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madhare0512 · 3 months

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A Comprehensive List of Spideyfist Interactions (pt.7)

Hello and welcome back to: reasons Spideyfist is canon. A series where I take you through each episode of The Ultimate Spiderman and show you why I believe that Peter Parker and Danny Rand are dating in canon, or at least that they are each other’s favorites- and also give you commentary on the show itself as I do

Warnings for: episode spoilers, season spoilers, action/injury description, unsolicited commentary, probable cussing, violence, caps lock

this part features episodes 14 through 20 of season 2

S2E14 The Incredible Spider-Hulk

- No notable interactions

- Fuck SHIELD and their bullshit Hulkbusters

S2E15 Ultimate Deadpool

- I'm not gonna lie to you, in the process of making this post, Tumblr glitched and I lost a lot of progress, this episode and the entire episode above. I'm not rewriting it, so the gist of the first 2 minutes is: I don't like that Deadpool just stole the show and the audience from Peter because Peter is "boring." I also don't like how Fury has set up the team against Peter.

- taking deep, calming breaths Shooting your ally/trainee in the back is akin to telling them that you cannot be trusted or relied on. Fuck Coulson.

- "Not impressed." Yeah, well, you shot your trainee in the back with zero warning or previous experience. Fuck you.

- Also, you can only hear Sam and Ava laughing in the laugh track, so honorable spideypowerfist mentions. Also counts to spideyfist

- You're showing your fucking favoritism you asshole. Do fucking better

- You are spraying it RIGHT IN HIS FACE

- "Somone explain. Now." Nova goes to explain "NOT Nova" Reason number whatever why I don't ship them

- If Peter replaced Deadpool in the show does that mean that Deadpool was the leader before Peter?

- Listen, I fucking love Deadpool in the movies and the comics, from what I've heard, are fucking superb. In this iteration? No. No, I hate him. I hate Deadpool and SHIELD in this show

- There is WAY too much emphasis on this alleged agent for me to believe a word Deadpool says.

- Peter is being singled out for training and it's disGUSTING

- There are no snitches among the Ultimates. Not today anyhow

- Deadpool is a liar and master of manipulation

- My poor dumb boy

- Okay, the more I rewatch, the more it becomes clear to me that Deadpool and Peter are supposed to be parallels or mirrors

- "I'll give you 1000 bucks for your brain!"

- "Sleep them with the fishes"

- "Nice of you to finally visit my school" Forshadowing~~~

- Okay I hate him but he's funny

- SEE? SEE???

- Deadpool is scary when he's actually trying

- "How about telling me the truth?"

- Deadpool's origin story is so wack

S2E16 Venom Bomb

~ Is this the-? looks at the episode number Oh, no. Not yet, I think.

- Saving the teammates like a boss!

- The nightmares Peter must have every time he faces the Goblin

- In the fight, Danny strikes after Peter, which counts

- Danny and Peter are standing RIGHT next to each other after a battle againnnn

- Peter WANTS to be able to take the win, but he knows his adversaries too damn well for that

- Hey, they're standing right next to each other again!

- Peter doing his best with Harry when he's Spiderman

- Ock just gets weirder and weirder looking the more time goes on

- They're gonna study the fucking symbiote but not try to find a cure for Osbourn?

- Infectious Venom disease!

- Goblin being absolutely AWFUL to Venom

- Where's the team in all this??

- One of the worst things you can do to Doc Ock's character is pretend he's evil for fun. This show doesn't do that, but the fact still stands

- And again I say, people forget that Peter is an accomplished chemist just the same as he's a wonderful hero

- Because you're Spiderman and Spiderman is a hero and you're a wonderful, selfless, brave person, Peter Parker

- Peter and Ock working together lmao

- Peter’s a goof, I love him

- At least Peter gets his damn props

S2E17 Guardians of the Galaxy

- Oh!! This episode indirectly has big evidence!!

- Peter using his abilities to shove garbage into the can

- PETER SEES A TALKING RACCOON AND ASSUMES HE LOST IT OMG

- Okay, so remember how in The Journey of Iron Fist, Peter follows Danny to his home country to find out what's going on and get Danny back? That's not exactly what's happening here. Peter was accidentally abducted in this one

- Peter was so fucking respectful and kind when regarding Danny’s home country and turf, but when it's Sam, he's snarky and complains the whole damn time

- Rocket is just so fucking casual about this

- See, even under attack, Peter is complaining about Sam getting him in trouble!

- Peter demands answers from Sam, he didn't do that with Danny, he was very calm and respectful when asking for answers with Danny

- Peter doesn't listen to a WORD Sam says ever, he's oblivious and not a good listener, reason number whatever why I ship what I ship

- It's literally only after he figures out Earth is a target that Peter decides to work with the Guardians

- Peter gives these "Ki-ya!" shouts that sound almost exactly like Danny’s

- This episode and The Jouney to K'un L'un are literally parallels

- Even if he doesn't LIKE Sam, Peter still considers Sam a friend, still loves Sam as a brother

- Peter didn't accept Danny going back to K'un L'un for a single second, but when Nova says he wants to stay with the Guardians, Peter accepts it without hesitation

- And then once Sam's back on Earth, Peter's right back to fucking with him like nothing ever happened

S2E18 The Parent Trap

- No notable interactions

-One of my favorite things that Luke does is he just fucking throws people for funzies. That's his whole thing, he THROWS people when he's fighting and needs to team up

- We're going through the team's backstories this season, which I think it's fun, and it's actually kinda funny

-Yes, Peter, 'parents' parents

-They're so fucking biased against Peter and it pisses me off

-I love the way these guys protect and look after each other, it's super cute and lovely

-See this is what happens when you start harping on your teenage heroes. They start ignoring you and don't listen when you try to offer important information

-Luke wanting a perfect reunion is so fucking relatable

-Spiderman only calls his friends by name on missions when it's important or in an emergency, the team members who know his identity don't call Peter by name unless off mission

S2E19 Stan By Me

-No notable interactions

S2E20 Game Over

-Danny talks about how fun the LMDs are and Peter immediately starts going into detail.

-I love that the team gets to go all out here

-Danny wants to retreat, Peter says "looks like we're gonna have to 'assess' with our fists" which I count because Peter's not the kind of guy to retreat even if it's deadly and he talks like he was going to agree

-Annd we're in a slow zoom (in the ready room lol) and Peter and Danny are sitting right next to each other

#the ultimate spiderman #ultimate spiderman #thoughts and headcanons #mad writes #things i write #spideyfist #spiderfist #spiderman/iron fist #analysis #season 2 #character analysis #peter parker #danny rand #peter parker/danny rand #spiderman #iron fist #media commentary #commentary #honorable spideyfist mentions

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mongonga · 4 months

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#iron fist #punho de ferro #danny rand #colleen wing #season 2 #poster

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god-of-jotunn · 2 years

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ok so as someone who watched season 2 of daredevil, then season 3, then went back to the defenders, the change in personality makes a lot more sense. matt didnt become depressed and angry in season 3, it started in the defenders when he tried to quit being daredevil, and thought he lost elektra. he nearly puts jess to shame with the brooding and depressed anger, its wild!! (i likey)

#mine #second watch #daredevil #matt murdock #matthew murdock #the defenders #marvels defenders #marvel #iron fist #luke cage #jessica jones #stick (daredevil)#elektra natchios #season 2 #daredevil season 3

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burnedself · 3 months

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Master when he wields the power of the Fist(ing) of Rassilon to fight the Doctor or something idk I've never watched Doctor Who

#;out of time.#I keep forgetting he was technically in the mcu #aND FUCKING SHREDDED TOO #ykw season 2 of iron first wasn't bad and the iron fist the power is a cool power I wish they'd explore it more #now that they're canonizing the netflix shows.....bring colleen back u cOWARDS

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readitwatchitwriteit · 8 months

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Did anyone else really dislike season 3 of jessica jones and season 2 of Luke Cage?

Season 2 of Iron Fist was good, though.

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navree · 1 year

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someone more eloquent and knowledgeable about this stuff than me needs to do an incredibly in depth breakdown on why the netflix marvel shows were just so incredibly better than nearly anything else the actual mcu put out

#personal #and i say this as someone who liked pre-avengers mcu and does genuinely enjoy watching the winter soldier movie #and i'll also admit that the netflix marvel stuff kinda dropped off in quality after the defenders #but the stuff before then like daredevil seasons 1-2 and jessica jones season 1 are basically unmatched in comic media #(i never got around to luke cage or iron fist but i've got time off so i might change that)#but like my point is that what they were doing was so much better than what the mcu was putting out at the time #like you know what came out the same year as daredevil season 1 and jessica jones season 1? fucking age of ultron #like they did both that fucking dumpster fire and literally jessica jones #fucking h o w

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targaryen-dynasty · 10 months

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WHAT NOURISHES ME, DESTROYS ME.

Maegor I Targaryen x little sister!Reader

You and Maegor have always been a good team, but when he sits on Iron Throne after your older brother‘s death and doesn't allow you to come to war with him, you have to remind Maegor that he wouldn‘t be where he is without your help.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; DUB/NON CON, spit kink, humiliating, size kink, size difference, power imbalance, hate sex, canon typical incest/targcest, fighting, violence

WORDS: 2.6 K

NOTES: This was written for @fairysluna and @borikenlove and is based on the scene in Vikings season 1 episode 2 where Lagertha fights Ragnar.

Maegor was only half dressed as you stepped into his chambers. The stool he sat in looked ridiculously small underneath his bulky presence, just like the castle’s barber did. His head was tilted back, allowing the much smaller man to attend to the grooming of his neat beard, and despite his eyes being closed, the smug smirk on his lips gave away he knew it was you barging into his quarters.

“Why must mother inform me that I cannot come to the Blackwater with you, brother?” You all but spat the words out, hands formed to fists at your sides with your knuckles already blanching.

“It is Your Grace for you,” Maegor’s voice drawled as he did not move, voice uncharacteristically soft but still determined to put you back in your place.

Your level of anger did not allow you to pay any attention to it, not caring enough to respect the courtesies. It was surprising that Maegor managed to keep his temper at bay, considering he was far more quarrelsome than you were.

“This was going to be the most exciting battle of my life,” you hissed. “To fly upon Dreamfyre’s back, alongside Balerion.”

“I do not want you to come,” he said, still in the same position as before, though you could hear just a hint of irritation in his tone. “I need to leave the castle in the hands of someone I trust, and there is no one else besides you and mother.” It was a poor attempt of him to lessen your anger, but caused quite the opposite.

Having brooded over it ever since you broke fast, your patience ran thin, and in moments like this, you felt the Blood of the Dragon coursing through your veins.

With quick strides, you headed over to where Maegor sat and snatched the sharp knife out of the barber’s hand, pressing it to your brother’s throat. That seemed to stir him enough to open his eyes, and the familiar purple quickly flickered up to meet your matching pair. You could feel his pulse quickening through the blade, yet you did not apply enough pressure to draw some blood.

“I have dreamt of this many times, and in my dreams, Dreamfyre and Balerion were always together. We were always together,” you tried to reason.

Maegor had your wrist in a painfully tight grip within seconds without giving you any chance to react. The tight impact caused you to sharply draw in some air, before you found yourself being pulled into his lap with an equally tight grip capturing your throat.

There it was. He had snapped.

The sharp blade clattered to the ground as you clawed at his large hand with both of yours, panic settling in your bones. “You would do well to follow your King’s orders,” his hot breath fanned across your face when he brought yours closer to his.

In the distance, you faintly heard the door to Maegor’s chambers fall shut, indicating that the barber had left without a word.

A lightheaded feeling spread throughout your mind with you choking for air, not getting better when his lips captured yours in a kiss that was shy of gentleness and chasity.

When your teeth harshly bit down on his bottom lip, he released you in surprise, seizing the chance to bring some space between your bodies. Upon a closer look, you spotted a few droplets of blood on his pale skin, and your panic was replaced by pride, even if it only lasted for a few seconds.

As his bull-like body rose from its seat and proweld towards you, your head craned upwards to meet his purple eyes. It was a good thing he was not able to see how your heartbeat quickened at his movements, and though he was your brother and twin, Maegor still was unpredictable and always in control.

For a split second, you thought he would actually do something, however, it had merely been an intimidation tactic, a clear warning. He stopped just a few inches shy of you, crossing his rippled arms in front of his chest.

You grabbed a hold of the closest item you could grasp–a candlestick in this case–and proceeded to try to swing it at him, but someone as skilled as Maegor had an easy game ducking and grabbing something to block your attack.

It was obvious that he held back, because otherwise you would’ve been flung through his chambers by now. What you did not notice was that he slowly but surely backed you up against the bed, stalking closer towards you with each step, practically herding you.

“Am I not good enough for you anymore?” You asked, swinging the candlestick at him once again. This time around, Maegor did not try to lessen your blows and just ducked. “Am I not strong enough for you?” When there did not come any objection or reaction from him, you moved to kick him with your foot, which didn’t do more than barely pushing him back. It was clear you did not have anywhere near the physical strength required to move someone of his caliber, more without his compliance.

“Don’t you remember?” You asked–no spat. “I fought with you in the Stepstones. I saved your life.”

By the look on Maegor’s face, he seemed to find a certain liking in your outburst, not because he had not seen you like that before, but because he always enjoyed putting you back in your place after. In that moment you truly were your mother’s daughter, and Maegor loved your mother just as dearly as you. A smirk that dripped with malice was etched onto his features, sending shivers down your spine once you noticed it.

The realization was short lived, because your next blow was seized by him getting the candlestick from you by twisting it, recklessly throwing it aside and demolishing some vessels standing on a chest of drawers. “Without me, you would not sit on the Iron Throne!” A harsh kick of him pushed you down to the bed behind you with him following shortly after and settling between your parted legs, immobilizing you. You grunted at the impact, but where quickly shushed by his proximity.

He had your throat captured once again, but not as tight as before, and allowed you to actually breathe. “How could I forget!” His deep voice rang out, resembling more an animalistic growl than an actual human’s voice. “You keep reminding me,” each word was emphasized with a tight squeeze to your throat, inevitably pushing you deeper into the mattress beneath.

His bulky frame was looming over your much smaller one, the entirety of your neck covered by his hand though he hadn't even splayed out his fingers. Your hand clasped around his wrist with your nails digging into his skin, but he did not hiss at the pain, effortlessly keeping you pinned beneath him.

“I am so angry with you.”

Maegor made it no secret that the whole act aroused him, and shamelessly pressed his bulge against your womanhood, causing you to take in a sharp breath, as you felt your own arousal coating the inside of your smallclothes.

Upon seeing the smug grin that adorned his features, you had never longed more for Dreamfyre to unleash her flames, because Maegor knew you could never say no to him - regardless of how angry or sad you were.

Your eyelids lowered as you looked up and down his stern face, trying to observe his darkened eyes. They met yours, trying to guess your next move.

“Are you sure?” Came as a reply, and within seconds, his large hands had grasped your waist and flipped you over onto your stomach. One of his hands applied a good bit of pressure to the back of your neck, while the other pushed the skirts of your dress up and pulled down your smallclothes in one motion.

As his calloused fingers dragged through your mound, you refrained from bucking your hips into his touch and opted to try to wiggle out of his grasp. Maegor just chuckled dryly at that, and when two of his digits eased into your core, every sense of restraint left your body.

Your face was pushed into the bedcovers, though the moan you released still was perfectly audible to him.

“That’s what I thought,” your twin replied smugly. “You would not be so wet if you really were angry with me, Y/N.”

While you felt ashamed he had noticed your body’s reaction to him, you could not deny that the silence between you was thick with tension, both of you obviously longing for more. And with Maegor being a bit blunter than you were, he had no shame wording his desires.

“Must I fuck some sense into you, sister? Must I treat and fuck you like a common whore to remember you of your place again?”

Even with your head barely turned to the side, you could see the way his bulky frame was looming over your much smaller one, covering its entirety in a mere display of dominance. That alone almost was enough to put you into submission, but a few threads inside of you still clung to the initial hurt of him not wanting you to join him in battle, hence you tried your best not to give in to him.

But still, his condescending words put a bright blush to your cheeks, the color even running down your neck and spreading along his large hand clasping the back of it. “There-There is no-no need for that, brother,” you stuttered, voice not louder than a whisper.

You should’ve seen it coming, but his fingers quickly were replaced by his hard cock. When the bulbous tip of it prodded against your entrance, you already tried to prepare yourself for it, but to no avail.

Being as rough as always, Maegor practically forced himself into your tightness, causing you to cry out - but not in pain or dismay. The daunting size of his cock always rendered you speechless, though it was very much in proportion with his large body.

The pace he set up was reckless and harsh from the very beginning, and whenever the tip of his member brushed the sensitive spot within your core, the breaths hitched in your throat, hiccuping and trying to fill your lungs the short moments he used to draw his hips back.

Instead of being propped up on your hands and knees, you just laid on the bed, unable to move even in the slightest. Maegor seemed to relish in the dominance he held over you, and your body seemed to keen at the realization, too.

Your bodies were an interesting contrast, despite you being twins. His broad and powerful form, even larger than your father Aegon The Conqueror, was towering over, driving into and domineering your delicate body in every possible way.

You fisted the silken bed covers as if your life was depending on it, knuckles blanching from the force in an attempt to keep your body grounded and strong for his reckless assault. “G-Gods… be… good,” you whined through particularly harsh thrusts, your voice increasing in volume.

The sounds of his heavy stones slapping against your slick core and the creaking of the bed probably could be heard by anyone that passed by the King’s chambers and even further down the corridor, but neither of you cared. Maegor and you were dragons, true blood Targaryens that were determined to rule the Realm together. If it was up to him, he’d take you in the Throne Room atop the Iron Throne and have everyone of court watch–or at least hear–the pair of you.

“I am your King, and I expect you to treat me as such,” Maegor growled through gritted teeth, emphasizing the meaning of his words with harsh thrusts of his hips and a tight squeeze of his hands on yours. “Am I understood?”

“Y-Yes, Your Gr-Grace,” you stuttered out, clearly cock drunk.

“Good.”

You were so lost in the bliss your twin granted you, that you had not even noticed your eyes squeezed shut with tears brimming in the corners–until his calloused fingers dug into your cheeks and turned your head to force you to look at him from over your shoulder.

“Not so bold anymore, mh?” Maegor asked, though it was obvious the question was outright sarcastic, not expecting an answer from you. “Where is your confidence now, silly girl?”

As your lips parted in an attempt to hiccup something in return, Maegor seized the chance and spat a thick puddle of his saliva straight to the corner of your pouty lips. A bit of it dripped into your mouth, whereas the rest stayed exactly where he had spat it to.

The second your tongue darted out to gather the rest of his saliva, he pushed his hips into yours harshly and immediately stopped in his tracks while buried to the hilt inside of you, a loud tsking echoing through the chambers followed by a “No.” You stopped–of course you did–and only gasped once you noticed the fullness within you and the warmth of his saliva spreading all over you flushed cheeks with his thumb smearing it.

Shame rose within your body, fighting with the despair you felt at him not moving anymore. You figured it was time to take your pleasure into your own hands, and started to rock your hips against his, though your movements were far slower and much more sensual. Maegor chuckled dryly at that, and released your face in order to serve a stinging slap to your arse.

You squealed and inevitably clenched down around him, resulting in the bull behind you drawing in a sharp breath. “Just as desperate for my cock as any of the common whores in the Street of Silk, I see,” he remarked snakily, the smirk on his chiseled features perfectly audible.

“But I will be no cruel man,” with that, he proceeded to impale you on his hard cock, snapping his hips into yours over and over again, until the familiar coil in your belly seemed to tighten.

There was no one else that knew your body better as your twin, and as if he was spurred on by the reaction of your body to his ministrations, he snaked his large hand flatly underneath your lower body and started to circle his deft fingers around the sensitive bud at the apex of your legs, amplifying your pleasure and your following peak.

Your core was clenching around him so tightly with whines and moans spilling past your lips like prayers, that Maegor barely was able to declare his own approaching peak, only noticing he reached it once his warm seed filled your body and added to the overall fullness you felt.

Without another word and not even the repercussions of his peak fully subsiding, Maegor pulled out and laced the front of his breeches back up. Picking the knife of the barber up from the ground, he trimmed the rest of his beard himself, only sparing you a scarce glance through the mirror.

You rearranged your smallclothes and dress, despite his seed oozing out of your core, and slowly stalked towards him like a hunter. The emotions within your body had calmed, clearing your mind again.

“So, I assume I am allowed to join Your Grace on his flight to the Blackwater?” You asked in the sweetest voice you could muster and even paid attention to the damned courtesies, determined to get exactly what you wanted.

But without even turning to look at you, Maegor retorted a stern “No,” before placing the knife down as he was finished. “You are dismissed now–I have to sit on Dragonback in an hour.”

#maegor x reader #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #hotd smut #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon smut #maegor i targaryen

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king-starkrogers · 10 months

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Okay maybe i used a gif converter for this BUT HELLO?? SEASON 2 SPIDEYFIST IS AMAZING, I PRACTICALLY SCREAMED WHEN THIS SCENE SHOWED UP

Also headcannon : Danny likes being manhandled by Peter SO BAD.

LOOK AT THEM, JUST LOOK AT THEM????

#spideyfist #ultimate spiderman #ums #marvel #iron fist #danny rand #peter parker #spiderman #season 2 ep 10

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tommysversion · 11 months

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Beastly: Raider Era Joel Miller x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: you live in a small commune protected by a strong force of raiders. Every season, your people pay tribute for their protection. After lapsing in payment, your abusive father offers you as a human sacrifice. What you don't expect is for the leader of the gang, Joel, to not be as much of a beastly man as first thought.

A Raider Era Joel fic, loosely inspired by Beauty & The Beast.

CWs: references to abuse (physical), implied fear of SA, canon typical violence, implied age gap, sexual references, coarse language, smut for later chapters. (List will update with chapters)

Chapter Word Count: 3k

Thanks to @gab-thelamb-onthemoon & @joelsgirl for being beta readers & allowing me to infodump about this idea, ILY

Index: Part 2

It’s amazing, how long it took society to peak, in comparison to how easily it fell apart. Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it sure burned in one. In a short fifteen years, since Cordyceps first spread globally, society has all but collapsed.

Oh, sure, there are the QZs, where FEDRA rules with an iron fist. There are smaller settlements where people try to strive for a semblance of ‘normality’.

But mostly? The world outside the military strict QZs has become lawless. It’s kill or be killed, serve or rule, protect or intimidate.

Whereas some people have banded together for the greater good of humanity, for the continued survival of the species? Others have taken advantage of the new order of things, are only out for themselves and those they hold dear.

Joel Miller falls into the latter category.

Maybe once, before the outbreak, he had been a good man. Had had a strong moral compass, a good ethic. He’d been a family man, loved his daughter and his brother more than anything or anyone in the world.

Then the world had gone to hell, taken his daughter from him, and something inside him had broken. It was as though a light had gone out inside him, turning his humanity off.

Gone was the man who had made jokes and smiled easily. In his place was a man scarred and traumatised, who was capable of enormous acts of violence and brutality, who would survive at any and all cost, not for his sake, not really, but for his brother. The only family he had left.

Joel had always been a natural leader, if somewhat reluctant. It had come easily to him, before the outbreak. He was always the damn union rep on site. Always the one people came to for advice, looked to for leadership. Not just Tommy, or colleagues he’d known for years either. He always ended up with an apprentice following him round like a chained puppy, asking questions, looking for guidance.

Maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise at all that he had ended up the leader of this band of people, either. Some were misfits, those who were too anxious to try and venture to the nearest QZ and survive under FEDRA. Some were miscreants who preferred the more lawless lifestyle, who needed a leader so they didn’t venture into abject cruelty. Then there were those like him, who just wanted to survive. Keep going for whatever or whoever they had left.

Joel didn’t necessarily want to live, but he was fucking good at it.

Without his humanity, it made him a damn good leader. His group protected several small settlements, in exchange for supplies. Weapons. Whatever the fuck they wanted.

It was a good deal… for his people. The infected didn’t venture this far out anymore, but the good people in those settlements didn’t need to know that, did they? Their living in fear was his bonus. It kept them in line, and it kept his people alive.

Recently, one of the settlements fell to disease. Leaving just the one small community under his group’s thumb. The occupants aren’t particularly tough, or particularly smart, just ordinary people who have had the luck to survive behind moderately well constructed walls, the wits to bow to those stronger than them for protection.

Only, their resources are running out, spread thin with the approaching winter…

Which is where you come in.

You’re old enough to remember the world before. Maybe you hadn’t been an adult, so you hadn’t had to deal with things the older folks in your community grumble on occasion about missing - work, taxes (mostly something called a tax return), good liquor, supermarkets…

But you do remember.

You remember the world changing overnight. Remember years of struggling, clawing for survival, until this commune had finally put its walls up and hoped for the best.

Then the infected had come, and you’d lost half your numbers. The raiders had taken advantage of the weakness in your people, taken out the infected… for a price.

Now each quarter, your people paid ‘tribute’ to the group of men and women who kept the infected at bay. Really, it was a bribe to keep them from taking over your settlement. Every three months the same half dozen men would show up, fill their truck with supplies and weapons your people had gathered, desperately needed, and promise another three months protection for it.

Nobody’s been attacked since the deal was struck. You guess that’s a good thing. Or there’s something they aren’t telling you.

Your father is the closest thing to a mayor your community has. There aren’t enough of you to need a proper governing body beyond a handful of people, but somehow the task of leadership has fallen to him. Perhaps because nobody else wants to be labeled as the one who bows to the raiders. Or maybe it’s because the last mayor your town had was beaten to death by said raiders for non-compliance, and your father was the only one brave (stupid) enough to volunteer for the job after.

You aren’t stupid. You know a bribe for what it is. Only this quarter, you aren’t sure what the plan is.

The crop yield has been relatively scarce this season. With winter approaching, the settlement doesn’t have much to offer. You’re not stupid, but you know it won’t be enough.

Usually, you stay home when the raiders come for their tribute. Stay inside with the few children of the commune.

This time is different. Your father is lacing his boots, throwing on his threadbare coat, when he springs it on you.

“You’re coming too, this time. We need to show our numbers.”

It doesn’t occur to you until you’re halfway to what passes as the town square that that’s the precise opposite of what your father usually says. That a show of strength is what got his predecessor killed. But you know better than to question him; he won’t shout at you, he’ll just be condescending, or more likely, won’t answer you at all.

You suppose your curiosity will have to wait, and hope he doesn’t get you all killed.

Joel usually sends half a dozen of his people to collect the tribute from the settlement they ‘protect’. It’s a thinly veiled intimidation, closer to extortion than anything else, but it keeps his people fed and lets them bully others, which some of his people need.

But the last two seasons, their offerings have been slim at best, pissing the most restless of his people off. Joel has no issue with violence. No issue with killing people, or intimidation. But he also knows that starting a bloodbath in their supply settlement is a stupid idea, even if some of his men don’t.

Which has led him to here. Two men sit in the truck, shoulder to shoulder. One sits in the tray, gripping the roof bar with one hand, a rifle dangling lazily from the other.

Two others ride beside him, a little behind, in an arrow formation. It didn’t bother Owen to stay behind with the rest of the group. There’s better things he could be doing. If anyone was surprised at Joel deciding to go with them on this run? He hasn’t heard a word of it.

If anything, they probably think it means he’s planning some sort of punishment for their friends in the settlement. Hell, if they don’t pay up? He’s not against it.

It never ceases to amaze him just how pathetic these people are. He hasn’t visited the settlement personally in a year or so, but the occupants are still just as miserable. Just as downtrodden and fearful, hiding behind their shitty tin walls and the hope that his folks will protect them. It’s that fear that keeps his people fed, keeps these townspeople in line.

They don’t need to know that there are so few infected out here now, that Joel and his group are probably the biggest - if not only – threat remaining to them. Fear keeps them in line, and if they step out of line? Well, he and his gang aren’t above beating a reminder into them. It’s happened before.

The truck rolls to a stop behind him as they make their way to the centre of the settlement. He dismounts his horse, steps forward to greet the leader of the place. He’s met this man once before, the season after he took out the old mayor for trying to defy him. Beating a man to death isn’t pleasant to witness, but Joel had no problem with committing the act.

His replacement is a small, round man who always wears the same threadbare overcoat, the same twitchy air of nervousness around him, the same oily obedience.

How a man like that became what passes for mayor, Joel has no idea. He’s just as spineless as the rest, just as cowardly, eager to snivel and beg for protection, offering up whatever it takes to save his own skin. It’s a way to live, Joel supposes, but he would never stoop so low.

“Morris.” Joel greets the other man with a cold nod of his head, reaches out a gloved hand for him to shake. All formality. All pleasantries. As if the six men he’s brought with him aren’t capable of gunning down this entire settlement, if he so chooses. Hell, he could probably do it by himself.

“I’m surprised to see you.” Morris admits as he steps forward from the small group of townsfolk. Joel’s gaze sweeps over them all; a few new faces, his eyes boring into each unfamiliar one. One bears a resemblance to the mayor. Interesting.

His gaze leaves the crowd, returns to the man in front of him.

“We need to have a little chat.”

“You don’t say a word. Nobody will benefit from your attempts at being a diplomat.” Your father cautions you as you reach the centre of town. It’s not a long walk. The settlement is barely big enough to call a commune, but still.

You don’t dignify him with an answer, just nod. There’s no point in trying to argue with him, try and prove that you’re an asset. He’s too set in his ways, too firm in the belief that women – especially young ones- should be seen and not heard.

So instead you keep your mouth shut, take your place. Watch the convoy come in. It’s different, being out on the street rather than peeking out a window when they roll in.

The usual truck, two men in the cab, one in the tray, slapping the roof to signal to stop. You’re not familiar enough with their faces, but you assume they’re the same men who come every quarter. Two men on horses, flanking a third.

It’s the third man who interests you, only slightly. Mostly because of the way your father tenses, the way some of the others shift nervously. You vaguely recognise this man; the leader of the group of raiders. The one who had no problem with violence, with getting rid of the old mayor when he didn’t want to play ball.

He’s older, maybe late forties, broad shouldered and has a sort of deadened glint to his dark eyes. Vaguely, you catch yourself wondering what he did, or what happened to him, to put that look in his gaze.

Those cold dark eyes take stock of the place, sweep across each member of your community. His gaze pauses on you, very briefly, flickers to your father then back, recognition. Then he looks away, back to your father.

“We need to have a little chat,” the unknown man says, “your quota has been low, Morris.”

Even in the cold, you can see your father start to sweat. He’s no great hero; his leadership perches precariously on his willingness to bow to whatever this gang of raiders wants. There’s no way of fighting them, and quite frankly? There are worse things out there.

“We’ve had a hard few seasons… Maybe we can make it up in spring?” Your father suggests, trying to sound complacent, apologetic. Mostly, it just sounds desperate.

You wonder if the leader of the gang thinks so, too.

“Now, Morris, you’re already short. Have been for the last two seasons. Maybe if we’d had this little chat earlier, I’d be more inclined to accept the request, but, well… winter’s on its way. It’s hard out there, and these walls you have are so flimsy… anything could happen.”

Your father’s face blanches, clearly aware he’s stepping on toes that shouldn’t be stepped on.

“We have… some supplies in reserve. You can take from there.”

It shouldn’t even surprise you, that he offers up the town’s emergency stockpile to save his own skin, probably thinking of his predecessor. It bothers you, though, makes your skin crawl to see the men from the gang open the barn where the supplies are kept, start hauling them into the back of the truck. Those supplies are for emergencies. For the children, the elderly, the sick. Maybe that’s why you open your mouth.

“Those supplies are for our elderly. Our children.”

The look your father gives you is piercing, promising violence, a sharp retribution later, but you don’t care.

“Excuse my daughter, Joel. She doesn’t understand the way things work, likes to talk when the men are talking.”

You expect the gang leader – Joel – to agree, to ignore you. Instead, he turns that depthless gaze onto you.

“What would you have me do, hm? We have a deal, you know that.” It’s unspoken what he’s implying – he has people relying on him, too.

You’re smart enough to know that it’s a rhetorical question.

“Besides.” Joel turns his attention to the truck, shakes his head. “Even with your stockpile, you’re short. Considerably so. Maybe we should stick around. See why your productivity is so low.”

The threat is implicit. Maybe it’s the threat. Maybe it’s anger at you for speaking out. Or maybe it’s the simple fact that your father is a piece of shit. Still, you don’t expect what happens next.

Joel doesn’t want to stick around this small town, with its cowed population and snivelling misogynist of a mayor. He’d rather take what they are owed and go, but they’re up short once again. Not by much, but it’s the principle of the matter. Of making sure Morris knows his place, knows that he and Joel are in no way equals.

He projects the very image of an alpha male, broad and cocky, one hand resting on the pistol at his hip. Casually threatening, and he knows Morris is thinking of the idiot before him. Maybe he should just shoot him, see whether someone smarter replaces him. Smarter and less irritating.

Maybe the other man can see how easily he’s contemplating his death.

“Wait. Wait. I have another offer.”

Joel raises an eyebrow.

“And what could you possibly have, Morris? As you’ve said, you’ve had a difficult harvest, you’ve had to break into your emergency supplies. What do you possibly have to trade to save your own skin?” He makes zero effort to hide his disgust.

“Her.” Morris jerks a shaky thumb to the younger woman beside him, the one who’s clearly his daughter, the one who spoke up.

Joel is so startled by the suggestion that he almost outright refuses.

“What?” It comes out blunter than he planned, as if he’s misheard. Because there’s no way that this idiot is offering up his own daughter as some sort of human sacrifice.

“Take her. I don’t care what you do with her, she’s a complete disappointment. Maybe you can teach her some manners, beat her into submission, God knows I’ve tried. Take her and give us immunity until next fall. Let us rebuild our crops.”

Joel looks past Morris to you, small and nondescript. Then again, everyone is small to him. You look like someone’s just pulled the ground out from under you. Shocked. Horrified. He knows then what you’re thinking, what you’re assuming will happen to you. But he also knows now what happens to you if he leaves you here.

Joel Miller may have lost his humanity, but he was a father once. And he can’t imagine ever, ever offering his own child up as a human sacrifice to save his own skin.

And suddenly, it doesn’t matter about making a quota. What matters is getting you as far away from this place as possible. Away from sharp words and balled fists. Because somewhere, somewhere, buried deep down, a portion of the man he once was is stirring.

“The end of next fall. A year.” Joel agrees, tries not to watch the way Morris shoves you forward to what could well be your doom.

You’re shaking. Can’t even form a protest, for all the good it would do.

Sacrifice. Tribute. Offering. As if you’re no more than another object to be traded. Your father doesn’t even flinch as Joel seizes your wrist, pulls you towards his horse.

“Get on.” His voice is low, but not menacing. If anything he sounds almost sorry. It has to be some sort of trap; you’re certain that when you’re back at their base camp, he’ll have no problem with cruelty, with putting his hands on you. Forcing you, if the mood takes him. Maybe it’s better to just do as he demands.

Shakily, you climb up onto the horse, sit awkward and uncomfortable, tensing when he swings himself up behind you, broad arms keeping you in place as he seizes the reins, gives a nod to his men, who finish loading up and pile back into the truck, onto their own horses.

He throws a final derisive look to your father. The man who sold you.

“One year, Morris. Better get your shit together.” Then he nudges the horse, and rides you both out of the only home you’ve known for years.

#my writing #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #raider joel #rue beastly

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indigovigilance · 7 months

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Why Crowley Rescues Aziraphale

Okay, yes: it's flirtatious, it's cute, it's Anthony J. "Acts of Service" Crowley showing love in the only way he knows how because God forbid he use his words.

But what if there's more to it than that? What if there is a much darker explanation that portends major events in S3?

Allow me to convince you below the cut:

Evidence of Repetition Compulsion

But before we talk about the rescue motif, let's examine a more transparent aspect of Crowley's behavior that will provide a scaffold for the discussion of his Princess Peach obsession.

The Plants

Sure, Crowley is a hobby horticulturalist, but he doesn't do it because he loves plants. He does it because the plants are a representation of himself, and how he treats the plants tells us how he feels about himself. Importantly, how he treats the plants changes over time.

Season 1

He puts the fear of Crowley into them, destroying any specimen with a blemish and making an example out of it to threaten those that remain.

You know, just like God did to him.

This scene is jam-packed with symbolism, and we can simmer on whether his punishment of the plants is simply externalized self-flagellation, or reflects internalized standards of perfectionism, or if he feels so powerless that he creates a new relationship in which he is the one that has the power... We could simmer, but that's not the point of this meta, so let's keep going.

Season 2

In 2023, Crowley is no longer a domineering monarch, ruling over his houseplants with an iron fist; of all the memorabilia he has in his flat (the statue from the church, the original Mona Lisa), the only things he brings with him are his plants.

And for someone living in his car, he's taking pretty good care of them:

Someone else even noted that one of the plants appears to have spots, and clearly he hasn't thrown it in the garbage disposal for its transgressions. I wasn't able to see it myself, but I headcanon it because it fits with the observation that:

Crowley's attitude towards himself is changing.

He is evolving from internalized guilt and sense of inferiority to believing that he deserves care, even if he is a little blemished. It is this shift that brings it within the realm of possibility that he can admit his feelings to Aziraphale.

In both seasons, the unifying theme is that Crowley is reliving his trauma over and over, and then reliving his healing over and over. This cyclical behavior is, to my knowledge, incredibly characteristic of PTSD and CPTSD. In a phenomenon clinically referred to as Repetition Compulsion, the subject recreates and relives events of a traumatic past over and over in their present life, seeking resolution for something that has already happened, where the opportunity for true, satisfying closure is forever lost to the past. A huge part of therapeutic treatment is breaking these maladaptive cycles [citations]. But to our knowledge, Crowley doesn't have a therapist.

If this is how Crowley's CPTSD manifests in his relationship with inanimate objects semi-sentient dependents, how might it manifest in his relationship with his angel?

The Rescue Motif

The cycle of Aziraphale's self-endangerment and Crowley's nick-of-time rescues might look like just a cute part of their flirtationship, a necessary cover for their continued association, but I argue that it something much darker.

Crowley rescues Aziraphale over and over throughout history to try to absolve himself for the one time he couldn't.

But clearly, Aziraphale doesn't know that.

It only took one rescue for Aziraphale to realize that this kind of behavior brings them closer together - and he desperately wants to get close to Crowley. Please forgive the crudeness of the metaphor, but: when you need to drive a screw into a board and all you have is a hammer, you're gonna smack that thing on the head over and over with the only tool you've got. The problem is, this is really bad for the screw.

Aziraphale, by leveraging the damsel-in-distress motif, over and over again, is inadvertently triggering a trauma response from Crowley because he likes what he gets out of it, which is spending time with the demon he loves and growing intimacy. If he knew that this is what he was doing, it would be sick and twisted and go against everything he believes about himself as an angel, let alone being mortified that he was hurting Crowley.

So the only possible conclusion (given we take the above conjectures as fact (see @queerfables, I listen to you <3)) is that:

Aziraphale Doesn't Know About His Own Jimmification

What is it that Crowley could have failed to rescue Aziraphale from that Aziraphale himself is unaware of? Well, at the least, it would have to involve a mind-wipe.

We know, canonically, that the Metatron can and will mind-wipe angels without actually casting them out of Heaven. Just because Aziraphale is an angel does not mean we can assume that this ability was never leveraged against him.

If Crowley knew that they were going to do this to his friend, he would have tried to stop it. The repeating damsel-rescue motif (in context of the existing, plant-based evidence of Repetition Compulsion) is a strong indicator that his mission to protect Aziraphale from the memory-wipe failed, and he is living in an endless loop of rescue behavior to try to resolve his guilt about that.

So why wouldn't Crowley tell Aziraphale that his mind was erased?

To properly address that I will need time to write a part 2. But others are welcome to use this as a jumping-off point, please just cite the inspo; it's a little thing that brings me joy ^_^

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In the meantime, if you enjoyed this, you may also like:

Why Crowley is Blind to his Yellow Eyes

A Nightingale Sang in 1941

Baraqiel and Azazel

The Erasure of Human!Metatron

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #repetition compulsion #trauma #ptsd #complex ptsd #good omens memory #ivoc #erasure theory

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madhare0512 · 1 year

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headcanons for the ultimate spiderman:

(spoilers for and revolving around seasons 1 and 2)

- this universe's spiderman is actually a mutant. or partly one anyway. the spider that bit him would've only given him the spider-sense and heightened senses, but Peter is a dormant mutant, so he got a few more traits than he was supposed to.

- the team had a list of things Danny Rand has not seen, read, or experiences. this list includes: Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Star Trek, Home Alone, any Disney movie, among multiple others. this list is also to be completed before Danny finishes out the alloted year

- the team has a relationship most would consider romantic, but the truth of it is, if you're going into life-or-death situations with someone on a weekly/daily basis, you're gonna get close. the team has little to no concept of personal space, their jokes to each other are met with fond exasperation, and while they tease and fight and bicker, they love each other and will do anything for each other

- Luke and Danny have kissed AT LEAST once

- Peter has kissed Sam, Ava, and Danny. Sam was a dare after a battle gone wrong when they where all hopped on sedatives and painkillers. Ava was an accident, he was running high on adrenaline and relief after a battle in which she almost didn't make it out. Danny is his best friend and boyfriend and Peter fucking LOVES him

- MJ and Harry both love Peter dearly but he kind of bails on them at a moments notice, so while they'll happily hang out with him, they don't expect much time from him anymore. they still plan with him and help him out and will drop everything if he needs them

- Danny and Peter's personal training sessions? that's just a them thing, it's entirely private. Danny doesn't offer those lessons freely and he declines if anyone asks. Peter is the only one who's gotten those lessons. no one could tell why

- if Peter is out on patrol past one am, the team has full license to drag him back home

- (inspired by a fic on FF by Stormy1x2) the team has a patrol schedule implemented when Danny, Luke, Ava, and Sam saw just how much Peter's pushing himself to keep people safe

- Peter does NOT patrol Hell's Kitchen and if he sees a man in white Egyptian-style armor/a white cloak/a full white suit, he does not approach and he doesn't worry about it. the Knight guy and Daredevil don't like being interrupted. Peter does maintain a healthy working relationship with both of them though

- the team may or may not have a sort of open relationship? Danny and Peter are the only ones confirmed to be in a romantic relationship

- Sam likes head scritches

- Ava can, in fact, purr and has other cat-like attributes away from the amulet

- Luke's and Ava's biggest fears are failure, presented differently

- Danny's and Peter's biggest fears are that they'll prove themselves unworthy of the responsibilities and duties they've taken on

- despite Danny seeming the type and Sam having the attitude, Luke's the one with the expensive and LONG morning routine that includes shower, hair care, skin care, etcetera

- if Ava threatens to go to Coulson about assigning more homework ONE MORE TIME the boys are not responsible for bodily harm

- training nights are split on who runs them, but the team does get very serious about it. they're all training in their own ways, showing each other what works for them, but they're serious about it

- Danny does yoga, Sam and Ava will sometimes join him

- two people will patrol at night, this tradition started back before the Hellicarrier went down and continues even after its back up

- Danny and Luke have two friends outside of the team, Matt and Jess. Matt is blind and Jess used to be in a gang

~~~

more to come if I find them again

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