They remembered to show that as his new weakness, implemented how it effected him, i loved every bit of it.
They didn’t just give him glasses and pretend he still could use that eye. So many movies do that and it angers me to no end.
but no, they show how his aim was off, his depth perception was off, he even had that scene with the puppy where he didn’t see the gun BECAUSE IT WAS ON HIS BLIND SIDE. and i am OVER THE MOON ABOUT IT
they show that even this badass spy who’s such an effective killer can be hindered by this kind of crap.
i lost vision in one of my eyes a while ago, and i was devastated about it. i couldn’t write, couldn’t use scissors, couldn’t do any basic sport or even walk around without bumping into everything. it was terrible and humiliating. it took a long time for me to calibrate how to do everyday tasks without fucking something up. and i’m really glad i wasn’t the only one.
yes!! i like to think that while he’s still getting used to his bakunawa instincts fully manifesting, the closer it gets to the full moon, the stronger all his sea/moon longing gets. this translates into lots of sitting in the kiddie pool, looking at the sky with a telescope christine lent him, and hanging out with jeremy.
plus his abilities also get heightened. i wasnt able to make it v clear in goodnight moon (aside from maybe like two sentences) since it’s in jeremy!pov, but mikey’s got Heightened Dragon Senses. not Too Much, but still better. his hearing and sight is better. he’s pretty damn fast. if he was a good swimmer in human form, his bakunawa form is that times fifty, times a hundred if the moon is full. while bakunawa magic comes mostly from the hereditary aspect within, it’s magnified by the moon, but nothing is Added. just strengthened.
related to above, it does get better!!! while shifted, his eyesight is not just 20/20, but Really Fucking Good. like you know that post about the Nikon coolpix P900? that’s how good michael’s eyes are when he’s shifted. of course, when he’s human, it’s back to high grade glasses.
it takes him a while to learn this, but he practices partially shifting. like only shifting his hands to get claws, but without popping wings. when he finally figures out how to only shift his eyes into his golden, ridiculously good vision ones, he briefly entertains the concept of just keeping himself like that forever and ditching his glasses completely. but then he realizes that his dragon vision, while fantastic and very useful for when he’s in the air, is actually distracting and unsettling for day to day life. michael gets overwhelmed with the amount of stimuli his dragon vision picks up, put on edge by the high definition image of chalk dragging against a chalkboard or the barely visible stain on a shirt or how goddamn bright the lights are and and and—
yeah. he doesnt need his glasses, in dragon form, but he sticks to them everywhere else.
id like to think he’d hate them!! michael loves flying but with his own wings, thank you very much.
it takes a long, long time for him to learn how to fly, and he cant get too high. airplanes get rather High Up There. for reference, most airplanes have a cruising altitude of at least 39,000 feet. the highest altitude regularly reached by a bird, the Griffon Vulture, is 37,000 feet. michael doesnt even try to get up that high because he’s heard the urban horror stories of harpies getting sucked into jet engines and meeting a gruesome death. no siree, i’ll stay a little bit close to the ground.
if ever he’s in a plane though, he can feel how high up he is, and he gets very antsy. i assume supernaturals should remain unshifted during flights, just so that everybody fits in the seat no problem, but when they take off, michael would just itch to let his wings out on instinct.
(dragon brain is simple. michael: in the air. wings: out. thankfully, logic obviously stops this trail of thought before anybody is forcibly removed from anywhere)
hhhhhhh!! this isnt even dragon instinct anymore this is just michael being a dude who cares for his best friend. “GO BACK HOME AND R E S T YOU CAN SCHEDULE UR FINAL SOME OTHER TIME JUST SHOW A DOCTOR’S CERTIFICATE” but jeremy is stubborn and insists he’s Fine and goes to school.
he is MISERABLE for the entire day but he trucks on through the headaches and the sniffling and the fever in spite of, not only michael’s protests, but all of his friends.
during lunch that day, since Jeremy refuses to go to the clinic since he’d get sent home, it’s Take Care Of Jeremy Heere Central. Chloe lends him her cool jacket because Jeremy was a dumbo who forgot his at home. Brooke gives him a box of tissues that are so soft and dont irritate his noise, also a bottle of hand sanitzer with glitter bits in them. Jake does card tricks for Jeremy. it helps cheer him up. Rich (who im basing his werewolf-ness on teen wolf), helps Jeremy out with his headache by taking his pain through a not-so-subtle fistbump that lasts too long (rich had to be sneaky because jeremy wouldve never agreed to transfer his pain. jeremy is too out of it to even notice that fistbumps 1) dont last for 20 seconds and 2) shouldnt feel this blissfull). Christine draws a sigil on Jeremy’s hand that helps with the uncomfortable chill he’s feeling. Jenna cashes in a favor from the school ghosts to make sure that Jeremy gets to all his classes fine and doesn’t accidentally fall down the stairs in his exhaustion.
and Michael, well. for the first time in his life he’s a little bit pissed at his bakunawa powers, because all it lets him do is know and sense all the discomfort Jeremy’s going through from rooms away. he doesn’t have healing or runes or ghosts and he has nothing to give that the others havent given Jeremy already. so when class is over and Jeremy trudges through the hallway, he does what he can.
“Your place? Blankets, hot tea, and a marathon of Dogs 101 episodes?” Michael says. Next to him, Jeremy in all his stubborn sick glory smiles weakly, sincere all the same, and bumps his arm against Michael.
“Yeah,” he says. “That’d be awesome.”
(The whole drive to Jeremy’s house, the ancient, fearsome, powerful part of Michael’s brain purrs contentedly.)
Alright so, I wrote another thing. My mind just can’t stop sometimes and I should be focusing on those two prompt requests that are still in my inbox (I haven’t forgotten about them). I saw a post on here and I just… couldn’t help it, lol. Hope you like it.
Michonne basks in the sun by the bank. She rolls over onto
her side, propping her head up with her hand as she runs her free fingers
through the luscious green grass. She lets out a sigh. Maybe today isn’t the
day. Her dark eyes scan over the tall palm trees, whose large leaves provide
shade from the piercing sun. She peers up into the blue sky and the fluffy
white clouds as they pass. It’s a beautiful day. She doesn’t even regret
venturing out of her home, even if she returns with nothing in hand. She closes
her eyes a little as she revels in the feeling of the sun warming her
glistening dark skin.
There’s a rumble in the bushes to her left. She turns her
head slowly, her eyes squinting as she sits up on her knees. There’s a low
growl as two yellow eyes peer back at her. Out steps a black panther, slow,
meticulous, his large paws digging into the sand and dirt as he moves. Michonne
lowers her head slightly, mimicking the wild cats’ behavior as they size each
other up. He growls again but she doesn’t flinch. He bares his large canines
then lets out a ferocious scream, all the while keeping those eyes on his prey.
Michonne merely smirks at the animal as he circles her, growling and hissing to
He stops, ducking his head low, his nostrils flaring as he
collects her scent. It’s different. She’s different. His tail whips behind him
as he screams again, this time a little quieter and less menacing. She holds
out her hand to him, raising her eyebrow, that smirk still playing on her
features as his eyes soften just a little. He’s still cautious, his stance
still menacing as he eyes the woman.
ONESHOT (Kristanna Modern AU) Rated: T WC: 2599 -I watched poor Stroman take a 107 mph line drive to the eblow during last nights Jay’s game, and I suddenly remebered this idea I had a couple months ago for a oneshot. Marcus was okay, but man oh man, when I heard it I thought it broke his arm. Anyway, I had this started, but really rough, but I was inspired to finish it.
Come on Anna, you got
Get her out Anna!
Go, Anna, Go!
She could hear her team cheering her on, but she ignored
them. She was focused on the face of the
hitter that was standing over home plate, staring at her with intensity. Anna glanced back at the bases. They were loaded, there were two outs and it was
the bottom of the Seventh. Three strikes
away from taking the win.
Essential Avengers: Avengers #147: Crisis on Other-Earth
Which is, of course, a riff on DC’s Crisis on Earth-Whatever type stories. Where superheroes cross universes to team up. Or fight, in this case. Because Marvel.
A good cover that feels like it fits into that whole Crisis on Earth-Whatever type story. Really tries to hook you in. Serpent Crown? War Against the World? Squadron Sinister (no they’re explicitly not the Squadron Sinister, they’re the Squadron Supreme but they are acting kinda sinister grah)? The rest of the Avengers holding the line so Wanda can escape with the crown? Tell me more.
Last time: the Avengers Captain America (not technically on the team right now), Iron Man, the Vision, Scarlet Witch, Beast (on a trial membership), and Hellcat (Patsy Walker doing a ride-along, found a supersuit and went hells yes I want to be a superhero) were investigating the sinister Brand Corporation when they were captured by the Squadron Supreme (thinly-veiled parodies of the Justice League FROM ANOTHER UNIVERSE). The Avengers busted out, escaped some missiles, and prepared to fight the Squadron again when Roxxon president Hugh Jones sent both teams back to the Squadron’s world.
It was a quiet day at Holby City. The patients, such as they were, had mostly been dealt with as appropriate to prevailing professional standards, and it was a bit early in the day yet for anyone to be having any personal life crises, apart from of course Dom, who had had three already, and had hit rock bottom, and then hit an apparently even further deeper rock bottom (who knew that was there??), before recovering, and then somehow falling apart again, and was currently in the break room being talked through it all by one of the McGann brothers, whichever one it was, gosh, I don’t know, does it matter?? – who had just arrived to “shake up ward whatever” but was already embroiled in some kind of drama to do with hospital funding, Guy Self’s ego and a secret ex-wife, his own, someone else’s, whatever, whilst his triplets were being treated on Darwin, or somewhere like that.
“You want to go and see what’s in the car park!” Fletch said, bursting through the double doors like a man fully recovered from a life-threatening wound sustained just months earlier, of which he now showed no visible signs and to which he rarely referred despite the fact two colleagues had recently tragically passed away from similar injuries also incurred on hospital premises.
“You’ll never believe what’s out there!”
“Is it a horse?” Bernie wondered, aloud.
There followed a moment’s silence for the sadly absent Italian equestrian, Matteo, whose unexpected and untimely, but quite amusing, demise falling down the lift shaft the previous week, at some time between the hours of eight and nine on Tuesday evening, had briefly interrupted another Dr Copeland personal / love life crisis, necessitating Hanssen spending another seventeen minutes solemnly filling out another OOPS (Official Operational Personnel Sign-Off) form (of which stocks seemed to be running rather low).
“Poor Matteo,” Morven said quietly. “I mean, where does that lift even go?” She examined the Holby floor plan, as apparently produced by somebody called “Escher”, in puzzlement.
“Not a horse,” Fletch declared, after a suitable period of mourning (of the length of the opening credits) had duly passed. “It hasn’t got four legs,” Fletch added, with a smirk. “Or even two.”
Bernie leant back in her chair, her expression thoughtful, her angelic blonde hair tousled messily and yet somehow oh-so-perfectly, as it cascaded gently almost to her shoulders in a glorious golden vision, with those somewhere between royal and navy blue scrubs she was sporting in that effortless style delightfully accentuating her… I’m sorry, where was I?!
“Animal, vegetable, mineral…” Bernie pondered. Honestly, that voice, I could even listen to her read a Holby plot summary… hang on, what was I saying?
“Ooh. Mineral, I’d say.” Fletch scratched his chin in a pseudo-thoughtful gesture.
“Any danger of any of you doing any work today?” Serena enquired, as she sauntered onto the ward in a flowing blouse and a relatively carefree manner like a character in a retconned fanfiction with a decidedly alive and continuingly irritating daughter as opposed to a deceased and formerly irritating one.
“We’re trying to guess what’s in the car park,” Bernie explained.
“What’s this, a round of Pictionary? Don’t draw a car,” Serena growled at her. And then asked: “Is it a camper van?” She had a sudden thought of climbing into one of those, and disappearing off around Europe for several months, for some reason.
“Not a car,” Fletch said. “Or a camper van. That would be a bit obvious.”
“It would fill in these two minutes, though,” Bernie said, and, glancing at the clock, made to leave, but a glance from Serena kept her in her chair.
“I’ll just tell you,” Fletch said.
“Please do,” Morven told him, glancing at her script. “It says here, if some kind of a plot doesn’t develop in the next six minutes, a rip in the space-time continuum is going to obliterate the entirety of London, including bumping off poor Cameron, so as to develop Bernie’s character. Oh, and mine, again.”
“It’s a telephone box!” Fletch announced. “Looks a bit old-fashioned though? Blue, or something. Didn’t see a pay and display ticket, they’ll have a shocker when they get back to it.”
“A blue telephone box… Hmm. I feel like I’ve seen one of those before, somewhere…” Bernie said.
The double doors burst open again, and a blonde woman in a cloak appeared, striding towards them.
“Miss Stewart,” the woman said, approaching Bernie. “There’s no time to lose. I need your help.” And, when she received no response: “Kate!”
Serena rolled her eyes. “Oh, honestly, Wolfe,” she murmured. “How do you two know each other? Old friends? Let me guess. Another one of your heartbroken conquests. And really, you gave her a false name?!”
“I’ve never seen her before in my life,” Bernie told Serena.
“Well, last time you saw me, I did look a bit different,” the mysterious blonde woman conceded. “But it’s me, Miss Stewart. I’m The Doctor.”
“You’re in a hospital, love,” Serena shrugged. “Aren’t we all?”
Here’s a unique piece of ephemera from comics’ golden age. My girlfriend’s Grandmother, the inimitable Edith Block, worked for Goodman Publishing back in the day. For her 18th birthday Stan Lee had Captain America artist Al Avison whip up this singing telegram themed birthday card, signed by Lee, Avison and the girls in the office pool.
Avison inked Jack Kirby’s work on the Captain America strip. After Kirby exited, Avison stayed on, splitting pencil/ink duties with Syd Shores. Avison might be most famous, however, for his creation of the yellow, speedster Invader ‘The Whizzer’ (NEVER NOT FUNNY). He also worked on the golden-age Vision and inked Kirby again on Marvel Boy.
Heather’s Uncle took the piece to an event in 1992, where Smiling Stan resigned it fifty years later.