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beheworthy · 1 year

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For such a vividly colorful film, I thought Thor: Love and Thunder got color symbolism wrong mostly. Especially in the pivotal boat scene between Thor and Jane. Thor's face is mostly lit in purple (transformation) and Jane's face in red (passion) - colors that were opposite at best and completely wrong at worst.

But the one scene where the use of colors - or rather their lack - shines is the entire Shadow Realm sequence. The stark difference stands out because the rest of the film is so filled to the brim with colors and reinforces how scary Gorr is.

We're coming off the high of Thor and Jane rekindling their relationship going into this scene. I knew there was going to be a face off but I didn't expect it to be this one-sided. Valkyrie is the only one who gets to respond, both Thor and Jane are not allowed to say anything at all. He literally has them restrained and silenced. And when he gets the stage to himself, he shows how sadistic and cruel he is.

First, he tries to pry open Thor's hand to call Stormbreaker. When Thor resists, Gorr is actually impressed - 'some God you are'. He responds by firmly closing Thor's fist and proceeding to torture his girlfriend. Thor WILL have to give in now but this time he will not be able to open his fist. Gorr incites pure panic and desperation in Thor, just for fun. And then goes ahead and labels himself and Thor as similar.

Valkyrie rightly calls him out on his hypocrisy by saying that our hero and villain are not the same. Gorr tells her that Thor's ancestors did nothing for her sisters while they died for the throne of Asgard because that's what these people are. They don't care about the people who laid down their lives for Asgard. And it's not false. Odin has historically been known to let his warriors die just to uphold Asgard's repute. Although this is something Thor very strongly takes the opposite stance on.

After making Valkyrie cry, Gorr equates himself to Jane as well in the fact that both their weapons are killing them and how wrong they're done by the Gods. How Thor used her and threw her away. Gave her nothing but hurt. And this isn't false either. He left her for 2 yrs. He hurt her when he was living with her to drive her away from him. And even now, he can't do anything for her c*ncer. His freakin' hammer is actually killing her faster.

So, turns out Gorr is actually right about Thor and his ancestors doing no good to the people who have laid their lives for them (Valkyries) and people who've loved them more than life (Jane). Which is why when Gorr is face to face with both Valkyrie and Jane, they are on equal footing as visual symbolism.

Gorr now proceeds to equate himself with Thor. He mocks him over his helplessness to save the love of his life from her illness. Gorr too was helpless over his daughter's impending death. This IS a point of equality. And yet. Gorr is distinctly framed beneath Thor and has to look up at him. They are not equals here because a) our hero and villain are not the same, obviously. And b) Gorr was certainly disregarded by the Gods he worshipped. But Jane wasn't by Thor. He made her life 'magical', in her own words. He gave her life so much more meaning, furthered her journey, and gave her a world of happiness. He is her happiness.

Gorr actually has to climb some steps to put himself on the same footing as Thor. And now when he says 'I know your pain, love in pain', they're visual equals because Gorr propped himself up. And this time, it's true. Thor's love, not just for his girlfriend he is destined to lose, but for every single person he has lost IS his pain.

So it's understandable why he gives in and calls Stormbreaker for Jane despite Valkyrie's disapproval. Jane is the last family he has left. He cannot lose her again. After having to watch every single loved one die in front of him and for him, he just doesn't have it in him to watch his last hope also be snatched away from him. So he selfishly makes the call, risking the captured children and much bigger things (as well as later failing to keep Stormbreaker and worsening everything).

And by making the call, Thor ultimately proves Gorr right about how selfish the Gods are.

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nerds-yearbook · 21 days

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Uncanny X-Men 132#, cover date April, 1980, Tessa was introduced. She was created by Chris Claremont and John Byrne. Jean Grey joined the Hellfire Club leading towards the Dark Pheonix Saga. The Hellfire Club was heavily influenced by the The Avengers episode "A Touch of Brimstone". Not only were the costumes an homage but Mastermind takes on the name of Jason Wyngarde and he looked like Peter Wyngarde who was the guest star in that episode. ("And Hellfire Is Their Name", Uncanny X-Men 132#, Marvel Comic Event)

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ramp-it-up · 2 years

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Another Again

Paring: Chris Evans x Black Actress Reader

Word count: around 3K

Summary: After you go at it, you get mad then you go at it again. With Chris. And a friend.

Warnings: 18+ Absolutely MINORS DNI. RPF, SMUTTY SMUT, ANGST. Not Beta’d. Toxic Chris, toxic reader. Allusions to substance use, intoxication, a lil bit of jealousy, lowkey scheming, threesome (MFF), face riding, eating groceries, oral sex (all receiving), p in v, bukakke, unprotected sex with multiple partners, degredation kink, good girl kink, cum play, just filth flarn filth, pwp.

Notice: I no longer operate a taglist. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post.

DO NOT COPY, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK

You should have known something was up when you saw Tessa and Chris talking after the premiere. Why would your date be speaking with your ex?

And where was Chris’s date? Poor girl. Something was up but you decided not to care and indulged even more in the debauchery of the evening.

You were forced to go to Chris’s Las Vegas film premiere by your publicist, because you were slated to begin filming again with him in a couple of months. You tried not to think about it, but the contracts were signed while you were still together, and you were deep in delusion that everything would be fine, and that working together would be fun.

Ha!

Everyone had been speculating that you and Chris would get back together. Until you showed up tonight with Tessa Thompson on your arm.

You’d set everyone’s heads spinning. Now, the love triangle theories were in motion already on social media. The twitter fingers, IG trolls, and Tik Tok theorists were hard at work.

It didn’t help that you and Chris had been constantly photographed near or with each other in the last few months, such as when Chris kissed you outside your rented villa in Cannes one afternoon and the paps caught a choice pic of his hands on your ass, or when they caught you leaving his hotel in his shirt one morning a few weeks ago. Or you two canoodling at a club in New York last month.

It also didn’t help that Tessa had been working her way through the beautiful people of hollywood. One hour into this event and the internet was on fire because of you. And so were Tessa and Chris.

This after party was lit. While you were at the bar you stole a glance back at where Tessa and Chris had been talking, only to find Chris, gorgeous in an outfit that showed off his physique. Those lithe muscles were rippling under a shirt and a jacket.

Damn, he was hot.

You were going to have to speak to him sometime tonight, but you told yourself that Chris wouldn’t capture you with that body, that tongue, or that cock tonight, or that look in his deep blue eyes.

Not tonight, Satan.

You turned to the reporter asking you a question, eagerly giving Chris your back as you heard fans and reporters yell ‘Chris, Chris! Over Here!”

Chris started off trying to pretend he wasn’t soaking up every bit of you tonight. It was his birthday, he should have been having fun, but all he could think about was you.

When you turned your back, he saw your shoulder blades in the graphic tank top you were wearing and remembered last month where he bent you over the sink in that club.

He knew that you two should quit it, because neither of you would admit the truth. This again and again and again was delicious to torture, however, fueling his waking dreams.

But then when he realized that you and Tessa were together tonight, his mind lit up with the possibilities. He (barely) remembered a substance-filled night in New Zealand with Tessa. And a couple more beautiful people. He knew that she would be down for his plan.

Besides, Tessa owed him one.

——

And after the after party was lit.

You let loose and indulged in every thing offered at the exclusive party. The fact that Chris was hosting in his private villa at Cesar’s Palace was even more reason to get blasted. Vegas was Chris’ town and since his birthday recently passed he wanted to celebrate.You didn’t want to think too much tonight, just have a good time with Tessa. You didn’t have time to be mad at Chris.

You were all over each other. Lit and carefree, you were willfully oblivious at Chris clocking you from across whatever room you were in.

Tessa whispered something about “Dark Chris Evans” as you were dancing, and you two looked over at him watching and laughed. He downed the glass of White Hennessy he was holding as he sensed what you were talking about.

Chris barely noticed his date taking in the scene and leaving his side, and the party, for the night. When he looked over and saw that she was gone, he was relieved.

Now he could focus on you.

He made two drinks and brought them over to you and Tessa.

Hours later, when everyone was gone, you, Tessa and Chris were watching the water in Chris’s pool reflect off the lights and shadows on his pool deck. You all were wide awake, the combination of substances giving you an especially mellow mood.

You stretched and as you closed your eyes, Chris and Tessa’s were on your body, then they looked at each other. A silent communication flew between them, and her slight nod gave him the green light.

Tessa’s hand was on your thigh and moving north. She moved closer and you turned to her and gave her a kiss, her tongue delicately, skillfully, devastating your senses your mouth. You moaned and leaned into it, frankly forgetting Chris was there.

“That mouth, Baby girl. I need to experience more of it,” husked Tessa as she licked her lips. This was your first intimate experience with her, even though she’d sent thirst traps and sensuous good morning texts that had turned into sexting only once.

You felt Chris’s hand on your other thigh. He cleared his throat and you looked over at him and laughed.

“Jealous?”

Chris dragged his eyes up from the way your dress had ridden up and smiled at you.

“Actually, no. But I am a little mad.”

You turned toward him, intrigued.

“Mad about what?”

Tessa started kissing your neck and moving her hand under your dress, her warm lithe fingers teasing you over your thong. Your eyes drooped and you wet your lips keeping them open for air. This situation was hot as fuck. You felt Chris’ eyes were on you, and somehow, you knew he was hard as fuck. The possibilities were getting you slick.

“…You missed my birthday…”

Tessa’s hand went under your panties as you didn’t answer Chris, but turned around and kissed her again, arching your back.

Chris’s hand went to your braless nipple over your dress and played with it.

Your legs opened wider as Tessa played with your cunt, gathering wetness with which to start flicking your clit. Chris followed Tessa’s lead to your panties, and plunged two thick fingers inside your sopping wet hole as you arched to meet his digits.

“Fuck-fuck… Chris.”

You murmured in between kisses to Tessa’s lips.

“Don’t stop Tess…L-lemme guess what you want for a present Christopher…”

You chuckled into Tessa’s mouth and then cursed as Chris went deeper inside you.

You were practically in Tessa’s lap, feeling all the sensations.

You wanted to say that what he wanted was cliché, but you couldn’t speak at the moment. Tessa’s soft laughter was ringing in your ears as Chris finger fucked you. Her hand was under your panties now, twirling your clit and addling your brain. It was like she and Chris were competing to get you off.

This could be a lot of fun.

Chris watched your face intently, and shifted to accommodate his growing cock. As you writhed and moaned under their attention, Chris was reminded that you were the most beautiful woman in the world.

He leaned toward you and kissed your open mouth. He drew back slowly and pulled his fingers from your pulsing pussy.

“I want your pleasure. I want this.”

Chris showed you his fingers. Then, he put them in his mouth and slowly pulled them out. You shuddered because Tessa was still circling your clit.

“You can be the center of attention, baby girl. I think Chris wants you to have the world tonight.”

Tessa’s throaty whisper was affecting you, and you took her face in your hands. She fed you her fingers and you licked yourself off them. Then you asked her a question.

“Are you ok with this?”

Tessa’s eyes went over your shoulder and then back to yours.

“More than okay. This isn’t the first time Chris and I have…. Had experiences together.”

You looked back at Chris, not knowing how to feel about what Tessa just said. But you pushed those feelings down and jerked your head a little, beckoning him closer.

You shared a filthy kiss with Chris over your shoulder as Tessa went under your dress to find your tits. Her slender fingers worked magic as you sensuously ground in her lap.

You leaned into Chris and breathily replied to him.

“You should get what you want for your birthday.”

Chris groaned a little, kissed you again, then stood up and took your hand, peeling you off of Tessa. He grabbed your hand and practically pulled you through the villa to the master suite.

Tessa was following closely.

The way she looked at Chris told you all you needed to know. She must have read your mind as she walked up to you and put her palm on your cheek.

“Chris and I are old friends. And sometimes my friends and I have a friendly kind of fun.” She kissed your pouty lips softly. Tessa pressed her entire body against yours.

“I know you and Chris have a …thing.” She looked at him behind you. “But there’s no need to worry.”

You started to protest and she kissed you to silence you again.

“Shhhh, sweet baby. Lemme taste exactly how sweet you are.”

Tessa’s hands were under your dress, reaching for your thong and pulling it down before you realized. But when you registered it, and witnessed her inhaling your scent, you sat down on the edge of the bed and opened your legs wide. You watched as Tessa sank to her knees, keeping her eyes on you all the while.

As she rubbed her hands along your thighs, you felt Chris come up behind you and put his legs on either side of yours, embracing you from behind. You leaned back, feeling his hard on poking you in your back. Electricity flowed between the three of you, and of all the sensations you felt, most of all, you felt safe.

Especially with Chris holding you.

Tessa pushed your dress up to expose your bare cunt. A small smile framed her delectable mouth. She looked up at Chris, eyes wide.

“‘S beautiful isn’t it.”

You could feel his smile against your neck. You couldn’t stay still, you wanted them to touch you again, desperate for the attention you needed.

“It’s just so pretty. And the way the wetness looks, dripping down. So cuteee!”

Tessa leaned down and looked up at you as she sensually licked a stripe up your wet pussy.

“Fuck, she tastes so good. I see why you keep coming back for more.”

Tessa dove straight in, her wicked tongue sparking fireworks behind your lids. Chris pulled your dress up and over your head.

“I gotta see this. Tessa’s mouth…Fuck!”

You heard Chris start to pant as she started to eat you out, her hands holding your legs open wide. You started to squirm and wiggle and close your legs. Chris leaned down to speak into your ear urgently.

“Be still. Take that shit. Lemme see her make you cum.”

And then, he grabbed your legs, hooking his hands under your knees and spread you even wider, giving Tessa wider birth to destroy your soul.

Tessa looked up at you both as her tongue danced in your cunt, fucking you very, very well.

“Play with that clit.”

You just whimpered and watched Tessa eat you out while listening to Chris in your ear. It was nirvana. Chris jerked your legs apart a little further.

“I said, play with yourself. You can do it baby. Get it sloppy for me and Tess.”

You whined and moved your hand to circle your clit as Tessa dove in deeper, and in a matter of seconds, you were releasing. Tessa skillfully lapped it up, taking all that you had to offer.

You were a whimpering mess as Tessa stood up and leaned over you.

The way Chris grabbed her by the throat and kissed her made your cunt pound anew. You watched from underneath them and the sight of two beautiful people you desired kissing made every thing on you hard and soft and wet.

“She’s so fucking delicious. I need more.”

Chris growled after he tasted you on Tessa tongue.

Chris unbuttoned Tessa’s blouse and she helped him strip it off, then he paused and disrobed himself. Soon, all three of you were naked in his bedroom. They both turned to you and you scooted backward on the bed at the look in their eyes. You were a little frightened, but you didn’t want the night to end yet.

“Did you like seeing Tessa eat my pussy?” You asked Chris as he stared at you from the foot of the bed and Tessa lay down beside you. She stroked her hand up and down your body , teasing your nipples at each pass.

“I like what I just saw. I need to see something up close, though.”

Chris’s deep voice rumbled through you as he knelt and grabbed your thighs, bringing your ass to the edge of the bed, open to him. Tessa leaned down and gently, ever so gently, bit your nipple, and then started tonguing and sucking more roughly.

Chris watched your wet pussy clench as you threaded your fingers through Tessas hair, back arched and eyes closed. Then, he started his meal. He ate you out like a man starved. Chris loved your pussy; Chris loved everything about you.

What he loved most was that he was giving you the gift of pleasure for his birthday. He felt like a lucky man.

Your eyes fluttered open and closed and you intermittently watched Tessa finger herself as she watched Chris work and kiss your mouth and your body. You moaned and reached out to her.

“Lemme eat that.”

“Holy shit!”

Chris groaned as he looked up to see Tessa grin and move to the head of the bed to sit on your face. He had a prime view from beneath his friend of you licking and sucking and slurping Tessa’s cunt. He kissed Tessa and they grinned at each other, having the time of their lives.

You weren’t quiet about it, and you were sloppy, but the tangy taste of Tessa Thomspon was everything. She exploded on your taste buds and it was like you just couldn’t get enough.

“So fucking….. good.”

You moaned as Tessa quivered and Chris pulled away. You felt him line up and you started outright sucking Tessa’s clit at the sensation and stretch of him entering you. She was about to cum, you could tell, from the way she started jerking when you started moaning into her.

“Eat that pussy like a good. Fucking. Girl.”

Chris was pounding you now, going to town, eyes rolling back at the feelings, sights and sounds. He was also holding Tessa by the throat.

“Damn! That tongue! So so so good.”

You had never heard Tessa whine before she came that second time. You wanted more. She turned feral as you started to finger her, crooking your fingers to reach her spot. She trembled on top of you, her fat pussy lips so beautiful. You couldn’t help but drag your tongue through her folds.

“Oooh Fuck this little slut! Fuck her with that fucking huge cock, Chris. Fuck. Her. Fuck. Her. Fuck. Her. Should’ve brought my strap.”

Chris was punctuating Tessa’s narration with powerful thrusts and watching you go to town. He ties her up and flicked your nipples, causing you to cream around his cock even more.

Tessa leaned down to lick your clit, and some of you off Chris’s shaft.

“Hmmmm.”

She licked her lips and then kissed Chris again.

“And then let us both lick her off your cock and your balls.”

The filth pouring from Tessa’s mouth made you cum around Chris, made him utter a string of epithets, and made Tessa cum on your face. Again.

Chris pulled out of you, standing back as Tessa fell over and licked your sensitive, quivering hole. It was too much.

You pushed her off of you and then looked up to see Chris glaring at you. He tsked.

“That won’t do, baby. Flick that clit.”

“But Chris…” You whined.

“Do. It. You little slut. I knew you were a whore for my dick, but pussy too?”

You moaned started circling your clit with two fingers tentatively, starting in earnest when you saw Tessa get on her knees. You leaned up to get a better view as Tessa asked to taste you.

The thing is, she asked Chris.

You started cuming again when you saw Tessa deepthroat Chris and then pull him slowly out. They kept up the show, both Tessa and Chris watching you as she sucked him off.

“Fuucckkkk! Yes.”

Chris watched your desire dazed face while Tessa did work, and then crooked a finger at you.

“Get your ass down here.”

He pointed to the floor, and you quickly got down beside Tessa. You started tonguing and sucking his balls as Tessa continued to suck his dick. You two slurped up and down his pole, sharing demented kisses around Chris’ cock.

Then, Tessa got underneath you to eat you out while you gagged on Chris. The room was full of filthy, pornographic sounds as you got each other off.

Chris watched as long as he could, then pulled away from your mouth suddenly, grabbing the base of his cock and squeezing to stave off his eruption.

“You two are gonna make me blow my load.”

He got down on the floor and before you knew it, you were staring at the ceiling again. This time, both of them were between your legs, their tongues competing for dominance. Their kisses were now for your pleasure, as one or both of them ate your holes at once.

A cacophony of mouths and fingers and sensations melded as they made you cum again. Chris lay down to put you on top and pushed inside you once more. Tessa was admiring you both.

“Get that ass over here, Tess.”

Chris’s voice was everything.

She climbed on his face and rode as you did his rock hard dick.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Eat that shit, Chris!” You didn’t recognize your own voice.

You started kissing her and twisting her nipples, causing her to grind her pussy on Chris’s face and cum screaming in your arms. As she rolled off of Chris, he sat up and you licked and sucked Tessa’s juice from his mouth, cumming hard as he grabbed your ass and his fingers invaded your other hole.

Somehow, you forgot about Tessa as Chris fucked you through it. Then, he cussed as he pulled out, this time stroking fast.

“Come get it, y/n. This is all for you.”

You noticed Tessa smiling and you both got up on your knees. She nodded as she got behind you, holding you and reaching to circle your clit as Chris grunted and groaned and spurted his spend all over your face and tits.

“Unhhhhhhhh! Gotdamn it, you’re so fucking hot.”

Chris groaned as he gave it all to you.

You caught a good portion of it in your open mouth; his warm salty goodness tasted delicious. Tessa was whispering in your ear.

“Is it good? You like filling your belly, don’t you, you little minx.”

Her musical giggle made you smile, laugh and obey when Chris told you to…

“Open.”

He took your messy chin and checked to make sure you swallowed.

“Good girl.”

Chris leaned down to kiss you. You looked into his eyes and something flipped inside you. There was this crazy connection. He felt it, smiled and then turned toward the bathroom, winking at you over his shoulder. You don’t know why your stomach did that thing it did.

Tessa dragged you into the shower.

“That was fun! I’m not tired yet. In fact, I’m hungry,”

Tessa grinned at you.

“I know a 24 hour taco truck.”

Chris’s deep voice made your tummy flutter again. You smiled at him shyly, feeling closer to him than you ever had. He leaned down and tenderly kissed your forehead.

“You good?”

He looked deep into your eyes. Had they pushed you too far? We’re you going to run again?

“I’m perfect.”

“That you are.”

He smiled at you and you smiled back, caught up. You were reminded that Tessa was there when she clapped her hands. You laughed, and all three of you climbed into Chris’ shower.

“Are you down to get tacos? We can’t let the fun end! It is Chris's Birthday celebration!”

Tessa was looking at you with such hope that you couldn’t smash and dash this time.

“I’m all the way down.”

You smiled and picked up Chris’s body wash, leaning into the spray as you squirted soap into his hands to wash your back. This time, you wouldn’t mind smelling like him.

It turned out to be a fun weekend.

And when a friendly three way kiss was captured by the paps, you broke the internet.

Again.

Feedback feeds me! 🥀

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punemy-spotted · 9 months

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Sixteen Tons - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Muscle and Blood

Pairing: Miner!Curtis Everett x Witch!Reader

Warnings: THIS IS A HORROR FIC, Discussion of death, graphic depiction of someone bleeding out, 1890s coal mining town aesthetic in the modern day, strong pro-union opinions, Pentecostal Christianity, Appalachian Gothic Horror, Cosmic Horror, See future chapter warnings for additional tags, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: The world melts away, rots into dirt and decay, and as a garden grows untended, you find your gifts crowding out the rest of your life.

We all know that the only light in the deep dark is a paycheck. So hush. Count your blessings, boy. Roof over your head, food on the table, diesel and grease, work boots on the porch, crippled back, crumbling joints, and silence. Company and even union, tuck you in, shut you up, and leave you to rot. And God damn it, you’d better be grateful. - Old Gods of Appalachia Episode 3: The Covenant

Notes: This fic also serves as a sort of direct sequel to Glory, Amen, in that the reader is technically the daughter of Pastor and Ma Rogers, but uses a pseudonym outside of the home she grew up in. The song referenced in this chapter is No Glory, by The Eagle Rock Gospel Singers. They're wonderful, so check them out!

At the time of publishing this chapter, the Family Sleepover, Down in the Valley is still ongoing! Please come by and check it out as we celebrate spooky season all year ‘round!

Also, in this house we support Unions.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

‘Course, everything dies, eventually. Much as you loathed sittin’ through your daddy’s sermons, you knew the truth in ‘em — death is a prize every livin’ being, regardless of sapience or the desire to be, ought to aspire for.

Death is the gift of all gifts, your daddy would proclaim from his bone-and-antler pulpit, the final gesture of our loving Lord and Savior — an’ of course, you, your sisters, your momma, your daddy and a few others your daddy claimed were kinfolk on his side were just… all the guides meant to introduce all manner of worldly beings too blind t’understand just how precious that kind of oblivion was to the glory of that final, permanent end.

Still.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Curtis Everett is going to die in your kitchen, his own pickaxe embedded in his chest, the final desperate pumps of his pierced heart pouring blood all over that pretty linoleum you didn’t actually like keepin’ in your kitchen an’ probably would tear up after you came to terms with never feelin’ like you could scrub away the remnants of him.

You watch it play out before you like you’ve done plenty of times before, the course of Curtis Everett’s life written in scars yet t’be earned, bruises waitin’ to bloom on flesh that has known little more than the danger an’ dread of coal dust for as long as you have known him.

You also watch him sittin’ in your clinic, for once not complainin’ as you finish cleaning and re-wrappin’ the thankfully not festering burn he’d been dutifully lettin’ you treat — per your own professional orders — for the past week-and-a-half, Looks like it’s healin’ nicely, but it’ll probably scar.

It’s not the first scar he’s earned in Snowpiercer, but it’s certainly not goin’ to be the last. You’ve been countin’ down the months — and injuries — to that particular worry for a while. The ones you can help him avoid — the ones he listens to you about — you warn against, and the ones he can’t escape, you patch up. The same as you would anyone in Snowpiercer, bein’ the company’s own doctor as you are.

Your momma’d scold you up, down an’ sideways if she knew what you were doin’, interferin’ with the predestined path of men as you watched ‘em struggle, suffer, an’ eventually succumb. But your momma wasn’t here to know, an’ ever if she was, your momma’d never be able to understand just what sorta poison of a gift it was she’d saddled you with.

Death is a Rogers daughter’s birthright, even if they themselves were more often than not denied the majesty of its truest gift. You were not born into this life to die, but to be a guardian of it, to guide the walkin’ dead makin’ their way beyond the borders of that ol’Holler you’d been born in through the trials of judgment an’ that precious, ultimate verdict.

You were not, your momma woulda reminded, voice sharp as the trowel she always kept at her side, garden bloomin’ by her stern hand, meant to shield ‘em from the pains of life — an’ the lessons to be gleaned from ‘em!

Anythin’ you want me to do with it? Curtis Everett’s question breaks you out of your bitterness, reminds you of the more pressin’ responsibilities you chose. You turn to watch him, lookin’ at him as if you might just need a moment to remember the exact instructions you ought to give for his wound care.

Except that’s not what you give, is it?

‘Stead, you look over Curtis Everett’s work-weary expression, the quest dread in his eyes at the prospect of needin’ to manage yet one more thing, one more purchase at the Company Store, one more burden to bear, Just come by every evenin’. I’ll keep the coal dust outta them wrappin’s for you.

You know full well you’ll need to work late t’take care of it — an’ t’clean the coal dust outta your clinic — but it’s better you than him.

Least, that’s what you tell yourself, as Curtis Everett’s shoulder relax, relief floodin’ those work-weathered features you’ve almost started memorizing by this time, makin’ the sleep you will almost certainly lose tomorrow and the remainder of this week worth it.

It must always be worth it.

By the time you leave your clinic, barrin’ the doors for the night, even the moon’s started its settin’, leaving the town in near-pitch darkness. You might’ve — if you were young an’ naïve enough — equated the darkness around you to a mineshaft, if mineshafts still had the privilege of fresh air to reward you for breathin’.

Not on Company Time.

Wiser folk than you might’ve considered stayin’ indoors ‘til sunup. Maybe even considered the merits of puttin’ a cot in your office to avoid havin’ to brave the deep woods durin’ the Witchin’ Hour, everyone more than aware of what sorta shadows lurked beyond the borders of a sad little minin’ town — an’ what sorta shadows would encroach upon those borders the moment they got the chance.

You… ain’t got much time t’think about that now though, not when you catch sight of the figure lurkin’ by the road, the only path there is t’ween your two worlds — the Clinic and the House. Everett?

There he is, hands jammed into the pockets of his overcoat, lurkin’ by the lone streetlamp Pierce an’ Rumlow’d finally seen fit to install in this part of town, after you’d spent about four years complainin’. Too late to be walkin’ back alone, Doctor, he tells you, almost sheepishly, expression invisible in the darkness — and yet you know exactly how his lips have curved into a half-smile you might’ve been quick to return had you seen it in the daytime, Figured I’d walk you back up as thanks for stayin’ late for me.

You can’t help yourself, really — you smile at him right back, the corners of your mouth tickin’ up despite the cruelty playin’ out before your eyes, at least until you remember yourself an’ blink away the vision, If I kept the same hours as you pit boys, nobody’d be gettin’ patched up. Now you best not be tellin’ me you were lurkin’ out here in the pitch dark an’ cold waitin’ for me t’finish my notes and close up, Curtis Everett.

Maybe you ought not have put words in his mouth — or taken ‘em out, as the case may be — as he shrugs at you and flashes you a grin you cannot see but are certain of, Then I won’t, Doctor.

An’ with that, he starts off back down the road, towards the lights still spillin’ from the windows of your boarding house, hummin’ some ol’ work song you only halfway knew the words too. An’ you watch him go on for longer than you should, takin’ in the sight of his silhouette slowly becomin’ part of the gloom.

You catch up soon enough, keepin’ up with his long, languid strides as if by some miracle, your own steps quick and harried. There are moments you wonder how a man like Curtis Everett — always managin’ to tower over everyone in the room, includin’ Superintendent Wilford an’ that lady Minister Mason he’d installed over at the Tabernacle of the Iron Gospel — ever really managed to fit in the mines this whole sad sack of a town was built around.

Shouldn’t have stayed out waitin’ for me, you scold with a good-natured ribbin’, not really meaning to chastise… but worry instead, You’ll’ve missed dinner call, Everett.

So’ve you, Doctor, he counters, the burr of laughter in his voice makin’ you roll your eyes an’ put on a scowl you barely mean — mostly cuz you hate feelin’ so outwitted, but no one dare make you admit it.

I’m allowed to be late, I own the place, you argue right back, a rebuttal that earns you another low chuckle, a sound you’re only used to hearin’ from Curtis on rare occasion — earnin’ you a burn of pride in your chest at hearing it now.

You really ought not do this, you know. But here you are, comfortable in the cold silence of the deep night, hands jammed into your coat pockets, walkin’ alongside Curtis Everett with all the calm an’ ease of dear friends.

Glancing at him. Looking without lookin’, pretendin’ you don’t know what you’ll see when you—

You know better, is the bottom line. You know you ought to know better — hell, you know your momma taught you better.

In the corner of your vision, Curtis Everett bleeds his last on your linoleum floor.

In front of you? Curtis Everett hums a work song an’ walks with you through the gloom, right up to the gold-light gleam of your doorstep an’ into your kitchen, the ghosts of the future fadin’ into an approaching dawn.

An’ maybe that’s enough.

Company House — its true name barely in use by you or your boarders, halfway for your own protection an’ halfways cuz it’s just easier — is a handsome-enough structure, nothin’ like that ramblin’ greenhouse you’d sprouted in, a bloom in your momma’s garden.

No. Company House — name lost an’ purpose found — on the other hand, is yours. All yours.

A loomin’ thing, the house cuts through the nighttime gloom like a lighthouse, every window on its main story burstin’ with light. Built on a hill overlookin’ the town proper, it served as home an’ hearth for any miner ineligible for the pretty pre-built housin’ developments south of the mine, where Pierce & Rumlow… rewarded those willin’ to produce more bodies to throw into that gapin’ wound the combine’d carved into the mountainside with such luxuries as driveways, fences, mortgages, an’ obligations.

It was just the way you liked it. Home for the lonely an’ the friendless — least that’s how it sounded in town, if someone dared ask Minister Mason about the mountain fortress an’ the ‘Godless Heathens’ inhabitin’ it. The Iron Gospel she preached ran on the blood an’ bones of its congregation, on family an’ obligation, on ties that bind whole generations to the mine.

A Gospel that had no room for the wholly different kinda worship that comes from strangers sittin’ round a table breakin’ bread an’ formin’ bonds. On brotherhood an’ union, on wantin’ somethin’ better that the paltry concessions afforded by minders with plenty of money t’provide more. You knew it then from your daddy’s own congregation an’ those Sunday suppers your momma arranged each week. You know it now from the warm surety of Curtis Everett’s hand on your arm, keepin’ you from losin’ your footing on that trick step you ain’t had time to fix — I can get Ed to take care of that tomorrow — and the sound of hurried conversation bubbling outta your front parlor, house still buzzin’ with life.

Shit, Curtis’s swearing nearly startles you outta your skin all over again as you both stand on the front porch, stompin’ the day’s coal dust off your shoes, forgot there was meeting tonight. Foreman’s gonna have words for me, no doubt.

You’re allowed t’be late, for walkin’ me home, you tell him, letting the light of the house illuminate your smile as you open the front door.

Meeting is a cute word for it — s’the way things go, get the lonely and the friendless to start airin’ grievances an’ suddenly they ain’t so lonely nor so friendless anymore. A man with a wife and children might think twice about givin’ the company a reason to tear away the roof over his family’s head, divin’ into his future tomb day after day, respirator an’ headlamp in hand, but a man with nothin’ to lose is a man with a bone to pick with the only industry in town capable of puttin’ food in his belly on a daily basis — so long as he survived to see his next meal. Unions, you got used to hearin’ back in your own holler, are the Lord’s way of puttin’ His protection back into a man’s own hands.

Too bad them folks at P&R’d forgotten that sorta conventional wisdom.

Tonight’s union meeting is just about comin’ to a close when you and Curtis walk in, a cracked joke derailing whatever Gilliam’s supposed agenda had left to cover. You’re late, the old man half-scolds, room hushed by his disappointment as all eyes turn to you and the union leader you know you’re already being accused of distracting.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Ignoring the raised voices that begin in your wake — and unwilling to get between two men in the middle of a union dispute — you make yourself proper scarce, disappearing into the kitchen. Between running the clinic and the house, you’re run halfway ragged, but you do cheer quietly upon seeing two foil-covered plates sitting in the fridge — Yona keeps true to her eternal word, making sure nobody goes hungry if she’s got the time and the ingredients.

The sound of someone entering the kitchen while you’re putting plates in the warmer don’t surprise you much — someone was bound to follow you into this place eventually — but you don’t turn around, not immediately.

Not ‘til Curtis Everett clears his throat, Thought I smelled food.

You sure you ain’t part bloodhound, smellin’ it all the way out there?

There. Another burr of laughter, low in his throat, and another burn of pride.

They calm down out there? You wave your hand toward the general direction of the parlor, noting the distinct lack of raised voices now that the warmer’s stopped beepin’ at you.

It’s my fault — should’ve told ‘em I’d be late.

They worried?

He’s quiet at that, the silence sittin’ heavy on both your shoulders while you move around the kitchen some more, collectin’ utensils and glancin’ back at him occasionally, waiting.

Finally — Gilliam’s steppin’ down. Nobody wants the job — company’s made sure of that.

You set the platter in front of him, to quiet thanks, He still want you to take over?

He don’t need to answer. You see it again, written all over his face — someone’s gotta do it.

The rest of the meal is… quiet. Heavy. Uncomfortable. A silence neither of you are willin’ to break, coupled with glances neither of you are willin’ to admit to, brows furrowed and thoughts elsewhere. Barely tasting the food, just glad to have something to busy your mouths with, ‘stead of trying to hold a conversation neither party wants t’have or worse — trying to change the fuckin’ subject, with both your minds trapped on the things you’d rather not think about.

Curtis Everett is going to die.

Everything dies, eventually. You rationalize it between bites, teeth on tongue to keep the scream of it all held in your chest. Everything dies, including Curtis Everett. Including Gilliam — whose death you’ve pre-emptively forgiven certain parties for. Including Yona — whose hands will evidence endless adventures before she lays down for that final rest, satisfied an’ satisfying. Everything dies. Includin’ Curtis Everett.

Curtis Everett, who will take on the work. Who, in three weeks’ time, will be back in your clinic, bullet in his shoulder an’ strike unbroken. Company infuriated.

One injury closer.

You open your mouth, about to do the unthinkable, disappointment and poisoned bloom — everythin’ dies, but Curtis Everett deserves to choose — when the music finally registers with you both.

Music. And singing. And laughter.

The kitchen door slams open hard enough to rattle the plates in the cupboard, Yona’s wild presence in the doorway, Come on!

No explanation. No answers. You’ll have t’see it to know it.

Curtis glances back at you, brow raised an’ hackles too. Better make sure they’re behavin’ out there, is all you give in response to it, on your feet in a flash, empty dishes in hand.

He lingers, eyes on you. Imposes his will with his presence, You need help with the dishes?

Let him stay.

You don’t.

S’two plates an’ a couple mugs. I’ll be fine — you go, keep an eye on ‘em for me.

He’s so fast — behind you in a flash. How does a man so tall an’ so full of presence move so fast?

Got no time for answering that, not when his hand’s on your shoulder and you’re glancin’ back at him without thinkin’, waiting. Come out there when you’re done or Yona’ll never let either of us hear the end of it.

An’ neither will I, is what he doesn’t say. Not aloud, at least, stepping back only when you nod.

It don’t stop you from hearin’ it though, playin’ on loop in your mind all the way through dishes, through cleanin’ up your kitchen, through makin’ good on your word an’ takin’ that cautious walk to your parlor, where the sound of stompin’ boots joins in with the chorus of voices pouring outta your record player, blessedly drownin’ out all manner of conscious thought.

Take me down to that red dirt road Where all them white tails, white tails roam

The parlor is abuzz with life, a hive of movement as you take in rearranged furniture an’ the slowly climbin’ beat of stomping boots coupled with clapping hands, ring of bodies circlin’ the room, all watching Tanya — up from the General Store like always, on behalf of the widows this town left behind — in her valiant attempt to tutor Edgar in the complexities an’ social conventions of a good ol’ fashioned barn dance.

I don’t belong in a big coal town Can’t hear my Lord in all that sound

You almost manage t’become part of that ring of onlookers, slippin’ past the disapproval ruining Gilliam’s face, but turns out no one escapes Curtis Everet, work-hardened fingers winding around your wrist an’ pulling you back, Thought I was gonna have t’come rescue you from the sink, and now there’s no getting away, nor are you feelin’ quite so keen on it anymore.

Not when he looks at you like that.

Wanna show ‘em how it’s done, Doctor?

You dance, Everett? Since when? And since when did Curtis Everett become capable of smiling so sweet he just might fool you into saying yes?

Hell — what gave him the right?

Well I’ve had my fill, of concrete floor Where all them highways, them highways grow

You don’t get a chance to ask too many questions of him, not when he’s pullin’ your fool self right into the center of that cleared floor, sayin’ somethin’ about secrets you barely catch before he’s turnin’ you about an’ you gotta start paying some fucking attention.

There ain’t no glory None that I see None to compare Your love for me

‘Course, you’ve danced before — your daddy might’ve been a fire an’ brimstone preacher up at that bone an’ antler pulpit but he wasn’t a fool — but barn dances an’ church revivals don’t do shit t’prepare you for the rush, for the easy pressure of Curtis Everett’s hands on you, for the peal of laughter that pours outta your throat before you get a chance to think about it the moment he spins you out an’ catches you back with entirely too much ease.

He surprises you and doesn’t at the same time, sure hands and steady feet, both of you catching on to the rhythm quickly as the rest of the room drums the beat, a cacophony of work boots strikin’ the floor in a steady pattern, You gonna answer my question properly, Everett, you accuse him and he pulls you closer, smile on your face betrayin’ any anger you might be feigning.

I’m full of surprises, Doctor.

My days are few, my time is near But I know God will take my fear

He keeps his hands respectful, holdin’ one of your high and keepin’ the other at the small of your back, but there’s nothin’ either of you can — or want to, you’re startin’ to realize — do about the closeness, about the way you can’t stop looking up at him and the stormclouds in his eyes, like you’re seeing them for the first time. Really seeing them, that is.

It’s somethin’. Hypnotic.

The chorus turns into a loop, a rising swell of voices joinin’ your thudding heartbeat, lips parting to ask another question, make another joke, feel that burr of laughter against your chest, feel hands fallin’ from the glory of God to meet a different kinda worship, feel fingers curl into his coat like a lifeline.

He holds your cheek. He draws you in.

His mouth slides over yours like an invitation, your lips parting like an acceptance, like forgetting, like surrender. The music does not slow, but you do, fallin’ into the languid ease of hungry breathlessness, like you could find answers in the sweep of a tongue against yours, in the tightening of his grip on your back, in the wall of him around you.

Your love for me Your love for me Your love for me Your love for me

#curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x fem!reader #curtis everett #curtis everett x you #curtis everett imagine #chris evans #chris evans imagine #fanfiction #writing #in which tessa finally writes something #series: down here in this valley

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supercap2319 · 2 years

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Valkyrie: “Why do you hate Jane Foster?”

Y/N: “I don’t hate her. I hate that she’s trying to steal my boyfriend from me.”

Valkyrie: “What do you mean?”

Y/N: “She wields Mjölnir and becomes every Asgardian’s wet dream. She had her chance with Thor and now I feel like she’s going to take him away from me.”

Valkyrie: *Smiles gently* “Y/N, Thor is many things. A dumb, arrogant hunk, but a cheater isn’t one of them. He’s not going to abandon you for Jane, and even if he did. He’s not worthy of you.”

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mischievous-thunder · 2 years

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ramen-flavored · 2 years

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Dad Thor 🥺

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cinemaseeker · 2 years

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Let's Review: Thor Love and Thunder

*THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SOME SALTY LANGUAGE AND SPOILERS FOR THOR: LOVE AND THUNDER*

It has been said, many times by many people, that comic books and comic book movies are our new modern mythology and superheroes are the new gods and goddesses of that mythology. Well, it's very easy to make that case when the heroes of your comic book movie are literally figures from Norse and Greek mythology, such as Thor and Zeus. These gods were indeed the first superheroes, so things come full circle here, an ouroboros of inspiration that sees these classical deities donning capes and, occasionally, saving the day.

But if the opening of this movie teaches us anything, it's that the gods are still as petty and powerful as ever.

We start off Thor: Love and Thunder with, of all people, our main villain Gorr, played with equal parts brooding gloom and sadistic glee by DC defector Christian Bale, as he loses his daughter and begs for help from his god. But his pleas fall on deaf ears, leading Gorr to take up the god-killing Necrosword and become Gorr the God Butcher.

While Gorr is not exactly a top-tier Marvel villain (that title still belongs to Thanos and Killmonger), Gorr is definitely a higher tier Marvel villain that comes close, thanks in large part to this opening. It reminds us that the best villains are those that think that they're doing the right thing; they have a persuasive worldview informed by relatable pains caused by shortcomings of the world around them. They do what they do in order to take back some control and change their circumstances. And although avenging the unjust death of a loved one is not exactly new when it comes to villain or antihero motivations, we can relate to that feeling of being let down by a supposed higher power who not only refuses to help you, but flat-out tells you that your existence is pointless, that there is nothing meaningful beyond this life, and you were a fool for believing that there was in the first place. And yeah, the gods can be pricks sometimes and they do deserve to be punished and wouldn't it be nice to knock them down a peg or two? It's a very appealing notion, one that Gorr is more than happy to take advantage of.

Especially when you look at someone like Thor.

Now don't get me wrong, Thor has changed and grown a lot over the course of his movies and throughout the MCU, but even now he can still be a bit oblivious. Most of the time that's what makes him so lovable but sometimes it can ring hollow when you put him next to characters who are dealing with actual problems, as we will see with his ex-girlfriend Dr. Jane Foster, played by Natalie Portman (who FINALLY gets to have some fun in a Thor movie), and *MAJOR SPOILER COMING UP* her struggles with stage 4 cancer.

Thor's biggest personal obstacle in this movie is his own masculine insecurity, which is fitting for a guy whose sense of self-worth is measured by the size of his biceps (rumor has it that Chris Hemsworth achieved his biggest physique yet for this movie). That struggle takes many forms, ranging from getting back into shape after the events of Avengers: Endgame (because Gods forbid we have a fat Thor, am I right?) to dealing with the return of Jane, who has taken up the mantle of Mighty Thor and has assumed ownership of the reconstructed Mjölnir.

Although it's exciting to see Jane really step up and become a proper hero in her own right, her journey puts a spotlight on Marvel's ever-present problems that they still have with their female characters.

First off, Jane only gets to be powerful because she is a cruel victim of fate, getting this aggressive form of cancer out of nowhere just so she can become Mighty Thor by borrowing the tools and persona of her male counterpart in order to regain her vitality. This basically makes Jane a Smurfette figure despite her obvious strengths and her insistence on being called Mighty Thor, not Lady Thor. But her power and superhero status is achieved by essentially being a direct extension of her ex-boyfriend. Thor gets to be Thor, but Jane has to contend with being Lady Thor. Granted, this is handled fairly well in the movie and none of the characters really express any problems with this. After all, Valkyrie gets to be King of New Asgard and it's a non-issue. Between this, Florence + the Machine's song "King", and the upcoming Viola Davis flick The Woman King, it's nice to see that our mainstream media is actively trying to make the title of King a gender neutral term.

Speaking of Valkyrie, she and Jane are the real heroes here. They're the ones making battle plans and staying on task and holding their own alongside Thor.

I would even argue that Jane has better chemistry with Val than she ever did with Thor, who's too busy whining that his ex-weapon Mjölnir doesn't like him anymore while trying to appease Stormbreaker (which I have to admit is pretty hilarious).

Bottom line: Jane and Val display major BDE, or in this case BHE (Big Hammer Energy) in this movie, and for that they deserve our respect.

However they both still get viciously sidelined, albeit briefly in Jane's case, right before the climax despite proving themselves to be extremely capable warriors several times over. This turn sends the implicit message that, while women can be powerful, it's best that they're not too powerful, lest they overshadow the men.

Just look at what happened to Black Widow (fridged), Scarlet Witch (villainized), and Captain Marvel, who although not victimized in the same way as other female Avengers still earned endless vitriol for essentially being more powerful than the boys. So when it comes to female heroes in the MCU, they can either be all-powerful and lose their humanity (again, see Scarlet Witch) or have some power (but again, not too much power) before ultimately getting sidelined, sacrificed, damseled, disempowered, or killed off.

But with all that said, Jane does get her best character development in this movie and, like I said earlier, she actually gets to have some FUN here. We get to see her actively owning and enjoying her newfound power while adorably trying out different superhero catchphrases. She gets to be strong and weak in equal measure without diminishing her power, thus avoiding the trap of the tired Strong Female Character trope. She gets to be goofy, gets to figure herself out, gets to share that enthusiasm with her comrades, and gets to have an awesome bromance with Valkyrie, cementing a strong female friendship with a fellow female superhero.

She also gets to have a great story arch worthy of any hero. *MAJOR SPOILERS COMING UP* We learn that, although Mjölnir grants Jane better health, strength, and stamina, her body becomes unable to fight off the cancer whenever she's not using the hammer, and it gets worse every time she uses it. During the climax, we see her make the ultimate sacrifice by taking up Mjölnir one last time to deal the final blow against Gorr before succumbing to the cancer and dying in Thor's arms. This death feels like a cog in the Marvel machine, which sees characters come and go based on the availability of their actors. But it was nice to see that in the post-credits scene Jane is greeted by Heimdall and welcomed with open arms into the halls of Valhalla, earning the reward of a true hero. *MAJOR SPOILERS END HERE*

This movie is such a mixed bag of steps forward and steps backward when it comes to feminist representation. The female characters are both central and peripheral here, but overall it's definitely moving in the right direction and I, for one, would like to acknowledge that fact. This movie offers an abundance of hope for the next generation and it's exciting to think of all the girls and women (and others) who'll start cosplaying as Mighty Thor in droves for cons and for Halloween, having been given unspoken permission by this movie to do so.

On another note, I am happy to report that Thor: Love and Thunder has the best queer representation of any Marvel movie yet. To quote Mighty Thor, this movie really brings the rainbow. *SPOILERS COMING UP* We get verbal confirmation that Valkyrie had a girlfriend (albeit one who was unnamed and killed off and doesn't appear onscreen), thus fulfilling the studio's promise to make the character openly bisexual (while still putting out a cut of the film that can be easily censored to appease homophobic countries); plus we see her chivalrously kiss the hand of one of Zeus' handmaidens while making bedroom eyes, so that's something I guess. We learn that Korg has two dads and gets a boyfriend by the end of the movie. We get to meet Heimdall's son Axl, who tells us that he used to be called Astrid, and although it's never confirmed canonically that Axl is trans, he's definitely coded as such. Either way, I was shocked to see Thor deadnaming this kid as a joke, which, I can't believe I have to stress this, is NOT OKAY. Despite this, Axl gets to play an important part in the story, taking up a leadership role amongst the children who are kidnapped by Gorr and getting to fight alongside Thor with them in the final battle. *SPOILERS END HERE*

Marvel movies are at a critical tipping point right now, and if they hope to stay prevalent and relevant, they're going to have to start shaking things up. The Marvel formula is starting to get stale and it'll need to get thrown out and replaced with something fresher very soon, or else we'll going to start consuming something else.

This has never been more obvious than it is in Thor: Love and Thunder. The vibe for Love and Thunder, just like it was in Ragnarok, is bright and outrageous, like those spray-paintings on the sides of vans showing unicorns and sorcerers. But that painting is starting to fade around the edges. That classic brand of Marvel humor is starting to get old (i.e. those goddamn yelling goats) and has been reduced to poking fun at Disney themed parks, as we see in New Asgard (but, to be fair, it's also poking fun at New Zealand aka Middle Earth, which tracks because director Taika Waititi is from New Zealand, so he gets it). It was hilarious to see those Asgardian actors at it again, and now it makes me want to see a spin-off starring them, just so I can see what they do in their downtime outside of work.

At the end of the day, you can still rest assured that this movie will have plenty of love and thunder in equal abundance. It's still a good time, you'll still laugh at the jokes, you'll still enjoy hanging out with some of your favorite characters (we even get to see 2 out of 3 Marvel Chrises when Starlord and the Guardians of the Galaxy briefly show up in the beginning), you'll still enjoy the action scenes, the colors and visuals are still amazing (especially when our heroes get to the Shadow Realm in a sequence that's visually on par with the slo-mo flashback of the Valkyrior battle against Hela in Ragnarok), and you'll still bob your head to the soundtrack, which slaps pretty hard although the one big strike against it is the overwhelming lack of AC/DC's "Thunderstuck"; I mean COME ON people, it's fitting for both the God of Thunder AND all the Aussies in the cast. The last thing I'll say about that is if (i.e. when) they make another Thor movie, it would be really cool if it could find its way onto the soundtrack.

Either way, it's nice to see that Thor can still bring the thunder.

Thanks for reading!

My Rating: 3/5 thunderbolts

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gingy7891 · 2 years

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Thor Love and Thunder ScreenX, RealD3D, IMAX and DolbyCinema Posters

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ktb90s · 2 years

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I feel like Thor Love & Thunder is going to be the most arousing Marvel film in the MCU. You got Chris Hemsworth, Natalie Portman, Tessa Thompson, and others altogether. After that trailer...

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bananabrain0 · 1 year

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The baddest bitch

Source: X-Treme X-Men #1 (2001)

#Sage Tessa #tessa x men #sage x men #x men comics #Chris Claremont #salvador larroca

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scentednerdzombie · 2 years

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was anyone else staring at ARM the whole movie!

#thor love and thunder #mighty thor #the mighty thor #king valkyrie #valkyrie #korg x dwayne #chris hemsworth #christian bale #tessa thompson #natalie portman

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rj-thorkyrie · 2 years

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I'm gonna pretend it's what "Thor & Valkyrie's Kid" gonna look like 💫

#I love imagination #thor x valkyrie #thorkyrie #chris&tessa #chris hemsworth #tessa thompson #rj commentaries

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ramp-it-up · 2 years

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So guys…

For the next part of Again…

How do y’all feel about Tessa Thomson in the mix?

🤔

#ask dj #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans x black reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans x female reader #rafael casal #chris evans x reader #tessa thompson #Tessa Thompson x reader #Tessa Thompson x f! reader #Chris Evans x actress! reader x Tessa Thompson

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punemy-spotted · 2 years

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A Worthy Grave - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Everybody Dies Alone

Pairing: Federal Agent!Ari Levinson x Witch!Reader

Warnings: THIS IS A HORROR FIC, True Crime Elements, Police Procedural Elements, Possibly a little Twin Peaks, Violence, Murder, Death, Flayed Bodies, Ghosts, Ghouls, Violence Against Women, Violence Against Random Hikers, The Woods are Dangerous, Serial Killers, Choking, Gutting, Witchcraft, Blood, Appalachian Gothic Horror, Eventual Smut, Plot with Porn

PLEASE REMEMBER THAT YOUR CONSUMPTION OF MEDIA IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE CONTENT THAT IS BEING PRESENTED, PLEASE DO NOT READ

Chapter Summary: Any place with enough history in it is gonna have ghosts. And sometimes they call your name.

O Mother It is that fear that moves both heart and tongue To draw tight curtains so that we might let the darker hours pass unseen. We hear you call in the deepest night. We hear you call to us in voices that belong to our dead and gone And we know better, but we follow you into The darkened woods all the same.

— Old Gods of Appalachia Episode 31: Season 3 Prologue

Notes: I’M BACK, BITCHES. This fic is a sort of direct sequel to Glory, Amen, so keep that in mind as you read it, except I decided to include MORE CE babes into this fic and may also include other CE babes in the future. This is gonna be more Twin Peaks inspired than anything else, and I hope you enjoy it! I crave feedback, so tell me what you think!

Any place with enough history in it is gonna have ghosts, and these mountains in particular — being the oldest mountains in the world — have the type of ghosts that predate the very humanity the spine of this land is afflicted with. The type of ghosts that — if you’re good and careful, if you find the right gaps ‘tween then and now t’slip between, say the right words to invite ‘em into your space — might just come pay you a visit.

Other times, you don’t gotta say shit.

These woods’ll keep you safe, if you keep ‘em safe, your momma would warn you with all the gravity of a stormcloud, wrist-deep in the rich black earth of her garden, digging out root vegetables and other sorts of magic from that treasure trove of life she’d spent more years cultivating than you’d actually been alive, This mountain will sustain you proper, if you sustain it.

These woods are deep and dark an’ full of the type of demons even your daddy’s Bible would have been scared to name, but you are the blood of both an’ your momma feared no man, woman, or haint in these or any mountains.

Which is why, when the specter shows up on your front porch, screamin’ for blood an’ justice, all you do is give her a name and offer her a plate of cornbread she’d never actually be able to eat.

Stops the screaming though.

Trouble with small towns — especially small towns in mountains like yours — is that sometimes, people go missing. People take walks out in the woods, fall into some mineshaft the State forgot to tag or get got by some apex predator lookin’ to prove just how wild God’s own country really is. People get lost, people just plain die. Nine times outta ten, nobody finds the body but the beasts an’ eventually nobody looks, all chalkin’ the loss up to some mountain sacrifice.

Blood for blood, what you make, I will take.

You’re no stranger to death — Hell, Cocke County coroner, you might almost call it your life’s work — but some parts of the job you could do without.

Parts which occasionally — and currently — include a sobbing woman sittin’ translucent an’ bloody in your kitchen.

You call her Janey, on account of the Jane Doe #117 title stamped on the manila folder sittin’ in your office, the one with the photos of a body that probably once belonged to the unsettled soul you’d invited inside and offered a sacrifice of fresh-baked bread. It ain’t her real name, but that’s what the boys over at Park Services are still trynna find out.

Ain’t nothin’ I can do about your body, honey, you tell her, sitting across from the glum-faced woman and trying to decipher the words she means to say between the static that just can’t stop pouring from that hollowed-out mouth.

Your daddy tried teachin’ you the language of the other side, all deep snarls an’ buzzin’ shadows, but sometimes it’s the words that manage to spill out that tell the truth, those last vestiges of humanity bubbling bloody an’ baleful from a tongueless mouth before death takes its last due.

You know her secrets.

You know she wore heels more than hiking shoes. You know she’s not from these mountains, not anywhere near these small towns. You scraped the dirt from under her fingernails and know she fought to survive with everything she had and you know, gut-sinkin’ and stomach churning, that she was not the first body her killer left behind.

You know you could write her name out on your paperwork and give her family some peace, tell ‘em she didn’t run away, tell ‘em she loved ‘em more than anything in the world.

You know you could tell her boyfriend she wasn’t cheating on him, that the man who picked her up and left her here for the beasts to find was someone she thought she could trust. You could tell her momma she was comin’ home from a good job, that she stopped drinkin’ four months ago, that therapy was goin’ well and she was gettin’ better. You could give her daddy a body to bury long before its time, an’ if this were the Holler you grew up in, you know that would be that.

But it ain’t, so nothin’s ever over, and now you’ve gotta figure out how to prove this shit.

You pour yourself a fourth cup of coffee, watching your cornbread offering slowly begin to mold, decay following death as it must always do. You gotta give me something to go off of for the Feds, honey.

You get static in return.

Well. That and the shrill ring of your landline, that old rotary thing you bought from a thrift shop on the other side of the state, kept connected just in case the towers don’t reach you through the early morning mist.

There’s only one goddamn asshole who’d call you on it at six in the goddamn morning.

You ever sleep, Levinson?

Could ask you the same thing, Doc, how long you been up?

Clockwork. The same conversation you’ve had every morning since Ari Levinson transferred from some national park you didn’t give a damn about up north, his drawl about as much a part of your morning routine as coffee and keeping Goatrude out of your vegetable garden.

You want something, Levinson, or you just callin’ to ask about my sleepin’ habits?

What, can’t check in on you, Doc? You can almost hear the casual smugness in his voice, imagining the way he might speak around the cigarette he’s probably smoking at too-early-in-the-morning, I got an update on Jane Doe. You need to get out here.

The grind of gravel tells you just how much choice you have in the matter, your houseguest disappearing the moment she realizes you are not about to be alone for much longer, Jesus, Levinson, you gotta give a lady some warning, you slam down the receiver with a satisfying sound, grabbing the thoroughly-molded cornbread and throwing the plate wholesale into the bin and dumping the rest of your coffee pot into a thermos, listening for the sound of his engine roaring to a stop as you rush through the rest of your morning.

You grab your bag as you leave, stalking your way down the gravel walk and flashing Ari Levinson — parked halfway up the driveway and mercifully blocked further by Goatrude doin’ her best guard dog impression — a hard glare in response to his lazy grin, One day I’m gonna have you arrested for trespassin’, you threaten as you get into the too-fancy-for-a-city-slicker truck he drives.

He doesn’t say a word as you get in, just turns the key in the ignition and with a wink and backs away from Goatrude threatening to headbutt his front bumper.

It takes about fifteen minutes to get to the scene, where your crew and work truck are already waiting, jumpsuit and booties prepared for you to pull on before you’re allowed past that yellow tape and allowed to face the scene before you.

And just what the Hell m’I supposed to do here?

Well, Doc, I’m pretty sure you’d say the next step’s the autopsy, Agent Ari Levinson, Park Services Investigation Division — or whatever the hell that formal title is that he handed off to the poor rookie trying to keep curious hikers away from the yellow tape — saunters up behind you, his cigarette put out so as not to contaminate the crime scene, taking it in with you.

Helluva scene too, with its most pertinent part — for you, right now — currently including a body layin’ pretty as a picture on a flat slab of rock, eyes closed and lips blue, naked as the day it was born.

Which all would’ve been fine, save for the lungs, kidneys, liver and contents of a final meal neatly poured from a stomach into a tupperware container and placed around the meatsack-that-had-once-been-a-human-being like an offering to some great and terrible mortician God.

If you got all the answers, Agent Obvious, you wanna explain to me just how the hell I’m supposed to autopsy a body that’s already been done?

Oh, we got a whole lot better than that. You contemplate turning him into a crime scene with your own gloved hands as he turns, gesturing towards the far side of the slab, just past the edge of a cluster of trees, where two of your staff stand with two large black dogs seated patiently in wait.

Surrounding a lump hidden by a big white sheet.

You can guess what’s underneath that sheet even before they remove it, like every shitty horror film you’ve seen. A chunk of meat vaguely shaped like a human, wearing none of its features, nothing identifiable ‘cept raw. meat.

We’ve been callin’ it Jekyll and Hyde all morning, Ari Levinson tells you, Deputy coroner’s fifty yards back dry heaving, so we—

Y’all brought in the big guns. Don’t tell me — that’s the same body.

Got it in one.

You close your eyes for a moment and take several breaths before looking at the scene once again, trying not to curse yourself or your momma for the way your day’s turned.

You got any more bad news for me, or am I allowed to start gettin’ in there and doing my job?

You try to ignore the way Ari Levinson’s gaze holds yours… and the way Jane Doe #117 shows up from over his shoulder, her hollow-mouthed scream silenced the moment the Agent starts to speak again, We got an ID on last week’s vic.

The thing about names is how much power they hold. Your daddy took his name, stole it off the corpse of a man too broken with hunger to protest. Your momma abandoned hers, becoming more of a title than a name, markin’ herself as matriarch an’ Queen of the verdant kingdom she clawed out from the hands of the ungrateful and the undeserving. Both of ‘em agonized over yours, planting seeds of bloom and prosperity in every theoretical letter before they finally settled on somethin’ proper.

Only for you to change it the moment you were old enough to move outta the family home, disappear to the big city an’ make a name for yourself, choosin’ to hide any connection you had to that Holler you called home, not outta shame but outta knowing.

And now it’s back. Starin’ at you from the ID card of a once-unidentified murder victim who’d spent your morning destroying a plate of your favorite cornbread recipe while her physical form remained in stasis in your morgue.

Rogers.

Bein’ the daughter of the town pastor and the town witch came easy for you, just like it did all your sisters. But outside the boundaries of the Holler where everybody knew to respect Ma an’ Pastor Rogers, you knew your family’s ghosts would be all too happy to eat you right up.

Ari Levinson brings you a cup of coffee as you step outside the cold storage of your morgue, looking a bit like you’d seen a ghost and like you’d suddenly regressed to being afraid of them. Alright, Doc?

Stupid questions ought to deserve stupid answers, but you have the good sense to nod your head and busy your mouth with scalding itself on fresh-brewed water somebody whispered about coffee to. Somebody contact her next of kin? You haven’t gotten used to saying her real name, your real name, so instead you just gesture vaguely at the morgue behind you, hoping the agent will have enough sense to use context clues and get to the point.

Thankfully, he does. Family’s coming down tomorrow. Folks live in North Dakota — got no idea how their girl ended up down here. Dad kept askin’.

You tell ‘em we got no idea?

You really think my bedside manner’s that bad, Doc?

Stupid questions ought to deserve stupid answers.

You continue to have the good sense to not respond, leaving Ari Levinson looking slightly more than insulted as you pretend to have heard your office phone ringing and walk right back into the icebox.

That night, the spirit formerly known as Jane Doe #117 comes with a friend. John Doe #43 is… less pleasant lookin’ than the girl whose ID he had hidden inside his flayed jaw, eyeless face staring at you from your kitchen window and tapping on the glass to be let in.

You don’t. Victims of violence like that come with haints attached to ‘em and you’re not about to invite that into your home. The offering of cornbread is left on your back porch instead, with a light left on so he wouldn’t get lost on his way to a meal that didn’t consist of Cliff bars and spinach tortellini. It doesn’t stop his knocking though, insistin’ that your presence alone is enough reason to get in here. That the door is only a few steps away.

As if you’ll risk getting hurt by this ghost who probably won’t even remember attacking you.

Maybe he’s the one that attacked her, maybe he never even saw her, maybe he just wants the same comfort she must’ve craved during her final minutes on this Earth, or maybe he’s just a figment of your imagination as you ruminate on why the idea of a dead girl sharin’ your old last name — not an uncommon last name either, owned by more than a hundred thousand people in the country alone — bothers you so goddamn much.

Whatever the case, you won’t open the door for him, not now. Not ever. You just keep your charms on you when you step outside and feed the goat before lockin’ up the house and going upstairs to go to bed, biddin’ them both goodnight and, We’ll do our best.

The knock on your front door comes not long after midnight, loud enough it echoes all the way to your bedroom, persistent and steady as a drum.

And when you don’t respond at first, it keeps right on banging on the damn thing until you’re convinced you’ll soon see a fist makin’ a dent through that thin wood as the sound becomes a steady pounding.

Doc! Doc, it’s Ari, you gotta let me in.

You’ve heard of haints makin’ mimics of voices, memories, an’ hell, even whole faces of both the living and the dead, so you know better than to fling that door wide open and let him in to see you in your nightclothes before he’s ever even bought you a damn dinner, but that tone of voice he bears chills you to the bone somehow.

Doc, I know you’re in there, you gotta—

Prove it’s you.

What?

You heard me. Tell me somethin’ only Ari Levinson would know I know about him.

Oh c’mon, Doc. I don’t fuckin’ know. Do you even know my birthday?

Okay, so he’s got a point. You don’t admit that.

Fine, fine. What’s the hurry, couldn’t this have waited ‘til tomorrow?

Ari Levinson looks half-wild as you let him in, glancing outside briefly to see the flayed figure of your most recent unwanted visitor still seated mutely on the porch, cornbread rotted to dust and Goatrude holding him at bay. The Agent either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, eyes fixed on you instead, You got a gun?

Got a gu— the hell sorta shit are you up to, Levinson?!

His lips curl back from his teeth in a sort of grimace before he turns, glancing out your front windows and then back at you, You know you have a skinless corpse on your porch?

Oh, so he noticed.

I’ve been trynna ignore it. That’s besides the point, the fuck are you doing out here and why do I need a gun?!

Personal protection, why else? There’s two dead bodies less than ten miles out from your property, Doc, or did you not notice?

The point. You need him to get to the point, and you might actually kill him if he doesn’t, arms crossed over your chest and trying not to let your scowl get too deep. Please don’t tell me you came all the way over to my house just to tell me to use protection.

No, it’s cuz I figured out how to measure distances, he retorts, before… drawing himself up to his full height and letting his jaw set properly, Fine. You gotta promise not to say I’m crazy first though.

Not crazy, says the crazy motherfucker bangin’ on my front door at one in the goddamn morning. You take in the seriousness of his glare for a moment, processing how many times you’ve actually seen him be serious before, Fine. Fine, I got a skinless guy on my porch anyway. Nothin’s gonna beat that.

Famous last words, you know, as you head to your kitchen to start up coffee. There’s no sleep to be had for you tonight.

So you’re tellin’ me you’re the one who found this morning’s corpse?

You watch him, stirring about three tablespoons worth of honey into your coffee in a vain attempt to use the added sugar in your caffeine to stay awake, watch the way his eyes glance askance like he could hide the gears turning in his head, coming up with an excuse for his confession that doesn’t sound as insane as he feels.

You got no idea, you almost tell him, but it’s almost funnier to watch him sweat.

I was investigating a hunch on… the girl, he’s as used to calling her Jane Doe as you are, the name slipping from his mind.

You don’t tell him you appreciate it it.

A hunch. What, you got an informant I don’t know about?

He looks sheepish, which is new for a man you didn’t know had any concept of shame, I told you not to call me crazy, Doc.

So you did. Fine. Just go over this again for me — you went out lookin’ for clues on the Jane Doe cuz you just… thought you missed somethin’, four miles away from where they found her body?

I said I went to the crime scene, Doc. And then I walked for four miles… on a hunch.

You’re going to need more coffee.

Well. Gotta hand it to you, Levinson, you weren’t wrong on that one.

See? Told you. Found the body, but knew I wasn’t gonna be able to justify why the fuck I was out at the ass-crack of dawn, four miles away from the scene and following a hunch so…

So you just got lucky with the hikers comin’ up the way?

He nods, dragging his tongue along the inside of his cheek while he chews over what to say next, looking both thoughtful and displeased, Figured I’d be investigating the scene anyway, any bootprints I had could be explained later.

You have to hand it to him, he did think it out. You sit back, listening to him continue, go on about calling you to the scene — helps to call your partner out, you suppose — and then going back to both scenes to figure out the connection between the dead girl and the skinless meatsack.

Figured that if it worked once, it’d work for Flayed Doe over there, so I just… walked. Followed the hunch, and ended up here—

The Flayed fucker’s been here since sundown — it happens.

You eye him, watching the way he doesn’t react to your casual explanation of why there’s a skinless corpse on your front porch, measuring his words, letting coffee scald your tongue and pretending it doesn’t bother you none as you consider how much you should believe him.

Or how much of his own grave you should let him dig.

You’re pretty calm about the dead guy, Ari’s voice is halfway to an accusation, watching you right back as he processes, measures you up, weighs the way you glance past his shoulder to the thing still knocking at your window and the girl still hiding from the agent in your kitchen.

You don’t answer, not right away, grabbing the biscuit jar and half-slamming it down on the table between the two of you instead, figuring you’ll both need something to fill your bellies on top of the coffee while you so something close to talkin’ about… this place, an’ whatever the hell it’s doin’.

You’re not the only one telling lies, Levinson.

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