Speaking from experience, I can tell you that Jack Zimmermann, who grew up chubby and awkward and strange-looking, will now sometimes catch a glimpse of his reflection and not recognize himself. And in those little jarring moments he’ll see his dad, not how he is now, but how he looked when Jack was still growing up.
Hey guys! So you know I’m fairly new to the community, and I really want to make something special for Mark’s birthday.
Mark, in your interpretation, as a hero.
Because we know he is one, in different ways. To many people, he is a hero. He had made people laugh. He had made people smile again. He made days better. He helped people make friends. He helped in so many things.
And for his birthday, I want him to know how much of a hero he really is.
Today is June 17. As of this moment, he has 17 million subscribers, 17 million people he calls as his heroes. If you see that shirt sleeve with hearts? He calls you as a hero. He’s a hero too. He’s the leader of this wonderful community, and
I want to see all of your interpretations of him as a hero too.
Draw him in your own interpretation of his suit/costume. Write about the superhero Mark, or that Mark who saved you from his daily videos. Crop him or photoshop him as your favorite hero, Marvel or DC, or even other comics. Make gifs or animations. Quotes that he has said, pictures of him, so much can be done! Just show him as your hero.
And I want to see all of them, so tag it in #MarkIsAHero! It’d be awesome to show him for his birthday!
(If anyone is on-board with me, we could also do a “T minus 10 days” series of whatever-you-want for the birthday guy, where we countdown to his birthday ‘Blast off to space’ kind of style.)
Jack hates conventions – the crowds, the noise, the forced socialization, but it’s a work thing that must be done. Enter Samwell Hockey Player, Eric Bittle, who attends the convention with a group of friends. Suddenly things begin to look up. Jack and Bitty meet at Falcs Fest. Flirting, shenanigans, and love ensue.
“Jack, I realize it’s not how you want to spend your weekend,” George said then paused to take a long sip of coffee. “But it is what it is, and everyone has to do it.” She smiled and added, “So suck it up, mister.”
Jack frowned, “Fine. Fine. Everyone else has to attend, too, right? Everyone?”
George leaned back in her chair and nodded, “Yes. Tater, Thirdy, Guy, Marty, Snowy, Poots – everyone. Misery loves company, after all.”
Jack huffed petulantly.
“I’m kidding!” George said with a laugh, “Come on. The Hawks are always bragging about their convention, so we have to make our inaugural one fantastic and have everyone there.”
Jack shrugged and took a pen from George’s desk, he twirled it absentmindedly in his fingers.
“Jack, it’ll be fine, and guess what? You might actually enjoy it. An entire weekend surrounded by adoring fans, eating anything you want, being handed people’s babies, dancing and whatnot?”
Jack got up and pushed his chair in. “Thanks, George.”
George smiled, then took her attention back to her computer, as Jack loomed in her office doorway.
“Yes, Jack?” She asked as she wrote something in an appointment book.
“Do we have to stay at the hotel, too?”
“Up to you, Jack. Do you feel like driving home back and forth early in the morning and late at night? Most of the guys are making a weekend of it and staying there. There’ll be team brunches every morning. We still have a couple rooms available in the block we reserved, so you can stay there if you want.”
Jack frowned again.
George paused and looked at him, “A little fun won’t kill you, Zimmermann.”
Jack nodded, attempted a meager smile and exited George’s office.
Summary: (Soulmate Timer AU) Steve awoke with a start. A baseball game was playing softly on the radio. He sat up, incredibly disoriented. He looked to his right arm. 3 Years, 84 Days, 2 Hours, 0 Minutes, 5 Seconds. He’d woken up 70 years in the future.
It was a surprise for Mr. and Mrs. Rogers, when on July 4, 1918, their son Steven was born with ‘95 Years, 14 days, 10 hours, 22 Minutes 35 seconds’ on his forearm. Steven Grant Rogers, sickly boy that he was, wouldn’t even meet his soulmate until well into old age.
Steve did his best to not let it bother him. Ever the optimist, he believed that it just meant that whoever he would meet in 75 years would be so special, they’d wait their whole lives to find one another.
Bucky had a different outlook. As one of the rare few without a timer, James Buchanan Barnes was basically the definition of ‘playboy.’ He saw it as 75 years for Steve to be with whoever the hell he wanted without having to settle down. The two friends weren’t really that alike when it came to matters of the heart.
Both philosophies faded into the background when they entered the war. Steve gave up the theories of finding love in favor of striving to survive. After the serum, Steve had more women (and some men) throwing themselves at him than he’d ever thought would.
The only person he even thought he might have a shot with was Peggy, but after Bucky fell he was far too consumed by his grief to do anything. As his timer slowly ticked downwards, he fought the good fight. His last hopes were winking out as he flew the plane into the ice.
Steve awoke with a start. A baseball game was playing softly on the radio. He sat up, incredibly disoriented. He looked to his right arm.
3 Years, 84 Days, 2 Hours, 0 Minutes, 5 Seconds. He’d woken up 70 years in the future.