Reed Richards

New Avengers #7 (2005)

“And that’s exactly why your hand is attached to your body and doesn’t randomly fly through the room!”

“Alright, just let me use my crossbow for this.”

“Did I just shoot you? I didn’t mean to shoot you!”

“Why wouldn’t you have a random morning star laying around?”

“Don’t fucking leave your spoon on the moon then!”

“I’m probably going to kill one of you. Anyone wanna go first?”

“It’s like you parked your car on the sun. Same result.”

“Who else am I going to ask how to get rid of a body then?”

“Math doesn’t have any feelings, but you can hurt it anyway.”

“Are we doing voodoo now? We’re doing voodoo now.”

“I pretty sure a demonic thing ate it. That’s the only explanation.”

“Like, imagine you go on a nice trip… but in space!”

“I wanted to tell you an epic story, but my wife said no, so the epic story didn’t even happen.”

“Of course we could always just set it on fire and see what happens.”

“Nothing to feel loved like talking to yourself in a room full of people.”

“Well, it’s supposed to be done that way but — scratch that, it never works.”

“You disturbed the monkey!”

“Why did none of you get me coffee. I hate all of you.”

“There’s three types of people. Star Wars fans, Trekies, and idiots.”

“No. I just like blowing stuff up.”

(Imitates chainsaw noises.)

“Oh, come on, you can’t all be saving Hyrule at the SAME time.”

“Everything gets better with breadsticks.”

This version of Reed Richards ALMOST makes me want to read Ults stuff. 

   He lifted the top book in the stack, and perused its contents as if he were the only one present, broad back to Reed in singular indifference,

   “I requested a private room,” he noted, without looking up, then snapped the text shut to consider his ‘companion’ at last. “Which means that your paperwork must be in error.” Although his command of English was nearly flawless, the thick accent that skewed each long syllable said all their was to know of his origins–geographically speaking, at least.