ReconfiguringSelf

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ReconfiguringSelf

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*:; ALRIGHT, CONSIDER THIS A TEST. I would like to become active again, and I am working on a NEW CHARACTER with entirely different themes. If you're a role player, especially one that interacted with me in the past--and if any of you are here I am sorry, I was a complete asshole back then--would you mind commenting below, and saying hi? I used to hang 'round here a lot more, and I have de-roleplayerfied (that is totally a word I promise) more than once.
          
          So... 'Sup, let's see if I'm shouting into an empty void or not.

ReconfiguringSelf

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Clad in red and black spandex, Spider-Man sprinted across the rooftops of New York City at astounding speeds. Were he an ordinary man, one could've called it reckless. With an effortless leap, the arachnid themed vigilante flung himself across the street, cursing at the sparking gadget on his left wrist. 
          
          Suddenly, he froze at the feeling of a familiar tingling sensation. 'Where?' He thought, looking around. The tingling did not fade, but it didn't increase in severity either.
          
          "I told you, stay the FUCK away from me!" Someone shouted from the alley below, followed by the sound of shattering glass. 
          
          'Bingo.'
          
          Spider-Man jogged over to the edge and hopped down into the alleyway, instinctively bending his knees. He let his fingertips touch the ground for just a split second, rising to his feet. Before he stood three men dressed in jeans and sweatshirts, and one boy in an oversized hoodie holding a broken bottle. A large man with tanned skin and large hands had the boy by both shoulders, pinning him against the brick wall. A pile of glass shards lay at their feet.
          
          "Picking on the little guy? Nice. You should stop now." Spider-Man told them, crossing his arms and attempting to ignore the sparking of his busted web shooter.

ReconfiguringSelf

"Call the cops, would you?" Spider-Man asked, waiting for his imperceptible nod as the boy pulled out his phone.
            
            After restraining the unconscious thugs and further restraining the runaway, Spider-Man returned his attention to the boy once more. "Are you alright? Do you need a ride home?"
            
            Again, the boy shook his head. "No... I'm fine. Home is just a few blocks away." He said, crossing his arms and swollowing. "Thank you."
            
            Satisfied with his answer, Spider-Man gave the would've-been victim a thumbs up. "It's what I do. Have a nice night, kid."
            
            Without a second thought, Spider-Man scaled the same wall he had jumped down from and continued on his merry way home.
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ReconfiguringSelf

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nwardly, he was hoping they would just scatter. Nobody had managed to kill him yet, would they be dumb enough to think they would be the ones?
            
            Judging by the big man releasing the kid and cracking his knuckles, he was fairly certain the answer would be the same as it always was. 
            
            He sighed, swiftly dodging a wild haymaker from the brutish thug. With ease, Spider-Man lightly pushed his foe into the wall with his right hand, pressing his middle and ring fingers into the palm of his left. Of course, he noted with annoyance, his web shooter was still busted. Almost on cue, the smallest of the three thugs rushed Spider-Man with a switchblade. Letting out a small sigh, he backhanded the brute's back up and sent him sprawling. A small tingle from his spider-sense alerted him to a desperate elbow attack from the thug he still had pinned to the wall. He released the thug and blocked his attack with an open palm.
            
            Careful to avoid throwing the brute on accident, Spider-Man sent him staggering back into the opposite side of the alleyway. A quick jab knocked him out, too. He turned to face the third man, who turned tail and ran away. With the practiced aim of a sharpshooter, Spider-Man stuck both of his feet to the ground with his webbing. 
            
            Satisfied that all three of the thugs were out of commission, he set his sights on the boy again. The broken bottle the boy had gripped was immediately dropped, joining the shattered glass shards on the ground.
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ReconfiguringSelf

\ So, I just want to talk about parents in books.
          
          I almost always hate the parents of the protagonist, be they good parents or not. Why? Because if they have their way, there is no plot. The story doesn't happen if they have their way, so how could I possibly like them??
          
          There's a conflict of interest there. It's utterly annoying because they oppose the goals of the protagonist as much as the villain. That's kinda messed up, especially since it means I enjoy reading neglectful parents more than attentive ones. 
          
          The VILLAIN is much more fun than they are because of that.