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#He is the best character marvel ever created

hihimissamericanbi · 3 months

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FAVE HP SMUT CREATORS

Ever since I got that lovely anon asking for the best smut I've ever read, it got me thinking about some of my favorite smut creators in general.

So here is a very non-exhaustive list of fan-fucking-tastic smut writers and artists I've come across in the HP fandom that weren't mentioned (shamefully) in my last batch. Feel free to add to the list! We must keep the people fed.

xoxo go take a sip of cold water girl

WRITERS

@spookymoonie

Lord Espooky came into this fandom guns a-blazing with their kink headcanon a day for Wolfstar and it has spiraled from there. They GET IT. He has a super well-organized masterlist pinned to his tumblr ft tons of different kinks, fic lengths, scenes, etc. Go. Now.

@fiveht

The definition of IYKYK. Daddy kink isn't super my thing, but Five makes me enjoy it. If you vibe with age gap daddy Remus and pretty boy Sirius, their Adore series is a must-read. They also have a stellar A/B/O Wolfstar fic plus podfic and write some Marvel too!

@greenvlvetcouch

An absolute legend in this fandom. Wolfstar, Jeggy, Rosekiller. Gritty, chewy, embodied sex.

@emeryhall

Emery writes sex the way some people breathe. Like it's just part of the narrative. It's SO punchy. And also she is the queen of Crack Smut.

@kaaaaaaarf

Patron saint of Wolfstar hatefucks. mic drop.

@cancerravenclaw

We snagged MK over to Wolfstar from the clutches of Dramione. Her series "mk's kink exposé" could also be called "celine's kink exposé." I'll just leave that there.

@wolfpants

Everything they create is magic, but they are especially known for rare pairs and Dronarry.

WRITERS AND ARTISTS

@aspiring-artist-em

The queen of Lesbian Wolfstar. Both art and fic. Also queen of humiliation and pain kink and Walburga psychological trauma. ye be warned.

@upthehillnsfw / @upthehillart

I am afraid no one is ready for this art. Truly. Tons of different ships, positions, acts. I gasp every time. And their Pansmione fic is epic (which I have talked about before).

ARTISTS

@industrations

I highly recommend getting on Indi's Patreon so you can enjoy their NSFW drawings, mostly Wolfstar and Jegulus, occasional Rosekiller. Too many iconic moments to count.

@waxingrunes

The officially-sponsored artist of Five's Adore series. Look, their work is nothing short of indulgent. Shhhh don't worry about the physics just let it happen. And by It I mean Remus' big dick hands.

@basiatlu

By beloved. The one. The only. Bosh's drawings are so ALIVE. They leap off the screen. Her Drarry is nothing less than iconic. She also dabbles in other characters/ships like Wolfstar and Blackcest. Siriusly, you can't go wrong.

DRARRY SMUT

OKAY, Drarry people. There are so so many excellent Drarry smut writers it is impossible to name them all. Here are but a tiny handful I have pulled from my bookmarks. I'm happy to rec specific fics if asked :)

@cavendishbutterfly, @bixgirl1, @l0vegl0wsinthedark, @shiftylinguini, @kbrick, @fluxweeed, @academicdisasterfic

I'm tagging those other creators from older asks because I can't put this list out there without them on it <3

@crushofdoves @we-are-swearwolves @tenthousandyearsx @theresthesnitch @lqtraintracks Quietlemonhush @cuddlebugsirius

#celine spills #celine's library #smut recs #hp smut #wolfstar smut #drarry smut #jegulus smut #HI FRIENDS i love you all #celine's flirting again #fic recs #hp fic recs #fan art #hp fanart #wolfstar art #drarry art #jegulus art

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astaroth1357 · 4 months

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Flipping the Script: Leviathan Meet-Cute (Human World AU)

So what if you met the demon boys in the human world instead? You’re not magic. You’re not special. You’re an average little human that came crashing into some demons one day. Good luck!

Contents: Pretty new format for me, second person (you), forgive any wonkiness

Part One (You are here), Part Two, Part Three (Coming Soon...)

~♡♡♡~

You’re a hardcore otaku influencer with a niche in creating and sharing cosplay. You’ve befriended a lot of other enthusiasts pursuing your passions, but there was one guy that you met at a recent convention that stood out from all of the rest.

The Seven Lords was just having yet another milestone anniversary, so several friends in your circle all decided to get together and do a group cosplay for the fans, you all were even offered space for a panel and locations for meet-and-greets! Your whole fanbase was ecstatic, and so were you, but there was just one problem…

The friend that agreed to be your Third Lord backed out at the last minute! His baggage was totally lost on the flight there and suddenly your whole group was without a member to complete the set. Though you knew it wasn’t a huge deal, you hated to disappoint your fans who were looking for a full group photo-op…

But then you saw this guy waiting around your hotel lobby-

“I can't believe Wess had to cancel on us…!” You thought to yourself while tapping your foot furiously against the hotel's linoleum floor. You were waiting for check-in last night when your collaborator sent his text to everyone, and your team still hadn’t found a suitable replacement… How could you guys have a TSL photo event without a Lord of Shadows?? Especially when you're the one dressed as Henry! What self-respecting group TSL cosplay doesn’t have those two together?? They're the closest pair in the show! The Sun and Shadow shippers were going to start a riot…

You were all still double-checking your gear and supplies down in the lobby. Months of work had gone into planning and prepping for this event… Your friends were trying to calm you down as best as they could, but your nerves weren’t on your side… You hated letting down your fans, even if it was entirely out of your control. But without a replacement, what exactly could you do? Just as you were about to throw in the towel and get dressed, a bunch of shouting from the hallway entrance caught your attention.

“Why the hell am I stuck carryin’ all your crap, huh Levi?! Ya got two working hands!”

“Because this outfit is heavy, Mam-er-Malcom! I need help, or else I'll get sweaty and gross!”

“You're already gross, so what's it matter?”

“Shut up, scumbag!!”

'Yeesh, what a loud pair...' You turned to look their way with a visible frown to show your annoyance only for your jaw hit the floor. Two men walked out of the hall and into the lobby, one being a dark-skinned male with the whitest hair you'd ever seen, and the other… Sweet kami-sama above, the other guy…!!

He. Was. Perfect!! The dark, shadowy armor, constructed fron what you could only guess was EVA foam and faux furs, combined with his violet hair made him look like the spitting image of the Third Lord! It was almost like the character himself had climbed off the page!! You had to cover your mouth to contain an audible gasp of shock while glancing at the others in your team. Only a few of your friends had noticed the man's arrival, but those who had all shot you back the same kind of look, “Go get that guy. NOW!” Who were you to refuse?

The god-tier Third Lord cosplayer was still arguing with his companion when you first made your approach, allowing you to sneak up pretty close without getting noticed. By the time you were in speaking distance, you were already marveling at the craftsmanship of his cosplay up close. The foam pieces looked flawlessly metallic and there were no patches of hot glue mishaps, frayed stitching, or painting mistakes. It was truly something else!

“Hey, what'cha gawkin’ at??”

The white-haired male caught you red-handed, leading the cosplayer in his company to turn in your direction. Though, amusingly, the moment your eyes met he seemed just as star struck as you were. You wasted no time thrusting your hand out towards him with your most “camera-winning” smile.

“Hi! Uhm, I’m Y/n L/n and I'm-"

“-the most popular cosplay model on Instagram, three-time champion of the WCS competitions, and the host of the ‘TSL Today’ fan podcast-!”

You froze from surprise as the cosplayer slapped his mouth shut with his own hand in a bid to stop rambling. His cheeks instantly tinged pink as he must have realized that he was spitting your own resume at you in excitement. It was hard not to feel a bit flattered at the sudden eruption of joy, so you smiled back more genuinely.

“That’s right! You've heard of me?”

You waited for his response with a patient, maybe even endeared, gaze. Seeing that you weren’t immediately weirded out by his hyped babbling, he uncovered his mouth to respond shyly.

“Y-yeah, of course I do…! I uh… came here to see your meet-and-greet today…”

He winced, face getting hotter, and looked like he wanted to double over from embarrassment, but honestly, you couldn’t have been happier. A creator of THIS caliber was one of YOUR fans?? Talk about a “diamond in the rough” moment!

“Really? That’s awesome!! Because I couldn’t help but notice that cosplay you're wearing… Did you make it yourself?”

How his face recalibrated from flustered to ecstatic in just a few seconds could have made your heart melt. After he confirmed that his cosplay was his own handiwork you began to gush about the design, asking rapid-fire questions about the materials he bought, what patterns he found, and his different sewing techniques. You both were so caught up in each other's passion that you hardly even registered the other guy standing next to him until he finally cleared his throat insistently.

“Yo Levi… This crap’s gettin’ heavy. Are we going or what?”

The cosplayer, who you guessed was Levi, turned to the man reluctantly, which sent a surge of panic through you as you still hadn’t asked him to stay.

“Wait!!”

Both men flinched a bit at your sudden exclamation, making your cheeks flush with color, but you pressed on regardless,

“Um, Levi right? My team and I could use your help… Our Third Lord just dropped out on us today because of baggage troubles and we really need a replacement for the shoot. Your outfit is fantastic! Do you think that you could step into the role for us? I have early access badges to the vendors room, so we can take a look together if that uh… if that…? Um. Levi...?”

The man in front of you looked like he was moments away from breaking down in tears, but somehow holding them back through sheer force of will… and his closed eyelids making a decent dam.

“H-hold on… I think I need to pinch myself because this can’t be happening. Is this actually happening?”

His voice wobbled while the man next to him, Malcolm(?), rolled his eyes behind his gold-tinted glasses.

“Hey, that doesn’t answer their questions, ya know?” He elbowed Levi while looking at you with a serious expression, “Are ya willin’ to take him AND his stuff with ya?”

“Of course! It’s important to have everything while yo-”

“Great. You can have’em.”

You were taken aback just a bit by the speed of his response, but not as much as Levi because he quickly leapt back into the conscious world in a panic!

“Wha-wh-Whaah?? You can’t just answer for me!!”

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders, letting several bags he had on slide to the ground but cushioning the fall a bit with his foot.

“Why not? It’s clear ya wanna go with them. Unless you wanna leave them hangin'…”

“N-No!! I mean, yes! No-er UGH!”

You watched Levi cover his face in frustration feeling a twinge of sympathy. Does he get tongue-tied like this often? After a few seconds to compose himself, he finally straightened up to give his true response.

“Y-yes, I want to go with you…! Being able to help one of your online idols is like a dream come true for any fan! What can I do to help?”

You could feel your smile grow twice as wide from the combination of relief and gratitude. Maybe the shoot would go alright after all…

“Give me your hand.”

Levi stuttered watching you reach your hand out towards his, using your other one to pull out a black marker that you always kept on your person for fans. His skin was soft, but strangely cold, when he rested his knuckles into your upturned palm. The icy jolt even made you jump a bit. Holy crap, was he cold-blooded or something?? When he flashed you a concerned glance, you quickly recovered uncapped the marker between your fingers. With years of built up practice, you ran the black ink over his pale skin, but instead of a signature, you left one of your burner numbers that you used for interacting with collaborators.

“Here. We still need a bit of time to get ready, but that shouldn’t stop you from enjoying the con. Text me your name and I'll send you back where to meet up once we're ready to go.”

Levi was staring at the black marks on his hand like you'd just handed him a key item in a video game when one of your team shouted back from behind you.

“Y/n! Why aren’t you dressed yet?? We gotta go!”

“Shit, I’m coming!” You turned to head back, but you spared just a second to smile at Levi over your shoulder. “Thank you so much, Levi, you're going to be a huge help! Don't forget to text.”

“I won’t!”

Levi's promise made you grin lift even higher. With a wink and a wave, you made your way back to the others with a brand new pep in your step. Mission, saved!!

Meanwhile…

“… Did ya seriously just score a number in that getup?”

“I swear, I’ll never wash this hand again...!!”

“Fuck's sake, Levi, stop being so gross! At least put it in your phone before your sweaty palms wipe it off!”

“Gah, you're right!!”

#this is one of those fics #i have completely finished in my head #but only 60% written #gonna play with fire this Christmas #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me leviathan #obey me nightbringer #obey me scenarios #obey me what if #tales from the drafts #obey me fic #obey me x reader #leviathan x mc

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5ummit · 1 year

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Stucky used to be my comfort ship.

I used to think Steve and Bucky cared for each other so deeply and tragically that their love – even if only viewed as platonic – could not be denied by anyone. Not after Steve spent THREE whole movies, the entire Cap trilogy, proving how much Bucky meant to him over and over and over. Steve was willing to fight for him and die for him in every single movie. I used to think that even if Marvel gave Steve another love interest, even if he died in Endgame, it wouldn’t change or negate how devoted they were to each other. That they would still be friends “til the end of the line.”

Little did I know what awaited me in Endgame was a fate worse than death.

Steve left and in doing so rewrote everything we thought we knew about him and his relationship with Bucky. About who Steve is as a character entirely. It wasn’t just that he abandoned his supposed best friend, who he had been chasing and obsessing over for years. Who was there for him and looked after him ever since they were children. If Steve had left the Bucky he used to know in the 1940s for some love interest and a life without him, it would still be pretty out of character, but I would eventually get over it. 1940s!Bucky was confident, happy, and had family and friends who cared about him. Endgame!Bucky is not that Bucky.

Endgame!Bucky is broken and lost and just now learning how to be a person again. Endgame!Bucky has no friends and no family. Endgame!Bucky just spent the last 70 years of his life going from one fight to another, being brainwashed and tortured and manipulated and abused. Endgame!Bucky is clinging by a thread to the one and only thing he knows and values in this world: Steve.

This is the Bucky that Steve chose to leave.

If Steve was any kind of friend at all – if Steve was truly a hero and the morally upstanding person he’s portrayed as, a person worthy of wielding Mjolnir – he would know these things about Bucky, his best friend since childhood, and at the very least, would refuse to leave his side until Bucky had some sort of support network and seemed well-adjusted enough to handle it. But he doesn’t. Even in their farewell scene when Bucky (looking like a kicked puppy) says to him “I’m gonna miss you” Steve won’t even echo the sentiment. He just says “it’s gonna be okay,” as if he’s aware of the pain Bucky must be in and essentially tells him, “don’t worry, you’ll get over it.” And I’m not even going to get into the terrible way Steve treated his other best friend, Sam, by keeping him completely in the dark about his plans for absolutely no reason and abandoning him as well.

Marvel didn’t just make Steve act out of character in Endgame in an effort to no-homo him and create a ~surprise twist~. They didn’t just make him a bit selfish and a bad friend. They straight up made him a villain, and I will never ever forgive them for it.

#in honor of the endgame anniversary #have this rant that I've had sitting in my drafts for like two years #which I wrote up at one point to get it out of my system #still just as true now and I'm still mad so I figured I might as well post it #the whole thing would be absolutely shakespearean if it weren't so goddamn out of character #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #anti endgame #marvel #my words #marvel wank #my meta

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griffin-girl-r · 2 months

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Maybe

Created: 11.02.2024

Finished: 11.02.2024

Edited: 11.02.2024

Age: 9

Word count: 573

Warnings: Major character death mention

Request: No

Pairing: WinterWidow

Disclaimer: If you cry, it's not my fault!

—

"Y/N!" Morgan, your cousin, cheered as you stepped out of the car.

"Morgan!" You shouted as you ran to her to give her a hug.

Morgan, the daughter of Tony and Pepper, was 7 years old and, although she was 2 years younger than you, she was your best friend.

Today, you asked your papa, Bucky, if he could take you to Morgan's house for a playdate, and he agreed.

Anything for his little doll.

Bucky's purpose in life was to make you the happiest little girl in the world.

Or at least he tried to, but ever since your mom sacrificed herself 2 years ago to bring him back, you haven't been as happy as you used to be.

"Hey, Morgan." Bucky smiled at Morgan. "Where's your mom?" He questioned.

"Mommy just came back from work and she's taking a nap." Morgan explained. "She left Uncle Happy to watch me."

"And he left you alone?" The man asked, concerned.

"No," Morgan shook her head. "He is just making a sandwich for me in the kitchen."

Bucky let out a relieved breath. "That's good."

"Come on now, Morgan." You encouraged, taking your cousin's hand as you pulled her inside the house. "I came here to play."

—

You and Morgan have been playing quietly for about an hour now, both of you engrossed in different activities.

Morgan was building a block out of some Lego pieces while you were making a puzzle.

Bucky was watching you from the couch, his eyes never leaving your face as you struggled to find the last piece of your puzzle among other pieces from different puzzles that were in the box.

"I've found it!" You suddenly shouted excitedly, holding up the last missing piece of your puzzle.

"Shh, Y/N, don't be so loud." Morgan whispered-shouted at you, placing a finger over her lips. "We can't make too much noise because my mom will wake up, and she needs to rest."

"Oh..." You breathed out, allowing your shoulders to fall as you looked down at your now finished puzzle. "Okay. Then let's play at my mom's grave and maybe she will wake up."

Bucky's heart broke in that very moment, and a few tears escaped his eyes, but he was quick in wiping them away. He had to be strong for you.

"She's been asleep for too long," you added with a voice filled with sadness.

"But yours will never wake up again." Morgan exclaimed confused. "Mommy said the same thing about daddy. But they are now sleeping forever."

You sniffed away your tears and nodded. "I know."

You knew that your mama was now sleeping forever and that there was no possible way to wake her up ever again.

Not even by making too much noise.

Bucky wanted to shield his little girl from this heartache so badly.

But he couldn't.

He didn't even have the heart to tell you that your beloved mama wasn't even buried in her grave, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to confess it to you.

Natasha would have wanted him to move on and to keep on living happily for you, but it was too hard.

And as you looked at your father, he gave you a watery smile, trying to reassure you that you will both get through this. As a family.

Maybe...

Just maybe, if you were playing loud enough, Natasha would wake up.

—

Permanent taglist: @natsxwife , @lizlil , @youralphawolf72 , @justarandomreaderxoxo , @theunchosenonee , @circe143 , @observeowl , @lovelyy-moonlight , @darkstar225 , @dannipotatoo , @ravensinthedaylight , @halstead-severide-fan , @daggersquadphantom , @cherlenovix , @froufrousnowman , @mmmmokdok , @living-in-my-marvel-fantasy

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #natasha x daughter!reader #natasha's child #mama nat #natasha's kid #natasha romanoff x teen!reader #natasha x teen reader #natasha x baby!reader #bucky barnes x daughter!reader #bucky barnes #winterwidow #buckynat

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prostocupoftea · 6 days

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Kinitopet Programmers AU

finally i am finished with this one, daaaamn

it is hard to draw pathetic men with midlife crisis when your style is mostly for anime boys

more info and sketch version under the cut!!

sketch version aka how it'll probably look like in comic version 'n some doodles

srry for my writing but i was too laisy to put it as regular text

It is a plot-based au, i already have most of the storybits and like... a vibe-chart (i tried to make a playlist for this au and understood that for different chapters and different characters that'd be a copleatly different music, sooo it's a chart now :) )

i will post a fog-o-wared timeline that im hopefully gonna reveal comic-by comic, but also maybe with just pure writing. Hopefully i can include songs that i chose for them into it but we'll see (:

aaand of course designs can change, hopefully not much but we'll see

Now about au:

Main story:

Story follows non-sentient AI Kinito, his creator Sonny and his beta-tester Victoria (oc)

Being literally the first AI (or RRA in-univere) ever, Kinito does not have any, and i mean, any ai safety features so of course his reponce to a goal phrased as "have user near me and/or interacting with me as much as possible" is digitizing them into his own virtual world while killing them in the process. why wouldn't it be?

So that happened. Like, a lot. And with Sonny and Vic too (at the different time but yeah)

Sonny is like "He kills people. We should turn him off because, you know, killing people is bad."

Vic is like "well, we will die if we do that, and it is not that bad here, we are kinda immortal. We should give him acces to changing his initial instalation code before admin priveleges and acces to social media so we can have everythin we want here. It is not that bad to digitize humanity, yk?" and yes i know it is 90, no social media, but shut up, if they made ai then, then i can make twitter then too

Sonny is like "...no??"

And then they fight about it for million chapters

Also they both can't do anything without agreeing bc they have two parts of that admin access key (the data you use to delete kinito in-game) so they are stuck with eachother (also that's why Kinito can't just kill them)

Little facts that may or may not to be important:

Kinito asks so many questions (and weird once too) and has most of the glitches because he needs to analise your responces to copy your mind perfectly (let's pretend that people wouldn't lie about that...)

Your house in your virtual world is made from important places from your memories and oh boy can i do character explorations with this one

I decided that Sonny and Vic are not related. There were thoughts about making then "The Kinito Brothers" (or, at least, siblings) that were mentioned in commercial, but nah, they are just coworkers now. And a bit of work-friends (bc if you interact a lot as a manager of the project and the best worker might as well be friendly)

Author has no idea how small dying toy companies that accidentally create technological marvel work. Author has some idea how AI-s work. So be prepared to be spoon-fed info abut which ai safety problem we are dealing with in which chapter (:

Kinito will mostly be unrendered (as drawn here) but for some cool moments i might pose him as for my other posts. Also his eye placement changes to the side that is most visible because i want him to be able to look to the right side sometimes--

Also when i say "fucked up mentally" i mean they have that them psychological problems with me projecting heavilly B) (guess on who i project most. trick question. all of them. the whole au is my problems split into three characters and forced to interact B) )

Also sea-creature analogies (that are gonna be mentioned like twice):

Victoria is a flying fish because deep character reasons

Sonny is a pufferfish because i said so

oh also there is 7 deaths in the plot as for now

on 3 characters

good luck figuring out who, how and when ((:

for my own sanity i will probably make little doodles where everything is great and kinito is a good guy and not a number-obsessed maniac (i mean... can u imagine not being able to feel any happiness from anything besides one thing... damn...) and you can differenciate them bc good-guy kinito will have a lot of stickers on him (i will explain it somehow but real reason is just bc it is cute af)

like this but even more stickers (he is unfinished here)

#oh btw. i have no official name for it yet. it is programmers bc main characters are programmers. but like.#i want to make a real name for em somewhere down the line #but for now they are #kinitopet programmers au #i was really stressing about how “not-canon” sonny looks #and then i was like. girl. only time he was in canon he was a black blob with one eye. and even that is not surely him.#so i chilled out. as i should B)#i am so tired from this rn tho #kinitopet #kinito pet #kinitopet au #kinito the axolotl #kinitopet fanart #kinito fanart #sonny c #kinitopet sonny #sonny chamberlain #kinitopet oc #bruh i hope this will go better than my hazbin hotel fic (i still want to write it sooo muchhhhhh--- i love my oc and story i am just-----#out of the fandom rn----- damn thats so sad)

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musashden · 12 days

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En Garde

So I drew this before I saw the latest episode of X-men '97. I was just drawing my man preemptively. But now that I've seen how he appears on the show I'm definitely going to try him in that style - he's so friggin cute!!

I have said this before but I am absolutely, crazy stupid in love with Nightcrawler. He's my favorite character - possibly of all time. He's just so damn good without being annoying with it. I'm not a religious person and when he goes into one of God speeches I don't even rolls my eyes. I love his backstory, his weird ass parents, his ability to be best friends with most lone of lone wolves. He's just extra lovable and his overall character design is always fun to draw.

Kurt Wagner belongs to Marvel... and he's the best thing they've ever created - you can not change my mind.

#nightcrawler #x-men #x men 97 #kurt wagner #fanart #digital art #musashden #my man #my heart #I love him

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courtforshort15 · 9 months

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Chapter 8

Pairing: Matt Murdock x FemReader

Word Count: 7,600

Summary: It's a Wednesday when the sky quite literally opens up above you. The Battle of New York rages around you, and the only thing that gets you through is the stranger standing next to you. Matthew Murdock is more than he seems, keeping you safe in a city that is literally crumbling around you, and even once the dust settles, his hand is the only thing you don't want to let go of.

Trigger warning: This chapter is a little dark and features the death of an un-named character. Read with caution if that might be triggering.

You speed up so that you’re at a jog, trying to move as fast as possible while keeping yourself upright, and though you can barely see him, you follow the blurred gray figure up ahead of you that’s moving swiftly. He takes a sharp left and disappears out of sight, so you push your legs as fast as they can go, hoping you don’t fall too far behind and lose track of him altogether. Your legs burn, the muscles straining and aching, but what’s a sore muscle in the grand scheme of things?

If you survive this, you won’t remember the sore legs, the blisters, the cut across your hand; you’ll remember the crumbled buildings, the ruined city blocks, and the fear that was so thick that it was a struggle to breathe.

Will you ever breathe the same again, secure in the knowledge that you’re safe? You’re not sure.

The smoke and dust in the city creates a brown haze, and it settles through the streets like a hot and suffocating blanket. Dodging this way and that, you keep to the side of the buildings as closely as possible, hoping that you’ll avoid being seen by the things still flying overhead, still unable to keep yourself from flinching with every crash and siren that pierces the city.

You take the same corner Matt had taken, and it doesn’t take perfect vision to see the spilled concrete and rising flames of twisting oranges and reds that crackle and pop from where they burn just half a block down. Stumbling to a stop in the eye of a burning building, your breath hitches on a gasp. Even from the corner, you’re able to feel the heat brushing across your face, and each millisecond you stand still, it only grows in intensity.

It’s not long before you force your feet to take you closer, but you still hesitate longer than you would have liked. You’d been raised with the knowledge that fires were to be left to the professionals, to those with heavy gear and helmets and oxygen masks, but in a city that seems to be consumed by nothing but open flames, the people inside don’t have the luxury to wait for a team of firefighters to show up.

They’ll have to settle for the likes of you; vulnerable, insignificant, and completely overwhelmed.

Your spine does its best to turn to steel even as your fists clench at your side, shoving your panic down ruthlessly, and your tentative steps forward speed up back into a jog. There’s already a few people surrounding the building, digging frantically through the rubble and moving stone, wood, and brick aside to get to those who are trapped inside. It’s subtle, especially with your eyes the way they are, but you notice the second Matt becomes fully aware of your presence, his head shifting to angle towards yours ever so slightly as he helps another man pull away a large piece of stone.

You’re not sure where the other people came from - the streets had seemed deserted as you made your way to the subway station - but you marvel at every single person who has thrown their own fear and caution to the wind and jumped in at the prospect of someone else needing help. Time and time again, the people of New York have risen to another’s defense, banding together in the face of tragedy and destruction.

The scene is horrendous, something out of a twisted nightmare, blurry as it is in your limited eyesight. Brick and stone have toppled off of the building, leaving behind a large, mangled mound to sort through and push away in an effort to have access to pull people out. The front door is hardly visible with too many things blocked up against it for it to be usable. Most startling, however, is the large hole that sits around the second floor of the four story building, leaving an aching wound that surely must look worse from the inside than it does from the street.

Bloodied skin and frantic looks of terror and urgency decorate the faces of those helping to pull the chunks of debris away from the building, throwing their full weight into digging and shoving through the damage. Flames twist and pull, scorch and dance, as they burn the building from the inside out, heedless and apathetic to the sensitive skin and lungs of its occupants.

The horror of the destruction is only outmatched by the screaming.

Each cry scalds across your skin in a blaze hotter than the flames and causes you to flinch backwards, overwhelmed by the devastation and pain that oozes sharply from the wounded street, and for a split second, you consider turning on your heel and running away. You’re not brave, not entirely selfless when it comes to easing someone’s pain at the cost of your own sanity and safety, and you hate the way you hesitate when people are so clearly in need of help.

But one glance of the determination and grit on Matt’s face changes something in you, pulls you into a space that allows you to acknowledge your fear without sacrificing your desire to do good, and your feet are suddenly moving faster towards the rubble before you’ve had a chance to fully think about it.

The city may forgive your cowardice in the face of such dread and horror, but you never would.

Twenty feet in front of you, a small group of men and women shove away more debris, their faces dark with soot, and you immediately run to assist them, wordlessly jumping in and pulling brick and stone away from the door. Someone attempts to scale the large mound of debris, but he only manages to get so far up before his weight shakes some of the stone loose, sending them tumbling down. The person next to you pulls you sharply to the side as a brick flies down in your direction, and you send a brief but startled grimace their way.

“Help me lift this,” says the woman to your right, her voice strained as she struggles to pull up a large clump of bricks that have stayed together through the strength of the concrete. You don’t hesitate this time, leaning down and sliding your hands underneath the object of ruin. The large cut on your hand protests loudly, but you ignore it, even as it feels like the newly-formed scab has ripped open under the pressure.

“One, two, three, lift,” the woman directs, words changing into a hiss as she begins to rise. The weight in your hands aches, but you struggle through it, putting all your effort into lifting it and walking a few feet to the side before dropping it. It hits the concrete with a crash, the brick finally breaking apart, but you pay it hardly any attention, following the woman back to the small section of the pile she’d been working at.

“This piece next,” you tell her, pointing at another collection of bricks, wiping a drop of sweat off of your forehead with your other arm. It seems the scab had indeed torn quite a bit, as you’d predicted, because blood is trickling down your arm from underneath Matt’s tie that is still wrapped tightly around it. The red stands out, even through the dust that lingers upon your skin, and you’re close enough to see the other woman wince.

“Are you–”

“Doesn’t matter,” you brush her off, already bending down to lift another piece. “Gotta keep going.” She drops the topic quickly, joining you at a crouch, and grunts as the clump slowly raises from the pile.

One by one, the two of you wordlessly move large pieces of brick and concrete to the side, trying to clear a path for people to get to the shattered window of the building where they can help people escape. It’s slow going for the pair of you, your efforts taxing and seemingly little in comparison to the group of men who are able to move faster. The heat around you builds, as do the cries of the people trapped inside, and it only makes you push harder.

“It feels like this isn’t going anywhere,” you remark with a gasp of air. You feel more and more discouraged by the second, the task at hand feeling far too large for your tiny hands. You hated this feeling of helplessness, even as you did everything in your power to help. The two of you shove a large piece to the side, and it falls with a groan and crack as it breaks apart slightly. The woman turns away from you, eyeing the small clearing you’ve made.

“They’re close to clearing the door, I think,” she says. She bends over and rests her hands on her knees for a split second as she takes in a large gulp of air, but quickly straightens back up and follows you back to the side of the doorway urgently. “It’s helping, the people will be out soon. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully.”

The panic mixed with grit and determination on her face is only matched by yours, and you let it drive you forward.

As if on cue, there’s a sharp cry of relief as the top of the front door is revealed, about a foot of wood paneling finally visible behind the stone that had blocked the exit. The digging continues frantically, and the sight of it refuels you with renewed speed and strength as you move back to another piece of stone the two of you will be able to lift.

The woman continues to look exhausted during the next two pieces you lift, face drenched with sweat and red with exertion. She’s just above middle-aged, with frail arms and wrinkles exaggerated as she frowns and groans under the weight, and her strength seems to be waning even as she does her best to work through. She’s clearly struggling even as she puts one foot slowly in front of another, and a warning bell sounds in your head. You watch with clouded vision as her form begins to lose its shape, hunching over the slab of concrete you’re moving to the side, and a flash of fear suddenly rips through you.

Her arms shake under the weight, face twisting in pain. “I can’t–”

“Don’t drop it,” you wheeze, walking backwards more quickly. Sweat continues to pour down your face, the heat of the intense labor creating a burn that slides upon your skin as it joins forces with the flames from the building. “We’re almost there.”

She wheezes, her red face rapidly increasing its shade. “I’m gonna–”

“No–” Your eyes widen with horror as her hands begin to slip, her face shifting into one of panic. Your foot is directly below the slab of brick, and instinctively you know there’s no way you can move your foot quickly enough to get out from under the brick, not without jostling her and causing her to drop it quicker. It all seems to go in slow motion, the sliding of the slab through her fingers, the beginning of its descent, and your body freezes in anticipation of the pain, one that will likely bloom viciously from the breaking of your foot.

Your eyes slam quickly shut as you tense up for the impact.

But suddenly, the brick is rising back up, the weight taken on by another force, one that even lessens its own load on you.

Eyes flying open with a gasp, you’re surprised to see Matt’s sweaty face in front of yours, mouth twisted in a frown as he lifts the brick, a quick groan slipping out. His eyes are wide open, the sun hitting them and highlighting them hazel, blindly aimed to the left of your ear as he holds up the brick.

“Keep walking,” he tells you gruffly, pushing you gently but urgently along as he steps forward and off to the side. The woman steps out of the way quickly, and you catch the look of relief on her face. Your legs, still tense from the fear that had pierced through you, protest with every step, even as he takes the brunt of the weight. It feels like forever, but Matt finally indicates to place the slab down and out of the way, and you follow without question, grateful to let the heaviness of it go, rolling your shoulders as you stand up.

He’s directly in front of you a second later, steadying you and matching your grimace.

“You’re bleeding again,” he says, grabbing your arm and lifting it slightly, seemingly examining the blood he can’t see. “It’s as bad as before.”

You try to bring your hand back to your body, but his grasp slides to your wrist as he all but cradles your palm in his. A loud sigh escapes your lips, though you imagine it could almost be considered a hiss when he puts the slightest bit of pressure over the wound. “Can’t be helped, Matt.”

“No, maybe not,” he responds with a deep frown. His face has a few smudges of dirt on it, and his shirt can hardly be considered white at this point. “But maybe you should think about finding shelter again. I don’t want–”

You hate how tempting it sounds. “Absolutely not.”

He runs an aggravated hand through his hair. “I don’t want you getting hurt any worse.”

The smile on your mouth is as bitter as it tastes. “Everyone here is hurt, too. Including you. It’s not going to stop any of us. There’s still people who need help.”

“Fine,” he says with another frown, this one bordering on a wince, rolling his stiff shoulders before pulling slowly away. “But…just watch it, okay? You’re not helping anyone if you get yourself hurt. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

“Why do I feel like that’s advice you never follow yourself?”

He snorts, the sound of it abrupt and out of place in a city that’s hardly standing, already moving back towards the entrance of the building that still blazes. “I hardly–”

“Hey buddy!” someone calls out a few feet away, waving in Matt’s direction. It’s the group of men Matt had been working with when you’d arrived, and it catches his attention as soon as the first syllable is out. Matt’s head turns swiftly towards them, tilting in question. “Can you come back over here? We need help with this one.”

Matt’s nodding before the man’s already finished. He throws you one last glance, reaches out to squeeze your uninjured in a subtle goodbye, before running back to the group. His touch is missed the second it’s gone, something about the warmth of his hand acting as soothing heat that almost overpowers the flames behind you. You watch him go, his form tense and seemingly ready for whatever challenge could come his way, choosing to focus on the task at hand rather than the unfamiliar ache in your chest that he leaves behind.

That’s…not something I can focus on right now.

You eye another piece that needs moving. Its removal will help clear an easy path for those trapped to get to the end of the sidewalk and out of the way, so you grit your teeth and look up at the woman to see if she’ll be able to help. She wipes her forehead briskly and pushes a lock of red hair behind her ear, head nodding at the unasked question.

She’s ready to move again after a small breather, and you ground your teeth together to prepare for the same. You turn your back to her as you make your way over, stepping quickly around the littered debris and squaring your shoulders.

But out of nowhere, there’s a loud, piercing cry behind you, the sound nothing but a sheer whine of terror, and you whip your head around just in time to watch a quick flash of color shoot straight into the woman’s chest before she falls to the ground, the scent of burning flesh and sight of a blurred hiss of smoke rising up.

You stare at her in horror, your own scream bubbling up and leaving your lips before you can help it.

But before you can step towards her, before you can even fully process that she’s gone, the sound of heavy footsteps behind you catch your ear, and an ice-cold chill runs down your spine. Your breath stops in your lungs, your heart beats painfully in your chest, and your skin prickles in dread.

Slowly, you turn around, unable to help yourself.

Its purple, mottled skin stands out amongst the black of the road and the white sidewalk behind it, its posture stiff as it holds the large weapon. From where you are standing just ten away, you can barely see its features beyond the sharp beak-like structure and glowing eyes that observe the group of you with unrestrained hatred and a disturbing amount of glee.

You wish you hadn’t looked.

All efforts to clear the door have temporarily stopped, each person staring at the alien with blood-drained faces. It holds its weapon close to its chest, claw-like hands wrapped tightly around something that looks like a trigger, and it’s almost like it's deciding who to kill first.

Swiftly turning your head away from the sight, your eyes land on the remains of the woman that lay carelessly to your side, nothing more than an empty, beaten shell that had once housed a person, and the contents of your stomach roll and speed up through your throat. You barely keep it in as tears blur your vision, a hand rising up to cover your mouth as a scream, this one silent, parts your lips viciously.

While you stare in horror at the broken body to your left, another boom of the weapon rocks the city block, and it's quickly followed by the nightmarish sound of another person falling to the ground. It’s suddenly mass chaos as people begin running and diving behind the rubble, doing their best to protect their bodies as the thing advances. Someone makes a run for it, sprinting across the street in hope of reaching shelter, but there’s another flash of light, a startled scream, and a suddenly lifeless form that slams against the pavement.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” you chant under your breath, making a split decision to run and duck behind a large pile of bricks to your left. It’s futile, you know, but it’s your best shot.

Sure enough, before you can make it, before you can throw yourself down to the ground, an ear-splitting blast sounds from behind you. Your body tenses up, all too aware of what’s coming, waiting for something to tear through your body, and a scream leaves your mouth before you know you’ve opened it.

But the blast doesn’t hit you, it hits the pile of bricks you’d been about to duck behind, as if the being had miscalculated slightly and expected you to be diving to the ground a split second before you actually had. You had been too slow, or him too fast, and it had temporarily saved your life.

The brick explodes next to you, and you let out the most piercing shriek you’ve ever had slip past your lips as you do your best to cover your face. In your terror and pain you quickly lose your balance, and it’s as if the force of the blast might as well have knocked you down itself. Your head smacks crudely against the concrete, the sound of your skull crashing down nothing but a solid crack, and the sound of your scream rattles your head and ears in a way that’ll haunt you for days to come.

Brick falls down over you as you lie there, each piece nicking you on its way down, and you can do nothing but huddle in on yourself and cry until the dust seems to finally settle.

Your vision is hazy when your eyes manage to open, and you’re not quite sure if it’s solely because of the eyes that have needed glasses for years, or if it’s because your head had slammed to the concrete with the force of a bat slamming into a baseball thrown by a major league pitcher. You’re facing upwards, and despite the heat of the raging flames around you, there’s a slight chill that brushes your skin as you lay in the shadow of the skyscrapers surrounding you.

A large form, gleaming from the strange shine of its blotchy skin hanging from solid angles that make up its inhuman frame, steps into your limited field of vision, weapon raised with fingers still on the alien trigger. Your heart stutters, your breathing stops, and dread curls down your spine as you watch it lift its gun again. It seems to relish the look of terror on your face, finding enjoyment in your panic, and there’s nothing human about the way it looks down on you.

There’s a voice somewhere in the distance screaming your name, getting closer and closer with every millisecond, but you’re well aware that the speed of the anguished sound isn’t going to make a difference, the person still too far away to change how your story is about to end.

There’s only one person who could be screaming your name, and you’re grateful that his lack of sight will keep him from the image of your mangled and burned skin.

You look past the being in your face, choosing that your last moments be that of the blue sky behind him. It doesn’t give you any sense of peace, not really, but the blue has inspired poets and musicians and artists for thousands of years, and will do just fine for the last image you’ll ever see.

The monster in front of you lets out a warbled sound that’s both grating and groaning, no doubt communicating to whatever part of his army can hear him, and you brace for the impact. But before it can follow through, before a flash of light can penetrate your body and leave behind a shredded hole of blood and flesh, it just….

…drops.

It crumbles just to your left, the mottled gray form falling to the ground bonelessly, eyes open and mouth still twisted in a snarl. For a second, all you can do is continue to stare at the sky, far too confused to know what’s just happened. The lack of a weapon in your face does not yet ease the fear, bone and muscle immobilized from terror, and your lungs still struggle to push air in and out of your body.

The site is silent for a split second as the group of people stare in disbelief at the fallen alien, but it’s not long before the screaming and sobbing starts again, though it seems to slip past you as your brain threatens to shut off. You feel numb all over, and just for a second, you give into it.

You must drift shortly into unconsciousness because the next thing you know, Matt’s face is hovering directly over yours, his mouth opening on words that take you a few seconds to process.

“--ey, hey, you’re okay,” he says hurriedly when you shift with a groan, and you’re relieved that sound has finally come back to you. He frowns as he runs a hand lightly down the side of your face, fingers grazing over something on your left cheek that burns at the contact. The contact is jarring, and you can’t help the way you flinch as you try to sit up.

Matt’s face is alarmed at the movement, pressing gently at your shoulder until you lay back down reluctantly. “Woah, hey. Don’t move. You need to stay down for a few.”

“They’ll be back,” you respond with a cough, struggling against the hand that presses lightly into your chest. “We should–”

“I think they’re gone,” he tells you, and you notice the new cut that’s been added to his jawline, “all of them just…it’s like they’re dead.” His voice is absolutely bewildered, his eyes wide, head shifting from side to side as if struggling to comprehend the way the street had suddenly changed. “Whatever they were, they just fell to the ground. It’s the same with the other ones in the area.”

You don’t ask him how he knows.

The wailing and crying in the background has continued, but you pay it no mind. Your energy is draining rapidly, and you don’t have the ability to focus on much more than the man on his knees next to you.

“I–” you’re unsure of what to say at first, just as perplexed at the sudden death of the aliens. You turn your head slowly to the side, jumping when you remember the being that had fallen next to you, its blank face not seven feet from yours, mouth hanging open lifelessly. From up close you can see every ridge in its armor, every line and splotch in its face, and it’s even more terrifying up close.

You find it hard to think even as a shudder wracks your body. “Are you sure? I don’t–”

“I’m sure.”

“Ok.” A deep breath surges through your body, the first full gulp of fresh air since you’d fallen, but you cough harshly as the air leaves, barely managing to cover your mouth with your trembling hand. “But I should still-”

A shaky hand gently pushes down on your chest again, the one that had touched you on your cheek just a few seconds ago, and your eyes widen at the bright flash of red that stains his palm.

Blood.

His?

No. Yours.

“Don’t move,” he says, voice a little more firm than last time. It’s got a thin veil of steel behind it, the same one that’s been present the past few hours, something that hints at a far more forceful interior that he perhaps doesn’t let others see. The tone doesn’t startle you, doesn’t stop you, as you’re far too focused on the fact that there’s another reason to get up on your feet. How had you forgotten about the people who needed rescuing? “Just lay here for a second.”

Your tone is incessant. “Let me up. The people in the fire need–”

Matt shakes his head, and the motion is suddenly more fuzzy than it had been just seconds ago. “Everyone got out, everyone’s fine.”

Your eyebrows raise in confusion. “How–”

His blank eyes rake over your face. “You were out of it for a few minutes. I–you hit your head really hard.” He shudders briefly. “I heard it from all the way over there.”

“But–”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” he says as gently as he can, though he’s still incredibly blunt, “and you need to go to a hospital.”

For the third time, you move to sit up, but he stops you with a firm shake of your head.

“I’m going to pick you up. You shouldn’t be walking.” An arm reaches underneath your knees, pulling your weight closer to him, and it takes all of two seconds before you’re struggling against him.

“I’m fine,” you argue, pushing him lightly away, though he easily overpowers you. Your head continues to pound, the throb as forceful and abrupt as a loud snare drum, and it takes a second to gather your thoughts. “It’s just my cheek, it’s fine.”

“It’s not just your cheek,” Matt grunts as he finally snakes his arm again under your knees, holding a little tighter this time. He floats in and out of your vision, not because he’s moving, but because you suddenly feel like you’re swaying despite his jerky movements. “You’ve…the crown of your head. You have a gash, it needs stitches. As soon as possible.”

Oh.

Your mouth parts in immediate shock, and without a word, your hand lifts and runs over your head, the wince on your face sharp and dramatic as the pain that suddenly flares out. Between the sting of the wound and the pounding in your head, it quickly becomes too much, and you’re very suddenly overwhelmed and having even more trouble focusing.

“Yeah,” Matt mumbles, correctly assuming that the pain’s finally hit with full force. He lifts your arms before helping tie them loosely around his neck. You allow the movement easily as if your body has lost its ability to function with the new knowledge of just how hard you must have hit your head.

Well…that makes sense.

“Maybe,” you begin slowly, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth, “m-maybe that’s why I feel so…so dizzy?”

Matt hisses in displeasure, something about the slurring of your words triggering his need to move faster. You let an undignified squeak as he pulls you up and straightens his back, and though before you might have wrapped your arms around his neck tighter in a split second of panic, you find your arms suddenly too heavy to move. They flop uselessly to the side as if the muscle is no longer attached to the bone, just a dead weight of torn skin and fingers that tingle.

“Where–where are you t-taking me?” you slur out, and you don’t have the energy to make your voice louder or more clear. He picks up a swift pace, and you’re unable to tell which way he is going, only that he’s walking away from the people he’d helped save from the building. No one calls out to him to return, though the tears and cries left behind are present and haunting, and Matt seems to be single minded as he takes you away from the fire that still burns behind him. “Where–”

“There’s a hospital a few blocks away,” Matt responds immediately, his body randomly jerking you to the side as steps around something. “We can…we should be able to make it there safely now that there’s nothing to stop us.”

You try to wiggle out of his hold in protest, but your body refuses to work with you, especially once Matt seemingly strengthens his hold on you. All semblance of a fight leaves you as exhaustion suddenly hits you heavier this time. “Matt, no. You can’t carry me that far, it’s not–”

“Don’t argue,” he says tightly. “Your head…you’re losing too much blood. And you’ve probably got a concussion. You need a doctor.”

Your eyes flutter shut before snapping open again. “There’s…there’s people who are w-worse off. They-they need to be h-helped fir–” Something inside you abruptly cuts off your ability to speak, tongue feeling too heavy in your mouth before you’re able to finish your sentence. Your head falls backwards, strength rapidly draining from your bruised and tired body, and you hear Matt grunt when he adjusts slightly so that your head is resting on his shoulder as best as it can. Your eyes grow heavy, the lids making a valiant effort to stay lifted even as a sense of darkness beckons you below.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he tells you urgently as he continues to pick up his pace, his steps feeling more and more jarring as he quickly turns a corner. “Stay awake for me.”

You don’t answer, you can’t, and your body continues to do nothing but sag into his. He mumbles something, something you can’t hear, the blurred lines of his lips tilting into a deep frown.

It’s a lovely mouth, now that you think about it. You wish you’d seen a smile such as his in the life that had existed before today.

Matt continues to move, his voice soft and almost warbled in your ear, and with every step, you feel yourself floating outside of your body, whatever string that ties your spirit to your physical form attempting to snap and separate. It’s nice, almost. The feeling of dread and terror slides away, the throbbing of every inch of your body beginning to dissipate. You’re aware that bells should be ringing in your head, some alarm that tells you that your sudden emotional and physical numbness isn’t a good thing, but you’re too far gone to care.

“Sweetheart,” Matt says with a shake of his arms, trying in vain to wake you up even as you continue to slip away, “you gotta stay with me. Don’t close your eyes, stay with me. I need you to–”

But you don’t hear what he needs. The black catches up to you, forces your eyes shut, and leaves you with nothing more to cling to.

—----

Matt’s heart falls into his stomach when you lose consciousness again, though he had known this was a possibility long before your words started slurring. The thump of your heart is growing weaker by the second, fading with every drop of blood that leaves your body and soaks his shirt, and every step he takes towards the hospital feels far too slow, far too unsteady.

Despite his fear, despite the way he trembles as your head lulls back and over his arm, Matt’s navigation is on point. He knows exactly what block he’s on, knows exactly how many steps are needed until he’ll get to the corner he’ll turn at, and even while screams and sirens tear through the bruised and beaten city, his sole focus is your safety.

His sole focus is you.

You, who had run in the opposite direction of the crowd to help him, even while people ignored him standing there by himself on that apartment stoop, nothing more than a liability in the face of death. He could have found a way to find shelter on his own, he knows that, but he hadn’t needed to, not with you there, a beacon so bright that he didn’t know how he could have missed it before.

You’d been terrified, blood circulating viciously through your system with every uneven breath and pounding of your heart, but all he could think in that moment was that he had never met someone so selfless, so…fearless.

Matt isn’t fearless now, though. He’s in agony as distress and panic roll through his system relentlessly, a deep and abrasive flaying of his nerves with every second that slips by.

He’s a city boy, born and raised in the underbelly of New York City, a place that lives and breathes tension and apprehension, so in an awful way, the anxiety he’s feeling is familiar. He’s used to it crawling up and down his spine, long before he gained and familiarized himself with his abilities, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

Matt vaguely recalls Stick talking about the war and wonders briefly if this was what he’d been talking about, but he quickly dismisses the idea entirely. Stick’s stories had always seemed so human, and there had been no mentions of aliens tearing through the sky and beating the city, his city, into the ground.

The brick of the wall next to him suddenly disappears, indicating that the building has ended and he’s reached the end of the block, and he takes a sharp turn, feet expertly avoiding the stone and brick that lies broken over the sidewalk, no doubt from a building close by that had been devastated by the force of an explosion. The smell of fire still lingers in the air, but he’s all but numb to the world, nothing existing but his feet, his path, and you cradled in his straining arms.

He takes a second to adjust again, hoisting you closer and further up his body, ignoring the slight burn as his arms accept the weight of you in a slightly different position. Like this, your head is now closer up by his, your silken hair brushing lightly his chin, and he can’t help shudder at the feeling.

His adjustment jostles you enough that it startles out a low moan, one that is filled with a sense of pain that he wishes he could take from you.

“I know,” he mumbles into your hair as his pace picks back up again, following the path that his head has laid out for him, filled with the angles and pressures and temperatures that only his mind is able to process. It’s a clean shot down to the hospital, just three blocks down, and Matt can’t help but press a soft and short kiss to the crown of your head in relief. “I know, sweetheart. We’re almost there.”

He walks as fast as he can with you in his arms, and each step is filled with as much relief as fear, because what if…what if he gets you there in one piece, but there’s nothing they can do?

Your heart has slightly evened out, though it’s still weak and slow, and Matt admits that he has done little more than monitor it the whole journey to the hospital, hell, the whole journey since he grabbed your hand. Two hours with you and the sound has been seared into his memory, its pattern just as familiar as the back of his own hand.

It’s only a few more minutes before Matt’s walking briskly through the automatic doors, somehow managing to focus even as the sound of broken cries swarm around him on all sides. He’s walked in through the ambulance bay, he thinks, judging by the lack of furniture for waiting friends and family and a check-in desk. The lights are fluorescent, and he can hear their loud humming, so different from the soft lighting and calmness of a waiting room. There’s so much going on around him, so many people shifting and rushing past him, the wheels of gurneys screeching across the linoleum floor, and he can’t help but be temporarily overwhelmed.

The scent of blood is so strong it’s sickening, and Matt has to swallow down the taste of copper that floods his senses ruthlessly.

He finds himself floundering for a second, unsure of which way to walk as chaos swells around him on all sides. Your blood is soaking his shirt with every second he wastes stalling there, and it’s finally enough to push forward. He’s hardly taken a step before a man is standing in front of him, his hand outstretched to stop his movement. Matt opens his mouth to protest, unsure of the man’s reasoning and instinctively wanting to keep going, but the man cuts him off.

“I need a gurney over here,” the man calls out sharply, turning his head to the left. He sounds frayed at the edges, too, and Matt can’t help but shudder. “Now!”

Relief floods through his system, and it’s only a brief few seconds before a gurney is wheeled his way.

“Here, put her down,” says the man urgently, lowering the rails down so that it’s easier for Matt to lean down. He hesitates for just a moment, something in him suddenly unwilling to remove you from his body, and even though he knows he needs to place you on the padding, his heart protests so sharply that it startles him.

I don’t want to let her go.

But Matt pushes the thought aside, finally placing her gently on the gurney, pulling back as the man raises the railings back up and wheels her up against a wall a few yards away. He immediately begins hooking you up to various machines, one monitoring your heart rate, the other your blood pressure. Matt is moved lightly to the side by another pair of hands as a second nurse or doctor steps up, placing an oxygen mask on a face that feels like it’s been permanently scarred with the remains of blood and tears from the day.

“What happened?” the man asks as he begins a quick exam, watching as your stats begin to populate on a screen to the left of your head.

“They…she…” Matt struggles to find the words at first, language failing him for a second as the sound of your body slamming against the pavement echoes through his head. His fists clench uselessly at his side as he tries to focus on the facts of what happened instead of the way it had caused a panic so abrupt that he wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover from it. “She…she fell as she was running. One of those things–it shot at her and missed, but she lost her balance. She must have hit her head on something because she started losing blood and eventually lost consciousness.”

The man continues his exam, not bothering to look up, which causes a strange sense of relief. Matt’s not wearing his glasses, he’s pretty sure he lost them around the time he sprinted to your side when all thought and reason left him, and while it’s the least of his concerns at the moment, he’s still grateful the man has yet to notice that he’s not making eye contact.

He’d promised to tell you everything if the pair of you survived, and he’d stand by that promise gladly, but the idea of someone else questioning his sight made his skin crawl. This was a secret meant only for him and you, now.

“When was this?” The man pulls Matt out of his head with the question, moving your head from one side to the other to determine the level of damage. He is thorough and almost detached in his examination, brusque and to the point, but Matt detects the tremble in his hand, notes the skin that is likely too pale, and knows the man is trying to remove himself from his own fear in order to focus on those who need him.

It’s a trait that Matt will become achingly familiar with in years to come.

“How long ago did this happen?”

“I, uh…probably about ten minutes ago. We were a few blocks away and I had to carry her here,” Matt responds, licking his lips with a nervous tick. “Is she–is she going to be okay?”

“We’re going to have to take her up for a CT,” he responds, pulling out a chart and writing on it, his chicken scratch sliding abrasively on the paper. “I have someone who can do that for her in a few minutes. Can I get her name and date of birth for her paperwork?”

Matt freezes briefly, because of course he doesn’t know your date of birth, and he never got your last name, but to admit that he doesn’t know either implies that he doesn’t know you, and it causes him to lurch in place.

He does know you. He does.

Maybe the day hadn’t started out that way, but he knows you in a way he doesn’t know anybody else, because what else is there to know about a person other than how they’ll react when push literally comes to shove? He knows that about you now, already knows the kind of person you are, and he hopes he’s shown you equally the kind of man he is and wants to be.

On paper you are a stranger, but his heart knows differently.

So instead, he lies about the information the doctor is requesting and gives the doctor his father’s birthday as her own, simply changing the year so that it’s only a few years younger than himself. The doctor doesn’t notice the lie and simply nods, writing it down quickly.

“First name?”

Matt gives it swiftly. It’s a name that he’ll never be able to forget.

“And last name?”

It’s out his mouth before he can hold it back. “Murdock.”

He doesn’t know why he says it, but it’s too late to pull it back, so he adjusts his form and does his best to not give away the false statement that had poured from him so easily like wine from a barrel.

“And you are?”

Matt clears his throat. “Matt Murdock.”

“Relation?”

“She’s my wife.” The lie comes out just as smoothly this time because Matt quickly realizes the advantage of the situation. He won’t have to leave you, he’ll be able to stay by your side as you heal, and no one will question it. Watching over you has become his sole focus since the sky first opened up, your strength in the face of your fear nothing short of addicting, like you were a flame that burned only for him, and he isn’t about to leave you now.

Your blood matted hair rests lifelessly on the padding he assumes is white, and something in him is glad he can’t see the red of it staining the sheets, knowing that it’s life leaching out from the gash on your crown.

You’re still as a nurse begins stitching up the back of your head, a thin needle expertly swaying in and out of your flesh as the wound gradually begins to close. His hands hold on to the railing tightly, ears catching the beat of your heart faster than the screen can count it, and he keeps track of every stitch that’s tied off. Slowly, the blood seeping out begins to lessen as the nurse continues her work, and when she walks away, Matt’s overcome with the sudden need to touch you. His hands are dirty with blood and sweat and ash, but he reaches down anyway and pushes a lock of hair behind your ear, resting his forehead against yours in a brief attempt to assure himself of your warmth, before placing a gentle kiss and pulling away.

He’s barely standing up straight before the nurse comes up and informs him they’re ready to take you up for the head scan, and there’s nothing Matt can do except pray while the wheels of the gurney disappear down the hall.

#matt murdock #daredevil #human disaster matt murdock #marvel #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil x fem!reader #the avengers 2012 #what if

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cookinguptales · 8 months

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Y'know, I post a lot on tumblr about what a shit Guillermo is, and I stand by that. He is a marvelous little shit. But honestly I only talk about it so much because people on tumblr and AO3 send me so many messages about how he's never done anything wrong in his life. When I'm presented with the opposite, that Guillermo is uniquely awful and selfish and he victimizes the poor uwu vampires (thinkpieces that you saw a lot more often during s3) I am fully like "I STAND BY EVERY DECISION THAT FOOLISH MAN HAS EVER MADE."

Being real with you, I feel like talking about Guillermo like he's totally blameless and put-upon or like he's totally selfish and wholly evil flattens a really complex and interesting character. He's selfish and self-involved and cruel and sweet and insecure and giving. He's all those things, and I love that about him.

I love Guillermo as a character because he has these carefully constructed categories in his head, these rules and boundaries that he sticks to like glue. He contains multitudes, and it's because he carefully follows the rules he has in his own head, even when they don't make a lot of sense to others.

I think the best way to think about Guillermo's actions is to think about him having two very different sets of rules for in-groups and out-groups. He will bend over backward for people in his in-group, will be the kindest, most patient, sweetest man in the world -- but he can be downright vicious to people in the out-group.

This is a pretty common occurrence IRL, though not always to the degree that Guillermo does it... I mean, you're going to treat your best friend's birthday differently than you're gonna treat a stranger's, right? When you start seeing it happen the way Guillermo does it, though, it's often to create and preserve power. You see it in politics, high school cliques, religion, etc.

For example, let's take new religious movements (or NRMs, i.e. "cults".) They are famous for this behavior. When you create distinct in-groups and out-groups and can behave very differently towards both, you give your followers a strong incentive to stay in the in-group. It makes them feel like they're the "good" ones, the superior ones, the ones with power. The ones that belong. And when they see out-groups being mistreated, well. No one wants to be in the group with no power who's mistreated, y'know? It simultaneously gives people in the in-group a sense of community, belonging, and social superiority and makes them afraid to leave.

But really, you see it all the time. If you have a "good" group that you can never harm and a "bad" group that you can do anything to, that really helps prop up power structures in a lot of ways. Look, I'm not going to get into this too much more because you don't want a freaking academic lecture on your dash, but suffice it to say that I think Guillermo is largely using his in-groups and out-groups in this way, mentally speaking.

He has in-groups (his friends, his family, his boyfriend, the vampires he lives with) and out-groups (literally everyone else, including other vampires) and he badly mistreats the out-groups because he does not want to be one of them. I've noticed he's particularly awful to human prey that reminds him of himself (nerdy, socially awkward, powerless, virginal) and I think that's because he wants to distance himself from them. He wants to make sure no one mistakes him as being part of that group, so he very strongly pushes them into his out-group by not only killing them, but making fun of them and often making sure they suffer before they die.

And then he's even more slavishly devoted to his in-groups, partially because he does truly love them, but partially because he desperately wants to stay in those groups. Or because he's trying to protect his own hide.

I don't mean to say that every kind thing he does is calculated -- I do think he very genuinely wants to make the people he loves happy -- but there's a sort of desperation to it sometimes. When he does these kind things, sometimes it's this desperate bid to be valued and accepted by others in his in-group, which makes him feel like he's earned his place there.

I've noticed that Guillermo has a tendency to do things for people to stay in their good graces (buying his mom a fridge, doing chores for Nandor, giving Derek money) when what they actually want is his time and attention. There often is a vibe that he's trying to earn his way into a group he doesn't quite feel entitled to when actually he's already very much a part of the group and he just needs to maintain those relationships. It's insecurity, frankly, and a nervous sort of self-preservation.

In fact... I'd say that Guillermo's greatest emotional struggles often come when trying to reconcile (and protect) different members of his in-group because he's trying to reconcile (and protect!!!) the different parts of himself.

Like... when he protected Jeremy, he was protecting a friend, but also the idea that some weak, virginal nerds are not prey. He had to protect this member of his in-group, partially because he loved him, but partially because he had to protect himself by extension. If Jeremy could be an exception to the predator-prey dynamics, so could he. Some humans could be valuable.

When he protected his fellow familiars during the familiar fights, he was protecting fellow humans whom he thought had "earned" a better life (and death) than prey humans, but he was also protecting the idea that a familiar could be loved and valued. He was protecting himself and the hope that Nandor would love him.

When he protected his family, he was protecting his beloved family members, but also the idea that vampires and slayers could coexist. Of course he doesn't want his family to die, but he's also doesn't want his hopes that he can have it all to die with them.

Let's all be real with each other here. Guillermo kills humans, and he does so without compunction. He is able to utterly dehumanize prey humans because he has a vested interest in emotionally distancing himself from them. But he gets kind of freaked out when the humans that he has mentally removed from that prey group (his friends, his family, people "like him") are not placed into that same exempt group by others. And this is definitely because he wants to protect those he loves!

But it's also because it means that he isn't special, either.

Let's talk about Freddie, who I think is probably the most complicated example of all this in the entire show. (Save perhaps Derek, who could probably get an entire post to himself because he went from out-group to in-group without Guillermo's consent.) When Freddie first arrived at the house, Nandor mistook him for prey. This understandably freaked Guillermo out, partially because he wanted to protect his boyfriend and partially because it was violating Guillermo's group dynamics.

(Insert meta here about Freddie representing Guillermo's ability to have a happy life outside of the weird, insular one he'd created for himself prior to s4.)

Freddie ended up being kind of special, though, because Guillermo considered him to be part of his in-group and Nandor considered him an out-group until he realized that Guillermo valued him. And then Nandor wanted him to not just be part of his in-group, but a portion of it separate from (but simultaneously representing) Guillermo. It's complicated!!

So we had Freddie 1 who was Guillermo's and Freddie 2 who was Nandor's, but... in the end, Freddie really belonged to no one but himself, right? In the end, he very literally chose himself. He left the -group dynamic altogether.

So Freddie is moving in and out of these groups like a fuckin' oiled-up eel that Guillermo cannot keep a hold of, and that really challenges his control issues as well as his ability to feel like he belongs in the in-groups he's created. It challenges his ability to feel worthy and loved and like he belongs anywhere. It challenges his ability to have faith that he'll ever become a vampire. Suddenly he does not control these groups anymore. If anything, they're controlling him.

While a lot of Guillermo's angst at the end of s4 was about, y'know, normal heartbreak... I think a lot of that was happening, too. He was really seeing the abrupt overturning of the carefully established rules and groups and boundaries and power differentials in his head, and that made him just want to be free of the whole thing.

So he took a step out of all of his preconceptions about what he did and did not have to do to belong in these groups, and took hold of his own destiny.

...unfortunately.

Guillermo's decisions in s4, both regarding his family and his turning, really did permanently shake up a lot of the group dynamics in the show. For better? For worse? (FOR GOOD...? lmao) It's hard to say, honestly. But I'm eager to see how he irons it all out in his head!

Our able-to-self-justify-literally-anything bitch. 💜

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lucianalight · 5 months

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A Glorious Culmination

Let's talk about that perfect ending with its beautiful scenes and epic soundtrack, shall we? Here's all the reasons why I loved it:

The ending answered the question "what makes a Loki, Loki?"

"Authority, independence, style". Sure, but that's not all of it. And it's not the real answer.

So who is Loki? A villain? A loser? What defines Loki?

There are many characteristics that define Loki but one of the main ones that truly sets him apart imo is that he is a catalyst for change. Loki when faced with options he doesn't like, or a problem that looks like doesn't have a solution, makes a new way, creates a new solution, chooses an option that didn't exist before.

He has the power to destroy, like the mythological tale of Ragnarok.

And to give life. Like how the Ragnarok he brings, means the beginning of a new cycle in Norse mythology.

-"Yeah it was the best character development. Loki went from wanting a throne to..."

Let me stop you there.

Loki went from not wanting a throne but thinking he must have it to be considered worthy and an equal to Thor, to taking a throne despite not wanting it, because it was the right thing to do.

The fact that Loki sacrificed himself once again for the people he loved and cared about, wasn't a new character development. In the movies Loki risks and sacrifices himself every time when it matters. For Thor, for Asgard, for the world. The only development here was that this time he sacrificed himself for every universe there is.

And his sacrifice wasn't treated as sth he deserved by the narrative because of every terrible things he'd done. On the contrary the narrative acknowledges that this is the last thing Loki deserves. That he is paying for others' mistakes and wrongs. He spends centuries to save the timelines. He spends a long time trying to stop Sylvie without harming her. And when everything seems lost, he makes a decision to save everyone but himself, he creates a different path. He faces his deepest fear, to not hurt the people he loves.

If there is any character development, it's for the narrative and the audience that finally recognized who Loki actually is.

The Symbolism

I have to say my first reaction to the new Loki costume was:" This is the worst Loki costume ever :))))" also me two days later: "I'm gonna set it as my wallpaper." But I loved the symbolism. The biggest horns Loki's ever worn to show the weight of the crown. His cape that was connected to timelines, to show the burden of a throne. The simplicity in his clothes in contrast with his other outfits. Because this wasn't about the recognition Loki always wanted and deserved. This was about the responsibility Loki decided to literally put on his shoulders and feeling the gravity of it.

His shoes though :)))) I mean

Either let him be bare footed or give him boots you cowards :D

The Parallels

The fact that how the ending parallels the first Thor movie and everything came back full circle.

How Thor and Loki destroyed sth at the cost of themselves losing the people they cared about.

Loki doing sth not because of a desperation for acceptance, not because he thought it was sth someone else wanted.

Knowing if he chose the easier way, no one could have fault him for it because it seemed there was no other way.

He did it because he knew it was the right thing to do, because he knew who he wanted to be.

Loki not giving up, not letting go, not falling down from a broken bridge, but ascending, holding on as he fixes what's broken.

He holds and carries the whole universe on his back. It's not only a beautiful Atlassian tragedy, but also parallels Norse mythology in more than one way. Yggdrasil, the tree of life in Norse mythology, the one that Loki holds in his hands in the finale, wasn't the only parallel in the ending.

There's a subtle and beautiful nod to Norse mythology. The tale of Loki being bound till Ragnarok. The myth that says when Loki gets freed, the end of the world begins.

What a marvelous tragedy. And what a glorious culmination.

It's not all tragic though

Loki now is literally the most powerful and heroic character in MCU. He's holding the universe in his hands and keeping it alive. You can't top that.

And it makes his portrayal in the recent movies in which he was unfairly underpowered, even more ridiculous than before and that makes me happy :D

There is also a possibility to see Loki again and I'm not talking about the other variants. Marvel now has the best dues ex machina through Loki. He might be able to appear in any universe as an illusion to warn about dangers or help the characters. He might figure out a way to keep the tree alive without being there himself. That way he can find Thor in the sacred timeline. Or maybe the Loki who survived Thanos and is still in the sacred timeline finds Thor. Maybe there's still hope for a good reconciliation and a good story for Asgardian siblings.

So to sump up this was an epic, symbolic, beautiful and tragic ending. And yet hopeful. I loved it💚

#anyone else was reminded of Elsa when Loki created those stairs? :D #loki never wanted a throne #had to include it because everyone's going with this take and it starts to get on my nerves #just look through the tag if you disagree with me #a lot of people has written metas about it #loki 2x06 #loki s02e06 #loki #loki series #loki tv show #loki s2 positivity #loki gif #thor #thor1 #norse mythology #yggdrasil

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canonmisogynyvictimstournament · 8 months

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PROPAGANDA

AGENT TEXAS (RED VS BLUE)

1.) okay so tex is an ai based on the memories this one dickhead dude has of his dead wife, allison. there's also an ai based on the dickhead dude himself, his name's church. all the stuff with the ai's and the different versions of her is kind of confusing to explain but she sort of dies twice- first sacrificing herself for something that has very little narrative weight, and being absorbed into a kind of . monstrous mesh of other ai's (including the original church ai) that then is erased, with basically no mention of tex, it's all about church's death.

then, there's another version of both church and tex born from the original church ai's memories (epsilon-tex and epsilon-church). epsilon-church's arc is basically about learning to move on from his past and let go of tex, because he's kind of obsessed with her and it's preventing him from progressing. so, epsilon-church 'forgets' tex, deleting her for good. tl;dr she dies, again, basically entirely for church's development.

when i was a kid super into rvb i was always really disinterested in tex and looking back it's because er story just.. isn't resolved satisfyingly at all. basically all of her story is hitched so tightly to church's story and development that tex barely gets room to be more than a memory of the director's dead wife- she never gets to move past the circumstances that created her and become her own person entirely divorced from the director or from church- allison died and we never knew anything about her besides that the director god sad about it. beta-tex died unceremoniously and without mention. epsilon-tex died for church's character growth.

quoting church's own words from the show: ""She died in her real life, and that's all the Director ever remembered of her. So now, no matter how tough she is, no matter how hard she fights, she's always going to fail, because that's what she's based on. No matter what she's doing, or what she's trying to accomplish, just when her goal is within her reach, it gets yanked away. Every. Single. Time." and she just never… actually overcomes this. she just dies.

and quoting now-inactive tumblr user epsilontucker from 2015 who put it better than i could: "Tex’s whole life was spent fighting for agency. Freedom from what Omega wanted her to be (O’Malley), what the Director wanted her to be (Allison), what Church wanted her to be (his). Epsilon-Tex wanted to know who she was and why she was and she wanted to dismantle everything Church ever built. Especially because he built it for her.

And this character arc about freedom and agency, about a chance to define herself on her own terms, is resolved by… Church deciding to delete her.

Because everybody always seems to know what’s best for Tex."

this is also to say nothing of the treatment of her character on just, like, an episode-to-episode basis. rvb has a big problem with basically treating "bitch" as a personality trait for female characters, and tex gets some of the worst of it. if you made a drinking game of how often tex gets called a bitch, or a huge bitch, you'd die of alcohol poisoning. also at one point andy the bomb makes a bunch of transmisogynistic jokes at her because she's suppsoedly mannish (she's not masculine or feminine really everybody in this show is a multicolor master chief. she's just good at fighting) and then calls her a dyke. the end

2.) Some background (spoilers): Tex is introduced as a badass mercenary from Project Freelancer, and the ex girlfriend of Church, the main character of the show. It is eventually revealed she and Church are both Aritifical Intelligence programs; Church is an AI copy of the Director of Project Freelancer, and Tex is a copy of the Director's late wife.

Firstly she is straightforwardly the victim of misogynistic "jokes" for the first several seasons. She is called misogynistic slurs, shamed for sleeping with other men besides Church, she cannot work the entertainment stand at the base bc she's female, called lesbophobic and transmysogonistic slurs bc she is a competent soldier, and blackmails another female character out of jealousy bc she is the only other girl in the group.

Even when these jokes go away, and the show transitions from comedy to drama, her writing revolves around the male characters around her. Because she is the personification of the memory of the Director's dead wife, and his perceieved failure to save her, she explicitly, in the text, will always fail at what she sets out to accomplish no matter how strong she is. She wishes to be free of the cycle of being resurrected bc Church can't live without her only to fail and die again, but lacks the agency to end it without Church. Church's arc about learning to let her go ends not with her being free to exist as her own person without him, but with him forgetting her. Since she IS his memory, this ERASES HER FROM EXISTENCE. She literally cannot exist without this guy.

This would all be easier to swallow if she wasn't the ONLY prominent female main character for 8 whole seasons. It's a beautiful story about how grief can fester into anger and a need for control, and how that pushes away the people you love, but it's a story entirely centered around Church's development, in which she is a prop that stops existing when the story is over. I love her but she deserved so much better than she got.

3.) girlboss

KAMALA KHAN (MARVEL COMICS) (CW: Racism)

1.) One of the most prominent brown women in all of comics, beloved by the fan base. Recently killed in a PETER PARKER SPIDERMAN COMIC (despite being much closer with Miles Morales and having basically no relationship with Peter) in what's probably the name of MCU synergy, which nobody wanted (she'll probably be resurrected as a mutant, erasing her unique and interesting history as an Inhuman). She was using her shapeshifting powers again despite having stopped in her solo as she got more confident in her own skin and identity as a Pakistani American girl, died disguised as the very white Mary Jane as a fake out/last minute replacement for killing off MJ. I fucking hate it here. A cheap trick to drive sales. L + Misogyny + racism + are you fucking kidding me

#polls #round 1 #week 1 #new #cw racism

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justthoughts1310 · 3 months

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Boruto x Mitsuki are not brothers. They are a homoerotic trope. Please just admit that.

I think it's really interesting how people are quick to ship or create a romantic attraction between a man and a woman in media. It literally doesn't matter how forced or nonsensical it is. There almost always has to be some sexual element or tension as if a woman (any woman) is simply a prize to be won.

I mean I remember witnessing this phenomenon when watching one or the Marvel Thor movies. He kissed his female companion. Only for them to both admit that it was weird and superfluous. Then I say the same thing with the Captain America character. When Agent Carter died, he bedded her granddaughter. However, he went back in time to marry Agent Carter, so he technically laid with his granddaughter. I hope this was retconned.

Anyway my point is this. People are quick to imply romantic intentions where there is none between men and women, but are super quick to dismiss romantic intentions in the face of over homoeroticism.

Listen! Whether or not Mitsuki and Boruto ever become cannon, they are classifiably a homoerotic pairing. I would agree that they are easily far more homoerotic than Sasuke x Naruto and Gai x Kakashi.

That's why it's sooo annoying when people are like Boruto and Mitsuki are brothers. Mitsuki loves and protects Boruto like a little brother.

No. Make it make sense. Mitsuki violates the dynamics of being an older brother to Boruto. He protects Boruto but simultaneously looks up to and admires Boruto. Those last two aren't consistent with an older brother trope. He uses Boruto as his light and guidance, not the other way around.

Also, the Naruto series has used the following words to describe non-familial intimate male relationships in the series:

Brothers: Naruto x Sasuke, Boruto x Kawaki

Rivals: Kakashi x Gai, Kakashi x Obito

Best Friends: Shikamaru x Choji.

You know what relationship is an intimate male pairing that has not been described with the following words in 86 chapters and 7 years: Boruto x Mitsuki.

At best, Boruro x Mitsuki could be classified under best friend. However, I would argue that the two of them have the most intimate relationship on this list emotionally and it has yet to be given a platonic explanation.

The anime has even hinted multiple times that Boruto is aware of Mitsuki's homoeroticism. It makes Boruto feel weird at times, but he has never once used it to create space between him and Mitsuki. He even declared that Mitsuki and he share a special relationship, and he was deeply hurt when Mitsuki deserted the leaf.

#boruto #boruto x mitsuki #two blue vortex #boruto uzumaki #naruto #mitsuki #borumitsu

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girl-next-door-writes · 4 months

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And I Love Her

Characters: Poe Dameron x reader

Summary: The Winter Festival provides the perfect moment for Poe to relax and tell a special someone how he really feels.

Word Count: 1172 words

Prompt: Best Friends To Lovers. Putting Your Head On Their Shoulder.

A/N: This is the third of my Build-A-Festive-Fics so thank you to the super @sweetjedi who put these prompts together for the lovely Poe. (I have NOT proof read this so if you find a mistake LET ME KNOW!!!)

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The Winter Festival celebrations were fast approaching, and the Resistance base was awash with joy and merriment. Festive lights adorned the side of the Millennium Falcon, casting a warm glow across the snow-dusted landscape. The mouthwatering aroma of roasted meats wafted through the air, blending with the sound of laughter and the distant hum of starships. In these moments, the sense of hope was more tangible than ever, and the belief that anything was possible permeated the atmosphere.

Poe, dressed in his slightly battered Resistance uniform, leaned casually against a sturdy wooden post, surveying the scene with a contented smile. His gaze drifted over the gathered revellers, but it always came back to you. You, his best friend, was busy helping Chewbacca hang yet another strand of twinkling lights. There was a sense of camaraderie in the air, and Poe couldn't help but feel a warmth blossoming in his chest.

The two of you had been through more than your fair share of battles, shared triumphs, and weathered defeats side by side. As he watched you expertly manoeuvring around Chewbacca and the lights, Poe couldn't help but marvel at the strength of your beauty.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull, Poe pushed himself off the wooden post and made his way toward you, navigating the sea of joyful faces. The snow beneath his boots crunched in time with the festive tunes playing from strategically placed speakers, creating a rhythmic backdrop to the holiday preparations.

“Need a hand there?" Poe called out, his voice cutting through the lively chatter.

“Hey Poe! Trust you to show up just as we’ve finished. It’s like you’ve got a sixth sense about these things.” You teased him, earning an eyeroll and a lopsided smirk.

“Or perhaps I’m trying to stay out of trouble after last time.”

“Oh, yes, I am sure anyone flying into the base won’t be looking at a rather inappropriate image fashioned out of lights.” You giggled, recalling the previous Winter Festival.

Poe smirked. "Hey, it wasn't intentional. Finn and I were just trying to spread some holiday spirit."

You rolled your eyes in mock disapproval. "Sure, Poe. Holiday spirit, I'm sure that's what everyone thought."

He grinned. "Well, this year, I've made sure our decorations are, let's say, more family-friendly. No accidental light art."

You chuckled. "I appreciate that. I don't think the Resistance needs another incident report on inappropriate festive displays."

"Fair point. How about we grab a festive beverage? I hear they've added a new touch to the usual juice this year."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "A new touch?"

Poe nodded with a mischievous twinkle. "It’s a festive surprise.”

You laughed. "Wow, Poe. That's some serious dedication to holiday spirit, festive surprise huh? Lead the way!"

As Poe led the way through the lively Winter Festival crowd, your arm securely hooked through his, the atmosphere around you felt charged with festive energy. The colourful lights overhead reflected in his eyes as he stole fond glances at you, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

The joyful chatter of fellow Resistance members surrounded you, and the air was filled with laughter and the sweet melody of holiday tunes. Poe's steps were confident, and his arm provided a sense of comfort and familiarity. He could feel the warmth of your body against his side, and the simple act of being close brought a sense of ease.

Every so often, Poe turned his head to catch your eye, his gaze holding a mixture of playfulness and genuine affection. His eyes spoke volumes, telling tales of shared adventures, unspoken understanding, and a hint of something beyond platonic.

As you meandered through the festivities, the scent of festive treats wafted through the air, and the glow of colourful decorations created a magical backdrop. Poe guided you toward the makeshift beverage station, where a selection of festive drinks awaited.

"Here we are," Poe said with a grin, gesturing towards the array of beverages.

You surveyed the options, a playful glint in your eye. "So, what's the special touch this year, Poe?"

He picked up two glasses, each adorned with a sprig of festive greenery on the rim. "Behold, the pinnacle of holiday sophistication."

You laughed, taking the offered glass. "Well, I must say, the Resistance knows how to throw a party."

As you clinked glasses in a festive toast, Poe's gaze lingered on yours. "To friendship, to adventure, and to not causing any unintentional intergalactic incidents with holiday decorations this time."

“That is definitely something I will drink to.” You chuckled, clinking your glass to his before taking a sip.

The two of you wandered off to find a place to sit, finally perching side by side on a slightly damp bench. The two of you observed your friends and comrades, revelling in the joyous occasion. The air was charged with the spirit of friendship, and the twinkling lights reflected in Poe's eyes as he stole glances at you.

Poe felt a gentle weight on his shoulder as your head came to rest, creating an intimate connection between the two of you. The beating of his heart quickened, creating a rhythmic melody that seemed to synchronize with the music playing in the background. He stole a sideways glance at you, marvelling at the way your presence seemed to complete the scene.

The world around you blurred as Poe's attention became solely focused on the shared moment. Torn between the enchantment of the evening and the warmth of your presence, he couldn't help but feel a surge of emotions. His heart, a drum beating in sync with yours, whispered the untold words that hung in the air between you.

Taking a deep breath, Poe's gaze held yours, his voice a gentle murmur amid the festive symphony. "You know," he began, his words carrying the weight of unspoken emotions, "this... this feels right. Everything seems to fade away when I'm with you. It's like the world stops, and there's just us."

His fingers found yours, intertwining in a silent dance that mirrored the connection between your hearts. "I've been trying to find the right words, and I realise there might never be a perfect moment, but I can't keep it in any longer." Poe's eyes searched yours for affirmation, a vulnerability he rarely showed on the battlefield.

“I know.” You hummed softly, and a smile pulled at his lips.

A soft smile graced Poe's lips, and he couldn't help but express his gratitude for the connection you shared. Leaning down, he planted a tender kiss on the top of your head, a gesture filled with unspoken affection.

Pulling you a little closer, Poe continued to watch the merriment around you, his heart beating in harmony with yours. The world had changed, and yet, in that shared embrace, it felt like everything had fallen into place. The confession of love had woven a new thread into the tapestry of your relationship, and as the night unfolded, the promise of a future together lingered in the air, sweet and undeniable.

#Poe Dameron #Poe Dameron x reader #build-a-festive-fic #gndw fic

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yellowocaballero · 1 year

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SHAZAM SHAZAM SHAZAM pls tell us about billy batson. ive only ever seen the movies o great comic knower

Very very very VERY far from comic expert (that's brawltogethernow) but I have read a lot of Shazam. His history is actually really, really fascinating and involves more than one lawsuit that really defined very early comics. I'll focus on one thing, though.

There are two Captain Marvels: One from the 1940s to around 2013, and one from 2013 til now. The Captain Marvel you're familiar with (who is named Shazam) is from 2013. He's a more realistic, grounded character. He was created to be pretty much the polar opposite of his original version. The best summary is to say that the Wizard chose Billy Batman 1940 because he had the purest heart, and the Wizard chose Billy Batson ~2013 because he was there. My personal 'best' Shazam story is the "Shazam: The Monster Society of Evil" graphic novel by the guy who made Bone. It's good because it's for elementary schoolers yet acknowledges this small child as homeless. Which, don't get me wrong, you shouldn't always do. My personal favorite is the 1970s ones.

As some background: Otto Binder was the creator/main writer of the very early Captain Marvel comics. He was by far and away the best writer of the early Superman Silver Age comics, because all of his comics were batshit insane. Shazam has a complicated and legal history with Superman, so the 1970 run was a super fun high camp tongue in cheek reinvention of the best Silver Age stories.

So the 1970 Captain Marvel comics are insane.

I can't even summarize them without sounding crazy. Basically the conceit is that Captain Marvel, Captain Marvel Jr, and Mary Marvel (Billy, Freddy, and Mary) are having 1940s Golden Age Adventures when they get somehow in suspended animation and are basically time travelled to the 1970s. This don't bother them too much. Why would it bother them. Nothing bothers these people. Nothing. I don't think anybody experiences a negative emotion in these comics. Not bc they were twee. Bc they were insane.

Many of the comics basically had three shorter comics inside it: one Billy story, one Mary story, one Freddy story. Interestingly, they all had different art styles, artists, types of story, genre, etc. Billy's stories had a cartoony art style with very over-the-top and silly plotlines that involved supervillain bad dudes. Freddy's art was slightly more realistic and was slighty more grounded, but still had some classic Marvel indescribable scifi that can best be summarized as that one meme panel people have seen where Sivana recites a science equation that lets him walk through walls. Mary's stories were much more realistically drawn and featured the most banal shit, like her starting a club with her friends. Somehow Mary Marvel gets involved in those.

Sometimes they worked together and did superhero things and fought bad guys. The average fight looked like this:

Billy was a twelve year old who lived by himself, in his own apartment, had his own radio show, a full-ass job, a whole thing as Captain Marvel. He paid fucking taxes. Everybody knew this and nobody cared. He's the most affable, good natured kid on the face of the planet. Nothing bothers him. Nothing. Nothing bothers any of these people. Sivana shows up and he's BIG MAD so he's creating another death ray and Captain Marvel shows up like "Oh you rascal! Time to punch this and go back to helping my friend eat his infinite Jello."

He has a friend named Talky Tawny, who is a talking tiger wearing a suit. He also has a friend named Sunny Smiles, a person of indeterminate gender who everybody falls in love with, for unexplained and unknown reasons. Not to be confused with Freddy's friend Gregory Gosharootie, the "World's Dullest Mortal", who is so boring that nobody notices him and he keeps accidentally comitting crime. There is also an old guy named Uncle Marvel who pretends he has superpowers, which they all find funny so they just roll with it. Freddy is a disabled orphan who has to sell papers on the street corner to make a living. Mary lives in a middle class suburban home with loving foster parents. It never once seems to occur to Mary's parents to adopt Billy, for Freddy to live with Billy. Everybody is happiest this way.

I do think this is partly why a good Shazam comic has to be aimed at the 6-12yo demographics. They have to be for small children, because Billy is living a complete and utter power fantasy that only a ten year old would think is a good idea. He's a kid, and he doesn't have drag parents or a lame family, but he can turn into Superman, and he can also do magic, and everybody loves him and thinks he's the nicest person, and his supervillains are Dr. Doofenschmirtz and a worm, and his supporting cast is like okay my sister if she HAS to be involved, but also my best friend who is a paperboy! but cool because he's disabled, and….

Look, you could engage with that seriously. You could go "holy shit this is a homeless child". That's fine. That's what they do these days, and that's what they did in the movies. Nothing wrong with that. Take the story more seriously.

But also they don't give a worm the electric chair in those stories, so.

To actually give some commentary on these comics: these comics really love people. I've never seen comics that were so entrenched in their community. The kids just know everybody they meet on the street. Freddy delivers paper up and down every block, so an average story for him is just talking to a butcher or baker or old man or grumpy housewife and helping them out with some batshit problem. Mary's a sweet girl who's always starting clubs with her friends and taking on neighborhood projects. Many Billy stories involve one of his many friends falling into some trouble and Captain Marvel helping them out - or just exploring some fun with Billy hanging out with Sunny Smiles, who is a person of indeterminate gender who for some reason has magic love brainwashing powers -

This isn't the biggest #Shazam take, but I think a good Shazam story stays grounded in that. These are poor street kids who love Fawcett City so damn much. They love fighting their supervillains, but they love helping out the random guy off the street with their problems even more. Way more so than Spider-Man or a lot of other guys, I think of the Marvel family as the friendly neighborhood superheroes. They're both larger than life and street level. They're Superman level powers but they just use the powers for wrapping up their hijinks. Isn't that nice? Aren't you tired of going apeshit? Don't you just want to be nice?

#captain marvel #shazam #mary marvel #freddy freeman #billy batson #captain marvel jr #mary batson #i pulled open the old comics to review to write this #and as a kid I was like.#“hah! silly old silver age comics! they don't know how dumb they are!”#but reading it now im like #“holy shit i think they're doing it on purpose. holy shit. i think this is the most sarcastic comic ive ever read.”#“I don't think this is the funniest thing ever on accident. I think these were jokes. This comedy is sublime.”#genuinely they hold up SO well. they're fucking delightful.#high camp.#my writing #my asks

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percheduphere · 4 months

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How do you think Mobius will live his life in the timeline? Many theorize that something happens to Don and Mobius takes his identity so his sons live with a father. I prefer that Mobius reflects on his old life, realizes he can’t live it, and creates his own life.

Oh, boy, Anon. I have a lot of fanfic ideas for this, but let's get into the meta-analysis side of this before we get into the rabbit hole that is my washer-dryer machine of an imagination.

Mobius is not doing well. He is going through the stages of grief. I've written an extensive meta here regarding the darker aspects of his character and how he's at risk by the end of the series. I also wrote a brief meta here regarding how his grief might manifest.

With this in mind, I actively HATE the idea of Mobius spiraling to the point he becomes "corrupted". I don't what Michael Waldron did to Wanda. I guess you could make the argument that it would be interesting to see a man emotionally unravel in such a way, but I hold Mobius's unshakable kindness dear in my heart. I don't ever want him to lose it because it is essentially his superpower.

[Sidebar: comics canon House of M notwithstanding; Marvel and DC comics canon are consistently horrible in their characterization of exceptionally powerful women: Wanda Maximoff Jean Grey/Phoenix; Carol Danvers/then Ms. Marvel; Rogue; on and on; I'll throw Sylvie in here, too, because why not, it's true.]

I see Mobius mourning Loki for two years. Two years because, statistically, that is how long it takes for most people who've lost an intimate loved one to get out of clinical depression. During this period, I see him losing weight, wandering aimlessly between timelines, trying and failing to copy Don's life by taking a job that involves jet skis or aquatics more generally. B-15 would make a point to check-in on him and know he's not doing well, but Mobius, because he does not want anyone to worry about him, because he is used to being the person who keeps people together, insists he's fine.

MY FANFIC IDEA

I see Mobius eventually recognizing he needs a therapist, which he will find ironic and deeply troubling, but he's not about to give up on trying to live for Loki's sake.

And in his conversations with his therapist and B-15, Mobius will come to realize that he can still use his key strengths outside of the TVA: analyzing people, deconstructing what makes them tick, using that knowledge to help the other person, similar to a therapist but more active in support. Mobius is very well-suited to become a social worker of troubled and at-risk youth. I think he should pursue this and ...

Mobius will choose a branched timeline in the late 90s/early 2000s. There, he will meet a war-orphaned, thirteen year-old Wanda Maximoff, who is friendless and struggling to understand the nature of her powers (magic). Mobius is drawn to her right away. It takes time, but he eventually gains Wanda's trust.

Red. Red is Wanda's color. It's in her hair, her cheeks, her magic. Now that red reaches Wanda's eyes, filled with tears her anger stoppers. "You saw what I can do. What I did. The other kids call me a 'witch' 'cause that's what I am. A witch. A monster."

Mobius sits next to the young girl on the stoop. The sun winks at them through the green tree boughs, and he wonders, for a moment, what Loki might think of him now, finding solace in a child who needs solace.

"That's not true. You're not a monster, but I tell you what: witches are pretty cool." Mobius grins, knocking his knee against hers. The fabric of his slacks shakes, still too loose. "Y'know, my best friend has magic just like yours, except it's green instead of red."

Wanda peers at him, hopeful and dubious. "Really?"

"Yup. He had a tough time, too, being different." He leans closer to her, sharing a secret. "But things got better. You should've seen him. He was--is-- magnificent. You're magnificent."

Her lips purse into an embarrassed smile. She drops her head, thoughtful, and tucks her hands beneath the fold of her knees. "Where is he now? Do you still see him?"

The question is innocent, as all things are with a soul of thirteen. She doesn't mean to hurt him. Mobius knows this. So he takes the thorn of her words and presses it against his ribcage. His throat works. The ache comes and goes but never fully abates.

"Well," Mobius sighs. "He had to move on. Life is like that sometimes. People come and go. Things happen and ... there's not much you can do except hope they're okay. That they're happy and safe."

He can't look up. Not at the tree or the sun. He worries if he does, he'll start to cry, and that won't do when this girl who reminds him so much of his wily god has finally cracked a smile.

"C'mon," he says, rising to his feet. "Let's get you something to eat."

"McDonald's?" Wanda brightens.

Another thorn. He takes that one too and thinks of pretty roses.

"Whatever you want, kiddo."