act “tough”. And, I forget what it was that prompted me to examine this, but, I discovered that on those occasions, when I was acting “tough”... what I was really acting was “black”. My hand movements, my body language, my vocabulary and pronunciation... when I felt like presenting myself as tough, these all became rough copies of stereotypical black culture. My hands would move like I was in a rap video, my head movements the same, my pronunciation of words like “motherfucker” changed, my use of black vernacular increased. And I was totally unaware that this is what I was doing when I was trying to act tough. When I sat down to unpack that, I realized that I wasn’t acting like black people I knew (which were too few, having grown up in a little white-bread California town) I was acting like black people from movies and TV. The only conclusion I could reach was that through this media, society had taught me that black people are dangerous, so when I wanted to be scary and tough, that’s what I acted like. But before I made myself look into this, I NEVER would have realized that on some level I thought black people were scary, and I had NO IDEA I was doing this clearly racist thing. The fact that I WAS doing it didn’t make me a bad person... just ignorant of my own racism. Especially if you are young, in your teens and twenties, and white, watch the white people around you when they act “tough”. It won’t be every one of them or all the time, but it will be a lot. When you’re looking for it, it’s really obvious. These days, I know my own toughness, and I never have to do any acting about it. These days I know that tough looks like being in a U.S. Air Force interrogation room in Germany and being clearly scared as shit but still repeatedly saying “I would like to continue to be cooperative, but if the questions are about my friends on base, I will not speak without a lawyer”. These days, all my toughness comes from inside. But, I know there are other things I do that I am not yet aware of that are just as racist. And homophobic. And misogynistic. And ableist. And just, informed and nurtured by my bigoted society in general. When you hear “all white people are racist” it does NOT mean the people saying it think you specifically are going around doing evil racist things on purpose. It means that when a white guy is in charge of hiring, he will pass over applications of qualified people if they have black-sounding names. They did a study to prove this. They passed out hundreds of resumés with identical qualifications but 1/2 with white-sounding and 1/2 with black-sounding names at the top. So, same resumé, one says “Cindy” one says “Lakisha”. White names got way more call backs. And most of the people sorting the resumés aren’t doing that on purpose, they’re not some comic book villain chortling “not this black-ass motherfucker” and tossing resumés in the garbage, they are normal white people who don’t think of themselves as racist and don’t realize what they are doing because they don’t understand the way they have been conditioned by our society to make subconscious associations about black names and black people. SUBCONSCIOUS. That’s the crux. Because we KNOW you’re probably a good person doing your best. But how can you possibly answer the question “tell me the things you do that you don’t know you do”? That’s why it’s so important that you don’t take this all personally, but allow other people to give you insight into the ways you have been indoctrinated into participating in a bigoted society. But when you push back against that then we DON’T know you are a good person doing your best, we have to guess if you are or not. Because some people who push back against that are people who just haven’t matured into the concept yet.... and others are dedicated, purposeful bigots. In my next post about this, I will use a parable to help you get over your white guilt and associated internalized issues.

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the-firebird69 · 3 years

Text

I put another apb on these pull them out. Huge epiteths here by these imbeciles.

Your freaking stupidvprestin. Dumb. Hateful mean idiot and a massive priss. Who are you to say a word to us ok you ain't both what. It takes. And are laughable. Piece of shit. Your an adolescent as well. I'm sick and tired of you two big buffoons telling me stupid things trying to harm me. My rep his and hers and my wife your fat obnoxious lost tons of stuff now belly ache . PS where are your saucers at nobody hears about them at all anymore. Why. Are here terrorizing everybody. Fly here to the Atlantic to Australia every day and back. Why is that. Have been doing it for years. Now you don't seem worried about a thing. Nope. Ohhh Antarctica we kick you out still not worried hmm Wierd. Then we raid here nope you don't care. We checked yiur not concerned. No you are only partly. You need your mega computers though they are onboard the saucers. Saw them working on him day in day out last year. We see how they fight too. Slow to arm nope fast. Speed kills. Huge AI ships overhead tonight driving groups of robotic humans around. Found out now by Macs and others due to your enormous attitude.

And we regret yiur giant bothering him nearby spent the night in jail. Fell over backwards when he heard you were looking for him Joe. My name in vane. Laughed in yeh you. Yiur horrid to each other too. They ate him up no but will once they figure it all out and are very uppity it's time they say. Go admirer him now non stop are without humility laugh at his threats until they die and walk out zombified are horrified at our power levels. Horrified. So you see shut down the internet no. These are you but planned to. Had blinders on acted the part if the horse. We used it fully now face arrogant talkers all over huge boasts of energy from old decapitated dying shits. Like you two. Old dying at yiur own kinds hands numbering heehaawing laughing shouting....and mostly insolent. And yet you ppl look very stupid. Hecdesigns our stuff happily joyfully and with vengeance against you. Huge Huge machines are headed this way to while that smile off your face. So tired of your car as indignant act indecent smearing leering jeering ugly pusses and mean talk your inane

We hit you flatten your hot air supply factories.

Thor

What friggin umps you are you act like spoiled mean kids who heck, don't know. You don't. You are so fn full of yourselves and Macs take a few looks find it and start hacking and you are arrogant with them as they whittle you. It's ridiculous. Your mean to me I mean indicates your in trouble. And are jerks. Macs always are but heck you two Biden lots of ugly females sit pestering me non stop. I'm shocked by how lowly you people are. Dirt eating poor folk and your stuff stinks of failure. Then hugely rancid arrogance based on history not mental illness. And oddly not from ruling. From destroying enemies such as Macs using alternate means. I'm not an alternate means I'm a hazard if approached wring as you Mega idiots do each today. Now we body slam you. You will feel it. Yiur eyeballs will pop out of the sockets you fake Irish Macs and followers. What vermin you think my usefulness over need laser designs and so put the pressure up not down. How droll. I mean I'm going I got napalm to wiz on you only you like it....AS YOU HAVE NO FN CLUE SATANISTS STILL. NONE. NOPE. YIUR HOPELESSLY IGNORANT. leave yiur tard alone ok fn fags you see millions of non millions of them hit you a day. No brain on board. I mean I'm surprised I honestly am you fell apart so easily all turned into weaklings sure ok Mac daddy had a plan not to do what you are. Lol. All secret. You advertise it tell all. It's the two who lost it they say. It's Jesus..nope rd by Macs. Make up your mind who shall mine target as you blatantly have me srtip young power. Who are you not to know anything at all about us Mac who just had minexshout that crappy threat who

Zues Hera

Would be assailants I guess. Cantvtake it huh I can. No. This is ridiculous re arm us ok we do. Who is running this joint daffy duck. Found Tommy f snearing at me this am. He's a puke is von Hagen is savalone hrs a huge imp is ultron. So we see who you say he's puny we agree a front again for who. A machine army we agree we see it you hv been screaming about it it's on us. Wow man Biden trump your idiotic blither ridiculous gag ...and it's our plan. Had one just lk you say yes. We are to blame mk ppl us too sound ridiculous. This is it we see your point we are pushed too it's tards. They ate out of thier league admit it now he's far too huge. Saw our demise felt it says you sorry little piece of crap in sorry for you. We learned this has right has been right...he said left. Means you know. Then this sick if us dumb assholes. True too. We are up to our ears with your stuff at bus. I tell ya you have to back off

Mac

Nah. You are at one person an inventor to fulfill a lame weakling fantasy that is in no way founded in reality put savalone up to it and can't fathom your errors. Why not? You lose a kings ran some daily. Thier fiefdom too. What language do you get. Threaten my balls I rip all yours off. Ok. American Band is my race Olympus my home. Your nuts to force us at you nuts. Losers really. You hound me day and night to have me prove you wring. Sounds like suicide.

Zues Hera

Maybe we are else where

Mac2

Some are hudimi some are. You survived won and all the proceeds go to you and today's wedding gifts and all the bride's today. What us this cream dreams are ok to sell to yourself in worse than Stalin seen it of being

To s.

Zues Hera

We don't know What To do a you

Mac2

Prod me like you are little bitch I pull out your teeth give you personal attention as your shallow fatso self needs. Dad had the same clueless yap too said in nothing. I said don't raise your mouth to me. It will come off. Hecdidnt for some time. Then exploded. Yelled yiur nothing like a peevish brat as you ppl do. I said fine I leave you go on your way had said don't come back. I said no I won't. He crawled out messed with me. I said you and your kind are nuts. He smiled and said we have a pointless existence. True but I have a point these piss me off now on purpose non stop. If no clue. You were too. I'm by far not a nobody. Hec says Emperor ok then who am I. We're king not due to Macs. Hec says God we go Emperor. Youvdont know a thing. He smiles let's say I see your work. And left. For good too.

Died a lot harrassing him. You all saw it said why is he doing that. He was doing it as he is one of you is a grouchy couldn't stand my attitude just like you imbeciles. So Mac crap you pushed him to it as you faggots and you pay. And his dad said get them. He is they die now in huge huge numbers tons of Macs. Finally the others rise. Learned it from arnie. He says this is what I taught him to get beaten by a smart group. Left. He says Cali and Florida legs of Macs plan unrecognized immediately as such counter measures deployed systems building revolt growing derision real. And Macs are oblivious. And as for timing it's Gregorian and east to read bible code. By the way Macs the rapture is now. You disappear.

Hec says this I don't care anymore haven't seen it. Don't care

Left harrassed as you do. Continuously. Then that's the plan. I'm astounded as to how lame you are vs Kaiju. Astounded. No gear is gmfine. No weaponsvtgat work. No Thorium at all doesn't matter and no crime and punishmentvthats not a circus act so nobody obeys not fng other aholes.

It's absurd. The dance is very odd doesn't reflect your fight or struggle. We see what yiur going for and why do understand it and heard Tommy say it. And him before it well before. So. Fire up Hoth a ship. Ok. Now we see. The first iron dome tapped in 1997 empty 2009 no nope. More like 2009 to now. Most died. We do see the top has stuff we clear now. All. And see you got it some from Hoth. So. What.

Scream yell salute declare victory blab. Kaiju run it and robots and could be you. You won't know. Don't.

Aim up or down. Ok. We use professional soldiering methods.

We know your argument it is too weak for you to present every 5 seconds. Too weak. Some group if yours thinks they run all the robots are very hostile towards us very rude unstoppable were arrested tonight won't stop blabbing about him. They are big not that big ate very disturbing ppl Dave fills him a hope then nothing. Is vengeful as Macs want Macs small don't care. And you are winning. A few planetoid and planets innaccessable not yours. And you hv no clue like your FAT ASSED YOUNG SATANIST BLACK FEMALES IN THE HOOD.

Used to comecstreamingbin epiteths in hand stopped when they heard you Macs. Mostborhers stopped. Not cork nope. Slows speeds laughs at ppl who think He will stop. But that's what you sound like. Fatass bigger bitches. Look like it too. Corky too.

Zues Hera

Thor Freya

This is odd I'm asked whybwecsaybit sounds enclose started in the low desert. Huge epiteths By them. Nothing then again. We got it out Garth says it's so odd it's not blacks it's the orc. Loud silent loud. In and out. But not huge theft only what then we see what they take odd machines used to kill with. Repeat the mistake you s made try for us non stop are orc or mixed or mixed orc. Tons no but yeh the veep is one. Is a horrendous idiot streams stuff to him. But. Per Macs is unstoppable. Wears reinforced shoes due to her physique is solid. But Macs blither non stop.

So back to Macs we understand your condition we use it your too weak to even see it. We know about it ok. Kidnap scenarios etc. We are much faster now ok.

Thor

Fine we get it can't stop the lot

Mac

Don't. It's a method just hard for me it's inventor ok putz

Get ready to lose stuff and sanity Pinhead is in casa Blanca see. White House

Zues Hera

I can't follow this what white house. There at the club med dildo baggens

Zues Hera

No no you don't McCall me that or say it or say I'm going there

Mac2

Ok I don't. You go there though asswhipe

Zues Hera

Let's be kids you say see what happens. Pinhead happens you threaten him he takes high there you pay or die.

Or Stay in pieces feet from help

Thor Freya ties them up as yiuvtaught ok. Had the three

Fu Cramer your out

Tommyvf

Your in my friend for a night of masochism as you say. Hey you only live once right ibtakevthe deed now from Tommy a

Zues Hera

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cbilluminati · 7 years

Text

There have been reports that Marvel Comics will be going under a reset of sorts in order to directly compete with DC Comics and their popular REBIRTH line. This is a good idea! Not only has Marvel’s sale dipped according to the only numbers we’re allowed to see, but DC has overtaken their rivals for months now in sales, market, and quality. Marvel’s overall quality has suffered since the end of Secret Wars, and there are many reasons for it. One of the biggest reasons, however, is the fact that many of their standard, most popular characters are currently unrecognizable to one extent or another.

While Marvel has put crazy spins on their A-List characters in the past, outside of line-wide events I’m not sure we’ve ever seen so many widely famous and popular characters so wildly different from their traditional personas at the same time, and it’s become part of a larger issue for the publisher. This alienates current fans and new readers alike, and these are just the top of list of culprits over at the House of Ideas. So, without further ado, that’s not Wolverine, he’s not really Spidey anymore, and that definitely ain’t Cap, with Outright Geekery’s Top o’ the Lot: 6 Famous Marvel Characters Non-Readers Wouldn’t Recognize.

Honorable Mention: Spider-Man

This article isn’t meant to be a bash or even a critique on Marvel’s line overall. The facts are just that. Marvel’s sales are down, the negative critical reception is up, and changes should be made. But Spider-Man is still Spider-Man…kind of.

Peter Parker is still wearing the suit, swinging around, doing his superhero thing, but he’s also a CEO in control of a billion dollar company, and it’s weird. Gone is the photographer barely getting by with his day job while striving to do well in his night job. He’s not that Peter anymore, and although there’s an interesting story going on, it’s a book that certainly needs more of a traditional tone after Slott’s very long run as writer. Miles Morales is turning out to be a shining star as he continues to settle into the Marvel Universe proper, but having Peter back to where Peter belongs is long overdue.

#gallery-0-7 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-7 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 50%; } #gallery-0-7 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-7 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

6. Iron Man

Because of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, everyone knows who Iron Man is. It’s Tony Stark, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, genius. But those people would be wrong, as Tony has been replaced by Riri Williams, a super-smart firecracker of a character with a lot of appeal. Marvel killed off Tony at the end of their last event, and have replaced the well-known hero with a black girl who has plenty to prove.

Riri as Iron Man has actually been pretty fun, and her A.I. counterpart is the digitized form of Tony Stark himself, but she’s still not the Iron Man most people know. And this is a problem. No, it’s not a problem because Riri is black or a girl, it’s a problem because Iron Man is very well-known as a (wait for it) man. New readers looking to get into a character they learned to love from the movies will have no idea whatsoever who Riri even is. This makes for a huge obstacle for gaining new readers, and the sales numbers support the fact that this partuicular character change simply isn’t working to attract new readers.

5. Captain America

Every aspect of this entry has made big news and caused major uproar, but it’s all unfounded nonsense. Sam Wilson makes a terrific Captain America and Steve Roger’s current predicament as brain-washed member of Hydra is certainly temporary, but it’s not nearly as temporary enough.

There’s a specific problem with this entry that makes it unlike the others. Like the other entries on this list, Steve Rogers was in fact replaced by another character, but that really wasn’t a big deal. Captain America becoming a vile, evil, villainous member of the same organization readers have watched him fight against for decades is very much a problem. How does a comic book fan explain a Captain America who’s now a member of – for all intents and purposes – the Nazis? The more important question, however, is how do you get a non-comic book reader who only know Cap via the movies and his 70 years of backstory to pick up a book like that? Answer: You don’t.

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4. Thor

Thor is a tough addition to this list, but hear me out. The story of Odinson losing his Worthiness via a Nick Fury whisper leaving him hammer-less was a terrific story. His long time co-star Jane Foster picking up Mjolnir and donning the armor, helmet, and name of the God(ess) Of Thunder has always been a spectacular tale penned by superstar writer Jason Aaron. It also makes it difficult for new readers wanting to read Thor to pick up the series and have any clue at all what’s going on, but there’s also the problem that the other Thor never really left.

The original Thor never really left the Thor title. While the new, Jane Foster Thor is indeed the star of the series, Aaron never truly let go of Odinson. He appeared sporadically throughout the series, was mentioned repeatedly in terms of calling out the supposed usurper Foster, and eventually got his very own mini-series (also penned by Aaron) as he searches for his lost Worthiness all alone. The new Thor has been amazing, but unrecognizable to new readers, while the old Thor hung around just enough to keep current readers hoping that the other Thor would be back eventually. And, oh look! There he is. Marvel, of course, wanted to have its cake and eat it too by changing Thor (arguably for the better) but also kept the other Thor around in what felt like an odd insurance policy against a poor reception. The worst part? Old Thor is getting a new hammer, making him a new Thor, which not only puts Jane Foster back in the shadow of the original, but changes the original to the point where new reader aren’t really going to know who he is either.

3. Hulk

Bruce Banner is arguably the character who saw the most success in the comic because of Marvel’s series of films (maybe Black Widow). But Bruce is dead in the comics. In his place is the absurdly named Totally Awesome Hulk, a teenage version of the green monster, who isn’t a monster at all. Cool, calm, and collected, this Hulk is a complete 180 from what the majority of new Marvel fans know from the screen. It doesn’t take Hulkbuster armor to beat this kid, while hacking into his online video game account is sure to stop him in his tracks.

This one particularly upsets me because Banner Hulk underwent dozens of changes to his persona, his attitude, his look, and even the language he’s able to use while Hulking Out. Yet, Marvel decided to take the wonderfully appealing character Amadeus Cho and shoehorn him into a role that just didn’t need to be changed. Cho was a terrific teenaged, Asian-American character before Marvel forced him into the role of Hulk. It was completely unnecessary. And, yes again, no one knows who this kid is! Everyone knows who the Hulk is, but no one knows who this Hulk is.

2. The Wasp

This is the craziest one to me. The Wasp is a founding member of the Avengers, although she never appeared in Marvel’s Avengers films. The character has, however, appeared (kind of) in Marvel’s Ant-Man movie, and has earned a title role in the upcoming sequel Ant-Man and The Wasp. Previously The Wasp moniker was adopted by Hank Pym (the original Ant-Man), but is now claimed by Pym’s young daughter.

This change up has actually been a great read, as the young woman in the book is a science nerd with a very high intelligence. She’s a wonderful role-model for young girls, and a great example of what true equality in fiction looks like. But no one is going to know that who isn’t already reading comics, and those people don’t really care. Furthermore, if any movie character needs a bit more of a spotlight in the comics to help push their onscreen version it’s The Wasp. Onscreen she’s a middle-aged scientist with a love interest for Paul Rudd’s Ant-Man character. In the comics she’s a newly discovered daughter to a B-Lister with nothing really at all going for her but a familiar name.

1. Wolverine

The worst there is at being a subject of this list, Wolverine has so many problems in the comics right now, especially when put into the context of how people have become familiarized with these hugely popular characters. Maybe you’ve heard about the Logan movie breaking Box Offices, the internet, and our hearts. This film stars an old man Logan and a young girl called X-23. But instead of these characters doing what they did best on the screen, they’re just being that dead guy in the comics.

Don’t get me wrong, X-23 is an awesome character. But by giving her the Wolverine moniker and the yellow-and-blue suit (soon to be given other classic black-and-greys) just keeps her in the shadow of a dead mutant. She had her own thing going on, it was cool, and this just feels like cheap marketing gone wrong. And Old Man Logan doesn’t even feel like an old man, he just feels like a grey-haired Wolverine. And how does that even work? Plus, neither of these characters even look like their on-screen versions. Hot iron, Marvel: Strike it!

See a mistake? Disagree with the choices? Let us know!

Send emails to [email protected] Find us on Facebook at the Outright Geekery Page Join the discussion at the Comic Book Illuminati Leave us a comment below

TotL – 6 Famous Marvel Characters Non-Readers Wouldn’t Recognize

There have been reports that Marvel Comics will be going under a reset of sorts in order to directly compete with DC Comics and their popular REBIRTH line.

TotL – 6 Famous Marvel Characters Non-Readers Wouldn’t Recognize There have been reports that Marvel Comics will be going under a reset of sorts in order to directly compete with DC Comics and their popular REBIRTH line.

#comic books #comics #list #Marvel Comics #Top o&039; the Lot #TotL

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outright-geekery · 7 years

Text

Honorable Mention: Spider-Man

6. Iron Man

5. Captain America

4. Thor

3. Hulk

2. The Wasp

1. Wolverine

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