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Very well, where do I begin?

My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet.

My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament.

My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds - pretty standard, really. At the age of twelve, I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles.

There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking. I highly suggest you try it.

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Don't sweat. If I can take an entire month to write my first post, I think I can extend you guys a break on deadlines.


"And lo, a contradiction! It seems as though the spider has become trapped in his own web..."

Peter Parker groggily stirred, coming back to consciousness after what seemed like an eternity. His ears were ringing, his head was pounding, and his flesh seemed to be burning with the pain of what felt like a thousand cuts. He could barely form thoughts let alone words, faintly hearing a distant cackle - but one that was unmistakably malicious, coming in waves and echoing from all around him. His first thoughts drifted toward the idea that he was in the midst of a horrible dream, having entered the scene already tormented by an enemy made up by his own subconscious. Parker wasn't exactly a stranger to such nightmares coming on in frequent order, given that his penchant for self-loathing often manifested into some weird and, frankly, disturbing flights of fancy that would leave him sleepless for days. Some would take on the form of an old enemy, a newer enemy that had proved to be particularly challenging, or just some hybrid of friends and loved ones from his everyday life. Practically everyone who either hated him or someone that Peter personally felt he had let down. So really, anyone on a given day, depending on the overly somber nineteen-year-old's mood.

"Wake up, Spider-Man! You may have only pretended to be a man in life, but you're gonna learn what it means to be one in death."

But it only took him a couple of seconds to realize that this wasn't a dream. For one thing, as soon as the wave of numbing pain passed over him, he began to realized that his arms were heavily constricted and pinned behind his back. Even with his immense strength, he couldn't budge them. So he tried to move his legs - the problem was, even if he could, it was becoming apparent that they were too weak to do much of anything. Still, he felt the tightness of binds. And the absolute worst part is that no matter how lifeless he felt in the moment, there was one part of him that remained on at absolutely full blast, no matter how much he wished that it would turn off. As soon as Peter's head rose, with the drool - or was it blood? - dripping off of his chin, he began to wince in silent agony as it drove through his skull with the pressure of a thousand hammers.

His spider-sense was tingling. And it was telling him that he was in a whole world of trouble.

So it almost came as a relief with a strong, forceful hand swung out of the shadows, striking him so hard across the face that whatever remaining grogginess seemed to wear off in an instant. Peter blinked hard, trying to force his vision to unblur, but it was proving to be a difficult task. He'd had a concussion before, but this one felt so much worse. The best way to describe the feeling was as if he were a car horn, unable to turn itself off because of a blunt instrument that was locked in place, pushing it down so hard that it could do nothing but scream. And that scream was reverberating throughout his entire body.


Then he found himself focused on the voice. While he'd heard it barking at him just moments earlier, it was still being drowned out by his extrasensory woes. But now he could hear it as clear as day, as if it were shouting directly into his ear. Half a moment of confusion passed before Peter's eyes went wide and his neck shot straight up, suddenly overwhelmed with a flurry of recollections that detailed the beats of hours prior. It started when Aunt May was taken to the hospital after one of her spells, and he'd been collecting his paycheck at the Bugle. He had rushed out of the building, trying and find a spot to change in an effort to beat the New York traffic, knowing that his way would get him there quicker.

But before he could make it out of sight, Peter had been surprised by the sudden stop of a black limousine infront of the street that led into the alley. The passenger side window rolled down, revealing the kindly face of a man over twice his age. A man that Peter knew very well, given that they had interacted plenty of times - especially after he'd moved into the city and began to share an apartment with his son.

Norman Osborn.

Just as the name etched itself across Peter's still-fractured memory, his entire body practically shot up after being forced by the same hand that had previously smacked him back to reality. Only this time, the visibly purple-clad glove had seized the back of Peter's head firmly in it's grip, momentarily yanking him out of what he had assumed to be a hastily retrieved chair in some dingy back alley. Peter felt some usually high emotions begin to swirl up inside of him, from fear that had morphed into panic to panic that had been turning into all-around desperation. But mostly all that he began to feel was rage, because the clear picture had finally sat in.

"O... Osborn..."

Peter had graciously accepted Norman's offer for a ride whenever explaining, poorly, the extremity of his situation. Not that he felt as if the elder Osborn's vehicle would be much faster than web-swinging, but the timing of the limousine's arrival had put him into an awkward position. What was he supposed to say, exactly? 'No thanks, Mr. Osborn! I realize that my aunt's life is in danger, but never fear! I've actually secretly been Spider-Man this whole time, so if you'll kindly just allow me to circumvent your offer in exchange for leaping into the alley to remove the clothes concealing my red and blue pajamas underneath, I'll be on my way!'

Needless to say, that wasn't happening. So away they went, with Osborn assuring a slightly embarrassed Peter that the ride was no trouble at all, fretting about the idea that the teenager would be forced to try and scout an Uber in the middle of downtown Manhattan. At first, it all seemed so innocuous. A friendly encounter turning into a favor in the middle of an emergency. Peter had actually breathed a sigh of relief to himself when it seemed that Osborn's limo driver, who he'd never seen directly, was an apparent master of the wheel and had gotten them onto the Queensboro Bridge in little to no time at all.

Maybe he'd get there in time. For once, Peter wouldn't be forced to put someone else's needs ahead of his or his family's. He'd be at the hospital on time, he'd know exactly what to tell the doctors as they admitted May for another overnight stay of observation, and by this time tomorrow, she'd be back at her house for a night of needless fussing over medications and the desire to fix her nephew a homecooked meal, even in her poor physical state. It all played throughout his mind like a routine that he'd undergone a thousand times. A rehearsal that, for once, he'd be able to see from beginning to end - instead of either darting in half a day later or darting out halfway into the night.

But then something began to feel off. His Spider-Sense wasn't necessarily buzzing, but it was the way Mr. Osborn acted. How he smiled at him, like a cat that had devoured the canary's entire family. It was the first clue that whatever conversation the two men were going to have would end up south. Osborn pivoted from the usual small-talk of how Peter was, how college was treating him, and whether he'd given any more thought to the job offer of interning at Oscorp Industries' research and development division, into some questions that began to feel a little bit too... personal.

He asked about Harry. Which was reasonable enough, as the son had decided to distance himself from the father. The two had gotten into a serious argument about two months prior, and while Harry had been scarce on the exact details, Peter had been given clear instructions from his friend not to allow Norman into their apartment for awhile. Peter didn't argue, thinking that it'd been a matter that he had no place trying to interfere with. So a worried father trying to inquire into the life of a son who wouldn't speak to him for some as-of-yet unexplained reason seemed completely harmless.

What wasn't harmless was when Norman shifted from Harry to another focal point of Peter's life: his girlfriend, Gwen Stacy. At first seeming only vaguely curious, Norman seemed to want to circle back to the subject of Gwen no matter how many times that Peter tried to change topics. While Harry and Gwen had known eachother for a long time, and thus had encountered Norman before as Peter, Harry, and Gwen were growing up, this particular conversation seemed to be veering entirely on trying to get Peter to tell him all sorts of details that didn't seem relevant. Where she lived, what she planned to do after college, whether she and Harry had ever been romantically involved in the past...

And then, noting the rudeness of his line of questioning, Norman seemed to back down.

Before asking a question that changed everything.

"Tell me, Peter..."

His lips curled up into a horrifying grin.

"Did Harry or Gwen ever know that you were Spider-Man?"

Shocked to his core as the words escaped Osborn's lips, Peter immediately looked to the doors in a panic. The lock had flipped downward automatically, sealing both of them in. Peter moved to try and pry it open, as his spider-sense had suddenly began to hum. Then it started buzzing even heavier as Norman leaped from his seat and grabbed both of Peter's arms, revealing a previously unknown superhuman strength of his own. Squeezing hard, Peter looked back in horror as he felt the web-shooters hidden underneath his sleeves begin to buckle under the pressure. Osborn began to chuckle, watching Peter try in vain to wriggle himself out of his grasp.

"No! No theatrics this time, boy! No sudden escape at the last perilous second, no nick-of-time rescue of some hapless bystander. Not now, when I've got you right where I want you. You're going to own up to all the things that you and your alter-ego have done to this city... done to me."

Norman's eyes flashed a vivid yellow color.

"All the lies that yooooou've told to save your own skiiiiin..."

Peter grit his teeth, trying his best to hide his astonishment.

"Done to... you? The city?! What are you talking about?!"

Norman's chuckling began to shift into something far worse as he forced Peter against the backseat of the car. Finally managing to rip one arm free, Peter immediately punched Osborn square in the face. First with a heavily practiced hit designed to minimize damage, for whenever he'd come across a random mugger who couldn't handle the full brunt of his power. Then with a much harder one, using the full force of his arachnid-based strength. Neither seemed to particularly phase Osborn as he began to openly cackle, triggering a recent memory in Peter's mind that seemed to align with the inhuman sounds Norman was making.

"Norman, you... you're not... Oh god, what's happening to you?"

Then the pigment of Osborn's skin started to change dramatically. At first a pale, almost sickly pink, the businessman's human visage began to twist into something more gruesome in appearance. His eyes already yellowed entirely, with the pupils dilating back into small black dots, the veins in Osborn's neck began to grow darker - as if his blood were infected with some horrible disease that was oncoming all at once. Then the skin shifted into a darker shade aswell, at first appearing as an extreme blush of red before shifting into vivid purple. Then blue. And finally settling on a very familiar shade of...

"Peeeeeter Parkeeeeer..."

Peter's jaw dropped as the final detail morphed into view, with Osborn's ears slowly drawing themselves back and upward, becoming more pointed by the second. His brow became more pronounced and his nose shifted up and slightly outward, as if his face were something made in the makeup trailers for the cheesy old B-movie monsters turned frighteningly real. And finally, his hair began to grow wilder, both at the top of his head and on his brow, completing a look that Peter instantly recognized as a fully completed transformation. Only he thought that it had been a mask at that time, and not a transformation at all...


It was more than apparent. In the span of a few moments, Norman Osborn had been fully transformed into the visage of an enemy that Spider-Man had encountered in the wild only a handful of times before. A deeply insane, extremely dangerous murderous persona that had made his preference for Trick Or Treat themed garb and technologically advanced hover-gliders clear.

"One fancying himself the hero. The other fancying himself a man. Two sides of the same pathetic coin!"

The Green Goblin grinned wide as he leaped back with superhuman agility, slamming his elbow into the side of the partition. Peter reflexively leaped into a crouching position on the backseat, hoping to gain leverage over his now revealed enemy before he could make another move. Unfortunately, just as he began to reach for the webbed mask and gloves underneath his jacket, The Goblin relaxed himself in his seat as the car began to hiss. Peter could tell what was happening, but reacted far too late to avoid catching a whiff of the gas that was quickly pouring into the locked vehicle.

Tapping the partition window with the back of his index finger, The Goblin laughed loudly and mockingly as the partition lowered, revealing a feature that Peter never would have guessed about the car - that it was fully automated, being driven by a highly advanced artificial intelligence that was undoubtedly created in one of Oscorp's labs.

"Oh, dear! He's getting lightheaded! Driver! Should we help the boy? Oh, should we?"

Peter tried desperately to fight the gas' effects, but he was already beginning to fade.



The Green Goblin leered back with a combination of triumph and hatred as Peter's vision began to blacken.

"I promise you one thing..."

"When it comes to suffering, you're about to get an intimate education."
Alright, updated CS complete with sample post and ready for review by @Master Bruce

@Lord Wraith's Wonder Woman is APPROVED! is complete! Minus me finding some art I like for a few of the primary characters, but don't suppose that matters for judging if I'm good to start writing!

You're approved for The Brotherhood.
My apologies for the delay in approving @Ruby as The Huntress and @Zoey Boey as Cassandra Cain, but they are approved. Just remember that anything you guys do in Gotham or with Gotham centric characters falls under @Roman's jurisdiction. You probably already know that, but it's worth repeating.

As for me, I'm aware that I've yet to make a peep as Spider-Man. Apologies for that aswell. I'm past due and it's annoying because I have alot of ideas I'm excited for. It's just that I'm having trouble with the actual writing of it. Considering taking a bit of an overhaul to my usual style just to grow more comfortable, but I am still engaged with playing him, so... bear with me.
@Alternax since Hound seems okay with another Lantern, your sheet is approved. And @AndyC... for the sheer balls of wiping Doom and the FF off the map but making Latveria a central character, you're approved aswell.


What I mean is, @Byrd Man is approved for Daredevil.

Ahem, so fellas, I have a weird question for you.

As long as you consult with the initial player to ask if that's okay, it shouldn't be a problem.
<Snipped quote by Master Bruce>

B-b-but, he spelled Stephen wrong.


Because someone has to be the Lex Luthor to @Hound55's Super Tiger. The Joker to his Lawyer-Man., Lawyer-Tiger?


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