#// and not just from iron man vol 1!!!

[peterthepark]

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

tags: 18+ very graphic smut, rough van sex, dirty talk, analplay, sub!eddie but also very much switch!eddie, lust at first sight, major mutual pining, a sprinkle of perv!eddie but hes sexy so its okay, (1) guest appearance by dustin, post vol. 2 fix-it fic, 7k filth

summary: she’s the girl next door. eddie is the metalhead freak who’s just barely clearing his name after a whole town fiasco. opposites attract but certainly not like this, and certainly not in the back of eddie’s van.

a/n: pov vol 2 ended on a positive note and eleven miraculously fixed everything so a freshly-graduated eddie can now live his life to the fullest!!!!!!!! aka what should’ve happened… minors dni. not for u.

It’s rare for Eddie Munson to be roaming the white-picket fence suburbs of Hawkins. It feels like a fantasyland — golden retrievers and tabby cats, designated trash days and bright, green grass full of yellow daffodils, oak trees with makeshift swings and wooden playgrounds built by loving fathers. It’s too perfect, too uncanny, and Eddie knows deep down that he doesn��t belong in such a world as nice as this one. 

But the suburbs of Hawkins are also welcoming.

When he gives Dustin a ride from school to home, when the noon is at its peak, golden rays and soft sprinklers making rainbows rise from the soil, he thinks — for a moment or two — that he belongs. He could if he wanted to. When Henderson invites him over for dinner, or when Harrington needs help fixing his car, when Mike needs relationship advice (as if Eddie could know anything about that) and when Robin wants to know more about Iron Maiden to impress the metalhead ladies, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it isn’t so bad on this side of town.

That is until he saw you. And he realized then why everyone called this part of Hawkins a slice of paradise.

Pretty college student. Cut-off shorts from the Gap paired with baggy baseball tees, and a cute nose always stuffed in a romance novel or — some days — a textbook. Glossy lips, adorable socks and checkered picnic blankets where you’d lay out on the too-pristine yard, kicking your legs back and forth as if acting like eye candy was your specialty. 

The perfect poster girl of Hawkins with just enough rough edges to be labelled the girl next door. 

Only, Eddie doesn’t live next door to you. Dustin does. 

“The least you could tell me is her name, Henderson. I don’t want gas money, I want her name. Spelled out for me, syllable by syllable. Government name.” Eddie rambles, shifting impatiently in the driver’s seat as Dustin leans over the passenger window from the outside. “We’re sitting ducks here, man. What if she sees us spying on her damn fence like some creeps?”

The curly-haired sophomore sighs, fingers strung together as he frowns at his older friend, “You are a grown ass man, Eddie. All you have to do is ask her, just say hi, make an impression or something! You can’t just be looking at her from afar everytime you come over, blasting this Metallica shit…”

“You are on very thin ice, boy.” Eddie wags a finger at him, wide eyes bouncing between Dustin and the front of your house. “I don’t know her like you know her. I don’t wanna be weird, especially after just putting all this town satanic cult bull behind my ass. She might think — dammit, I don’t know… I just wouldn’t wanna scare the girl, okay?” He sucks in a deep breath, shrugging the thought off with a hopeful smile, “Not this time.”

“Disgusting.” 

He snaps his head towards Dustin, reaching over and rustling the cap on his head with a playful smirk. “You’re disgusting, you fuckin’ booger.”

And as if on cue, like every other day he’s been through this neighborhood, Eddie watches your figure emerge from the porch, picnic blanket and weathered paperback in hand. His jaw goes slack at the image of your denim overall-clad frame, nothing but a bikini-like bra underneath the number while a fresh cigarette dangles from your lips. So much skin — the exposed flesh of your neck, the salty beads of sweat rolling down your collarbone, the cherubic glow of your complexion and the alluring blush of your lips as you sit out on the yard. 

Fuck.

A loud boom pulls the metalhead from his trance. Dustin’s palm comes down against the flimsy van door. “Earth to Eddie? Get a grip, you’re drooling.” 

And all he can really say is: “She’s so damn pretty.”

Maybe he’s overreacting. Maybe he’s just really that in-deep with a girl who he has never, ever spoken to. Maybe he’s a pervert rather than a misunderstood freak and this is all just completely wrong of him. But, god, it feels so right to stare. Eddie can’t help it, especially once you catch sight of Dustin and send him an adorable little wave — then your eyes flicker over to Eddie’s dumbfounded expression inside the van, where you wave at him too. 

And the twenty one year-old swears he dies. Right at that moment. His heart skips several beats all at once, possibly even flatlining as a small smile falls upon your graceful features, bursting right out of his chest even as you look away and immediately redirect your attention to the walkman in your pocket like you hadn’t just casually murdered him alive. 

Fuck me, he thinks.

The next time Eddie sees you, he gets a little more than a wave. He’s reveling in this newfound attention as he bounces down the steps of Dustin’s porch and catches sight of you on the other side of the fence, already staring his way before he sends you a nerdy two-finger salute with a close-lipped smile. And just before he reaches the sidewalk, your sweet voice stops him in his determined tracks. 

“Metallica at three p.m. in this neighborhood is a death wish, you know.” 

Eddie turns slowly on his heels, shoes facing you before his whole body follows hesitantly. He’s trying to wipe off that stupid expression on his face, lips parted into a skinny ‘O’ that makes him look like a fish out of water as you finally make eye contact. He heats up immediately from the inside, belly churning and throat tightening when you give him a once over. And it seems like you don’t exactly care for subtlety either — blown pupils raking over his tattooed arms, taking in the torn rips of his shirt-turned-tank-top and the tanlines just above his elbows. 

He hopes you think that the scars on his body are just as badass (if not, more) than his tats. 

Say something. “Didn’t know music was on a schedule.” Eddie manages to follow along with a shrug, lips tugging to the side nervously.

In response, you smile. You fucking smile as if he hadn’t just said the most stupid response ever. It’s gentle, airy, almost effortless as crescent-like lines shape your warm cheeks and you cup a hand over your eyes, adorably squinting through the bright sunlight. “Oh, believe me, I had Iron Maiden on blast one time and ever since then, the whole block has been thinking I’m some sort of cult apologist.”

His heart grows like a balloon filling with helium, voice even going so far to climb several octaves of excitement as his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “You… you listen to that kind of stuff?”

You play with the lacy strap of your top. You’re beaming widely at him from the other side of the fence. “Do you judge books by their covers, mister?”

“No, ma’am.” Eddie swipes the glistening pad of his thumb across his bottom lip, stifling the grin that threatens to spread across his mouth. Sheepish, he shakes his head. “I think I underestimated you then. I’m… I’m sorry I…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m kidding. Seriously though, I have a bunch of mixtapes back in my room. Ozzy, Dio, some Sabbath. No one really gets it, but you… you seem like you do.”

And Eddie wonders: could you get any more damn perfect? The suburban denim dream, the girl next door, the quintessential concoction of every teenage boy’s fantasy and every teenage girl’s desire… listens to metal music? And not just AC/DC or KISS (because everyone loves those guys), but the same music he’s grown up with and loved? 

He can’t help but picture you in your bed, records spread out across your comforter as you switch between Dream Evil and Peace of Mind. Your limbs stretched out on the mattress, shirt riding up with nothing but black panties underneath as you rock out to his favorites. 

Yeah. He’ll think about that one a lot.

“I definitely get it. I do, I really do. I love metal.” Eddie rambles, hoping to keep your attention by stalling this conversation as much as possible. You nod at him with those big, innocent eyes and roll your fleshy lip between your teeth, keen to every stupid word that falls from his tongue. “But hey, it can be our little secret, then.” He leisurely gravitates towards the van while you match his strides, taking note of his quavering pitch and the use of Eddie’s own hands waving through the air wildly as he attempts to withhold his nervousness. “And again, just for peace of mind, I didn’t mean to judge. I figured…”

“Madonna?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles. Feels the anxiety in his stomach build even more. “Nothin’ wrong with Madonna, though. Sexy tunes. Can’t deny that.”

Sexy tunes. Come on, Munson.

But that draws a giggle right out of you, “Sexy tunes, indeed.” Then, you’re both leaning against the side of his van. No fence or Dustin coming between the two of you, just your sweaty bodies and Hawkins’ summer heat seeping through your thin clothes. You hold your palm out, fingers welcomingly outstretched. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” 

Eddie’s gaze bounces from your smaller hand to the doting expression on your face before gingerly enveloping it in his own. “Eddie. Edward. E-Eddie. You can…” You give him a gentle squeeze, a sure smile dusting over your lips. “You can just call me Eddie, or whatever. Whatever you want, Y/N.”

“Well,” You laugh again, and Eddie blushes profusely at the lighthearted noise. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Whatever.” You share another one of those looks, and he swears that this time — this time, your eyes do all the talking that needs to be done. “I think we’ll get along really well… Eddie.”

His name has never sounded so perfect out loud.

Eddie sees you again. 

And again. Every time he drops Dustin off. Again. Leant against the side of his van. Talking and talking, until there’s nothing to talk about — but it’s rare. He always has something to talk about, even when his voice fails him and he stutters or stumbles over syllables because you’re so fucking pretty and he’s… he’s just Eddie. But you see him differently than the others, so he supposes that maybe being “just Eddie” isn’t such an awful thing after all. 

Again, you talk. The sidewalk. Along the road. On your lawn. Sometimes, Eddie will even join you on your blanket, skim through your books and take note of what you read, then he’ll recommend “true” literature like Lord of the Rings or something else with elves and witches. 

Summer has never felt so long. 

Again.

Until again becomes every afternoon. Even on the days Dustin doesn’t need a ride home anymore. Even on the days he has to practice with his band at four, but he can always just come see you at three and drive back because it’s no big deal. Even on the days your parents say you need to stop talking to that Munson boy because he’s no good, but who fucking cares? 

Again, anyways.

You’re not scared of him. He’s not scary. He never was.

And so afternoons turn into nights. And nights consist of sneaking out to Eddie’s van that he’s parked a few houses down the street, because God forbid he talks to the innocent girl next door. Innocent is one fat hoax. You’re smoking pot with him in the back of his fucking van for Ozzy’s sake, giggly and unrelenting as you sit next to each other and drench yourselves in the scent of weed and Eddie’s drugstore cologne while Metallica plays faintly in the background.

He’s all man, but soft with his eyes. Soft in the way he looks at you. Crude in the way he secretly desires you. Now that he knows you, really knows you, you aren’t just beautiful. 

You’re completely devastating. 

You take a long drag of his joint, wincing as the paper sizzles and burns orange. “Fuck, I wish I tried getting high sooner. You’re a horrible influence, you know that?”

Eddie hums with a toothy grin, fiddling with the pair of flimsy headphones in his lap. “And yet you still meet me back here every night.”

“Why do I even do that?” 

“Um, ‘cause I got, like, really fucking good ‘A’ quality weed and impeccable taste in music.” He shrugs nonchalantly, eyes following the mold of your lips around the bud. “Easy there, tigress. Don’t hog it.”

“You said…”

“I said, you could have one hit. And now, I’m confiscating it.”

You groan in protest as Eddie leans over to your side of the van and snatches the blunt from you, tossing it into a mushroom shaped ashtray as he gazes at you curiously. “Since when did you become so mean to me?”

“Weed is meant to be treasured, Y/N. And plus, I’m always mean.”

He has to admit — there has been tension between the two of you ever since your afternoon catch-ups turned into late night talking. Maybe he’s imagining it, but surely you feel it too. The bubbling in his stomach when your elbows brush in such a confined space. The heat rushing to his cheeks when you laugh and place a hand on his thigh, or the dizzy rush flooding your forehead when he picks a flyaway strand of hair off of your shoulder. The increase in your heartbeats as you stare at each other for a minute too long, even sneaking in a second glance because you just have to. 

“You know what you should treasure?” You quirk a brow at him. A smirk tugs upon your lips as you dig through your pocket and pull out a cassette tape, shaking it in front of Eddie’s face. “This week’s mix I made you.”

“My mix is better.” He flicks his walkman open, switching out the tape inside for the one you hand him. “Here’s yours, ma’am.”

And he supposes that no one really expected that his friendship with the girl next door would be founded on trading music with each other. Ever since you and Eddie found out your tastes were in alignment, you made it a goal to introduce new songs to him — Madonna included. Sexy tunes. 

You think he could get used to the oddity of The Cure. He thinks he can convince you that Guns N’ Roses will eventually be a rock sensation. You’re skeptical. Maybe.

So you marinate in each other’s stagnant presence, leaning on opposite walls of his metal tin can of a van, holding your own walkmans with ears caressed by Koss headphones and lids shut as your heads bob to the acoustics. Eddie can’t help but crack an eye open, sneaking a peek at your chewed lip and your look of concentration. 

“I like this one.” You pipe up, feeling his stare on you. He glances away before you can actually catch him, training his gaze on the mess of blankets behind the driver’s seat. “You know, your choices this week are very interesting, Munson.”

Suggestive. His choices are suggestive, is what you’re thinking. From the first to the last track, the list of songs messily etched onto the cassette with the most boyish handwriting you’d ever seen, you can only hope that the metalhead holds some sort of attraction for you in the same manner you do for him. 

Eddie chuckles, and winces apologetically at you. “I still hate The Cure, by the way.”

You nod unconvinced, and pull one of the cups of your headphones away from your ear. There’s a smile of amusement, an interested dimple in your cheek. “And yet you included The Perfect Girl on here?” 

“Only because it made me think of you.”

For once, he realizes that he has flustered you. Your jaw goes slack, your pupils widen, brows softening before your nose crinkles at him. “Shut up, Eddie.”

His palms raise in a peaceful surrender, ringed fingers wiggling adorably. “You asked, Y/N.” A beat. Then you’re playfully throwing a jacket at his face and squealing before he instinctively lunges forward at you, gentle hands pulling you back by the elbows. Despite the struggle, eventually he’s pinned to the floor of the van and you’re on top of him straddling his soft belly. “Get off, you monster!” He near-giggles, sputtering as his hair gets into his mouth and he feels your body racking with laughter. 

“You’re so rude to me. Like the rudest. When has The Cure ever hurt you?” You pant out, chest rising and falling steadily as you both catch your breath. Eddie’s headphones haphazardly hug his head, walkman in the palm that rests above him. “Do you treat your girlfriend this way, hm?”

“No girlfriend.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mmm, I thought it was obvious.” He replies quietly, the sound comes out more like a soft moan rather than an agreement. His plushy lips are wet with saliva, tongue poking between the pink flesh as his eyes flicker from your parting mouth to your curious, swirling irises. “S’why I’m here with you.”

“So I’m the second choice is what you’re…”

“Please, you are farthest from the second choice, sweetheart.” Eddie laughs, ribs rumbling against his torso. Only then does he become hyper aware of the way your breasts push up against his shirt, the warmth of your skin intermixing with his, your nipples hardening against the thin white fabric of your camisole. Sweetheart, you repeat. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. “Do you have one?”

“A girlfriend?” You ask, tone playful and curious.

Careless Whisper echoes through his headphones; your mixtape is still looping through his walkman as you trail your fingers down his wrists and brace yourself on his chest. 

Fucking hell. It’s ironic. It’s pathetic. George Michael needs to shut up. Why is this damned song on here? He’s struggling to think, struggling to focus on the words coming from your mouth, struggling to keep it in his pants because you keep shifting farther and farther away from his stomach, and more and more towards his crotch. Focus. Tune out that stupid saxophone.

“Sure.” He shrugs breathlessly, tingling with anticipation. 

“Nope.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Not yet, no. Why is this a conversation, Eddie?” You bite your lip cheekily, knees planted firmly on either side of his lean body when you gaze down at him then survey the still-lit joint resting on his ashtray. Silence, then: “Can I have a hit? Please?”

Eddie glances at your lips, fixating on how your tongue darts out to lick at the sticky gloss. The moonlight casts a glow over your frame, highlighting the path of your curves through your tank top. And without really taking his eyes off of your beautiful face, his fingers reach for the blunt, a blush spreading across his chiseled cheeks when your hand brushes against his to grab it. 

Please.

A sizzle rustles through the heavy air as you take a slow drag.

And Eddie can’t help himself. Not this time.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?”

You’re slowly tossing the perfectly-good blunt aside, leaning down and lazily grabbing Eddie gingerly by his chin. 

He thinks you’re gonna kiss him.

And before he can lift his head to meet you, instead, you’re blowing a puff of smoke between his parted lips with an exhale. “Fuck… ing… heck…” He instantly groans, eyelids drooping as your ass pushes against him teasingly like you hadn’t just shotgunned into his goddamn mouth. Party trick. You flutter your lashes bashfully, dimples poking at your cheeks as Eddie gapes at you just inches away from your face. “Y/N, where the fuck did you… learn that?”

You sigh. “Eddie Munson, you just keep on underestimating me.” 

“I really do, I really fucking do…” He huffs, knuckles turning white around his walkman as you sensually tug his headphones off. “I just — just thought you were…”

“Innocent? Oblivious? I may be your girl next door fantasy… or whatever the fuck you Hawkins boys think about me…” You smirk, taking Eddie’s much-larger hands into yours and placing them firmly on your hips. “… but I am not fucking blind… you’ve been acting so off this entire night, must need something to take the edge off, don’t you?”

Fucking Ozzy. He can’t take it. His lips tug into a wince. “That easy, huh?”

Red-handed, you coo. “The easiest.”

“So technically you’re calling me easy, then?” Eddie jokes, heart pounding against his chest as he tenderly digs his fingertips into your love handles.

This is what he’s wanted. This is it. 

And it’s not a fucking dream at all. It’s absolutely heaven. 

Just like heaven.

“Eh, I think it’s endearing. The way you…” He curses under his breath as you lean over and trail your mouth up his jawline, biting his earlobe. “… savor me… savor looking at me. The way you think I don’t notice your stare, when your eyes wander a couple inches down whenever I talk? Oh, you think you’re so slick. I’m not naïve. Why do you think we hang out in your van at night?”

He shudders when your teeth find the cool surface of the guitar pick around his neck. “You’re evil, sweetheart.”

“And you’re horny, but maybe I shouldn’t talk about that.”

“No, definitely…” Eddie laughs nervously, swallowing as he looks down at you. “Definitely not. I’m… fuck, I’m fine. I’m good.”

“Or, maybe I should.” Back and forth banter. It’s natural with you. Too natural, almost like it has always meant to be like this between the eager pair of you. You don’t kiss him, not yet. He can wait. “Acting like a gentleman, like my friend, when in reality you can’t help but think of banging me everytime we see each other?”

“M’sorry, okay? We are friends — fuck, Y/N. Can’t focus… can’t exactly t-talk when you’re on my lap like that.”

Heat pools to his lower stomach, breaths quickening as his hands mindlessly drift down to your upper thighs, squeezing your skin through your little shorts when you grind against him. “Like this? How does it feel? Touching me, feeling me on you like this?”

Eddie’s eyes are dark, almost black in the dim shadows of his van. He looks up at you with the most dilated, entranced look, and you swear it almost makes you break. “Feels… feels so nice. Warm. I just… fuck, I don’t… don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do… Y/N, goddamnit…”

“I think it’s both clear what we want, no?” You press a kiss to his cheek, running your thumb along the skin beneath his lower lashes. His self-control is slowly diminishing, inch by inch, he feels himself melting in your presence. “I stare, too, just so you know. I stare a lot.”

“Yeah?” Eddie lifts a shaky hand, nervously cupping your jaw and nudging his nose against yours. His voice ghosts your skin, raspy and more of a whimper than a command. “Tell me about it.”

Your mouth hovers over his, lips barely brushing against each other. Touching, touching, touching, only to pull away at the very last second. He can almost just taste the marijuana from your tongue, almost taste the honey dripping from your voice as you peck the corner of his lips. Almost. “I look at your arms, and your really cool tattoos, then I picture… where else you have them on your body…” You gasp into his ear as his hips rut into you, his fingers drawing shapes against the side of your face. “Picture your lips on my chest… kissing me, leaving marks… bruises, hickies, whatever you want, Munson. Your mouth between my — my thighs… tugging on your hair because you’d be so good to me, wouldn’t you?”

“M’want you so bad. You don’t know the half of it.” He whispers, stroking a knuckle across the shadow of your cupid’s bow. “Please… let me… fuck, let me kiss you. Please, Y/N. Want it so bad. Been wanting you ever since summer started. Makin’ me crazy, got me feeling like I’m insane with the way I just… just obsess over us.”

He’s earned it. 

“Like I said, whatever you want.” You grin devilishly.

Eddie’s lips finally collide with yours, erotically wet and far from smooth. It’s incongruous, sweaty skin rubbing against each other and clothes rustling as Eddie sits up, your arms swaddling his lanky frame while you crane your neck to kiss him deeply. His hair is in your mouth, his nose smushed against the side of your face, strained groans slipping from his throat as he traverses down your neck, selfishly licking the divot of your collarbone before his palms are venturing under your camisole. 

“You’re so fucking hot.” He whines, lashes fluttering against your thin bra as he pulls your top over your head. He’s mouthing at the cups, biting at the stringy lace of your push-up before he’s tugging the material down to reveal your nipples. “I just… fuck, I’m just in awe of you. You’re the perfect girl, and I get to have you.” He wraps his lips around the hardened bud, moaning as he alternates between the two and litters your flesh in dark hickies. You fist his hair, caving into his frame. “You’re so sexy. Just… fucking… took the words out of me, leavin’ me speechless… I’ll make you feel so f-fucking good if you let me.”

Your head rolls back as he kisses up the underside of your chin, meeting your lips in a more tender kiss. Your nails trail underneath his Iron Maiden ringer tee, lightly tracing over the raised scars on his abdomen, his belly, skimming over his sparse happy trail and the subtlety of his v-line. “You’re all talk, Eddie… wanna make me feel good?” He nods meekly, the veins in his neck flexing as you stroke his brow bone. “Think you should start by undressing me…”

“Christ, please.”

And without a beat, Eddie’s reaching around you to unclasp your bra, tossing it aside so that it lands over the back of the driver’s seat. He kisses his way down your belly, the little pudge when you sit, only for him to lay you down on your back, clumping up a bunch of jackets to make a pillow for your head. His fingers unbutton your shorts, tugging them down the length of your legs with your panties until they get caught on your Chucks. 

He takes those off too. Quite frankly, chucks the Chucks across the van with a squeaky mutter of ‘goddamn shoes…’  before he’s pocketing a lineup of chunky rings into his jeans.

Eddie’s mouth makes up for the dorky mishap, his lips make haste against your tender calves, biting the squish of your thighs and nudging his nose against the glossy patches of arousal on the inside of your skin. He inhales the scent of your cunt, and you jerk with a moan of surprise as he kisses you there, open and fluttering for him while he lays on his stomach.

He’s never seen such a pretty pussy. It emboldens him, leaves him brazen and aching for more even though it’s the first time he’s ever seen you this naked. Even though he’s barely even had you, he still needs more.

“Need you so bad it hurts.” Eddie growls, looking up at you with a smirk as you gnaw on your bottom lip. “You’re just… fuck, how did you get this wet? God, you’re unreal, baby… let me? Please? Let me… let me eat it… I’ll do anything…”

Let me. Let me. Let me. It’s his mantra. You’d be lying if you deny that it stirs something animalistic within you.

You nod violently, biting down on your forefinger as he props you up against the wall of the van and parts your knees even further before he’s shoving his face into you. Your hands dart straight into his curls again, pulling and tugging until you’re holding him by a wiry ponytail, watching the eager way he suckles at the bundle of nerves just at the apex of your sex. 

Eddie feels like a fucking virgin. Desperate. Impatient. Aggressive. He’s too excited — it displays itself when he slips two digits into your needy slit, taking in how you instantly buck against him. You need him. Need him in the same manner he needs this. His ego fires up as he drives his fingers further, running his tongue over and back and down your clit until your grip on his hair becomes suffocating.

“Having fun down there, h-hm?” You croak. Even with his head buried between your thighs, you’re mischievous, challenging, witty. He’d fuck the brains out of you if he could, but honestly, he isn’t even sure if he could survive one second with his cock in your little fist. “Fuckkk. You’re makin’ me feel so good, Eds…” Your head hits the metal wall, a soft bang that goes unnoticed with all the squelching and creaming as Eddie scissors his fingers. 

“You’re so perfect. You’re so perfect, I love the way you look right now, s’fucking hot… could cum just by watching you.”

“Yeah? Just wait — just fucking wait till I suck you off.”

Eddie can’t wrap his thoughts around it. His tongue, his hands, where he’s buried inside you. He’s wanted this, ever since the start of summer, and he’s here with the girl he thought was untouchable — the perfect girl with a perfect, filthy secret that is him. 

You’re grinding your mound against his mouth, quivering jaw unhinged in the darkness of his large van. His eyes flicker up to your tits, slick with his spit and your own as a dribble of saliva falls from your lips, tainting your skin. 

For once, you aren’t put-together. He’s ripping your façade apart at the seams and leaving nothing to sew back.

“You’re a fucking mess, Y/N… oh, I do this to you?” He’s touching you till you’re vibrating and mewling. He’s lapping every drop of you up, tasting you permanently on his lips as he prods at your clit. “Fuck, honey…” Eddie bites you, hard enough to nurse a bruise on the inside of your thigh. “Please cum for me, yeah? Jus’ look how wet I’ve gotten you, sweetheart… you’re practically — oh, my god… you’re practically gaping… you wanna cum that bad?”

You really can’t help it. Not when he’s cooing at you with that whiny voice, teasing and suggestive as your cunt spasms over his pink knuckles. Your hips rise from the carpet flooring, and Eddie leaves another bite-mark on your stomach as slick trickles out of you. You don’t moan. You don’t scream, nor cry. Just a broken whimper and a restrained, quiet utterance of Eddie’s name beneath your breath. 

Somehow, it makes his cock pulse even harder.

He gently kisses your cunt, running a soothing tongue over the bruises he’s left and the dip in where your hip meets your thigh. “Fuck, that was hot.” He smells the aftermath of your orgasm, really smelling you this time, and it ends up driving him nuts. “Oh, Y/N… your pussy…” You follow his gaze, letting out a lewd sound as Eddie admires the puffiness of your folds, swollen and open from his work. You jolt as soon as he tries to spread you. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry, d-didn’t mean to get so damn rough with you. You tasted so fucking nice, s’all.”

“No, I…” You brush his hair away from his face, pushing his bangs aside as he sits up and wedges himself between your knees. “I love rough. I can take it. I can take this.” Your other hand palms him through his jeans, before you’re dipping yourself beneath his waistband, hairs prickling at your skin as you grasp him. “Do you want me to be rough with you, Eds? Because I just… I really, really want your cock, and I… I dunno if I can hold myself back…”

“Oh, you little slut.” He gasps brazenly as you pull his shirt off, eyes wide at your sudden conviction for him, “Take it. Take me, Y/N. I’m all yours, whatever you fucking want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby.”

You smirk, helping him kick off his jeans and boxers. Your cunt pathetically gapes for him once he’s bare, contracting around nothingness as Eddie takes your place against the wall. He leans back, and you just stare — drinking him in the same way he drinks you in. Your puffy nipples, still damp from his spit, your darkened neck a testament to his artistry, your mouth parting in awe as you fit his erect cock into your hand. Barely.

He’s big — lengthwise, and it curves heavily in your grasp as you lean down to pop him between your lips. Eddie nearly knees you, palms flying to cover his face as he desperately cries your name. “Y/N… oh, f-fucking… oh, Jesus…” You rake your nails up and down his thighs, licking a stripe up his manhood as you play with his sopping tip.

You chuckle in amusement around him, “Such a leaky cock. You like that, Eds? Mmm, you messy boy. All this pre-cum and I’ve… aw, I’ve barely touched you. Tell me what feels good, ‘kay?”

“S’all of it… all of it is — it’s good… fuck, words are so… words…” He melts even more as you sheathe him into your mouth, stuttering as he feels you hold back a gag. Your whole body convulses, back arching upwards as Eddie watches you take and take and take. “Oh, Y-Y/N… you just keep — keep getting better and better. Holy shit.” His belly aches with desire, tightening with each bob of your head and every seductive blink of your eyes. “You’re gorgeous. Thought about you.. whenever you’d — mmm, whenever you’d lay out on that darn lawn, what if I took you right there? What if I just… fucked you on that grass…”

“You and your dirty mouth, Munson.” You glare up at him in feigned annoyance, jerking his shaft with fast, purposeful movements. “I think it’s funny… how you pretend like you’re such a nice guy when really, you’re only a perv for me.”

“So what? Are you gonna punish me?” He challenges beadily, tongue poking out between gritted teeth like he could win this fight. “Or are you gonna fuck me, pretty girl?”

And just like that, the air changes. He feels the shift, the veil that falls over your eyes, nothing but sex and his scent running in your mind.

“No, Eds.” You move to straddle his thigh; your bare cunt dragging against his scarred skin. “I’m gonna make you beg.” 

You take him into your fist again, stroking him between the generous suction of your lips and the sweep of your tongue. He tastes good to your surprise, and then you’re creating a pool of spit that trickles from his abdomen to his balls. 

Messy girl. “Christ, Y/N.”

You release him with an erotic pop! — there’s stringy saliva connecting you to the crown of his cock, your throat is raw, his dick impatient, twitchy and excited. “You wanna fuck me so bad, you can’t even think straight. Look at my hand right now, look how tiny it looks when I hold you…” You grind yourself against his knee, groaning with him as you quicken your pace. Your brows furrow, a wicked grin ghosting itself over your features. “Baby, are you going to cum already?”

“Y/N, don’t s-stop. I’m beggin’ you, please…”

“Oh, you’re begging? This is what you call begging?”

“Please, s’too hard.”

“Too hard? What’s too hard? Me not letting you cum, or…” You give him one good jerk, twisting your fist so that your thumb brushes over his white-coated tip. “… your cock? Because you’re awfully, awfully rock hard right now. I bet it hurts doesn’t it, my love?” My love. His eyes gloss over. Your mouth hugs the shell of his ear. “You wanna cum?”

“Y-Yes…” He near-whimpers. Desperate. “Wanna cum so badly.”

“No.”

You release him for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. His climax dwindles back to square one, and his leg thrashes out in dismay. There’s sweat beading down your forehead, drops forming on Eddie’s brow bone as he scowls at you. 

You kiss him, almost like an apology, but Eddie can tell you’re not sorry. Far from it. You enjoy this, enjoy getting him off just to start over and make him beg. Is it so sick that he likes it? The more you stretch this interaction out, the more he gets to touch you. Like now, as you swing your knees on either side of him, his palm gingerly clasping the nape of your neck as he presses your face to his.  

“Let me fuck you? Let me be inside?” He pleads, nudging his nose against yours in anguished yearning. He drags his hand over your cheek, enveloping your jaw with outstretched fingers. “Just wanna bury myself inside you and stay there. Don’t even wanna cum anymore, I promise. I promise I’ll fuck you so good, m’not pathetic like the other guys… wanna feel you jus’ dripping on me, Y/N.”

You don’t answer, just gasp into his parted mouth as you line each other up. The angry head of his cock catches on your swell, snagging your clit before his tip lodges itself inside you and he — quite literally — goes rigid. You curse, slowly sinking down his length until your pussy refuses to take more. 

“You’re s-so big.”

Eddie feels like he’s going to fucking burst. “Sweetheart,” He pants, panicked and frenzied as you squeeze around him. Your head lolls onto his shoulder, arms thrown around his body as he tangles his slender fingers into your scalp and pulls you impossibly closer to his chest. “Sweetheart, I can feel every p-part of you… you’re so — fuck, just like that, you wet messy thing.” He whines, the curve of your ass coming down against his lap as you keenly bounce on his cock. He meets you with gentle thrusts, your cunt already milking him thin. “Look at you, fuck, you’re loving this.”

“E-Eddie…” Your tits are squished against his pecs, his necklace sandwiching itself between your damp skin. “More. More. Give it…”

“You can’t take it, baby. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I can take it. I can. It’s not enough, I’m telling you.” You rut your hips stubbornly, guiding his palms to your waist before he’s carefully rolling you onto your side and hiking your calf over the tender slope of his shoulder. “S’not nearly enough, Eds.”

“Okay.” He breathes out, inhaling deeply as he slips himself deeper inside you. The stretch stings harshly, flashes of white prickling at the cones of your vision as he splits you raw and wide open. “Is this enough? You fuckin’… god, you perfect whore…” Your spine tingles as Eddie tugs you closer by the hip, ramming himself into you relentlessly. “… such perfect tits, a perfect leaky cunt…” He presses a kiss to your ankle, before flipping you onto your knees so that he can fuck you from behind. He wants to see you, see you flutter for him, feed his sick thoughts and relive the nights where he jerked himself off in this very van in empty parking lots to the idea of you. “… and this perfect ass… another hole waiting to be used, right, Y/N? You’d let me use it, wouldn’t you? If I’m nice enough, I bet you’d let me fuck it…”

Fucking hell.

You cum as soon as he dips the pad of his thumb against the responsive ring of muscle. You both grow feral at the sensation. Soaked. Pussy chafed raw from his cock. You can’t tell whose fluids are whose, if it’s Eddie’s spit or yours, if it’s your juices or his — the embarrassing manner in which your cunt just sucks him in, the tight walls of your ass fluttering around his gentle finger as he drives into you.

How is the van still upright? Eddie doesn’t know. 

He’s an Ozzy clusterfuck of strangled, broken sounds and you’re a broken record player of Eddie-Eddie-Eds-Please, I’m cumming!

He doesn’t stop. Even when you’re shaking and bent-half in now missionary, he sheathes himself inside you till his pelvic bone is crushed to your body. “You feel so good, I’m sorry… I can’t — can’t stop, baby…”

“Don’t. Don’t stop, it’s a-alright.” You heave out, interlocking fingers as his glistening cock disappears into your used cunt. “It’s a l-lot, but it’s okay.” Eddie’s body engulfs you, your heels digging into the dimples in his lower back as he pounds into you. “You’re such a good — good boy, fuck…”

“Yeah?” He bites your throat. “Say.” The under-swell of your boob. “It.” Your arm. “Again.”

“Good boy. Such a good boy, fucking me the way I deserve.”

“Fucking you like you’re a slut.”

“Fucking me like I’m not the girl next door…” You chuckle, breathy and airy before he knocks the wind right out of you. “The whole town is gonna call me a w-whore for once.”

“Suits you better.”

You swear your soul leaves your body. You’re dying. You are dead, nearly limp in his fumbling boyish hands as he cradles your head against his chest and wipes the sweat from your eyes like he loves you. His balls slap against your loosened rim, his thumb putting pressure on your clit until you’re frantically pushing him away. 

“I can’t cum again. I can’t.” You sob in pleasure, clawing at his tattoos as if they could save you from his insatiable hunger. “Eddie!”

“Need it, need your cum again, Y/N.” Eddie growls, thrusts stuttering and cock pulsating wildly before he’s spitting onto your sex as if you needed to be any more wet. “I-I think you’re so… so fucking cool, you’re just… you’re too good for me, but I fucking adore you.”

I adore you.

I adore you.

You can’t even talk anymore, vocal chords ripped right out of your throat as your stomach cramps, cramps, cramps and then drops to a low point. Crashing. Flatlining. Clenching hopelessly.

You nearly choke Eddie as a hand flies out to touch him, pulling him close as your walls trap him for a second time. Only now, he’s locked in tight, unable to move, unable to go anywhere and he fucking cums immediately because it’s just too inviting. You feel him seeping out of you, painting your holes with his sticky cum as he stills there like a good boy. He grunts against your lips, kissing you poorly as his orgasm eats him alive. 

He’s milked. Spent. 

Eddie collapses on top of you, one leg jutted straight and the other bent as he embraces you close with his whole weight resting on your frame. How can he already miss something he just had? Gaining your strength, you kiss down his shoulder, fingertips swirling over muscle and scar tissue and ink as the smell of him floors you.

It’s so Eddie. Woody, earthy, with a spicy fresh top note reminiscent of oak moss and a hint of gasoline, dry cedar and herbs. It makes you dizzy in the best way possible. He’s drenched in the girlish smell of sex, sweat and salty but you’re eager to taste him anyways.

My good boy, you think. 

“Are you okay?” Your voice comes out raspy and winded, almost sickly but Eddie knows it's a good-sick. 

“Yes, yeah. I just… need a sec.”

“Hm, don’t take too long, Munson.” Shit. Is this over already? Just like that? “Might get wet again.”

Oh. It’s a joke. 

And he laughs, wheezy and exhausted as he irritatedly tugs his own hair out of his mouth. “You’re gonna be the death of me, ma’am.” He leans back on his hinges to properly look at you, your cheeks rubbed red-raw from his teeth and your abused, achy cunt still stuffed full of his prick. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alive.”

“Barely.”

“Barely.” You repeat heartily, shaking your head at him with a look of bewilderment. “S’gonna hurt when you pull out, you know.”

“Are you telling me to stay here forever?”

“If you admit that you like The Cure, then yes…” You bite your lip, drumming your fingers against his wrist. “… I’ll let you stay there forever.”

Forever. You both push down the giddy, cheesy smiles that threaten to spread across your faces. 

“Never. Never ever.” Eddie chuckles. When he tenderly and patiently pulls out, a wet rush slowly floods out of you, his fingers frantically plug you shut — his thick, translucent cum dripping from his knuckles as he selfishly fucks his hot spill back into you like the perv he is. “But that can stay there forever.”

A freak, but not in the way Hawkins thinks.

You melt at the feeling, limbs spasming awkwardly as he spreads himself over your pussy distractedly. His eyes are so goddamn soft, kind, attentive — even when he’s pushing some of it into your poor asshole, he’s still the sweetest guy you’ve ever hooked up with. 

He kisses your clit before he lovingly hikes your panties up your legs. 

Fucker.

“Did I ruin you, sweetheart? Awfully quiet.”

You scoff, shimmying into your shorts and camisole as Eddie tucks himself back into his boxers. “Just wondering how you expect me to climb back into my window after all that.”

“Who said anything about climbing…” He laughs boisterously, leaning over and fixing the strap of your bra. “What do you say I walk you to the porch, ring that bell and introduce myself to mom and pop?”

You stare at him like he’s crazy.

“Absolutely not, Eddie Munson.”

He finds himself liking the suburbs a lot more.

Only this time, he doesn’t imagine himself surrounded by picket fences and golden retrievers, mailboxes with his last name painted in unreadable cursive or having to mow his front lawn at seven in the fucking morning. 

Eddie doesn’t need to when Hawkins’ slice of paradise is just next door. 

And he gets to taste it every fucking day and night. 

So, fuck it. He’ll climb your window so you don’t have to wobble back to your house with his cum dripping down your leg. He’s a gentleman, railing you in the abandoned parking lot of Starcourt because you can’t handle the embarrassment of getting caught by someone at home. He’ll cover your mouth in the shed in your backyard so the neighbors don’t complain about the howling coyotes that have gone loose in the neighborhood. 

God forbid they have coyotes, right? 

But really, they should be worrying about the devastatingly gorgeous girl next door and her favorite, good boy with a dwindling hatred for The Cure.

Even though, the album is growing on him.

He’ll never admit that, though.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fluff #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things season 4

[sepherinaspoppies]

Only If For A Night (i/?)

pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.

warnings for this part: profanity, tea drugging, blood magic, sexism, I think that's it... more dark stuff later. READER IS LATINA !

wc: 4,027

series masterlist

my masterlist

pt2

notes: originally I was gonna have this fic be a one shot but it is sooo long that I decided to split it into three. this is an introduction part, aemond will be on the next (I'm half way done with that part).

She knows she is screwed when Doña Maribel broke the news to her that the last of the cempasuchiles were completely sold out in her shop. Making it five flower shops in the span of an hour that she walked to have fully run out of the bright orange flowers she needed for her ancestral altar that she and her abuela worked tirelessly on for the past few days. (marigolds, grandmother)

She wonders what to do next or perhaps where to go as she plays with the gravel beneath her shoes. Sure, she could walk another mile or so to another flower shop and try her luck there just as Doña Maribel suggested but she finds herself too tired to venture deeper in her small pueblo by herself. (town)

Even the walk back to her abuela’s was not something she looked forward to as of now. This was the time where she wished she had the ability to drive but alas she could not for even the streets of Mexico were more hectic and nerve wracking than back at the states. (grandmother’s)

She sighs in defeat. The cempasuchiles were the last thing on her abuela’s list of things she required for tonight’s first day of Dia de Los Muertos. The bright orange flowers illuminated the path of those who died, back into the land of the living and enjoy the offerings their family’s set up for them. (Day of the Dead)

Maybe for just tonight she could spare them.  

She sets her three mercado bags beside her as she sits down on a bench right next to a bus stop that could lead her directly to her abuela’s home. The smell of citrus of the lemon tree above her eases her disappointment and feels that this is the perfect spot to reread one of her favorite books. (shopping)

George R. R. Martin’s, Fire and Blood Vol. 1. She wondered what it was like to reside in a world of dragons (before they were all extinct), dire wolves from the North, red priestesses from Volantis, and mysterious yet powerful witches. To live inside the walls of the Red Keep and tour around the secret passageways and to fight for the rightful Queen of Westeros, Rhaenyra and the other members of the Blacks during the Dance of Dragons.  

Sadly, even if it was possible to venture deep into alternate fantasy universes. It all was pure fiction. Not real. Impossible. 

‘And so one-eyed Aemond the Kinslayer took up the iron-and-ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror, “It looks better on me than it ever did on him,” the prince proclaimed.’

“Excuse me, do you happen to know when the bus is due to arrive?” She snaps her head up meeting the most beautiful and enchanting woman she’d ever seen. Eyes round and greener than the trees itself during spring. Hair long and black like ravens in the night sky. She was tall, taller than most of the women here with skin like porcelain that had not seen a day of sun, a rarity here in Mexico. 

It was her mischievous tight lipped smile that made her feel loss of words. Unknowingly, this mysterious woman was the first person who spoke to her in English, not Spanish.

“Umm… I- I’m sorry?” 

The green eyed woman smirked as if she knew the small effect she had on her. Gods she was beautiful. 

“The bus–” 

She shook her head out of her revere, coming to reality. “Oh, I’m not sure. Perhaps a few more minutes.” She informed, pulling her mercado bags closer to her side, allowing the green eyed woman to sit, not wanting to be rude. 

She murmurs a quick thank you as she sits exceedingly close to her, shoulder to shoulder, flesh to flesh with her. Jeez, talk about personal space! However, the woman doesn’t seem to care or acknowledge that she has enough space for her own person. A feeling of uncertainty rests below her gut, telling her to be vigilant around her presence.    

“How long have you waited?” She asks, breaking away the long silence between them. She almost shivers at the intensity hue of her eyes that bore right through her. 

“About ten to twelve minutes.” She replies, looking anywhere else but her. 

A satisfactory look sketched around the woman's youthful yet elderly face which she found odd. What could be so pleasing about the bus not arriving? The woman said nothing, only sitting rather straight, almost elegant in her simple long green dress. Though, in the back of her mind, she wondered if she felt hot underneath the heaviness of the velvet fabric. She sure as hell did.

“Wait, how did you know I spoke english?” She asked as the hairs on her arms stood up straight in some kind of chilling fear. 

The woman’s eyes lowered and centered on the object sitting up on her lap. “Your book gives it away.” She snickered softly, tilting her head reading the bold letters of her very worn book she got at the thrift store for just two dollars. “An interesting read.” The green eyed woman said whilst her face held no sincere fondness of it for someone who found it interesting. 

“You’ve read this before?” She asked curiously, little taken back, that she finally found someone else who read Fire and Blood Vol 1. Or anything by George R. R. Martin. 

“Yes, almost like I've lived through it” 

She opens her mouth to speak but the green eyed woman beats her to it. “I don’t mean to pry but where are you headed?” The smile falls off her face as she remembers the warning of stranger danger she learned as a kid. 

The woman must have noticed the dubious look upon her face as she threw her head back in a laugh. “I ask because it seems a storm is coming our way. And it looks like an angry one.” 

Sure enough, as she looked up the sky had turned into a deep gray with heavy clouds ready to pour any minute. Well this wasn’t forecasted in the noticias this morning, otherwise, she’d carry an umbrella. Or better yet, she wouldn’t have walked all this way if a storm was brewing. (news) 

“My cottage is not very far from here,” the green eyed woman revealed, standing up from the bench, overlooking the seriousness of the clouds. “It is just around the corner. Would you like to come?” 

She wanted to say no, that she was better off walking an hour back to her abuela’s house, even if it meant that she’d catch a cold in the pouring rain with blisters all over her feet. Besides, she did not know anything about this woman. Every bit of her mind screamed stranger danger! Don’t go!

But as she glanced between the heavy clouds and the green eyed woman with her hand extended out, all that doubt and worriment went away. 

“I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out. If all goes bad, at least she had a name to tell the authorities.

“My name is Alyssandra Riveras.” The green eyed woman smiled, bowing at the waist. 

Though still somewhat skeptical, she walks alongside Alyssandra to her cottage. She makes small mental notes in her head, counting the red stop signs, right and left turns and any other landmarks of important significance. 

She was almost positive she could point her way back home. It did not help that five minutes into their journey, it started harshly pouring out of nowhere like a bucket of water had been poured all over, blanketing her vision. 

Alyssandra’s cottage had sat on the outskirts of the pueblo, isolated from all civilization, hidden around tall and green pine trees. A faint voice in the back of her head screamed to run and never look back. She ignored it.

From a close distance, she was able to distinguish a small window with overgrown vines and branches wrapped around the perimeter of the cottage. Bones, bells, and crystal windchimes hung from the roof and windows, mostly likely put up for some kind of spiritual protection. 

She was no stranger to the craft. Although raised catholic, both her mama and abuela had hung an old broom above their doorway to keep away unwanted guests and negative energies as well as pinning the mal de ojo sigil around the walls for the look of evil and envy against their family. (evil eye)

“Cempasuchiles,” she murmured in awe when Alyssandra’s small garden came into view. It was the most of the orange flowers she had ever seen, all bright and lively and huddled together. 

“When the storm is over, you can grab as many as you’d like,” Alyssandra offered, peering over her shoulder, unlocking the door to her cottage. She nods following her inside whilst giving a grateful smile. 

The interior of the cottage was small, meant only for one person to take residence. The same size as what a studio apartment would be back in the states.

In no way was the inside minimal, in fact it was the opposite. Almost all of the walls were covered with shelves with small trinkets adorning inside such as little statues, crystals, herbs and other supplies. 

In the center of the room lay a huge stone like table, old and antique bearing the resemblance of something medieval. And something about it, sent shivers down her spine along with the same faint voice, telling her to run. 

She ignored it, again. 

“Give me your belongings, and change into this,” Alyssandra says, tossing a strappy white chemise. She exchanges her poor-soaked mercado bags that contained pan de muerto, churros, and tamales for her ancestral ofrenda. (bread of the dead, offering)

She turns around to protect her modesty, seeing as there was no other room to change nor did Alyssandra point her to the bathroom, so she lifts the drenched garment over her head and sheds away the last clothing she had on her body, leaving her completely bare in her birthday suit. 

She couldn’t help but to feel Alyssandra’s eyes watching her very intently, examining every inch of her body as if it met her standards or so. She knows she should use her hands to cover up and give Alyssandra a piece of her mind, or better yet introduce her to a knuckle and hand sandwich for the way she was looking too closely.  

Yet her body feels frozen, unable to move under the green eyed woman’s gaze. 

“Would you like some tea to keep you warm?” Alyssandra asked, moseying to the kitchen. 

She blinks, whatever paralyzing feeling she had dispelled away. “Um, yes thank you.” Alyssandra nodded, pulling what looked to be a kettle on the stove. Meanwhile, she slipped on the white chemise in a hurry to not feel as exposed anymore. 

She takes the time to analyze the rest of Alyssandra’s cottage as she hears the droplets of rain hit the rooftop harder and the sound metal being filled with water. Various of the same purple flower plants were placed near the entrance, she notes to herself that these couldn’t possibly be lavender but another species or something within the same family. 

A small cot laid in the corner close by the hearth, with multiple open ancient books and scrolls spread on top of the bedspread. She almost wants to look through the pages and read Alyssandra’s interests but she doubts she could as she observes the handwriting is unreadable from where she stood. 

She walks forward to where the hearth is, feeling slightly warmer as something immediately catches her eye. Above the mantle, hung on the wall was a medium sized portrait of a small boy, appearing no more than three years old. He stood straight, almost regally with his hands behind his back. His face held no gentleness or warmth like a child should have. 

Gods forgive her, but the child looked cruel like the gueritos who bullied her in elementary school when she was just trying to make new friends. (white boys) 

Though, for an evil looking child, he sure was beautiful. The most striking thing about him was his set of eyes. Wide with his left eye a dark violet and his right a dark green similarly to Alyssandra’s. His hair was straight and cut short right below his ears. She looked closer at the portrait, thinking if her eyes deceived her as she noticed the peculiar color of the boy’s hair. 

Silver. 

Curiosity takes the better of her as she asks, “Is that your son?” 

Alyssandra turns, holding two mugs of steaming tea. “Yes, that’s my beautiful little boy,” She places both glasses on the stoned table before she sits adjacent to her. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her the sad look on Alyssandra’s eyes. “He looks like you,” she points out though it’s somewhat of a lie in hopes to lift up Alyssandra’s spirits.

Alyssandra throws her head back in a chortle, “For all my hard work and labor, I had hoped he looked like me but nature loves to play its cruel jokes. He is a replica of his bastard father.” The thought of her son’s father left a sour and disgusting taste in Alyssandra’s mouth. 

Alyssandra focused her attention back to her, “What about you?” She asked, sitting rather too straight. 

“Do you mean if I have kids? Gods, no.” 

Alyssandra smirked, “I take it you don’t like the idea of children. I did not either but after years of solitude, I changed my mind. I had other children before my son, but all of them died before they were due. You, however, are still young. Your mind can still change.” 

She shifted in her seat anxiously, sipping the odd taste of the herbal tea Alyssandra provided. It wasn’t like she did not like children. She respected children and found them quite cute with their little tiny hands and feet and infectious laughs. But besides the point of appearance, children were a tremendous amount of responsibility that she found herself not ready for.

Not now. Not ever. 

She could barely handle taking care of herself. Much less care and provide for a child for eighteen years or so. 

“I don’t—” 

“Oh but you will,” Alyssandra fired back without so much as blinking an eye. 

She grimaced, knowing where this conversation was heading. And it was about to be a not so pretty one. She glanced at the window by the door, the rain was still heavy if not more.

“I thank you for giving me shelter. But I really must go. I was only just supposed to be out for some groceries and my abuela is probably wondering where I am.” Polite and respectful enough just as her mama taught her.

She grabbed her belongings that were hanging by the fire and stuffed them inside her mercado bag. Her hand was on the cusp of prying the door open when Alyssandra rushed to her side, wrapping her hand around her wrist. 

“Wait. Please don’t go.” Alyssandra pleaded, “It’s just that you remind me much about myself. I didn't mean to cause offense, I’m sorry.” 

Run. Say no and run now, While you still can…

There it was again that same paralyzing feeling closing in on her feet, preventing her to move. It was strange like a shield gluing both her legs down. 

She nodded, murmuring ‘fine’ under her breath as Alyssandra slowly led her back to the woven chair with such gentleness as a porcelain doll. “I still need to call my abuela, so she can know I’m alright.” 

Alyssandra twisted her face in a wince, “I’m afraid we’re too far out for any signals to catch a telephone call.” She held back the overweening snicker to herself, it was why Alyssandra chose her cottage to be settled this far out in this very modernized realm; so no one could find her. 

Alyssandra wasn’t lying. No matter how hard she hit her Iphone against her palm or moved it around, there had not been a single signal bar glowing. She wondered if her abuela had started to grow worried and perhaps began to search for her. She hoped she didn’t and that her cousins kept her preoccupied with the rest of the decorations to notice the duration of how long she’d been out. She also wondered if they were still going to the cementerio, to clean and decorate the graves of their loved ones but with the amount of thunder and rain, she’d doubt it was still on the agenda. (cemetery)

Alyssandra prepared some more tea as the fire gradually faltered down. This one had a different taste than the previous one with tiny purple petals floating around. Alyssandra watched very intently as she sipped every last drop while she scarcely touched her own mug.

The green eyed woman began asking her multiple personal questions, mostly about where she was originally from (due to the fact that her vocabulary deemed to be more vehement in English than Spanish), her family, and if she had any siblings. She had answered them all. Letting her know that she was just visiting from the states to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos with her family she had not seen since the death of her sweet abuelo. (grandfather)

Alyssandra’s eyes glimmered even more when she explained how strangely, her very stern and overprotective mama had suddenly let her travel by herself to a country she had never been to in years since she was small. Her mama preferred her to be where she could keep a close eye on her because ‘uno nunca sabe’ especially if you’re a woman. (one never knows)

It was odd, alright. Especially when her mama gave her money that she didn’t have, and enthusiastically wished her good fortune on her travels. Yup odd…

But not to Alyssandra.

Alyssandra sat down after cleaning both mugs ready to ask the hard hitting questions she’d been warming her up to. “Have you ever been with a man?” Her eyes widened before breaking rounds of deep laughter that made the sides of her ribs ache and cramp. 

However, there wasn’t an ounce of amusement displayed on Alyssandra’s face, but rather annoyance. What was so funny? It was a simple and uncomplicated question that meant no harm. At least not to her. He couldn’t harm her any more here. Alyssandra guessed perhaps it was the side effect of the tea making her humoristic. 

“No,” She replied, wiping the humoristic tears at the corner of her eyes. “The opportunity has never presented itself?” Alyssandra asked.

All the humor that previously lingered had gone swiftly away, realizing that Alyssandra was indeed asking something so personal to her. “No,” She shook her head, feeling her face hot and red. “People don’t look at me as someone they want to be with. They’d rather be with someone exciting, adventurous, and outing. And I’m neither of those things. I’m a homebody who’s idea of fun and adventure is living through fictional books.” She answered truthfully, too truthfully. 

Alyssandra watched her face transform into a deeper shade of red. “What is it?” She questioned, taking a hold of her hand, taking in the role of someone empathetic. 

“I want my first time to be special. Like the fairytales I grew up reading about with the grand Prince sweeping the young maiden off her feet and taking her to his castle…” The way her eyes reflected small flashes of light made Alyssandra almost feel guilty for her true intentions once the repercussions of the tea ran out. 

She remembers when she too wished for a dashing knight in shining armor to take her away, far away from the shit she had been through; the pain, the suffering, and the poverty. All of it. As Alyssandra grew well into her womanhood, she realized there was no knight coming to save her. Instead, there was a selfish Prince who spared her for his desires and her many talents beyond the acts of the flesh.  

But Alyssandra needed her to go. She needed that piece that was stolen from her. She didn’t want the risk of going back and facing him again and repeating through the hell and agony he put her through. So sending her for it seemed like the better alternative. 

“I know you probably think it sounds stupid–” She stammered, her face still beet red. 

“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” Alyssandra softly smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze. Judging by the serene look upon her face, it was a good lie that she seemed to believe. 

She smiled. Finally, someone who didn’t think of the idea of waiting for the right person was silly and unrealistic. 

Her smile deterred, sensing something trickle down her nose, dropping against the skin of her hand. 

Blood. Her blood. 

Run! 

“Alyssandra?” She whispered, puzzled at the sight of more blood spilling out of her nose. Every strand of hair in her arms stood, sensing a new type of alertness course right through her. She glanced at a very blurred Alyssandra with what looked to be a smirk written on her face. 

“W-What’s happening?” She stood from the chair, but that soon turned out to be a bad idea as her knees gave out, sending her straight to the stoned cold floor. She glanced up, watching as Alyssandra sauntered in front of her, and as much as she wanted to crawl away her body was glued to the floor. 

“Look,” Alyssandra said, crouching down at her level before she took her in her arms like a newborn baby, weighing little to nothing. “We don’t have much time. When you wake up, I need you to retrieve something of mine…” 

She felt her back collide on top of the stoned table, “What was in that tea?” She questioned but Alyssandra was quick to shush her. “It doesn’t matter now. You drank it all willingly.” There was no argument there. 

Alyssandra pulled out a jar with overflowing cempasuchil petals inside and circled the petals around her. Almost like a ritualistic circle she used to watch the brujas next door do. (witches)

“You need not to be afraid. You will not be harmed as long as you do what I say. Exactly as I say.” She gulped, nodding seeing as she had no other choice. “Bruja.” She spat but Alysssandra only chuckled, “I’ve been called much worse, little dove.” (witch)

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Alyssandra holding out a small knife. “I am in need of a sapphire. It was stolen from me many years ago. It is one of a kind, which is why when you see it you’ll know it is mine.” 

She momentarily shut her eyes as the dark haired woman rapidly cut the middle of her palm spewing her blood on top of the petals. “Once you’re successful, you’ll come back here with the sapphire and gather some of my materials. The marigold petals with your blood coating them; The blood of whom you took the sapphire from and lastly you’ll lay on top of my precious table here to be transported back.” 

There was an evil smile on her lips that she desperately wanted to punch it off. “And if I don’t get the sapphire?” She questioned. 

Alyssandra combed away her unruly braided hair, “Then I won’t bring you back and you’ll be stuck there forever.” 

Fuck. 

“Stuck? Stuck where? Where am I going?” 

Alyssandra clicked her tongue, “A place where fairy tales do not exist, my little dove.” If she wanted a Prince to sweep her off her feet. Alys would gladly give her one. 

She attempted to wiggle herself out of this pendeja’s spell but whatever Alyssandra mixed in the tea it was compelling her body to still and her eyes to slowly falter shut in a peaceful sleep. (dumbass) 

“However I should warn you, this spell is only valid until tomorrow. Until Dia de Los Muertos is over and even if you do achieve in retrieving the sapphire but it is after November second, you'll be permanently trapped with him.” 

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#prince aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #dark aemond x reader #dark aemond targaryen

[wingheadshellhead]

i'm back on my "mcu steve was in the darkest timeline because he never experienced the canon event of tony stark giving him a home and a family" bullshit. post-ice steve was isolated, grieving, lonely, going through ptsd and survivor's guilt and he was constantly fixated on how he had no home or family or identity beyond cap. post-ice in the mcu, SHIELD stuck him in the costume and sent him back into the field, reinforcing the idea that he was nothing more than the empty shell of captain america.

"All my life I've tried to find a place for Steve Rogers—but still he lives under the more colorful shadow of Captain America… Perhaps it's Steve Rogers who's the legend—and Captain America who is the reality! Perhaps I was born to be a red-white-and-blue Avenger—and nothing more! But there must be more to life than endless combat! Others have found a home—a family—why can't I? Or, is Steve Rogers destined to walk alone forever—until the final battle—until he walks no more?"

— Tales of Suspense Vol. 1 #75 (1959)

"[...] But, even in the center of a crowd, I'm an outsider—a misfit! Only when I'm costumed as Captain America do I seem to come alive—to have a mission—a purpose! But, as Steve Rogers, I'm merely a name—a hollow shell—with no roots—no real life to call my own! Other men have friends—wives—loved ones!"

— Tales of Suspense Vol. 1 #92 (1959)

in the comics, the canon event of tony stark, the first person steve meets in the 21st century, giving him all of those things — a purpose, a home, somewhere to belong as himself and not just cap — changed his entire life.

"The first week after I came out of the ice… It was a dark time. I'd lost everything. My best friend. All my friends. All I had. I didn't know what I could hang on to. And then Tony Stark came in with this little… handheld cinema. Future technology. He showed me a newsreel. Right there, I saw a man walk on the moon. For all mankind. And in that moment, I felt hope again."

— S.W.O.R.D. Vol. 2 #6 (2021)

"Mr. Stark, when I woke up in this era, I had no one. Nothing. You gave me a purpose. Somewhere to belong… You gave me a home."

— Iron Man/Captain America: Casualties of War (2006) 

meeting tony and the avengers, creating those friendships and connections, living at the avengers mansion with them, gives steve hope that he can still find happiness and belonging in the present day.

i always found it ironic that in the mcu steve projects this ideal of happiness and domestic life onto tony. this scene in ca:cw is a perfect example of that disconnect between the reality and what steve assumed on the surface was tony achieving what he never could — having a partner, his own family and kids. (the fact that cacw tony is 4 seconds away from a heart attack at all times and too busy running around firefighting PR crises just further drives home the irony.)

and then in a cruel twist of fate, mcu actually gives tony all of these things: home, family, wife and kid. we see steve witnessing tony having these things and knowing it's all possible, but just not for him and not in this era. (and ultimately, tony only gets to have these things for a brief period of time before having to give it all up.)

mcu steve never got to have the experiences that have shaped every other universe's steve rogers. the presence of tony stark, his friendship, his home, his love (whether platonic or romatnic), that formed the foundation of steve's purpose within the avengers, is intrinsic to steve finding hope and happiness in the modern day. the mcu changing such a crucial canon event rewrote not only the core of mcu steve's story but the trajectory of the cinematic universe. and in the end, the writers sent steve back to the past because they believed after 6 movies and 7 years, he had nothing left to live for in the present and i honestly can't think of anything more tragic.

#stevetony #superhusbands #stony #@

[asm5129]

I know this is NOT a popular take in the RWBY FNDM but y’all…I love Jaune Arc. He’s such a refreshing, interesting male character.

He’s Ruby’s best friend, and the two of them parallel each other in such FASCINATING ways. I’m planning a full video essay on this but as some examples:

1) They both have hero complexes, obviously.

2) Ruby is a prodigy who earns her place at beacon two years early, while Jaune cheated his way in and needs to work constantly outside of his school training to be anywhere near capable of huntsmen level combat

3) Jaune’s pain is loud and disruptive, Ruby’s pain is quiet and suppressed (examining their respective expressions of pain through the lens of gender expectations is REALLY interesting)

4) Ruby inherits silver eyes, an invaluable tool in fighting Grimm. Jaune inherited a regular sword, heavily outclassed by most of his peers.

5) Ruby made her weapon but modeled it after her mentor, Jaune had a hand-me-down

6) Ruby leads by developing plans and taking action, Jaune leads by supporting his team and bolstering their strengths with his own.

I’m sure there’s more too but those parallels are why their conflicts in vol 9 work so well for me, they are partners in narrative from literally the second episode.

I also just adore the commentary on masculinity with Jaune. From day one he was deconstructing traditional ideas of masculinity and patriarchal concepts of heroism.

The way he has to learn to reject so many of the things that blockbusters with men at the center have been pushing for decades is fantastic. He tried to pursue revenge like John Wick or Iron Man and it went HORRIBLY.

He can fight when necessary but it’s not where his true strength lies and that’s SO COOL for a male character.

I dunno y’all I just think he doesn’t deserve the hate. He doesn’t butt in on other stories nearly as much as people claim—in terms of Ruby, he actually serves her story quite a bit—and he is a character worth following in and of himself.

#rwby volume 9 #rwbypositivity #RWBY #rwby hiatus #rwby positivity #rwby meta #rwby analysis #jaune arc #masculinity #healthy masculinity #heroism #rwby volume 10 #greenlightrwbyvolume10 #ruby rose

[zeroducks-2]

Idk if anyone is interested but in case someone is, yes, Barry reciprocates. Have my exhibits! With pictures!

.Exhibit A!

He keeps looking for Eobard subconsciously, can feel when he's there, his presence alone is able to trigger Barry's memories of past and future lives.

And look, Eobard was right there!

(panels from The Flash Vol.1: Lightning Strikes Twice)

.Exhibit B!

When he finds Eobard dead, Barry spends time with his body in the morgue struggling over how he died, what might have hurt him, observing that "whatever got him must have just slowed him down" (all the while softly whispering to and gently touching Eobard's body).

I can never not be insane over how tenderly he's caressing Eobard's forehead. Might I add that he spends just so much time in the morgue that he's late to his own birthday party. Might I also add that whatever Barry did in that morgue, it brings Eobard back to life. This man literally told his nemesis "come back to me", and Eobard obediently did.

The last panel, that's Eobard's powers reactivating as he's revived, moments after Barry left.

(panels from The Flash Vol.4: Running Scared)

.Exhibit C!

When Godspeed starts killing people, including the woman Barry was dating, Barry is shocked but keeps being willing to forgive if August is willing to stand down. Barry gets beaten up and humiliated and still worries for August, trying to appeal to his rationality and compassion.

But then August makes the mistake to threaten to find Eobard (who at the moment is being tortured a prisoner in Iron Heights), and kill him in front of Barry's eyes. And if Barry has been rational and willing to stop fighting, after the umpteenth time August tries to get to Eobard he loses his entire shit, grabs August by his head and neck and is just about to kill him, in a scene which is a direct parallel to when Eobard forced him to break his neck.

That's apparently what Barry does when someone insists on threatening to kill the people he loves and make him watch. He doesn't kill August of course, but he gets close to it - the moment Barry lets him go August is unconscious for lack of air, he was being choked to death even without the neck breaking part. All because he had threatened to murder Eobard.

This is Barry breaking Eobard's neck to protect Fiona, Barry's fiancee at the time, after he's been incessantly threatened to be forced to watch as he kills her. He did not want to kill Eobard, he felt extremely guilty to the point that now, having killed him is one of his worst nightmares, but he was essentially forced to do it (why Eobard did this to make himself get killed is another interesting and unhinged story for another time). So as you can see, this is how Barry reacts when he gets threatened with the death of someone he loves.

And this also is Barry reacting to the threat of a speedster killing someone he loves. I am in awe with the parallels drawn between these two panels. The same font and stile has been used for Barry's "Not again!" and "No!", and there is the same brutality coming from someone who 99% of the time tries everything but violence to solve any kind of situation. He's entirely out of his mind when he does this.

(panels from The Flash Vol.1: Lightning Strikes Twice)

IN CONCLUSION

Somehow, IDK HOW, Barry does reciprocate in some form. At least in Joshua Williamson's run he does. ...I actually have my theories on the how, which entail these two being each other's lodestone, being irremediably connected through time and space, and Barry having been loved&desired so much and so strongly for so long, both outwardly and through the natural connection of their powers, that at some point he just... started feeling back.

"But Thawne killed his mother!" LISTEN. I KNOW. I think Eo is as confused by this as you and I to be honest. And that's also something about Barry which is very fascinating imo: he will love in spite of everything. Even if the other person doesn't understand it, even if it makes no sense, even if BY ALL MEANS HE SHOULDN'T, even if he hurts, he will still love and there's nothing anyone can do about it. Luckily for Eobard, because there is no one else in the omniverse that ever loved him, and likely ever will.

#eobarry #they're canon yall #I have wanted to write this post for a while but somehow kept postponing it #I guess this counts as a meta? #my meta #speedsters stories are insane yall should give them a try #ESPECIALLY Williamson's run

[oluka]

Tony and transhumanism

Tony Stark mentions in Captain Marvel: Dark Tempest (2023) #3.

Setting aside the “even HE knows what hands-off means”, it's interesting to me that when faced with a humanoid-machine blend, Carol's mind goes to Tony. She says that Tony was the original transhuman, and well, he maybe wasn't the first in the marvel universe, but he got his first synthetic heart in Iron Man #19 (back in 1969!), and transhumanism has been a part of his story arc for a long time. Some examples on the top of my mind (I know there are more, this is not an exhaustive list):

-When Tony had an implant in his mind to remotely control the armour while he was paralyzed in volume 1.

-His fight with the sentient armour in volume 3, and the end of it, when it gave him its heart (Iron Man vol.3 #30). And fully replaced Tony's heart with its own "mechanical bio-physiology". An artificial heart that was still implanting itself into Tony and fixing his broken ribs in issue 31 (body horror much??).

-Extremis, of course, which to me is the height of Tony's path to transhumanism. It's one of the two logical conclusions to his search to always perfect Iron Man and himself. Either make his body machine, or forgo the body entirely (looking at the three different Tony Stark AIs Tony has made). Extremis is especially good to me because of how he made himself the perfect blend of man and machine. Tony had until then always had recurring problems with his heart and other physical disabilities, and with Extremis he was finally past that "flaw". He was stronger, could heal, but more importantly, his mind was faster and better. I think he never came closer to erasing the line between Tony Stark and Iron Man than he did then. There was so much potential for this story beat, but Civil War and Dark Reign kind of ruined it. I really wish we could have had Extremis for longer, and really explore the classic "what makes one human" "man vs machine" and other transhumanist questions with Tony. Oh well. As an aside, it's interesting to me that Superior Iron Man decided to bring Extremis back. Clearly to him that was the next step of evolution, or in his words, what made him a god. If we push the analysis further, does this mean that regular Tony has developed an aversion to Extremis and what it entails? Maybe some left-over trauma from the Civil War and brain deletion?

-The repulsor node in Tony's chest after he was brought back. That controlled his brain. And also the bleeding edge armour that Tony casually put into his bone marrow. You know. Like one does.

-The fact that Tony apparently was experimenting on his biology and body and that that was the only reason Carol didn't kill him at the end of Civil War II. And then the fact that he managed to bring himself back to life and synthetize a new body.

-The Tony Stark AI that ran around during Secret Empire. Who made himself drunk, and also remembered Civil War somehow, and had all of Tony's character traits and regrets (see Secret Empire (2017) #6). I know it's probably an error on the writer's part, but I choose to believe that somehow this artificial version of Tony really remembers the Civil War. On top of AI Tony acting and thinking like the flesh and blood one, everyone around him really treated him like the "real" Tony. Hydra Steve even said that Tony downloaded his consciousness into the AI. Making it essentially Tony. I don't know where I'm going with this but I have Feelings about AI Tony.

-The whole mess of Tony Stark: Iron Man and Iron Man 2020 where Tony was wondering if he was just a soulless copy of the original dead Tony Stark (Which, weird that he now starts to worry about this after all his deaths and comas and whatnots), decided he was just an AI in an artificial body, and then with the help of his friends remade his body. Again. Also, he spoke with AI Tony for like five minutes and then AI Tony sacrificed himself. I am still mad about that.

Transhumanism is one of the most important beats in Tony's character, right alongside his quest to make the future better and his alcoholism. It's a facinating subject that I will never get enough of, especially not in relation to Tony, who for a very long time has dealt with physical disability, and whose mind and genius is maybe the one thing he can rely on and one of the rare things about himself that he is proud of.

Right now, Tony's just a regular man in a can again, but I really hope that we'll see more of his journey into transhumanism, because to me it's an essential part of his character. And done well, it's an excellent source for angst, too.

#wednesday spoilers #tony stark #transhumanism #tony stark meta #(kind of?? what should I tag my comic ramblings?) #this post is a mess but the carol issue really made me remember how many transhumanism feelings I have about tony #as always feel free to reblog with your own thoughts and/or additions #I love talking comics #shoutout to the iron man subreddit for bringing up the tony mention in the carol issue

[dailycass-cain]

Detective Comics #1082 featured a SURPRISE Cass appearance, but a welcome one always to have. So here are my thoughts on the Cass's showing in that.

I mean every issue of Ram V's Detective Comics is a treat, and this one is no different (even with the guest star that I just LOVE to talk daily about).

Like there are layers to the tale he weaves that not only continue threads from past Batman writers but does his own thing.

Weaving and spinning a story that feels like a natural progression of what was already told by others.

Bruce feels human here than say other comics which "try" to tell it through his thoughts, but man the artist talents have been selling this struggle.

Why the "reward" is all the more "rewarding" because Ram V puts in this "doubt" in prior earlier stories written that, there's that chance Bruce might lose.

I mean we know he won't, but it's that "DOUBT" planted throughout. It makes Bruce relatable.

Speaking of rewards. The B-plot returns us back to Gotham as the Question continues her case as again we see what an Orgham-run Gotham City is like.

How their Reality Machine has wiped the memory of the bat out. HOWEVER…

"The Batman YET haunts Gotham."

I honestly was expecting Jean-Paul (given he was rocking the AzBats suit when we last left him) but to see Cass the OTHER being Ram V continuing the crusade of the bat?

SQUEEEEEEEEEE!!!

ahem

I mean logically, I wonder where everyone else is. Dick. Babs. Jim. I know eventually we'll see. But to see Cass still as we lost saw her in 2023 fighting the Orgham and keeping the SYMBOL alive in Gotham?

I mean there's a certain POETRY at hand here as we have two bat suits that basically filled in for Bruce when he was away. Either due to being broken in Knightfall (Jean-Paul)--

--or trying via means as Bruce Wayne to get the government to lift Gotham from being labeled a "No Man's Land" (Cass's costume which Helena Bertinelli used to continue Bruce's crusade).

It's so SATISFYING to see these elements incorporated here. Just now, it's Cass continuing the crusade and making sure Gotham REMEMBERS the bat.

Because it is a characteristic trait that other than Bruce, Cass is one of the few who just understands WHY the bat symbol carries so much.

This exact DRIVE within her, is why she is just BUILT different than most folk in Gotham. Heck Renee struggles with the Realty Machine in places in her story.

Trying to remember what was lost.

Yet, we see Cass like she was ripped from when Jorge Corona drew her in Batgirls (very nicely done there whoever drew her like that). As described in the very comic, "a wraith."

It's that answer Cass gives Renee on HOW she's able to resist. The answer again showcases how Bruce/Cass are just so similar. People wonder why Cass is Bruce's heir to being to him as Batman?

Ram V is giving that answer to modern readers.

This "answer" is not new, I find it akin to what Andersen Gabrych came to in his run of Batgirl Vol. 1. Just not as restricting of characterization with Ben Turner who pointed this fact out, and kneeling.

That Cass was going down this path after taking a life, and saying NO to a life of being a killer. That she chose to use the tools forced onto her to become something else.

I think if we ever get time to see the "lost" era of years when Cass rejected her father and hadn't met Barbara Gordon.

I think Ram V would be a fascinating writer to do this. Will he? Oh, I wish! This year would be PERFECT for it for sure.

It's a "gap" that I feel a writer SHOULD farm. Cause I really don't want Gabrych being the only OTHER than Kelly Puckett himself. I feel the period is ripe to showcase how "bat" she was before becoming one.

Though ironically, it isn't lost upon anyone seeing the heir to Vic Sage and well the daughter of a certain someone.

Again, the themes and poetry of what was told in the past. Just with new layers put in. This "interlude" makes me hunger for a Question tale with Renee and Cass being teaching her like Shiva taught Vic.

If not, well we got that here. Somewhere. Someplace both Vic and Shiva smirked at what occurred in this issue. Renee/Cass doing both proud.

I could gush all day and night on this issue. This was something that was TRULY needed. Or at least told again. To remind folks why Cass is different than Jason, Steph, Tim, Duke, and even Damian.

This issue felt like a 25th-anniversary gift Ram V gave to Cass fans. Even though we have 0 official stuff (we could use some DC).

Cass's portion of Tec #1082 felt like a celebration of why the character has lingered so long.

So thank you to all creatives in this issue. To the writer, artists, inkers, colorist, editors. All involved. 🙏

#cassandra cain #dc comics #my thoughts

[tepkunset]

Who is Sabra and why are comic readers worried about her introduction into the MCU?

(Making this because I actually have receipts for her problematic writing to back up statements already made, mostly)

[Content warning for racism against Arab peoples, especially Palestinians]

Ruth Bat-Seraph, AKA Sabra, is an Israeli superhero who was introduced in 1980, first appearing as an antagonist to the Hulk. When she’s not acting as a superhero, she’s a policewoman. She’s named after the Hebrew word for the pear cactus, per editor’s note in Incredible Hulk vol. 1 #256.

Her being a policewoman is cringe, but she’s not the first or last Marvel hero to have such a job for her alter ego. No, what has people concerned is that she’s always been written as a racist bitch.

In Incredible Hulk vol. 1 #256, Bruce Banner tries to help a homeless Arab boy who ends up getting killed in a bombing. Sabra mistakes the Hulk as working with the bombers and attacks. Hulk gets mad and goes on a super-cringe anti-Islam and anti-Judaism rant, saying religion is the cause of the boy’s death. And somehow this leads Sabra to an epiphany that “oh yeah, this boy is a human being!”

So that’s some really bad/dated writing, but you can at least say the intention for character growth was there, right? Show this state-sponsored superhero that her government has taught her wrong. Too bad she learns absolutely nothing long-term from this.

In Marvel Super Hero Contest of Champions, all she and the Arabian Knight contribute to the comic is arguing with each other. He’s written as an antisemitic and sexist pig, and she’s written as a racist jerk who refuses to work with him on account of him being Arab and comments (paraphrasing) “that’s just how it’s always been between our people”—Iron Man makes an inappropriate joke about this, of course.

In New Warriors vol. 1 #58-59, she appears again. Justice has a lil bit of a crush on her, and the story starts seemingly innocent… until Batal, a Syrian hero shows up, and then it’s back to the same bullshit. She advocates for his murder because “The Arabs” killed her son. Batal argues that she shouldn’t generalize an entire group of people like that, but she refuses to listen and calls him “child-killer”. Things escalate thanks to mind-control, but she cannot pin that on mind-control. That’s just her being awful.

But this is all old stuff. Let’s fast-forward to some more modern comics, where surely she’s much better, right? NOPE. Because in Union Jack vol. 2, Sabra can’t even make it through her introduction without accusing Navid Hashim, a Palestinian-Saudi hero, of being a terrorist.

Like literally the only thing this character exists for is to stir up “drama” with Arab characters. I cannot even begin to fathom what the MCU will do with her, unless it’s a total and complete re-writing that is miraculously better. Which we can all count on, surely //sarcasm

#ppl who know more feel free to add #sabra #ruth bat seraph #marvel comics #posting panels #racism #meta

[bookoftheironfist]

Jennie: "W...what happened to me?" Mariah: "You went a little off the rails. That's all. We got you back, girl." Jennie: "I felt so much...hate. I wanted to destroy everything." Mariah: "Ain't no more hate here--just love. Don't make me bust out into my favorite jam from the Lion King." Power Man and Iron Fist vol. 3 #4 by David Walker, Sanford Greene, Lee Loughridge, and Clayton Cowles

One of the great joys of this series, and something that writer David Walker discussed quite a bit in interviews at the time it was being published, is the way that large numbers of under-used and forgotten characters (including some very goofy D-level villains from the 70s) were brought back into the spotlight and given a bit more depth, personality, and humanity. One character in particular is Mariah "Black Mariah" Dillard, who first appeared in Luke Cage: Hero For Hire #5 and made a mere handful of appearances in that series and in Power Man and Iron Fist volume 1 before largely disappearing from the Marvel Universe. Here, 40 years later, she reappears as a new friend to Heroes for Hire's former office manager Jennie Royce, who in this series is finally released from prison following the events of Power Man and Iron Fist volume 2.

When this new dynamic duo's quest for power goes awry and Jennie gets corrupted by a magical artifact, it's Mariah's love for her that saves the day. This scene encapsulates something this series does so well: melding heart and humor in a celebration of shared humanity and connection. Jennie and Mariah's friendship, while established solely for this series, ends up feeling very special, especially when placed alongside the love between Luke and Danny that anchors the comic.

#The hugs in this run are also unparalleled. #Power Man and Iron Fist vol. 3 #Jennie Royce #Black Mariah #Mariah Dillard #Iron Fist #Danny Rand #Luke Cage #Commentary #ID in alt text

[glasskey]

Lawrence & June's Mix tape Vol. 1

With the end of season 2 came the introduction of one of our favorites: the cynical and witty architect of Gilead, Commander Lawrence. Whenever a quick quip is needed, Lawrence never fails to deliver and coupled with the patented Osborne eye roll, it’s a comedy duo not to be missed. Today we've got some essential Lawrence and June tracks from Season 3.

Spunky

“Are you insane? You didn’t get in the truck” Lawrence seems bewildered and mildly inconvenienced when he comes back for June at the start of season 3. “Thoughts?” asks Lawrence scolding her for being so reckless, back at the Waterford’s Nick echoes Lawrence's sentiment, asking “What is wrong with you?” With that, it’s easy to see how Lawrence and Nick align so perfectly in later seasons.

June is an enigma to both of these men, she seems determined to meet her own end, those who help her often end up dead, and yet she’s wildly successful at conjuring their service and devotion. June state’s she CAN’T leave without Hannah, Lawrence argues she CAN, forcing her to admit that she WON’T. This won’t be the last time we see this debate occur, Lawrence and June seem to constantly explore and discuss themes of individuality and freedom of choice in the face of societal good and human decency. But as Lawrence himself admits, Gilead overlooked the element of maternal love in its conception, undermining his argument about June’s ability to choose. June’s barely met Lawrence and yet she’s fearless, he’s obviously influential enough to get someone out, morally malleable, and she now has him over a barrel.

As one of the most powerful men in Gilead Lawrence is expected to be an ardent believer in their theocracy and yet he’s just arranged the smuggling out of not only a handmaid but a child, the most valuable of their commodities. It’s an opportunity not to be missed to retrieve Hannah, but when June threatens Lawrence with the noose, he’s more intrigued than fearful. “Spunky” Lawrence mocks her, she’s obviously unhinged and despite Gilead’s rigorous disciplinary tactics she remains defiant. Has he finally met a worthy adversary? Someone decent to spar with in this boring AF hell hole? Or maybe even someone who can help tear down the horror show he thoughtlessly constructed? This scene sets the tone for the progression of June and Lawrence’s relationship throughout season 3 and beyond. When all is said and done, despite Lawrence’s bravado, he will do exactly what he’s told

The Descent of Man

Frustratingly for all who dwell in his house, Lawrence is the world’s best lie detector, his observations of those around him are surgically accurate to say the least. As an indication of how frighteningly perceptive Lawrence actually is, it takes him all of 3 seconds to clock the connection between Nick and June.

The Martha’s are constantly trying to slip one past him with absolutely no success whatsoever, but ironically there seems little need to lie; Lawrence himself encourages and in some cases demands that many of Gilead’s rules are either flaunted or broken under his roof. Aunt Lydia seems to be a bit sus on the whole ceremony thing, but Lawrence assures her that all is ship shape, and who is she to question a man of such power? June is hardly through the door and already she’s picking out a favorite plotting corner, she’s no idiot, she plans to stay alive and that means staying ahead. Lawrence seems happy for the Martha’s to conspire for their rebel operations in his household as long as it never actually makes its way to his doorstep.

June’s a wee bit overzealous about her newfound freedom, demanding she be included in the resident rebel activities, resulting in a dead Martha in the flower bed. She’s made the fatal error of insufficiently assessing her home ground, acting without proper forethought and not surprisingly Lawrence decides to put her back in her place. In a crowded room of Commanders he initially points out that June was an educated woman who edited books pre Gilead. Lawrence then demands she fetch him a copy of The Descent of Man and kneel at his feet, thereby illustrating how she has now been utterly reduced to their mere tool.

By first making a point of demonstrating June has the knowledge to give an educated opinion, and then assuming her answer to his question, he insinuates her thoughts are valueless. Lawrence tops it all off with a patronizing “good job” and sends her on her way, their laughter echoing behind her. You can see the bile rising in her throat and her hatred boil, but while the act itself is humiliating and degrading, with this single display Lawrence convinces a room full of Commanders to save the lives of other women. His point is devastatingly clear: these men can crush you, learn your place or others may die. This scene demonstrates how precarious the lives of women are in Gilead, their chances for survival reduced to whether or not they can be “fun”. While Lawrence may subscribe to the greater good philosophy, June has no intention of living under an oppressive regime that robs her and others of their dignity. By the end of season 3, Lawrence will have to learn some hard lessons of his own about power and sacrifice.

Transactional

“You seem like you’d be good at making friends, influencing people, good at intimacy” Lawrence taunts, he’s just caught June buttering Fred up and gazing adoringly at Nick, it’s pointless trying to sneak anything past him.

He scoffs at June’s attempt at her usual shenanigans, which had proved so effective with Fred, demanding she stop lying and outwit him honestly. It’s genuinely uncomfortable watching June’s attempt to unbalance Lawrence this way, his intelligence dooms any chance of success from the very beginning. June also never anticipated that Lawrence would actually love his wife, and unlike Fred, finds the idea of infidelity extremely unpalatable. It’s clear from his rant that he knows quite a bit about June and her dealings, she’s earnt herself a considerable reputation and Lawrence is intrigued as to just how she managed to reduce the Waterford’s to literal ash.

To be honest he’s not particularly impressed so far, accusing her of being “transactional” concluding that she relied solely on her feminine wiles to get what she wanted. June’s retort “men become easily distracted” articulates that male power structures are easily disassembled by the presence or absence of mere validation and approval. Lawrence’s Gilead logic concludes that June is a woman who had no worth until his new world gave it to her and she should be grateful. June believes her value is inherent and being the man who created this horrifying existence is far worse than being useless. Lawrence is determined to demonstrate to June the sacrifices that are made for a greater good and that achieving this is a thankless job.

It’s at this point that we get a glimpse of the terrifying reality Lawrence has created for himself, driving June out to the cages and demanding she chose 5 women to be Martha’s while the rest be sent off for slaughter. Their value is determined by everything contained in one file and it begs the question, how useful would June look on paper? What intrinsic purpose does she have in this world if not as a Handmaid? Would she survive her own selection?

Before I get into volume 2 of June and Lawrence or start up my Nick and Lawrence Mix, I’ll be back with the Nick and June Mix tape volume 2.

#june osborne #hulu streaming #max minghella #nick blaine #osblaine #june x nick #nick x june #elisabeth moss #bradley whitford #commander lawrence #THTplaylists&mixtapes #bruce miller #handmaid's on hulu #the handmaid's tale #handmaid's tale #hulu tv #tv series

[ordinaryschmuck]

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3 made me cry three times.

Hey, that’s one per movie...Yeah, this movie’s awesome.

If you couldn’t tell, this is a very emotional film for sure, and a part of why that works so well is because it’s these characters. The Guardians are some of the most likable characters in the MCU, so seeing them go through a lot of hard stuff in this movie hits ya where it hurts because of how much you care about them. Especially Rocket, who I might not see the same way again after this movie due to his crazy tragic backstory.

Speaking of which, shit gets DARK with Volume 3! Do you like animals? Then maybe don’t watch this one, because there are scenes where animals get tortured, mutilated, mutated, and even killed throughout the film. You don’t see the REAL brutal stuff, but the implications that James Gunn puts in might actually be worse than SHOWING us. But don’t let that make you think we DON’T see any gruesome stuff in this. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 3 is one of the few MCU projects that EARNS its PG-13 rating, having some VIOLENT imagery and deaths. For example, there’s a moment where you see what a character really looks like, and it might just be the goriest thing the MCU has ever had, which is the biggest compliment I can give.

But despite all that, it’s still funny! Like, REALLY funny! And the jokes don’t spoil and dramatic or serious moment in the film, either...Well, except for maybe one or two scenes, but that’s NOTHING compared to films where the jokes completely harm the final product like Thor: Love and Thunder. Here, the jokes are perfectly placed, are rarely forced in, and are ACTUALLY funny. Me and everyone in the theater were cackling with laughter a LOT throughout the movie. I could barely restrain myself from belting out a laugh or two half the time.

And the action. Holy SHIT, the action! These “trilogies” in the MCU really know how to save the cool stuff for the third movies. Iron Man 3, Captain America: Civil War, Thor: Ragnarok, Spider-Man: No Way Home, and now THIS FILM all feature some of the most epic, creative, and fun action scenes and set-pieces in the MCU. There’s a hallway fight that might just top Daredevil’s due to how violent and creative it is with these characters, their powers, and how they kill people. It really does feel like James Gunn wanted to give the fans a few final cool battles before leaving the MCU forever.

Which brings me to another thing about what makes this movie awesome: It is a clear send-off for James Gunn and the Guardians. The movie makes it VERY clear that this will be the last time all these characters will be together. Hell, the credits features pictures of the Guardians throughout their journies and adventures in the MCU. The most we’ll PROBABLY get are cameos, but other than that, this is the end for most of these characters. And WHAT an end it was.

If there’s anything to complain about, there’s two problems.

#1, Adam Warlock. The character isn’t...bad and Will Poulter nails the voice I always pictured this character having. But he doesn’t really nail who Warlock is in the comics and, overall, he’s kind of...pointless. You can easily write him out of the movie and make a few extra tweaks NOTHING would be missing. Honestly, it feels like the only reason why he’s here is because Volume 2 teased his appearance and James Gunn had no choice but to...bring him in for this last ride. Also, Warlock has the worst costume in the MCU. I mean, look at this:

What even is this?

Which brings me to #2--Which is my most nitpickiest complaint: Star Lord doesn’t wear his mask. Ever. Throughout all two hours and a half hours of this film. It’s part of a bigger complain I have where characters don’t mask up as much as they should in these movies, but it doesn’t stop how distracting it is. I don’t want see Chrisp Ratt’s stupid face in this. I want to see STAR LORD.

THIS! I want to see THIS! And the crazy thing is that Volume 3 finally gives the Guardians their comic accurate uniforms, but don’t go all the way in giving us Star Lord’s mask. Not even the original one they made for these movies. Part of the fun of superheroes are their cool and iconic costumes so it sucks that we don’t get to see enough of that. Imagine if Spider-Man: No Way Home or Captain America: Civil War didn’t have Peter and Steve wear their masks for the big and epic fights, including the finale battles. It wouldn’t be great, would it? Seeing Tom Holland and Chris Evans fight instead of Spider-Man and Captain America.

LET YOUR HEROES WEAR MASKS, YOU COWARDS!

...But other than that, this movie’s a near perfect 9/10 for me.

Now, does this mean Marvel’s back on their game and they’ll be making good movies again?

...We’ll see.

For now, I’ll remain hopeful. Because while the MCU is going through a bit of a rough patch with its films and recent shows, there’s still some fun to be had. I’ll always keep an eye out for what they have next, even if it’s not always as good as it could be, it’ll always lead me to seeing...

A fun, nostalgic thrill-ride that honors Spider-Man and what makes him so awesome.

A touching tribute to Chadwick Boseman and how much he and the character he portrayed meant to others.

And this final ride that’s fun, tragic, and complete in all the right ways.

#marvel cinematic universe #mcu #mcu reviews #guardians of the galaxy #guardians of the galaxy vol 3 #rocket raccoon #star lord #adam warlock #quick thoughts #what i thought about

[wanderingmind867]

I once mentioned how I had a reading list for Marvel in my phone's notes app. I've tried to sort it by character, and it's mostly just a collection of Marvel Masterworks so far. I'm mostly reading whatever I can find online, of course. (if I can't find a masterwork, I read whatever I can find online). Here's some of it:

Marvel Masterworks: The Fantastic Four Vols 1-19: Everything from issue #1 to issue #218, right before John Byrne starts writing. For me, all this is peak fantastic four. Because as previously noted, I don't think I'd care for John Byrne's run.

Marvel Masterworks: Iron Man Vols 1-12: Everything from the beginnings back in Tales of Suspense, down to Iron Man #112. So everything up to right before the Demon in a Bottle storyline, give or take a few issues.

Marvel Masterworks: The Avengers Vols 1-16 and 18: Everything from Issue #1 up to Issue #163. All of Stan Lee, Roy Thomas and Steve Englehart's runs. Then I refuse to read Masterwork 17, because I hate the Korvac saga. So we pick back up for our finale with volume 18 and issues #178-188. Or the issues directly preceding the disastrous issue #200, give or take a bit.

Marvel Masterworks: The X-Men Vols 1-7: All the old stuff. The entire original X-Men stories, from #1 to #66. Plus the solo Beast stories from the 70s, and some other solo or crossover related X-Men stuff. This is the last X-Men thing I'll read, as I hate Chris Claremont's X-Men. Quite a lot.

Marvel Nasterworks: Nick Fury, Agent of Shield Vols 1-3: All Nick Fury's classic spy stories. These seem fun, honestly. I haven't read much spy fiction, but this sure sounds more interesting than Nick Fury's old ww2 stuff.

This is just some of it. If you want me to share more, I can try to. it'll probably be a bit dull to read, but it might be nice to share it.

#marvel #marvel comics #earth 616 #marvel universe #reading order #old comics #reading comics #comics #marvel 616 #the fantastic four #fantastic four #iron man #the avengers #avengers #the x men #original x men #the beast #nick fury #autism #asd #good chance I'll delete this note from my phone #when the hyperfixation is over #there's like a 50% chance of that

[callmearcturus]

aw yeah lets do this

S-Tier, AKA the Legitimately Good Tier:

HAWKEYE: Maybe my favorite MCU thing I have ever watched.

+ If you let Jeremy Renner actually act and give him a script, he's fucking great. + Kate Bishop is a perfect mess and I love her, I love she's young and excitable but also takes things seriously, she feels like she's a work in progress, I love her. + MAYA. Holy shit the gravity well of this character, how her presence dictates any scene she is in. Truly stellar. + This entire miniseries is like an extended apology for Hawkeye in every other appearance. "Sorry we dropped the ball with this character so consistently, we will bring the A game here." + The importance of disability. I'm among the ppl who was upset that Hawkeye's disability was dropped, so the way it is centered over and over and over in this, how its practical, how it's funny, how it's sad, how it gives us the most devastatingly emotional scene in all of the MCU yes I am talking about the phone call scene, finally. Fucking finally. + Florence fucking Pugh and her entire charm offensive. + The car chase scene.

- The first episode is unfortunately REALLY slow. - Nah that's all I got. I love this one.

THOR: RAGNAROK

+ "Asgard isn't a place, it's a people" is maybe the most poignant message any MCU film has ever managed. + Literally the funniest movie, but also basically a repair job of character building for everyone in it. + The camerawork in this one makes me so happy. + Tom Hiddleston is given so much to do and he's there with heels on, spectacular. + The giant turret/pegging visual pun, god bless. + Cate Blanchett can kill me.

- uuuuuuuuh. It's not as good as Hawkeye. Yeah.

GOTG Vol 2

+ Sorry but I am a GOTG Truther, I really do think its the one storyline in the MCU that is allowed to get away with really fucking intense character drama because it's not considered "main line." There is a reason ppl rioted when they tried to remove Gunn, and I'm with them. + The only good thing Chris Pratt has done since Parks and Rec. + The way this storyline centers on death and grief is devastating. + Rocket Racoon is the best character in the MCU and we all know it.

- I think the initial treatment of Mantis is REALLY rough even though in the end I think it works, but that's a hell of a hump to get over.

A-TIER, AKA the Great for a MCU Flick Tier:

BLACK PANTHER

+ My biggest problem with the MCU is the creative desert of its set and costume design, the way it feels like nothing is given time to breathe in the creative process. BP is the antithesis of that. I would watch a four hour documentary just on the visual design of this movie, from the architecture to the costumes to the make-up, everything. I don't want to hear from the director or writers, I want to hear four hours of just the craftspeople talking about their work. It's monumental. + Best Villain in the MCU, bar none. + Only MCU film to move me to actual tears in the movie theatre.

- I loved this movie! For the life of me I could not tell you the plot. I understand the plot of every Mission Impossible film but I don't know the plot of this movie. - If this movie was allowed to cut, like, 20 minutes of action and replace it with more character drama, it'd be the best MCU film.

IRON MAN 3

+ The MCU Movie That Pulls Exactly Zero Punches About Being About Mental Health And PTSD Holy Shit + Rhodey and Pepper get so much to do and I like an ensemble piece so much + Shane Black is in love with RDJ and I'm so happy for him + Pepper gets to be a lil monsterfied and that's hot

- Doesn't have Sam Rockwell. - The plot is kinda fully secondary to the character work, which imo is fine, but yanno.

GOTG Vol 1

+ All the stuff I said about GOTG Vol 1

- It's not Vol 2, which benefits from having all the bedrock foundation built by this movie to spring from.

B-TIER, AKA It's Fine I Guess:

IRON MAN 1

It's good! It invented the wheel! Part of it are fucking agonizingly painful to watch in 2023 but it also has more heart than 80% of the franchise so.

IN A CAVE. WITH A BOX OF SCRAPS.

LOKI

Okay it feels shitty of me to judge this one on its technical faults bc apparently it was shot during the pandemic and that causes a lot of the issues with the camerawork, the awkward editing, and just how Weird everything was put together. But also it's REALLY stilted and awkward, which butts up against the good script and the better acting, so IDK man.

Owen Wilson is amazing. Even my mother thought the way they canonized Loki being bi was a cop-out. And the final twist pissed me off. I hope Season 2 is better.

THOR 1

I DUNNO WHAT TO TELL YOU, BUT KENNETH BRANAGH UNDERSTOOD THE ASSIGNMENT.

DR STRANGE AND THE MULTIVERSE OF MADNESS

This movie is a mess but once i figured out it was trying to be The MCU Does Gothic Horror, I was a lot more on board. It has all the flaws of the original Dr Strange and is hard to visually follow like most MCU films, but also has America Chavez, who I adore.

IRON MAN 2

It has Sam Rockwell, I don't give a fuck.

C-TIER, AKA I wish I cared but I do not 8C

DR STRANGE

I dunno I like the actual character of Strange weirdly, I like what a complete fucking asshole he is, I like his god complex and how he reacts to his disability as a surgeon. On the other hand what the fuck is Tilda Swinton doing here, this is just awful. My biggest issue with this film is that it didn't have to be this terrible but every decision made about it feels so fucking thoughtless and myopic.

WANDAVISION

yanno. i cannot even explain why i fell off this so hard. Like, this one Had Me all the way up to and including the Agatha reveal, but like the final episodes after that reveal somehow left me completely cold and uncaring. it's genuinely weird.

D-TIER, AKA Oh my god no thank you

AVENGERS

I hate the writing. Like, I haaaaate the writing. I feel like the only likeable relationship in this is Tony and Bruce, and that does not carry this movie. The quip-driven writing, the way the need for a joke supercedes naturalistic voices and dialogue making sense, it pisses me off. I hate the writing. Heartless movie.

BLACK WIDOW

oh my god i'm actively angry at this movie okay because for the first 20 minutes, I was like "wait, is this going to be a real movie," because it felt smaller, the action felt more realistic, that fight between the Widow and Yelena in the beginning felt like it could have been out of MI: Fallout, and the other fight between Natasha and Yelena in the safehouse was also good, I really thought for a few moments that this could be Good

and then it just took a hard right into The MCU Tries And Fails To Make MI: Fallout (They Even Stole The Mask Gag, What The Fuck Was That) and not only was I disappointed, I was like retroactively pissed for the 20 minutes when I had hope in my heart. If not for David Harbour's character, I would have just left in the middle of this movie.

AVENGERS: ENDGAME

Its not at bad as Infinity War! Nebula and Rocket carried this movie on their fucking backs. But what do I know, I liked Renner's mohawk of sadness.

F-Tier, AKA Fuck This Movie

INFINITY WAR

Fuck this movie with a rusted steel dildo, fuck this entire fucking movie, I despise it. The writing is so actively fucking terrible I want to fistfight whoever is responsible. I fucking hate the attempts to humanize Thanos over how sad he is about the daughter he abused and then murdered, boo fucking hoo, I hate the joylessness of the superhero combinations, I hate the quip-driven writing, I hate this movie with a burning passion. This might be one of the worst movies I have ever seen. Soulless and destitute.

#long post

[pierre-reads-comics]

tony manufactured weapons in the 616 universe till the 70s (read iron man vol 1 78 - it's an issue dedicated to why he stopped making them)

Damn, really? Actually, no, that makes sense.

The early '60s were all about US propaganda centered on combating Communism, and Iron Man was at the center of that in Marvel Comics, so I doubt he would have advocated disarmament from the start, haha.

Gave that issue a read, and wow, it directly addresses and comments on that earlier flat and blind characterization of Tony instead of brushing it under the rug.

"As Iron Man you beat the commies for democracy without ever questioning just whose democracy you were serving--"

Thanks for the info and issue recommendation!

#Iron Man #Tony Stark #asks

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: A New Past (Vol 3, Issue 1-3)

Marc Spector: Moon Knight Vol 3

So this follows right after the OG run. We left behind Moench and Zelenetz. 

Now we run into a new group of writers and artists. 

Writers: 

Chuck Dixon, Mike Baron, Howard Mackie, J.M. DeMatteis, Al Milgrom, and Bruce Jones

Artists: 

Sal Velluto, Bill Reinhold, Russ Heath, Mark Bagley, Ron Garney, J.J. Birch, and Denys Cowan. 

A whole group of names that aren't that common place. Which is a pity because they did an alright job! 

When you look at the Omnibus, you also get a content warning! 

"This content contains Depictions of racism, sexual assault and suicide. Reader discretion is advised. If you are struggling with thoughts of suicide, or are worried about a friend or loved one, please reach out to a counselor or someone you trust or Dial 988 for the suicide and crisis lifeline." 

A bit of history: The crisis line was created in January 2005. 

Since the first Marc Spector story came out in June 1989, it's safe to say this is a late Marvel addition. Hidden in moderate font on the credits page. This Omnibus book was published in 2023. A lot of new books that contain old content contain these new warnings. 

I highly respect the Marvel publishers for the singular reason that when they re-released older content, they recognized the problems in them and rather than correct, censor, or hide them, they kept it as a piece of history and slapped a content warning on there. 

ANOTHER interesting fact, when looking at the Omnibus, you get to see the dates. This series of Moon Knight ran from June 1989 through 1994. 

It was ongoing and takes place after the West Coast Avengers, which technically took place directly after Zelenetz left, but I'm going to skip over that for now. 

I doubt very much I will really cover West Coast Avengers (1987-1989, starting with issue #21 and ending with Issue #41). I might touch on it a bit later, but I was never really a fan. Plus he mostly just kinda pops in silently in the background with most of them. 

Now, this was an interesting time in the comics. The early 90s saw things take a drastic turn towards EXTREME. The 90s were a new target audience, a new decade, and the world was changing. 

The cold war came to an end at the end of 1991, but the Gulf War started in 1990. 

Comics were suddenly competing with and trying to get a foot in on Television, which was suddenly a household thing and latch-key kids wanted something to hold their attention. 

Now, the Marc Spector series has recently been released in Omnibus volumes. Vol 1 holds issues 1-34 with excerpts from Amazing Spider-Man #353-358 and specials including 'Divided We Fall'

Terry Kavanagh kicks off with Omnibus Vol 2 and that name should start to look more familiar. He worked on Spider-Man for a long time and X-men along with Avengers, Iron Man, and a lot of big crossovers. 

Vol 2 holds Issues 25-60, a Moon Knight special, more Spider-Man crossover "Web of Spider-Man #93-94, and some Moon Knight from 1998-1999!  (The Omnibus comes out this March 5th, 2024 if you're a collector!) Since it's not out yet, I'm going to be starting with Vol 1 for now. 

What's interesting is that the series 'Marc Spector' ends with Marc's 'death'. 

So what happens to Moon Knight after that? The king himself, Moench returns to resurrect Marc Spector for a second time in a 4 issue special. 

In fact, Moench returns for the whole Moon Knight Vol 4 and 5 (1998-1999) mini series, each one 4 issues long. 

Things had to be fixed after how it all ended, after all. 

I'll cover the Moench specials later. 

I’ll be honest. I’ve been putting off the 90s runs. The 90s were not exactly my cup of tea when it came to Marvel comics. I was more of a Batman fan (with a few notable exceptions). But as I’ve mentioned many times… My memory is pretty shit so maybe I’ll get into it and be happily surprised and enjoy myself more than I think I will.

 So let’s get into it! 

Let's start with Issue #1! 

Marc Spector: Moon Knight. Issue #1: New Moon. 

Written by Charles Dixon

Art by Sal Velluto

We open on Long Island. We see someone doing a 3am diaper run and stopping at an ATM first. 

Two thugs sit in a car on the corner waiting. They spot the poor sleepy dad and decide he'd make a nice cash grab. 

They hold him up at gun point and demand he take out the max. 

Well... One holds him at gun point. The other rips the door off the man's car for some reason. 

Hey look, It's our man! 

Now, remember, Moon Knight has been out of New York for a while with the West Coast Avengers. We're picking up here right after he left them. 

Moon Knight casts his shadow on the villains. 

"You boys forget your bank cards?" 

"It's a ghost!" 

"I've been away too long. You guys don't even recognize me." 

"It ain't no ghost, Rocket scientist. But he's gonna be one." 

Title card: NEW MOON. Beginning a new series chronicling the adventures of Marc Spector.

You know, the art here really brings to mind early Sienkiewicz Moon Knight. The dramatic leap that leaves his ass out. The awkward stances, the action kicks, the clenched fists... Maybe the poses are a LITTLE more awkward than Bill gave Marc credit for, but I'm loving the clean lines and shading. 

Plus, Do I spy a crescent dart upgrade!?

Marc quips “After all of the high-powered weirdos I fought with the West Coast Avengers… It's good to be back on home turf kicking the rear ends of a few AVERAGE lowlifes!"  

Marc has always loved beating on common thugs. He so often fights supernatural brutal muscle bound villains. When he gets a casual robbery, he’s almost giddy. 

Notice I’m saying Marc here a lot. 

When Moon Knight joined the Avengers on the West Coast, we did not see any sign of Jake or Steven. We know from the OG run that Jake doesn’t leave New York. And I suspect that Steven has never played well with the Avengers or team ups of that sort. 

Perhaps we had Moon Knight as himself, but it’s clear from the title of this series that we’re going to be getting Marc Spector himself and the writers that will be working on this are most likely not comfortable working with Friendly and Loving Jake and Generous and glitzy Steven. Of course the wild and extreme early 90s is going to focus on Marc. And thus we start down the LONG and drawn out Moon Knight tradition of forgetting that he has DID with other Alters and not just Schizophrenia with a ‘pretend’ identity crisis. 

But I’m going to take this down a different path and we’re going to look at this as Marc falling into the trap of his usual denial and trying to get his life together by holding front so hard that you’d have to literally pry it out of his cold dead fingers (ha ha, we’ll get to that later). 

Anyways, back to the comic. The thugs are subdued and the poor sleepy dad man thanks him "You're Moonbeam, aren't you?" 

"Moon KNIGHT, pal. I have been out of New York too long." 

Marc ties up the thugs and tells the guy to wait there for the cups. He radioed ahead to them before he dropped in. 

The chopper arrives and Marc gets on the ladder and takes off with the most awkward: 

"There they are now. Take it easy, Citizen." and he salutes. 

Yeah.... It's Marc. Without a doubt... No one could be that awkward but Marc... 

On the chopper, Frenchie has also taken note of the moment. 

"'Take it easy, Citizen?'"

"Aw, lighten up, Frenchie." 

Marc takes off the mask and relaxes back next to Frenchie in a really weirdly designed chopper that looks more like a hover car than anything... But sure. Upgrades! 

"Y'know, Frenchie... I think the guy I saved down there was more afraid of me than those hoods." 

"Is that not the reason for the costume?" 

"Sure. But I don't want the innocent to fear me." 

"The innocent will fear you most of all." 

"I should have shaved. This mask chafes my face something awful." 

Marc... 

It is very nice to see them actually talking, though. You never got to see Marc and Frenchie actually be the friends they were supposed to be. And Marc is never more relaxed than when he's with Frenchie and they can talk about the past without worry. 

"Crime fighting doesn't seem to suit you these days, frenchie." 

"It is a waste of our talents, Marc. We could have easily strafed those dogs out of existence." 

"We're not mercenaries anymore. We can't just make things up as we go along. We've got rules in this country, m'man." 

"Then I do not like the rules." 

"Live it or live with it, Frenchie." 

Now this is interesting because this is the first time that we really get a feel for what Frenchie thinks of all of this superhero business. 

We know Frenchie was a Legionnaire, we know he was a very GOOD mercenary that helped recruit Marc in the first place, and that his talents are with vehicles. 

We also know that Frenchie had strong opinions on the work he took (as seen in the very first issue when he came to Marc to complain about Bushman's sketchy business). 

But Frenchie ALSO was very attached to Marc and followed him without question. 

So here we have Frenchie noting that picking on thugs is far below what they are both capable of. 

Just an interesting tidbit. 

Another interesting tidbit is that we see the Mooncopter landing back at Grand Mansion and Marc notes that he was able to buy it back after returning from West Coast Avengers. 

"At TWICE the amount you sold it for, Marc." 

"You're on my case tonight, Frenchie." 

We get a little map of where the mansion is on Long Island and that the current Market Value is $5,890,000. Which.... In today's currency is: $14,649,807.50 today!!!!!! 

Here’s a pretty cool design of the mansion with fun facts! 

Now what's interesting is that we see Marc returning to an empty mansion. Just him and Frenchie. No Marlene. No Samules the Butler or Nedda the cook. 

The phone rings from an unlisted number and when he answers, no one says anything. 

Angrily, he hangs up and we get a view of a woman on the other line saying "He's home. We got the right number." 

This explains why we are getting blueprints of the moonchopper and the mansion and map of Long Island. Someone's looking for Marc.

Marc does Marc things and wanders the mansion a bit and starts talking to the Khonshu statue. 

It's time for the Marc Spector Recap of how he became Moon Knight! (remember, this is issue #1 so it's a good place for new readers to pick up a new comic. You'll often find recaps and deep character introductions in 1st issues.) 

"Past four in the morning and all the sane people are in bed. It's all YOUR fault, Khonshu. You got me into this. God of the moon, taker of vengeance.

Actually I got me into this when I hooked up with that crazy Bushman back in my mercenary days. Now THERE was a prime psycho.

Killing is a part of any war, but Bushman got off on it. I tagged along until he killed Dr. Peter Alraune, an American archaeologist, and it looked like his daughter was next. 

I helped Marlene escape and then challenged Bushman in hand to hand combat. Not one of my brighter ideas.

He left me for dead and he was just about right! Somehow I managed to make it to the digs that the doctor was trying to protect... The Shrine of Khonshu. 

Marlene tells me I 'Died' there and was revived by the spirit of Khonshu. 

I wrapped myself in Khonshu's shroud and, from that night on, I took on the mantle of Moon Knight." 

Oh Marc... You would tell it like that. 

Marc heads up stairs to bed (tossing his cape on the stairs as he goes) and when he enters his room someone jumps at him. 

Marc fends them off, elbowing them and then flipping them onto the bed. 

Oh hey! It's Marlene! 

And she's already half undressed. Welcome to the 90s! 

"You play a little rough, cowboy. I think you broke one of my nails." 

"What did you expect sneaking in here like that?" 

"Well, there was no one home. I thought I'd surprise you." 

"Mission accomplished, Baby." 

"Not so easy the way you have this place wired. But my sneaking skills needed a workout anyway, so...I thought I'd come see you. It's been so long, and I thought I'd take a chance..." 

And the two goof off a bit then we have implied hanky-panky as the scene cuts away. 

I have well known mixed feelings about Marlene. And with Marc now running the show, it's interesting that she'd come back, considering her feelings on Marc vs. Steven. More interesting that he left her behind. 

We cut to Manhattan and find two guys in Hawaiian shirts at a large computer terminal (gotta love those 1980s thick monitors). They're celebrating because: 

"We got this Moon Knight guy blued, stewed and tattooed! We know more about him than he knows about himself, Tector! 

Yuh done good, little brother. You worked some real magic with that keyboard. Our bossman is gonna be so proud." 

And the boss steps in, asking if they have found him yet. 

"Tector's digging up more data on his home security system. So far it looks like a hummer! Bet the Kremlin in Russia ain't got so fine a wire job, boss." 

And we pan out to find the boss: 

Alright, he’s upped his style and given himself a new title. I appreciate the new look. They kept it authentic to the original Bushman and also added in their own artistic style and I dig it. Not sure about the new outfit, but who am I to tell our delusional bad guy how to dress? 

"I want projections on the best way to approach Moon Knight. I want his weaknesses exposed to me. This information is vital to my nation's security, Lyle. You will have it by morning." 

Good to see he's still absolutely obsessed with Marc. 

And that since we are starting Marc Spector Issue 1, we are going back to the original with Marc's own personal villain, Bushman. 

I have a lot to say about Bushman, and I'll save it for the end. So stick around! 

Back at Spector Mansion...

It actually says "Spector Mansion." 

Another interesting detail because the OG ALWAYS called it Grant Mansion. 

Marlene wakes up to find Marc working out in his gym. 

"You know, Marc, I'm kind of surprised you're still doing the Moon Knight thing." 

"You have a problem with that, Marlene?" 

"Why do you do it?" 

"I want to do like that dog says on TV. 'Take a bite out of crime'." 

(Scruff McGruff. You were a weird part of my childhood). 

They argue about letting the police do the work and Marc argues that the police can't be everywhere and do everything. 

(That style though.) 

"You used to fight a more noble battle." 

"I was a Mercenary, for cryin' out loud." 

"Don't play the cynic with me. You weren't in it for the cash. If you were you wouldn't have pitched in on the losing side so often." 

"I LIKE long odds." 

"You're impossible!" 

"And YOU are getting more like Frenchie. I get the feeling I'm outnumbered around here." 

This is an interesting conversation we keep getting here from both Marlene and Frenchie. That they think he was better as a Mercenary but he argues that his Mercenary work was not good for him. 

Marc says he's starving but that he gave the cook the week off. 

Marlene asks how Nedda is. 

"Oh, I retired her to my condo in Boca Raton. I never go there anyway. Chloe's the new cook." 

"What's she like?" 

"Not terribly attractive. She's older than Moses and has a mustache that Frenchie's jealous of." 

"Marc, you're terrible." 

And then Chloe walks in unexpectedly. 

(Alright. It’s going to be like that. Welcome to the 90s.) 

Yep. 

Down in the chopper area, we find Marc now working on the chopper for once. 

Come to think of it, in the OG, it was ALWAYS Frenchie up working on the chopper. But then again, it was always Steven at the mansion. Now that Marc is out and about, he's the one tinkering about. 

"YOu're working down here late, Marc. Didn't I see Marlene earlier?" 

"Sure did, Frenchie. We have resumed our stormy relationship. She got an eyeful of Chloe and I sent her packing off to the mall with my goldcard to smooth things over." 

"Americans... You fight with your women because you don't know how to love them." 

Ah, Frenchie... 

They are interrupted by a frantic call on the radio from Marlene. She's driving on the highway and she's "Under attack"! 

I am pleased that the writers remembered that Marlene knows how to handle herself. She was trained by Marc, after all. She can shoot, fight, and drive. She’s no damsel in distress. 

Marc shows up and finds the car empty. He attacks the remaining gun-men and demands to know where Marlene is. 

"Spector, are you STILL parading about in that ridiculous costume?" 

"You're one to talk about taste in clothes, Bushman." 

"Amusing, Spector, you always were a glub one." 

Bushman holds Marlene at knife point (Speaking of damsel in distress) and demands that Marc meet up with him later tonight to find out what his demands are. 

He then shoots one of his own men just to prove the point that he's still a vicious cold blooded killer, then he drives off in a classy car with Marlene. 

Marc is...less than happy about this. 

"You're a dead man, Bushman. You just don't know it yet." 

TO BE CONTINUED. 

I’m not going to make you wait. Here you go!

Marc Spector, Moon Knight: Issue #2: Hunter’s Moon. 

Written by: Charles Dixon

Art by: Sal Velluto

Alright, Apparently Spider-Man is going to be in this one. This is going to be interesting. 

We open back up in Manhattan. 

We got three nerdy looking guys on a roof across from the Excelsior (Fancy hotel) with a telescope spying on the guests. 

While fighting over the 'scope, they happen to catch a glimpse of 'a ghost'. 

Yeah, he's being real sneaky there. 

So there he is... at the Embassy of the Republic of Burunda. This is Bushman's new country that he has made himself 'President' of. 

Marc notes the place looks pretty well armored and guarded. He has Frenchie up in the sky as usual. 

"I'm WAY behind on my current events. I didn't know that Bushman had set himself up as the strongman in Burunda." 

"I saw it on sixty minutes. Forgot to tell you." 

Frenchie suggests waiting for Bushman to call and tell him what he wants, since they aren't even sure if Bushman has Marlene in the embassy. 

Marc says Bushman enjoys always having the edge, including diplomatic immunity. There's no way he's going to wait. 

Hey look, the tech brothers from before are back! 

They have caught sight of Moon Knight on their CCTV cams. 

Bushman decides to send Marc a message. 

"Spector must be discouraged from coming near the embassy again. He must meet my demands without question. Is that CLear, Mister Glitch?" 

While Marc tries to track someone leaving the Embassy, Bushman sends his personal bodyguards after him. 

HEY. Remember the warning at the top of this collected run? The one about racism and other things? 

He puts up a fight, telling Frenchie to stay on the guy leaving the embassy. 

Marc puts up a fight and jumps around building to building until he gets ahead. 

Spider-man happens to be swinging by and notices Marc's group. 

"Now there's something you don't see everyday... A bunch of guys dressed like Tarzan extras running into central park after midnight." 

Spider-man follows and good ol' Peter Parker takes out the camera to catch some shots of Moon Knight in action. 

"They seem to be after the one in the cape. Might as well take some pictures to sell to the paper. This guy sure doesn't need MY help. Say "Cheese" everybody." 

Marc takes out the last of the group and continues his chase. 

"Moon Knight, huh? I thought he was in California. Well, off to the darkroom. And thanks for the help with the rent, Moonie!" 

And Spider-man heads out. 

(I've talked about 'special guest appearances' in comics before. It's a big show to get people to buy and read the comic and try to convince new fans to come in. You're lucky if they are in the comic for half a page.) 

Marc is back on the tail of the guy and he meets up with him. 

He tells the guy they need to talk and then...He knocks him out with knockout gas. Wh...Why? 

Maybe the guy wanted to talk? Why are you knocking out and kidnapping a guy before you even find out if he has the info you need?! 

....Back at the Embassy, we find Marlene is inside and not happy. 

People forget that while Marc has a grudge and hate of Bushman, Marlene is the one whose father was killed by him. 

He tells Marlene that he's a man of the people, HIS people, and unfortunately his people are very poor. It seems he expects Marc to fix that situation. 

Back to Marc and his poor decision making skills... 

We find the man he's kidnapped waking up... and dangling upside down from the moon chopper. 

Not going to lie, his little wave in that first panel is sending me. 

So it seems Bushman wants ten million dollars. Lemme just get the conversion calculator out: $25,456,099.59. 

Yeah. I'd want that much too. 

"He wants it in one week or he'll chop the girl to pieces." 

"And where am I supposed to get Ten Mill?" 

"Find a way! The General knows you've got the money!" 

"I don't like what you had to say, Buddy. Have a nice fall." 

And Marc pushes him out of the chopper. 

Lucky for the man, Frenchie had bought the chopper down and the man only falls a couple feet. 

He tells the man to tell Bushman that he'll be in touch. 

Next up? Marc goes to see his accountant! 

"You don't have ten million bucks lying around in 'sacks' somewhere." 

LOL Marc... 

"Your money's tied up in real estate and business interests and your art collection." 

"So SELL some of the paintings. Sell some of my business interests." 

"What wuld you like me to do? Hang a garage sale sign on the mailbox? 'Picasso for sale, CHEAP'? And as far as your business interests go, they're just that: INTERESTS. You have partners in these ventures that you would HURT by liquidating in a big hurry--Not to mention the employees." 

Steven is in there having a FIT right now. 

I'm dying right now because I was JUST talking to someone about how clever Steven was with their money and how Marc has no idea what he's doing with money and probably took two days to lose it all in the current run. I’d like to amend my statement to say he’d lose it in two hours. 

"I don't know what you need the money for, it can't be anything Kosher, Marc. But we just can't swing it." 

Marc apologizes for losing his temper. The accountant leaves and he tells Frenchie the bad news. "I'm what they call cash poor." 

Oh Marc... Is... Is that a Khonshu bust on his desk? Wh... 

"That's the bad news. The good news is that we get to do this MY way." 

Marc... 

"And this time I go alone." 

Back at the Embassy, we see a "Empire Cable commercial repair" truck pull up. A guy gets out and goes up to the gate. 

Oh no. Is he doing what I think he's doing? 

MARC. 

The guard says he can't let anyone in without varifying first. The General is busy and doesn't want to be disturbed so "I will call your company." 

So he calls the number on the truck, which would not verify anything if this was a guy trying to sneak in. But what's logic for you? 

And GUESS WHAT. The number goes to Frenchie putting on an accent. 

He verifies the job and sends the cable repair guy in with another guard. 

Once inside, Marc knocks out the guard with chloroform (Why does he had so much chloroform?) and rushes off, leaving the body in the middle of the floor. 

And the tech brothers sure as heck notice a strange guy running around on the CCTV cameras. 

They call the front gate and have a thing or two to say about a 'cable repair guy'. 

Marc starts just opening random doors looking for Marlene. 

A couple of guards spot him and Marc knocks them out. So much for his disguise. 

Back in Moon Knight attire, he runs down the hall. The tech guys decide to take off. They know a bad fight when they see one coming. 

Marc continues his quest of opening EVERY door he finds while yelling "MARLENE!" 

SIGH. Marc… This is why you need Steven and Jake. Just putting that out there. 

So Marc beats up all the big buff gym boys. 

I appreciate that they at one point get the upper hand and pin him down while beating him and Marc just goes "You'll have to do better than that" after taking a few hard hits. 

Marc really does not treat the body well. 

He asks the last guy where Marlene is before knocking him out. 

He busts in so hard that I’m tempted to count it on my “jumps through window” tally. 

(Look at this dramatic idiot. This is the biggest wet cat yowling energy I’ve ever seen.) 

SO he busts in and is met with a SAW-esque situation with Bushman on TV. 

Bushman tells him he had to fly back to his homeland on urgent business and he's taken Marlene with him. 

TO BE CONTINUED. 

At the end of the issue we have a "Let's meet the team" afterward and we get to learn a little about the new group working on Moon Knight. 

It's very brief. Mostly it's just how old they are, if they are married or have kids, and a few previous comic names they have worked on. 

I'm going to be frank with you here. If you've been reading my other reviews, you have an idea on what's been going on in Marvel during this time and WHY Moench isn't writing Moon Knight at this time. 

Marvel comics had just had a huge upheaval of all their major writers and artists due to disagreements with the editor in chief. So these are a lot of young guys that are coming in off of low name comics. 

ALSO none of them talk about why or how they got placed into the Moon Knight run. 

So my big question is why don't you think of these guys when you think of Moon Knight? I can name SO MANY writers and artists from may different runs that were amazing or terrible. Or even just mid. But these guys? Not even a blip on my chart. 

Clearly Chuck Dixon had Moon Knight for more than just a guest writer or special. 

Doing a little background look into him, he was best known for Punisher and DC comics like Batman, Nightwing, and Robin in the 1990s and 2000s. 

He got his start in the big leagues with Conan and worked his way up to Marc Spector: Moon Knight. After that, he started on Punisher and Punisher war Journal. DC got their mits on him and he became "DC's most prolific Batman writer in the 1990s". 

So yeah... Despite working on Moon Knight 1989-1992 for 25 issues... He just isn't a big name for the comic. 

And honestly, the Marc Spector Moon Knight run was often considered very MID. Not outright terrible, but very directionless. It existed and left very little impact on the series. 

I'll give it credit that it DID at least keep the series going and allow it to reboot again later instead of just disappearing forever. So thank you for that! 

But… I remember that Zelenetz had an interview where he talked about where he had wanted to take Moon Knight after Vol 2 ended, but he was no longer on the project. Now I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if he had been allowed to keep going. 

ANYWAYS… What issue are we on?

Marc Spector, Moon Knight: Issue #3: Butcher’s Moon

Written by: Charles Dixon

Art by: Sal Velluto

Oh boy. Where’s that Content Warning able? I have a feeling this is about to get dicey. 

WOW. Right out the gate! 

Alright so... We see an airport and someone is going through customs. 

We are now in Burunda. 

And a very uh... characture... fellow... asks to see this guy's passport. 

It's CLEARLY Marc in a disguise. He has a European UK Passport and is claiming to be Ian Waller, a photo journalist from Manchester sent to take pictures of how the country is doing under the new General leader Bushman. 

The customs officer keeps his passport, telling him that he will get it back when he leaves. (Not a good sign.) 

The town is "Freedomtown" and ....  

I'm going to make you squint at this picture. 

You got a clearly poor country depicted under the rule of a tyrant that rules through fear and violence. 

You got a car with the word "TAXI" spray painted on the side. He claims to be the only taxi in the country. 

Then you have several children running after the 'photojournalist' yelling "White man rich? White man have dollar?" 

Then on the corner you have what's clearly supposed to be a hooker and her pimp not too far away, though it's cleverly disguised as a bus stop and can be argued otherwise. Then you got homeless guys and bags of trash... There's a lot going on here. It's like a Where's Waldo of stereotypical poor African country depiction. 

He gets in the taxi and the driver takes off. 

"Driver? I didn't give you a destination." 

"Only ONE destination, Sah. Only ONE Hotel." 

(I am grinning at the idea of Marc putting on a fake Manchester Accent. Thank you Steven Grant MCU. He actually says "I guess it is, innit?" and I'm so happy). 

The 'photojournalist' goes to take a picture of some military group and the Taxi driver smacks his camera down. 

"No! NO picture without permission, Sah." 

How very North Korea of you. 

The Journalist gets to the hotel and starts to unpack. 

Would you look at that? It's Marc Spector in disguise! (Another mustache) He vows that once it gets dark he's going to go looking for Marlene and also take care of Bushman. 

We head over to the Presidential Palace. 

Out front we see a truck arrive full of people and a bunch of guards with guns offloading them. 

And in the back of the palace there is a large pool. So of course we see Marlene out for a swim in a tiny bikini. Getting back to the basics. 

She gets out of the pool and Bushman offers her a robe. They exchange a few quips. 

"What's your game, Bushman? What made you want to settle down and rule your own personal dungheap?" 

"I Feel compassion for my people. This WAS my homeland. The Tribe my family belonged to once ruled this land frm end to end until the Europeans deposed them. Now I rule. I am like a warming sun shining on my people. I am like the rain that nourishes the soil." 

"I can think of another thing that nourishes the soil, General. And you're full of it." 

While they talk, they are interrupted by gunfire. 

"You do amuse me. You find my ways harsh. I see them as direct. As sole ruler of Burunda, I face no opposition, no Bureaucracy. I am free to deal with my nation's problems efficiently." 

We cut to another panel where we see soldiers with smoking guns and a pile of dead bodies of men young and old. 

"Problems such as aids. I have found a cure for aids." 

HISTORY TIME: 

Alright. There is a LOT going on in that last panel. A LOT of history. A LOT of politics. a LOT of terrible things.

This comic came out in 1989. We are at the height of the Aids pandemic. I'm not going to get deeply into it, but if you have questions please feel free to ask. In America, it was seen strictly as a Homosexual disease and the people afflicted were written off, forgotten, and left to die alone and scared. In Africa, many places saw Aids as a sin-ful or taboo disease and they were cast out of their villages or outright killed. 

It was a disease that wiped out a generation of homosexual men and is the reason why there are so few older gays for younger people to learn from. It's... It's a whole thing and there are papers and books and documentaries on it. 

What I find interesting in relation to THIS comic in particular... 

We are in 1989, it's still killing gay men and a lot of people saw this as a good thing. The way this panel is done is to show how terrible this is. It brings humanity to the aids victims and shows that killing them is NOT a solution and is a terrible thing. ALSO considering the Marvel editor in chief that caused a lot of writers to leave was intensely homophobic, this may have been a sneaky jab. 

Take my word for it, there is a LOT going on. 

It's a beautifully sad panel. I'm not going to show it because it has dead bodies and depicts extreme violence and is just too depressing. 

Back to the comic! 

Marlene yells at Bushman, demanding to be let go. 

Bushman says that "Spector will come for you. He loves you more than he will ever admit to you, I know him. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants." 

Back at the hotel we see a bunch of guards knocking on the 'photo journalist's' door. 

They go inside only to find him gone! 

Up on the roof, we have Moon Knight holding a bow and arrow set. 

"Nobody in sight. Bushman probably has a curfew around here. Boy, is he strict. Hope nobody asks for my hall pass." 

I must say that the colorist really did a fantastic job on the night time shading and moon light glow. It's just very pretty. 

He climbs a bell tower to get a good view of the area and finds a military compound with a large fuel truck. 

Marc, of course, gets a bright idea for a diversion. 

One of the guards near the truck pulls out a cigaret and asks for a light. A note says "Translated from Domi, a local tribal dialect"

"I got your light, Pal." Marc says just before he lets loose an arrow. 

What I love about this is that Marc understands him. Implying that Marc understands the dialect. This is why he's such a good mercinary. He isn't just good at killing and fighting. He was amazing at learning everything about the places he went, including the language. 

The arrow hits the truck and BLAAAAAAAAAAM. 

Oh look at that. An Ammunition storehouse. 

Yeah, he blows that one up too. He's having a good time. 

"That should keep their eyes off the rooflines and their minds off ME for a while." 

We find Bushman in his private office wathing a women's fighting match. 

Someone interrupts him to tell him that the supply depot has exploded and injured many men, but somehow not killed anyone. 

"He is here." Bushman smiles. 

If you will think back to issue 1 of Moon Knight, Marc did the exact same thing when he came back from the dead and was sneaking back into the dig site. He blew up a truck to cause a distraction. 

I'm starting to think Marc might be a bit of a pyro. 

"We now head Several Hundred Miles South" where a bunch of men are sitting around a camp fire near a helicopter. 

And here we see Frenchie walking up. He starts in French, saying hello and asking if they speak French. Then English. 

"I want to buy your helicopter." 

"You are saying WHAT?" 

"The Huey. I want to buy your Huey." 

They laugh a little, thinking he is joking until Frenchie pulls out a suitcase full of money. 

....Now... I'd like to point out that Frenchie did just as much work as Marc, possibly more, and got paid a lot. He never really did much with it... He probably has a lot saved up. He ALSO probably had Steven invest for him. I would not be surprised if Frenchie is richer than Marc. 

So he takes off with the chopper and tosses behind the money. 

Back in town, we see the soldiers running around looking for Moon Knight. 

Up high, we see Moon Knight walking across the power lines towards the palace. 

He sneaks inside and takes out a guard. 

Elsewhere, we see two soldiers moving to retrieve Marlene for Bushman. 

They hear the shower running and go to get her (and take a peek). She opens the curtain and reveals she's in her bathing suit and ready to fight. She sprays one guy with hot water in the face then kicks the other guard. 

She manages to steal a fifle and takes off. "This is what Bushman calls an army? I might not even need this rifle." 

Marc is having a similar thought. 

Bullets fly all over as he runs down a hall. 

"These guys can't be this bad at marksmanship by accident. It's more like they're just chasing me somewhere. If it's closer to Bushman, then I'm happy to oblige." 

WINDOW! WINDOW! WE HAVE A WINDOW! 

Now, let me just say, I do love the Bushman design in this. This is how he SHOULD be. Not whatever that was that Bemis gave us. 

"Do you see this sword? It is the traditional weapon of my people." 

"Thanks for showing me the family silverware, Bushman. But I'm here for the woman." 

"Some things never change. You always did use snappy banter when you were most nervous, Spector. Defeat me and the woman's yours." 

Marc asks why Bushman became obsessed with him. 

"You represent everything I hate. A mercenary making his fortune from the miseries of the third world." 

"Cut the bull! You made millions and never cared where the money came from as long as you could spend it. I may have been a mercenary, but you were a butcher! I never shot anyone who wasn't pointing a gun at me." 

"It was just such softness that always got you in trouble!" 

They start the battle. Marc with his nun-chucks snaps takes their swings. Bushman draws first blood when he slices through Marc's mask. 

"It's not who bleeds first. It's who's left standing!" 

Another slice cuts into Marc's side, but he's had worse. 

Marc kicks him in the chest then smashes his face with the palm of his hand. 

Marc goes full ...Marc... on Bushman, fists and blows. It's his fighting style to take hits and keep going. 

Marc gets the upper hand and demands to know where Marlene is. 

Bushman calls out to his men to shoot Marc. 

"They shoot me, they hit you too!" Marc reminds him. 

But then bullets rain down around them, snapping Bushman's sword in two. 

And Frenchie comes in with the chopper. 

"Through playing the hero yet, Marc?" 

"Good to hear your voice, Frenchie. Put her down as close as you can. This place is HOT." 

Marlene wants to know why she can't just shoot Bushman and end it. 

Marc tells her not to. He fails to give her any good reason other than that they need to get out of there quickly. 

I have theories about this that I'll discuss in a moment. 

Marc releases Bushman as soon as they start to take off. 

"You walk away this time, General. THIS time!" 

Frenchie opens fire, scattering the men to prevent them from trying to shoot them down. 

What I love about this is that Marc is still the chaotic, bad decision making, single man army, and utter goof he has always been and will continue to be when written well. He has a strange but endearing sense of humor and he does not take it well when those close to him are at risk. 

So this story done, let’s address a few things! 

In this introduction to the new series, you’ll notice a lot of people are missing. 

Where’s Gena, Crawley, Samules, Nedda, Jake, and Steven? Why is this Marc Spector in title and the Spector Mansion? Why is Marlene suddenly addressing him as Marc and okay with dating Marc when she’s previously hated Marc and only wanted to be with Steven? 

No one addressed their DID better than Moench. With Moench out of the picture, who was very forward thinking in terms of this mental illness and its depictions for its time, we are now at the mercy of people who have not done their research and who have not kept up with the evolution of mental illness. We are now at the mercy of writers that follow Hollywood depictions. Sure, Moench based it off of Hollywood at first, but somehow, this man was in touch with modern issues, accurate depictions of DID, PTSD, depression, dissociation… He had a gift. 

With the upheaval at Marvel, they were more reliant on the reader and what the statistics told them readers wanted. Readers of the early 90s apparently wanted ACTION and HOT BABES and MANLY MEN. So guess what? Marc’s in charge and the others? They are going to be lucky to get any screen time. We’re going to start seeing more references to Marc ‘pretending to be other people’ and more references to Marc as being closer to Schizophrenia or ‘crazy’ than DID (or Multiple Personality Disorder, as it was known by at the time). 

And all those side characters? We’ve already seen that Nedda has been retired. Samules? Also probably retired and replaced by Chloe up there in her bikini. 

Gena? In the last run, Gena was talking a lot about leaving. She’d been through a lot and she, perhaps, was the first victim of being too close to them. She was beloved by Jake and she acted as a kind and nurturing voice with him. She brought out the best in him and he loved her boys like a doting uncle. And she was the first to get hurt. 

So will we see Gena in this run? We’ll have to wait and see. 

What about Crawley? An eccentric and useful man to Jake and Moon Knight. Here’s the deal on Crawley. Moench wrote him with such a unique way of speaking that other writers found it difficult to keep it going with him. Even his personality was pretty unique. So we aren’t going to see a whole lot of Crawley either, and he may change in how we see him. 

Now for Jake and Steven? In Moench’s run, Marc took the back seat. From this point on in Moon Knight history, Marc is going to sit front and center and the other two are going to be passing fancies. Perhaps I’ll make a different analysis on this later. What DOES happen is that we are going to start seeing more of WHO Marc Spector really is, and not just what Steven and Jake see. (He's kind of a goofy idiot with severe self loathing).

Bushman: I think I talked about this before, but in case I didn’t or you haven’t read it yet, here we go again (for the first time?).

Bushman was never meant to be the BIG BAD. He was the catalyst. When Marlene asks Bushman why he’s obsessed with Marc, Bushman notes that he created Marc’s need to become Moon Knight. 

In reality, he is the one that ‘killed’ Marc, which did take him to Khonshu’s temple and this made him take the shroud and become Moon Knight. He’s also the one that made Marc realize he had a conflicted code of ethics and morals. 

But when it comes to Bushman, Marc does not see him as ‘the big bad’. He sees a frustrating man that has an unhealthy obsession with him and often causes him stress. 

And we’ve seen time and time again that Bushman does not stand up to Marc’s fighting abilities. It’s why Bushman obsesses with him. He feels like Marc was just some random guy he found and somehow Marc is better than him. And while Bushman has set out to be the best, Marc doesn’t care. Marc just IS good at what he does. 

So why do fans and writers see Bushman appear and go “OHHH” and get excited? 

Because Bushman represents who Marc could have been. Bushman is a representation of Marc’s past. The violence, the killing, the coldbloodedness. He’s everything Marc was becoming but still fought against. Bushman is Marc’s inner struggle. He is what Marc rebels against but still turns to time and time again. 

When Marc spirals, he spirals with the image of Bushman. He was never that bad. He was never seen as being as ‘good’ as Bushman because he would not let himself become that far gone. But as Moon Knight, they have proven to be better. 

Of course then you have the writers that just have a thing for Bushman because he’s ‘badass’ (Looking at you Bemis) and don’t know how to utilize him properly. 

Anyways! This was the start of “Marc Spector: Moon Knight”. What do you think so far? 

I’m going to be taking these in batches and not one at a time. So expect longer posts when I get to them! (Unless you have a special single issue that deserves more time). 

…this was a long post.

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight comics #Analyzing the comics #Marc Spector #Jake Lockley #Steven Grant #Marlene Alraune #Bushman #I'm back! #That was a longer break than I intended but things happened

[dailycass-cain]

Titans Beast World Tour: Gotham #1 had several stories, and Cass sort of had one of them. I say sort of because it was a story she shared with Huntress. Anyhoot, here are my thoughts on the tale...

I'll just start right off the bat (ironically), and say it's probably the weakest story in the entire one-shot sadly.

Like tonally?

It just feels "off" compared to the other stories going on (save maybe the Harley/Ivy one).

My problem with the tale (by Sam Maggs) is that well, it goes into showing Helena transforming into a panther, but um.. how the heck did she get the spore in her mouth?

She's confronting a supposedly corrupt city councilor and the next minute she's possessed by the spore.

We get an entire page of her transforming and attacking the city councilor but it just feels like one could've skipped the two pages and gone into Cass. Or do a better job showing HOW Helena got the spore into her mouth (given the angle she was at when it occurred).

Yeah, I'm probably overthinking it. I should just "roll with it", but the other stories in this one-shot establish "the rules" and this one feels so different.😋

Enter the secondary protagonist in the tale and the introduction as it was tweeted earlier this week kind of lays the first actual commitment by DC in saying that the original origin is fully back in canon, and the "main one".

Because we know the B&RE is still around given Harper and Cullen Row exist in this universe. Just to explain how both exist is well-- I guess a mini version of Donna Troy or Hawkman levels of explaining.

I'm just surprised we got confirmation here of all places, and not Batgirls (which sort of hinted at it by mentioning Batgirl Vol. 1 #25), but glossing over other bits. Mariko Tamaki all but saying it in her Batman work: her story with Cass in the AAPI one-shot, her Detective Comics run (which ironically also gave Helena's origin back and made No Man's Land canon again), and OBD: Two-Face #1.

The story just feels all over the place (even though it feels the shortest among the tales here). As one minute Helena is doing her thing, gets "Starroed", and suddenly it's a Cass tale trying to protect Helena and the City Councilor.

I think the story would've worked better from Cass's point of view instead. With her abilities of seeing body language and seeing Gotham City go primal.

It would've been an interesting counter to what we got. Cass knows that some form of the possessed is in there deep down, and she's out there making sure it stays that way.

Instead what we get is um... a more humorous lighter take than I think anyone was expecting in a story with Cass and Helena.

Also, Cass just feels a little talkative in this for me too. I think Maggs could've dialed down the dialogue to the last line of the story and used the art to convey Cass (along with the reader's realizations).

Said art by P.J. Holden is neat. I love the way the tranq gun is introduced via a "Chekov's gun" by Holden showing it on Cass's belt before she uses it on Helena.

Likewise, Holden's Cass is quite emotive and I think could've benefited better without the dialogue. Also, I did enjoy the way they drew Helena transforming.

You really got the sense she was trying to fight the transformation, but in the end, couldn't stop it.

So there are bits I did enjoy of this tale. It's just that-- well compared to the rest? It was meh.

That's not to say the story is bad, just harmless fluff in the end that doesn't really make itself stand out compared to the introduction one with Dick/Bruce/Croc (the best Chip Zdarsky Batman story shockingly), Jason's, or Stephanie's (which was my favorite).

This one felt like it was juggling way too much and by the time it had a clear sense of story, it was kind of over. It just didn't strike me as memorable compared to the other stories sadly.

Sadly, I think the only element many will remember from the tale will be Cass's old origin being mentioned here again. That's sadly about it.

#cassandra cain #dc comics #my thoughts