Redoing My Life (Modern Family)

Hi... do you like Marvel and DC Fanfics then i have the one for you...

Presenting

Marvel's Green Lantern SI

My first Marvel and also in a way DC fanfic. Give the first chapter a read and tell me what you think.

Synopsis: Max Vaughn, an archaeologist, meets a tragic end in an unexpected accident. Expecting either an afterlife or the nothingness of death, he instead awakens among the stars, adrift in space and wielding a power ring, within the Marvel Universe.

The fic will follow Max's adventures as the Green Lantern in the distant past of the Marvel Universe, as he builds his legend among the stars and even creates the Corps.

Read it here

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"Daniel, Daniel!" I heard from behind me as I finally made it past the press gauntlet on the red carpet. Flashes were still going off, a sea of camera clicks echoing in my ears like distant thunder.

I entered the theatre where The Revenant was about to be screened for the very first time. It was 19 December 2014—a strategic date, just ahead of the Oscar-eligibility cutoff. This wasn't for the public—not yet.

DiCaprio was right behind me. We'd just walked the carpet together and posed for a few photos, but I wasn't really in the game today—my head was pounding. The headache had been building all day. I wanted to be home in bed, but I had to be here for the film and a handful of other obligations.

Inside, the lighting was low and warm. A quiet buzz filled the theatre as industry people trickled in—agents, producers, critics, executives.

The first person I spotted was Paul Knight—my right-hand man at Midas. Steady, professional, sharp as ever in a midnight-blue suit. He was waiting just inside, scanning the room like a hawk.

"Everything going well?" I asked as I approached.

Paul nodded. "Everyone you invited is here. You should meet them all."

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Kinda regretting that now. My head's killing me."

He gave me a knowing look but didn't push. Instead, he handed me a small envelope. I slid it into my coat pocket without looking at it.

The truth was, I'd curated this guest list personally—key executives from every major studio. The idea was to show them what Midas was becoming and how fast it was growing. It wasn't as if they could decline my invitation; after all, I'd just made the third two-billion-dollar movie in industry history—youngest billionaire and all that.

They were curious now—curious what I'd do next.

And, of course, there was The Revenant itself. The buzz was huge: the book had been a bestseller, Leo's involvement drew even more eyes, and our collaboration amplified the interest. The press campaign had been subtle but deliberate, pushing one narrative above all:

Leo wanted an Oscar.

It was everywhere. "His most committed role yet." "A performance that pushes him to the brink." Survival stories from the set. Rumors about raw liver. Articles whispering about the Academy's long-overdue recognition. We'd seeded it all a long, careful campaign.

"So, how did you like my gift?" Leo asked as he walked up beside me, slinging an arm casually over my shoulder.

I turned to him, shaking my head with a grin. "Very, very nice and a total surprise."

He gave a smug little nod. "Well, yeah, that was the point. I know you love old muscle cars, so…" He shrugged, as if gifting someone a pristine 1969 Boss 429 Mustang were no big deal. "I'm glad you liked it."

Liked it? I loved it. I didn't know where he found it or who he called to make it happen, but if Leo ever asked me to help him bury a body, I'd probably consider it. Okay maybe not that far. But still.

He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice. "So…have you thought about what I said? Wanna buy that yacht? It won't be on the market forever."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Not really a boat guy."

Leo smirked, eyes glinting. "It has its perks. Trust me."

"I'm sure it does," I said. "But I'm gonna pass. I don't want to get entangled with any Russian oligarch looking to off-load a yacht."

He chuckled. "Well, if you change your mind…"

I gave him a playful nudge and slipped into the crowd.

Inside, the theater was filling up fast. Everyone had come for The Revenant, but the real show was happening in the audience—the heavy hitters I'd invited: executives, producers, decision-makers. They'd been watching Midas and wondering how far we'd go.

I spotted two Disney people—one from theatrical distribution, the other from the film division. We shook hands and made small talk. They were friendly, but clearly still digesting the numbers Superman had posted: $2.2 billion. That wasn't just success—it was a seismic shift, and it had changed the way they looked at me.

They didn't say it outright, but I could hear it in the questions they asked and the way they leaned in: the superhero showdown between Stardust and Disney was very real now.

There was one person I really wanted to catch tonight—a senior Warner Bros. exec, a long-time studio veteran. But before I could spot him I had to go find my seats. The movie was about to begin.

I sat between Iñárritu and Leo as the lights dimmed and the title card flashed on the screen:

The Revenant.

The original book I knew in my past life told the true story of Hugh Glass accurately—historically accurate and grounded. The Arikara ambush, the bear attack, the long, brutal crawl back through the wilderness—all of it had happened. But the real reason for Glass's revenge was that Fitzgerald, the antagonist, had stolen his gun. That was the true story.

I didn't write the true story when i wrote the book here. The version I wrote for my book followed the same plot as the movie I had seen in my previous life, but with some major changes.

The biggest change was simple: I leaned hard into the father-son bond. I built it up in the first act. It developed Glass's character and gave the audience someone else to care about—his son.

Fitzgerald, too, I rewrote. I made him more than just a villain. I gave him a past. I gave him reasons—not to justify what he did, but to help the audience understand how a man could become that kind of monster.

Another change while making the movie was reducing the film's length by twelve minutes. It was still visually stunning and had its quiet moments, but I made sure that many long, drawn-out scenes were trimmed to what Alejandro thought was acceptable.

The version I'd seen in my original timeline was gorgeous yet flawed: undercooked characters, confusing hallucinations, and—frankly—too long. This cut kept all the beauty while sharpening the rest: better narrative, richer characters. And Leo… Leo carried it home.

As the final shot faded to black and the credits rolled, the whole theater rose. A standing ovation—loud, long, earned.

I turned to Leo, who was still catching his breath.

"The Academy will be exposed as frauds if they don't give you one this year," I said.

He flashed a crooked grin. "Yeah," he replied. "They'd better."

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Breaking away from the well-wishers and the press after what felt like a thousand congratulations, I finally got some air—and set out to find one particular person.

The Warner Bros. executive. Very powerful, yet almost invisible to the wider public. I was convinced I'd stumbled onto a kind of Hollywood deep state.

I began scanning the room, but along the way I ran into another Warner Bros. exec—Clarence. We'd met only briefly before, and the drinks he'd had were loosening his tongue.

"So," I asked casually, "you're really shutting down all those studios?"

Clarence exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes. Yes, we are."

"What about that Lord of the Rings game you were making?"

He paused, thinking it over. "Yeah… we're shutting that down as well."

I nodded slowly, careful not to show how fast my mind was racing. "So, uh… willing to sell them?"

His eyes narrowed, weighing me. "Oh yes. You own a game studio, don't you?"

"That's right," I said, keeping my tone breezy while my brain went a mile a minute. "All this downsizing—there must be a reason."

"We could do business," Clarence said with a nod. "If the price is right."

I grinned probably the widest smile I'd flashed all night. If I could buy one of their studios especially that piece of tech they'd been developing—the possibilities were endless.

"By the way, I've been looking for Mr. Abelman," I added, shifting gears smoothly.

Clarence perked up. "Oh, he was looking for you, too. He's right there." He pointed.

I followed his gaze—and there he was: standing alone beside a marble pillar, surveying the crowd with practiced calm. Short, slightly hunched, maybe early seventies—quiet, unassuming. You wouldn't give him a second glance on the street.

But this man had green-lit stars—and buried others. One of those people who controlled things from the shadows.

I walked over, and the moment he saw me, he straightened a little and offered a polite smile.

"Mr. Adler," he said warmly, extending his hand.

"Mr. Abelman," I replied, matching his tone as I shook it.

"Please," he added with a soft chuckle, "call me Herschel."

"Then you have to call me Daniel," I said with a smile.

He gave a small nod. "It was a great movie, Daniel. I'm sure DiCaprio will be polishing that golden statue in no time."

I laughed lightly. "Let's hope."

Herschel's smile widened—only slightly. "You and I both know hope has no place in it."

I nodded. "True. And speaking of the Academy… the person I want to discuss is very much in with them."

At that, Herschel's expression shifted. The smile remained, but something behind his eyes sharpened—a flicker of tension.

"It's a dangerous game you're playing, Mr. Adler."

Ah. Back to Mr. Adler. So it's serious now.

"Look," I said calmly, "I'm not trying to upend the status quo—I'm not out to start a revolution or burn down the system."

Herschel studied me.

"But," I continued, "you and I both know this man has become too toxic to protect."

He looked down at his drink, silent and thoughtful, then met my gaze again. We'd crossed into territory where every word mattered.

"Let's see who benefits from this," I said quietly, watching people laugh and sip their drinks around us. "All the major studios—you know that."

Herschel didn't reply, but his silence was confirmation.

"We can finally dismantle the machine he's been running," I added. "The campaign machine. The Oscar machine. I'm sure you've seen how much money that's costing you and others—all because of him."

Herschel gave a small nod.

"And CAA?" I pressed. "The chaos there alone would be a gold mine for us all."

Another nod, slower this time. He was listening.

"And most importantly—like I said—he's too toxic to protect. It will happen, Herschel. Maybe not today, maybe not next year. But he's going to slip up."

I paused, and what I said next made me feel slimy—but it had to be said.

"When that happens," I continued, my voice low and measured, "do you and your friends want to be left in the hot seat, sailing blind through uncharted waters? Or would you rather it happens in a controlled manner—one where we guide the narrative and shape what happens during and after?"

Herschel studied me.

I leaned in slightly. "You, Herschel, know what it means to have skeletons in the closet."

His face didn't change, but his hand tightened on his glass.

"Be careful," he said quietly—not a threat, just a warning.

"I know what you're about to say," I cut in. "Others have tried this to you before and vanished—careers ruined, reputations buried."

I offered a thin smile. "But those people didn't have the money or the bit of power I already have. I'm not some naïve newcomer clawing for leverage. I'm rich, Herschel. And lately I've been making a lot of friends with that money."

Herschel exhaled. A flicker of amusement lit his eyes. "Yes… I've noticed. Very generous donations—making friends in Washington too, Daniel."

I chuckled. "Just playing the game, Herschel."

Then I steered us back. "All I want is to rock the boat just enough to dump a body overboard. There may be rough seas, but soon enough we'll be back to calm waters—just like before."

A beat of silence passed.

Then, slowly, Herschel smiled—a real one—and let out a deep, full laugh.

"Okay. Okay," he said, patting my shoulder. From afar it must have looked absurd: this small, elderly man tapping the chest of someone twice his size, like a priest bestowing a blessing.

"Let's talk, Daniel," he said, and together we walked plotting a downfall.

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Hi... do you like Marvel and DC Fanfics then i have the one for you...

Presenting

Marvel's Green Lantern SI

My first Marvel and also in a way DC fanfic. Give the first chapter a read and tell me what you think.

Synopsis: Max Vaughn, an archaeologist, meets a tragic end in an unexpected accident. Expecting either an afterlife or the nothingness of death, he instead awakens among the stars, adrift in space and wielding a power ring, within the Marvel Universe.

The fic will follow Max's adventures as the Green Lantern in the distant past of the Marvel Universe, as he builds his legend among the stars and even creates the Corps.

Read it here