Part Four…the final chapter! 
When did this story begin…1978? Seems like.
But yeah, it’s almost over. Got a couple twists and turns up my sleeve so stick with me ’til the end.
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Blonde Marvel
the curvy crusader
Part Four…the final chapter!
When did this story begin…1978? Seems like.
But yeah, it’s almost over. Got a couple twists and turns up my sleeve so stick with me ’til the end.
Interesting collection of expressions on your characters’ faces. Captain Tomorrow looks like he’s going to have a heart attack, though that might just be wishful thinking on my part. It would be amusing — well, an extra layer of psychological trauma for Angela, but amusing for the viewers. I can just imagine the hijinks and/or consequences that would ensue. I’m imagining scenes from Weekend at Bernie’s blended with Pulp Fiction.
Where did Blonde Marvel’s nipples go? Obscured by other overlapping body parts? I know your version is probably more realistic, but I was imagining the force of Tomorrow’s boinkings would make her breasts slosh forward and back like those office-toy wave machines. Maybe I watch too much Japanimation.
I’m not completely sure but since Angela has a ‘set of boobs larger than an ordinary rack’ ….as THEY say then I imagine that her nipples are below the angle of the line of sight as seen from the camera. Of course that is only an inexperienced observation since I am only a 36C and nowhere near as large as either Angela or the Blonde Marvel are. I know, this is a grey area and of course subject to interpretation by the observer. 100% correct…..it is.
Cpt T’s expression…well, since he is super powered banging a super powered woman, which kinda/sorta puts them on the same playing field, then equality is key here, thus making his efforts as if they were average in terms of what we day-to-day couples experience. hmmm okay, that’s a bit of a stretch here so I may be 100% wrong. Lol Just winging it a bit, folks!
hugs! Susan xox
As a female, I hold be ashamed of myself because I think she is justified with her enjoyment. Sorry, Harold……I’m a bad girl.
Hey, Darrel’s universe has carefully-built rules built into it so everyone in it can a hedonistic lifestyle, even if they really don’t want to. It’s designed for our entertainment, so once we’re over the suspension of disbelief, anything goes.
In Mr. D’s universe I suppose you could view it in a “given lemons, make lemonade” perspective. Why not get the most out of things before meting out punishment to the vile rapist? She could indulge in as many orgasms as she likes, and then beat him into a fine paste and serve him on crackers at the next garden-party. Or maybe a chilli con carne.
While this has sort of happened in previous episodes, the tone of this particular story is a bit darker, so I’m no real clue how this is going to play out. I’m on the edge of my seat.
You and me both, hon…..on the edge of my seat and what sux is I’m on the edge so much that it’s no longer soft. Lol Luv your view on this, hon and you are right, rules are there. So is the enjoyment of Darrell’s creation.
hugs!susan xox
great page
Meh. It was okay
. Thanks MIB.
Amazing. This guy makes the giant, monstrous form of Wade Witherspoon look sympathetic. The monster was bestial and moronic; this guy is just… vile.
Good point
. what’s scary is that people like him really exist (minus super powers) while giant monsters do not (yet). While in real life bastards like him often get away with their crimes, luckily this is fiction and the bad guys always get what they deserve in the end!
Um…don’t they?
One can only hope. I’m still rooting for either heart attack, Harold with a baseball bat, or Angela turning him into a red smear. But anything where vengeance is wreaked upon him is good.
How about, Harold smacks him over the head and mysteriously acquires his sexual powers, thus saving part of the marriage?
Who knows? MAYBE the Captain will redeem himself and prove to be a good guy after all.
Or perhaps that ship had sailed?
The only book I remember reading where the rapist is redeemed or at least forgiven was written by Robert Heinlein. I hated it, mostly because the rapist was unapologetic and did an “aw shucks I’m just a guy” routine. And the woman protagonist ended up marrying him. God I hate Heinlein so much.
The Thomas Covenant series has the protagonist try to redeem himself, eventually, but the universe has thoroughly doomed him Greek tragedy style.
I need to stop posting late a night. I’m already regretting this post.
I loved the Thomas Covenant-series. ^^ And I think that, in the end, he did redeem himself somewhat.
The only book I’ve read of Heinlein was Stranger in A Strange Land (which I thought was cool). Thomas Covenant is from “Lord Foul’s Bane” I think and I only got half way thru that one. What was up with all the poetry and song lyrics?
!
Okay everybody get some sleep
Depends on the fiction. You’re usually good for giving the nogoodniks their comeuppances, though often in surprising ways, so I shall hold onto hope.
And what do you mean, giant monsters don’t exist? I dare you to say that again after having ticked off your first elephant or hippopotamus!
Mr. D., pardon my necromancy, but I have some questions.
Way back when, when the gypsy cursed Wade Witherspoon, she said he would not be restored ‘until a woman of equal stature gave him her love‘.
Does this mean that the fact that he managed to mount the Blonde Marvel, was giving her a repeated happy-belly and managed to inseminate her is not what turned him back?
We know from the recent chapter that BM has a heightened sex drive and her husband has trouble pleasing her, so… was she moved enough by the fact that the jolly brown giant was giving her multiple orgasms to love and accept him, if only a little, or was it just animal lust that ended the curse? She did sorta-kinda abandon the idea of fighting him off, at the end.
And is there any chance / risk that the giant – not Witherspoon! – impregnated the Blonde Marvel? A potential offspring of those two could have… interesting abilities.
Good questions. It’s difficult to be hard and fast when it comes to magic and sorcery and who really knows what goes thru the mind of a scorned gypsy witch? Am I right? Ahem. Okay but since you asked… by “love” I think she did not mean “fall madly in love.” I believe she meant it more as like when we westerners say “make love” when we are euphemistically speaking of sex. I think that it was enough the he/it enjoyed it and Angela enjoyed it and maybe there was a spark of love there, however brief.
Did the monster impregnate Angela? Interesting question but I’m gonna say no, as I don’t have any Blonde Marvel gives birth to baby monster stories on the horizon
.
Thanks Gallstone.
D.
Ah, thanks for the answers. ^^
It struck me last night that the cure to the curse might have been more ‘when she gives you her love’, than ‘when she gives you her love‘, as it’s a wholly different thing when a woman gives herself to a man than when he forcefully takes her. But I see it’s a bit of a middle ground-style of thing. :p
She wouldn’t have to give birth to a baby monster.
Just an unexpected baby. Harold could be all “Dang, the condom must’ve broken” and look surprised that the baby was a bit darker than he. Que the Blonde Marvel blushing and trying to gloss over things…
It would be slightly ironic if Harold wound up loving and being a good dad to such a child, considering the unpleasant attitude he once displayed towards people of colour ‘pursuing their so-called rights’, as he put it.
But hey, no is no, and so this is one for the fanfics. ^^
That comment Harold made was during the retro 1950s parody episode, so until told otherwise I don’t look at it as accurate to the overall story.
Well, Mr. D is going on hiatus, so perhaps you could whip up some fan-works to help fill the gap. I know I’m doing that. I had one idea where Blonde is asked to help in Japan, battling some Kaiju. Maybe at the end she’ll give birth to a fire-breathing dinosaur — not sure, the plot is still in flux.
Ahh, I am very happy to hear/read that. ^^ Harold seems quite decent overall, so his comments from the retro-50s comic shocked me a bit.
I might take that challenge.
But I have lots of other things to write and draw, too, so please don’t hold it against me if I don’t manage to, in the end.
Fodder for a hiatus, part 1.
Harold Braun got out of his car, locked it, and walked up the path to his front door.
His steps came slow and heavy; the hour was late, and he had only just gotten back from a double shift at the All-Mart. Getting out of the car instead of just falling asleep in his seat had been a struggle, now that he had safely parked. He had beaten his weariness with the prospect of lying down next to his wife, which he considered to be the best place to sleep anywhere in the whole wide world – or beyond.
Tired as he was, Harold made sure not to jingle his keys or slam the door as he went inside. He left the lights off, too, just in case. Cassandra and Nicky were sure to be asleep, and they had school tomorrow.
He paused in the living room for a moment, gazing at the oh-so-inviting-looking couch, but he forced himself to plod on into the kitchen. As tired as he was, he was also hungry. Harold’s stomach growled when he caught sight of a plate in the microwave. A nicely filled plate, bless Angela’s heart.
Harold turned the microwave on, got a beer from the fridge, and a few minutes later he was sitting on the couch. It was a real struggle not to just wolf down his meal, but to savour every bite. Angela would understand if he ate as quickly as he could, but Harold was mindful of all the effort she put into her cooking, not to mention everything else she did. It would be criminal not to enjoy the meal to its fullest.
Usually, Angela came down to sit beside him when he returned from the late shift, but tonight he dined and drank in solitude.
‘She must be out on patrol or something,’ Harold thought. The sense of contentment radiating up from his belly was spoiled by a stab of unease. He always worried about the dangers his wife exposed herself to as the Blonde Marvel, and he frequently – but silently – cursed the man who he blamed for the start of that whole mess.
A memory tickled Harold, and he frowned. He was reasonably certain that the room to the master bedroom had been closed when he drove up. It was a sultry summer night, and the bedroom would be stifling. Angela would have left it open if she were out of the house, especially if she had flown off after making dinner and getting the kids settled.
‘Maybe she fell asleep early?’
Or maybe something was wrong. One of the reasons why Harold did not like his wife’s work as a super-heroine was the possibility of danger following her home one day. He knew about the hypnotic device that was meant to stop people from remembering her face while she was in costume, but no device was infallible.
‘I’ll just go and make sure,’ he told himself, and he got up, his weariness forgotten for the moment.
Harold shed his shoes at the bottom of the stairs and went up to the first floor as quietly as he could. He looked in on the children first, but both Cassandra and Nicky were fast asleep and unharmed as far as he could see. There was no sign that anyone or anything – ‘Wish I hadn’t thought that’ – had come in through their windows, so Harold crept onward.
The master bedroom was stifling, as he had suspected it would be; he opened it a crack and then looked around the room. Angela was not in bed. In fact, the bed looked as if it had not been slept in.
‘Maybe she had to go out when the kids were already asleep, and something came up to keep her away. Some superhero emergency.’
He could have gone to bed. Angela could take care of herself, she really could. She was bulletproof, stronger than an ox, she could fly… but that did not stop Harold from worrying over her. When he thought of her, it was not as the Blonde Marvel, but as Angela, the girl he had loved and married, who had borne their children and fought alongside him to make and keep a home.
Back downstairs he went, a little faster than he had gone up. He almost tripped over his discarded shoes on his way to the answering machine. There were no new messages, but it turned out there was an old message from Emporium Cavalcade Mall. Something about a break-in at Zaftig’s, Angela’s clothing store. That call had come in around ten – over two hours ago.
Harold rushed to put his shoes back on and headed for the front door. He was painfully aware that he would not be able to help his wife if she had run into a killer robot or a murderous alien or whatever while she was at the mall, but…
But how can I live with myself if I don’t go and see if she’s alright?’
He opened the front door – and had to grab the doorframe to stop himself from barrelling into a young girl in a Catholic school uniform, who was standing in front of him, one hand just now raised to ring the doorbell. For a moment, they stood there, man and girl with similar expressions of surprise on their faces. The moment passed, and the girl’s expression changed to one of low-level disgruntlement.
“Mister Harold Braun, I presume?” she said. She had a slight accent that he could not place.
“Um, yes,” he managed to say. “I’m sorry, but who…?”
The girl held out her right hand, and Harold took it out of habit. He winced; her grip was strong!
“You may call me Spite,” the girl said. She grimaced at Harold’s dumbfounded expression and shrugged. “It’s not perfect, I know, but we’re in a bit of a rush and I have some other constraints. No time to come up with something that sounds better. May I please come in? I promise I don’t mean any harm to you or your family, Mr. Braun, and you need to listen to me.”
The girl swept past Harold into the house without waiting for an answer.
“Now just a moment,” he sputtered. “You can’t just…”
The girl snapped her fingers, and the living room lights all came on at the same time.
“Theatrical, I know,” Spite said, shrugging and grimacing again. “But we really are in a rush, Mr. Braun. May we be seated?”
Slowly, Harold made his way over to the couch. The girl, Spite, swept a single, dark red brain back and planted herself on one of the chairs facing him.
“I heard about this group called Heroes United,” he said, picking his words carefully.
“I’m not with them,” Spite said, with a slashing gesture. “I’m not a superhero, I’m not a super-villain, and no, I’m not a friend or even an acquaintance of your wife. But yes, I know that Angela Zaftig is the Blonde Marvel. Close your mouth, you’ll let the flies in.”
Harold closed his mouth and swallowed convulsively. “What… what do you want?” he asked.
She looks like a normal girl, but she did that thing with the lights. What else can she do? If she knows about Angela… Did that hypno-doodad finally fail? Is she in trouble?’
“Yes, she’s in trouble,” Spite said. “No, I am not reading your mind; your face speaks volumes. Have you seen the news yet, Mr. Braun?”
She did not wait for his reply, she just glanced at the T.V., which switched itself on.
“Again, theatrics,” Spite said. “It’s just that we’re in a rush, and if I touch too many things, my sister will find out I’m here. We want to avoid that for as long as possible.”
The news was on. Harold watched, confused, and snuck glances at Spite while trying to take in bits of information about the latex industry crashing, war brewing in the Middle East, a prisoner escape from…
Harold suddenly found his eyes riveted to the image of a building in smoking ruins. Not a building that had collapsed in on itself, but one that looked as if it had been torn open by something huge emerging from inside. The anchorwoman was talking about the escape of…
“Wade Witherspoon,” he whispered.
“Yes,” Spite said. “And yet, no. For all intents and purposes, Wade Witherspoon is no more. But his alter ego escaped from jail five hours ago. No prizes for guessing where he went first.”
Harold rose like a cork in water.
“Sit down, Mr. Braun,” Spite said, her voice commanding. “There is nothing you could do to fight the giant, even if he were still in Municipal City – which he is very much not.”
Harold sat down. “Angela,” he said. “My wife… I mean…”
“You already know that I know that your wife is the Blonde Marvel,” Spite said, her tone a little more gentle. “The call from the Emporium Cavalcade Mall was a ruse. It put her in the right place at the right time to see the giant approach Municipal City. She bravely transformed into her alter ego and flew to face off against him. Right into my sister’s trap.”
“Trap… Sister… What?” Harold stammered, rising again.
“Please sit down, Mr. Braun,” Spite said. “You can’t go. There is nowhere for you to go. Your wife is not in Municipal City right now, nor is the giant.”
“Then where is she?” Harold asked, still standing. “Where’s Angela? Tell me!”
The last two words came out as a shout; he wished they had not, but raw distress was running through his veins. Spite did not seem to mind, though.
“I don’t know,” the girl replied. “I can’t find her. You see, my sister has excised your wife’s memory that she is… who she is. That she is anyone, really. All I can say for certain is that she is a long way away – and the giant was sent to the same place.”
The girl reached into her pocket and took out what looked like a large marble made of matted glass. It glowed with a myriad of colours; hot pink, a yellow that looked like Angela’s hair, a sombre grey, vital green, deepest indigo… Swirling, changing threads of colour.
“Unless we can find out where your wife is,” Spite said, “there is no way for me to get these memories back to her. Now please sit down, because you are the only person I can think of who can help me find her.”
She had been walking all day.
Sometimes, she felt that she should have arrived somewhere by now, but she had no idea where that might be. Maybe she had already found the place she was meant to be, and she had left it because she could not remember. That was a sad thought, but it passed, as all thoughts and feelings did. Her mind was running in circles.
All she could remember, really solidly remember, was that she had woken up in the early hours of morning. The air had been chill, but not too cold. She had been lying on the ground, in a forest. She had been stark naked when she woke up, and she still was.
When she found a river and knelt down to drink, she had seen herself for the first time. She was pale-skinned, with yellow hair and dark eyes. Her body was round and soft-looking, wide in the hips, more than generous in the breasts and buttocks. Her face was round and kind-looking.
That was all she knew about herself. Finding water and food had been pure instinct. She had started walking because of a faint, fleeting idea that she needed to be somewhere else, but she had no idea where that should be.
She did not recognize the forest landscape through which she was walking. At first, she had been worried that she would tear the bare soles of her feet, but things splintered and broke when she stepped on them. Branches. Thorns. Small rocks. She must be very heavy. That made her feel a little bad at first, but the feeling passed, just as all thoughts and feelings passed. Her mind was running in circles.
Although she did not recognize the forest, she found herself liking it from time to time. She would forget that she liked the forest, but the idea came back. The trees provided shade to shield her from the blazing sun overhead, and they had fruit growing on their lower branches to sate her hunger. A river ran through the forest, allowing her to quench her thirst.
A very clear thought came to her around the time when the sun was at its highest point: maybe the forest was Home, and she did not need to go anyplace else. Maybe she was just meant to keep travelling through the forest and be content.
That seemed alright. The thought stayed with her. It faded a bit, but did not go away entirely the way the other thoughts and feelings did.
The sun started to sink towards the edge of the world, and the air grew a little colder. For a moment, she felt that she should feel more uncomfortable, but the thought went away. She did not feel that uncomfortable. A distant sense of loneliness came and went, then returned, only to fade again. There was no one else like her here, so there was nothing she could do about feeling lonely – and no need for her to dwell on it.
Darkness fell, and still she walked on. She did not feel tired after the day’s march. She felt that she could go on and on for a long time. She just had to walk slower, because the darkness made it hard to see where she was going. Then she saw the lights, weaving between the trees, and she stopped walking, curious and maybe a little afraid.
But those feelings faded as well, and she stood there, blinking in confusion. Why had she stopped walking again…? There came a surprised shout, and the lights were suddenly all around her.
Torches. The lights were torches, held aloft by men. The words trickled into her mind, slow and unwilling.
She did not feel afraid of the men; she stood head and shoulders above even the tallest of them, and they did not look hostile at all. If anything, they looked awestruck, their lantern jaws sagging as they stared at her, pop-eyed. They did have spears, but she did not fear the spears for some reason, no more than she feared the rough hides the men wore, nor their coarse hair or their sun-darkened skins and scraggly beards.
One of the men said something that she did not understand, and fell first to his knees and then to his face in front of her. For a moment, she thought that he might be hurt, and she helped him up before the moment could pass. The little man trembled under her hands, and looked at her with adoration. He put one hand on her breast, carefully, as if he were afraid that he might hurt her.
It felt… nice. Good. She felt a heat inside of her, growing in her loins, but the little man took his hand away and backed off, bowing with every second step and babbling at her. The other little men bowed and babbled as well, and made beckoning gestures.
‘Come with us, come with us!’ they seemed to be saying. So she followed them. She had no reason not to come with them, and besides, she still felt that burgeoning heat inside. That feeling was not going away.
The little men guided her to a place where the forest ended and mountains began. There was a hole in the side of a mountain, and the little men beckoned her inside. One of them made fire in a pit, and they all hurried to pile animal skins onto a flat rock near the fire, beckoning her to ‘Sit, sit!’ So she sat down. They brought her roasted meat and tubers, and she ate as they did. It tasted quite good; better than the fruits she had been eating since this morning.
It occurred to her that the little men must live in the cave. There were piles of dry grass and animal skins, where they probably slept; those piles reeked of man-sweat. (For some reason, the scent made the heat inside her surge.) Also, the fire pit was surrounded by smooth stones, so someone had been using it for a while now. There were neat little piles of chewed bones lying in the cave’s mouth.
Finally, there were the paintings on the walls. They looked childish to her, although she did not know why. She saw pictures of the sun and the clouds, the moon and the stars, pictures of animals, pictures of people… and she saw the picture of the naked woman with the big breasts and the full stomach, from which all the animals and the people seemed to be coming.
When the little men saw her look at that picture, they started bowing to her again.
She looked at the pictures some more, and she saw the fat woman together with a big man with antlers. A diagonal line as long as his body sprang from between his legs, and she understood what it meant. There was a picture of the two of them close together, with people and animals beneath them, and she knew what that meant as well. Inside of her, the heat swelled, making her sweat a little.
One of the little men crept forward, bowing at every other step. He pointed to the picture of the fat woman and then to her, bowed and repeated the gestures, babbling unintelligibly the whole time. Dimly, she understood what he meant to tell her. If that was her, then…
She pointed to the figure with the antlers and made a questioning noise. The little men all nodded and smiled; big, goofy grins. They gestured outside, gestured at their picture of the sun.
Tomorrow, she understood. Tomorrow, the man with the antlers would come for her.
Inside her, the heat flared and she felt a moment of disgruntlement at the delay. But it passed.
The little men made a bed for her with fresh animal skins and fresh grass, and gestured for her to lie down. She was still not very tired, but sleeping was better than just sitting and waiting with nothing to do, so she did what the little men asked of her.
The little men moved their own beds around hers, and put their arms around her. She rather liked the way they cuddled and nuzzled her, not to mention how warm they were, but one by one they fell asleep without doing anything more interesting with her. Inside of her, the heat flared one last time, and then died down. She smiled at how cosy she felt, closed her eyes and let herself drift off to sleep as well.
Good stuff! I love to sit back and read other people’s interpretations of the Blonde Marvel universe. I’d like to add this (and any other fiction) to the “Prose” section, with permission.
D
Sure thing. ^^ Feel free to add the following parts, too.
Out of curiosity: how do you like ‘Spite’ sofar?
So far? So good
. I’m on the edge of my seat wondering what happens next.
D
Patience… ^^ I’ve started on the second chapter, but it’ll take some more time.
Any idea when you’ll be posting the next page, Mr. D?
Kook, I *hope* to have something up this coming Monday. No guarantees:) .