#mcu fandom

[thebizarrebazaarofthoughts]

When I say that I snorted. Imagine Sue and Reed so busy, packing for some I dunno string of conferences and events. And Johnny sending this text to be a little shit. After they just left.

Only at some point during the morning he had convinced them that he and Ben could just babysit for the week! Haha!

Saw the movie last night at an early screening and was so hype!! Be prepared for my brain rot XDD

[sentryvvorld]

thinking about that one f4 interview where Joseph mentions sentry and Pedro goes straight into fanboy mode and specifically addresses Lewis by his full name

LIKE YEAH BITCH, REAL RECOGNISES REAL.

[murrpa]

yearning to see them again on the big screen

i miss my boys :(

[fandomnerd9602]

Natasha x Male Reader : Nat and Y/n are married and are babysitting Clint’s kids while he and his wife go out on a date night

Natasha puts little Nathaniel to bed…

Natasha runs into Y/N in the hallway…

Natasha: Cooper and Lila?

Y/N: in their rooms.

Natasha: (purrs) good

She wraps her arms around her husband…

Natasha; I love the kids but I love my time with you a little more

The two kiss once twice…

The front door opens…

Clint: we’re back! Natasha? Y/N?

[legalandnotease]

True, and that's one thing they can't hold agaisnt the New Avengers. None of them have killed kids.

The same can't be said for the og team.

People acting like the New Avengers are evil incarnate whilst pretending the og team were paragons of virtue is hilarious to me.

Like you don't get to be all outraged about Alexei being a "child trafficker" whilst ignoring how Wanda slaughtered an entire temple full of teenage magic acolytes & tried to kill another teenager all in an attempt to kidnap the childen of her variant.

You don't get to condemn Walker for "killing an innocent man" to avenge the murder of his best friend, but also be fine with how Tony tried to brutally murder Bucky despite (and shot him in the back) knowing he was mind- controlled.

You don't have a right to complain about Yelena "continuing to kill after she was freed" and yet make excuses for Clint having gone on the rampage as Ronin and killed hundreds of people during The Snap.

Edit for Ironheart ending: You also don't get to complain about the Thunderbolts "making a deal with the devil" or "working for the bad guy" when Riri Willians made a deal with a literal demon to resurrect the AI version of her friend.

The people condemning the Thunderbolts don't have the moral high ground here. They're just revealing themselves to be hypocrites.

[agentbils]

taste you on my tongue જ⁀➴

⚘. kate bishop x reader

SUMMARY. a tipsy night at kate’s turns into something neither of you can laugh off — not when the flirting stops being a joke, not when she’s staring at you like that

WARNINGS. soft smut, mentions of alcohol, drunken flirting, mutual pining, best friends to lovers, lots of giggling and kissing, suggestive dialogue, one tragically unkissed avenger threat

WORD COUNT. 1.8k

NOTES. this is my first marvel fic on here so i just kept it a little laid back for now but i hope you enjoy!

TAGS. @billiesbabyy444 @peytonneilish @caliscomettt (click here to be on my taglist! <3)

kate practically trips over the threshold, laughing so hard she has to catch herself on the wall, and you’re right behind her, giggling into your hand as your heel skids on the hardwood. her keys hit the floor with a loud clatter and neither of you even try to pick them up. you’re both too far gone, buzzed and giddy, the kind of drunk where everything feels hilarious and your skin is too warm and your thoughts are maybe a little louder than you want them to be.

“god, your neighbor hates us,” you mutter, trying to shush your laugh and failing.

kate turns around with this crooked smile, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed. “my neighbor can suck my—” she cuts herself off mid-sentence to hiccup, then bursts out laughing again, shoulders shaking.

you lose it. you’re wheezing as you walk into her apartment, and kate’s still standing in the doorway like she’s forgotten how walking works. her jacket’s half off one arm and her mascara’s a little smudged, and she’s never looked hotter or more ridiculous in her life.

“i can’t feel my legs,” she declares.

you blink. “do you want a medal or—”

“no,” she says seriously, pointing at you. “i want water. and you. in my bed. immediately.”

“what?” you snort.

“im… kidding–” she smiles, running a hand through her hair. “but you’re staying the night,” she says, not even a question, just a statement like it’s obvious, like there was never any other option.

you raise an eyebrow, leaning against the arm of her couch. “is that an order?”

kate shrugs, smirking. “i mean, unless you wanna try your luck on the sidewalk in those shoes.”

you look down at your feet and hum. “that’s a good point,” you say, kicking them off.

you follow her into the kitchen, where she fumbles with two water bottles and somehow ends up dropping one, and it rolls under the fridge. she squints down at it like it personally betrayed her, then hands you the other with a dramatic sigh. “guess i’ll just die.”

she stares at you while you drink it. not in a creepy way, more like in a lingering a second too long on your mouth kind of way. but you’re too tipsy to fully register it, or maybe you do and just decide not to care.

after a couple of sips, you hand her the same bottle for her to drink.

when she heads to her room, she yells over her shoulder, “you want the hawkeye shirt or the one with the soup stain?”

“um, hawkeye. but only because i respect you.”

a second later she lobs it at your face with way too much force. “liar!”

you peel it off your head, laughing again, and wander into the bathroom to change. the shirt’s soft and worn and smells like her.

when you step back into her room, she’s half under the blankets already, her hair a mess, eyes heavy-lidded but locked on you. her gaze drops to your legs, then crawls back up. and when she grins, it’s lazy and slow and makes your stomach do a little flip.

“you’re cute,” she says, barely above a whisper.

“you’re wasted,” you shoot back, even though you’re grinning too.

kate just hums and pulls back the blanket in invitation. “and you’re not leaving.”

you climb in beside her, her knee bumping yours under the blanket. she smells like wine and vanilla and whatever shampoo she keeps forgetting to replace. her hand brushes your arm. accidental, maybe. or not.

your heart’s pounding. you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or her or both.

but god, she’s close. and she’s still staring.

you look over at her and she’s smiling, hair falling into her face, cheeks pink, and her pupils huge. she’s swaying a little, like the mattress is moving under her, and she keeps poking your knee with her foot every time you stop paying attention to her for more than two seconds.

you shift to your knees, facing her, fingers tugging absentmindedly at the hem of the shirt she gave you, the fabric bunched between your fingers. everything feels kind of floaty.

“you’re staring,” you say, teasing, tilting your head at her.

kate doesn’t even try to deny it. “yeah, ‘cause you’re pretty and you’re in my bed wearing my clothes.”

you laugh, throwing a pillow at her without warning. “shut up.”

she gasps dramatically, clutching it to her chest like she’s been wounded. “you assault me in my own home?”

“your fault,” you say, reaching for another pillow just in case.

kate narrows her eyes, grinning. “so it’s war.”

she lunges at you with the pillow, the two of you collapsing into a full on mess of limbs and laughter and flying fabric. you can barely breathe from how hard you’re laughing, ducking and twisting to dodge her weak swings while trying to land your own, but it’s impossible because you’re both too drunk to aim and too soft on each other to care.

she grabs the pillow out of your hands, tosses it behind her like she’s won something, and then, before you can react, she pins you.

just like that, kate’s on top of you, knees bracketing your hips, hands on either side of your shoulders, her hair falling in her face, breathless and flushed and smiling like she can’t believe she got away with this.

you’re panting, still laughing a little, but your hands are curled lightly around her wrists now, and when you look up at her, it hits you all at once—how close she is, how heavy the air feels, how her smile fades just a little when her eyes drop to your mouth.

you swallow hard.

kate tilts her head, voice suddenly soft. “this okay?”

you nod, slowly, heart thudding in your chest. “yeah. it’s okay.”

she smiles again, but it’s different this time—shyer, maybe, or just more honest, and she lets her weight settle slightly into you.

you reach up without thinking, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, your fingers brushing warm skin. “you’re so annoying,” you whisper, and it’s stupid how fond you sound.

kate laughs, her nose scrunching. “you love it.”

you don’t say anything, but you don’t look away either.

“i kinda wanna do something really stupid,” kate finally says, voice low, a little hoarse like it caught in her throat on the way out.

your heart stutters. “yeah?” you murmur, tilting your head slightly. “like what?”

she laughs under her breath, eyes dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before flicking back up to your eyes. “like… something i’ll probably regret in the morning. but like… only if you regret it too.”

you arch a brow, still breathless, your voice softer now. “why would i regret it?”

kate goes still for a second and then she exhales this shaky little laugh, like she wasn’t expecting that question to hit as hard as it does. her mouth opens like she’s about to say something dumb, or cocky, or brush it off, but she doesn’t. instead she just looks at you, really looks at you, and shrugs one shoulder, kind of helplessly.

“because you’re my best friend,” she says, quiet now, a little raw. “and i want you so bad it makes my head feel stupid.”

you blink. the room spins just slightly, whether from the alcohol or the words or her weight on top of you, you’re not sure. your breath catches, something in your chest squeezing tight, and you don’t even realize you’re holding onto her a little harder.

you look up at her, your heart pounding, and whisper, “then don’t make it stupid.”

kate just looks at you like she’s trying to decide if this is actually happening. her palms slide up your sides, her fingers curling there like she’s anchoring herself. she’s smiling, flushed and breathless, eyes flicking to your mouth again and again, and you can tell she’s working up to something.

“okay,” she says, voice low and a little raspy, “so if i kiss you right now… you’re not gonna punch me, right?”

you snort. “why would i punch you?”

she shrugs, leaning in a little. “because you’re pretty and scary and i’ve had three drinks and literally no impulse control.”

you arch a brow. “so this is a risk you’re willing to take?”

kate grins. “i’m an archer, baby. i live for high-stakes shots.”

you laugh, cheeks burning, but you don’t stop her when her fingers brush your jaw, slow and warm and so careful, like she’s trying to memorize the feel of you under her hands.

“also,” she adds, her thumb skimming your bottom lip before rambling, “i’ve been thinking about this for, like, way too long. and if i don’t do it now, i might literally explode. and then it’s your fault. and you’d have to tell the avengers i died tragically and unkissed.”

you groan, half laughing. “you’re so dumb.”

kate nods solemnly. “so dumb. so in love with you. i mean—into. into you. i meant into—”

but you’re already pulling her down, cutting her off with a kiss before she can dig that grave any deeper.

and god, it’s worth the wait.

the second your mouths meet, she melts into it, all hot breath and shaking fingers and drunk intensity. her lips taste like strawberry vodka and mint gum, her breath hitching every time you shift beneath her, every time your fingers drag up the back of her neck. she moans low in her throat like she wasn’t expecting it to feel this good, like it’s the answer to every pent-up thing she’s been carrying around for months.

it’s raw and messy and immediate, all urgency and hands in the wrong places. now that it’s happening, she doesn’t know how to stop.

you gasp a little into it, caught off guard, but your hands are already moving into her hair, knocking her messy ponytail loose, the other gripping her waist like you don’t trust your body not to float away. kate’s hands are just as greedy, slipping under the hem of your borrowed shirt, fingers splayed across your back, dragging you closer like that’ll fix the way her whole body is aching for you.

her kiss gets sloppier by the second and she tastes delicious, like everything you’ve ever wanted and didn’t let yourself ask for. you can feel her smiling against your mouth, stupid and smug and breathless, and it makes you laugh into the kiss, which only makes her chase it harder.

she pulls back for a second just to whisper, “holy shit,” like you knocked the air out of her lungs.

you’re panting, dazed, lips parted and puffy, blinking up at her as she brushes her nose against yours. “still gonna regret it?”

kate shakes her head immediately, grinning like an idiot. “nah. already planning to do it again in, like, three seconds. maybe two if you keep looking at me like that.”

you meet her gaze, eyes dark and daring, your voice low and smooth and nothing but trouble.

“then what are you waiting for?”

© agentbils

bow dividers from @/cursed-carmine

[v3rdantart]

The Apple trend with stuckyyy

[givemeursweater]

Submission, a sign of devotion — W.M.

pairing: Dark Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader summary: Can you trust her? Can you feel her in your mind even when she isn´t there? Will she help you, destroy you or both? And why do you want to know so bad? content warnings: manipulation, a bit of bondage word count: around 1680 authors note: there should be a part two with smut soon... i dont promise anything tho

The echo of your footsteps resonated through the stone hallways of the sanctuary—quick, almost clumsy, as if you were trying to flee from something invisible. You hadn't taken off your training robe, nor had you bothered to wipe away the tears trembling on your cheeks.

The door to your room slammed shut behind you, and the moment you leaned against it, your knees gave out. You let yourself fall onto the cold wooden floor, uncaring of the words from your mentor that still echoed in your mind: “You’re not ready. You don’t even know who you are when power tempts you.”

The worst part was… they were right. And that hurt more than any failed spell.

You didn’t turn on the light. You just let the twilight seep through the window, casting long shadows that slowly danced across the walls.

And then… something moved.

At first, you thought it was a reflection of your own sobs in the mirror at the end of the room. But no. The figure there wasn’t you. Not entirely.

A feminine silhouette, hair wild and eyes glowing, stared at you from the other side of the glass. She wasn’t standing. She didn’t move like a human. It was as if the mirror breathed for her.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, her voice soft, with a sweetness that didn’t belong in this place.

Your body tensed. You dragged yourself to the center of the room, frowning at the mirror.

“Who…?”

The figure stepped toward you, but the mirror didn’t creak, didn’t crack. It was as if her world was liquid and she passed through it like smoke.

“I’m not your enemy,” she continued. “But I know what it’s like to be rejected by someone you trust. I know how much it hurts to not be enough.”

Your heart pounded faster. That voice reached into places even you hadn’t explored. Vulnerability. Anger. Confusion.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice trembling against your will.

The woman smiled. A small smile, melancholic… dangerous.

“Not what you think. Not yet,” she said. “I only want to help you understand what others can’t teach you. What lies beyond the rules of Kamar-Taj. What power can truly give you… if you know how to accept it.”

The reflection vanished for a second. Then she appeared behind you. Not in the mirror. In the window. In the still water in the vase on your desk. Everywhere at once.

You spun slowly, shaking, not sure if this was a vision, a mental trick… or something much more real.

“My name is Wanda,” she whispered. “But you can call me when you need me.”

And just like that, she was gone. Only your pounding heartbeat remained… and the vague sense that the abyss had just stared into your eyes.

—

Since that night, you no longer kept vases with water in your room. You covered the mirrors. Avoided walking near fountains and reflective surfaces. You knew it seemed ridiculous—if anyone at the sanctuary noticed, they'd call you paranoid—but ever since you saw Wanda, something had burrowed under your skin.

And still, you said nothing. Not to Strange. Not to Wong. Not to anyone.

You often felt watched. In the library. During training. Even while you slept. It didn’t feel threatening. It felt… curious. Warm. Clinging.

And tonight, the air was too still.

You were reading—or pretending to read. The pages of a lesser grimoire trembled in your hands, more from sweat than from cold. Then you heard her voice. Not outside. Not in your head. Somewhere in between.

“Why pretend everything’s fine?”

You turned your head. In the fogged-up glass of the window, there she was again. Her face. Her gaze. Her mouth forming words that reached you too clearly.

“I’m not pretending,” you whispered, as if answering her was inevitable.

Wanda smiled, tilting her head in that way of hers—part maternal, part predatory.

“They’re lying to you, you know? Your mentor. Their rules. They teach you to repress yourself. They keep you from becoming what you could be… if you’d just stop being afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you answered too quickly.

She laughed, softly, like she’d just caught something between her fingers.

“Not of me. Of yourself.”

You crossed your arms, frowning at the reflection. You felt the tension in your stomach. Her voice was like a poisonous perfume, as if talking to Wanda made you feel seen for the first time… and guilty at the same time.

“Why are you here?”

“Because you called me,” she said without blinking. “Because you felt me. Because something inside you wants to understand what they’ll never let you touch.”

You didn’t know what to say.

Then Wanda lifted her hand slowly, and an image appeared in the window beside her face: a book. Dark, with markings you didn’t quite recognize but knew you shouldn’t be seeing. One kept in a sealed section of the library, protected by enchantments.

“This holds the answers you seek. Spells that could make you never depend on anyone again. Not their approval. Not their guidance.”

Your heart raced. You knew that book. You also knew that if anyone caught you even near that section…

“I can’t,” you murmured, shaking your head. “They’d expel me. Lock me up.”

“So what?” Wanda asked, her voice soft, almost pitying. “Would you rather stay an obedient shadow? A tool for their rules?”

Silence. You looked down. And in that moment, Wanda reappeared—in the sink water this time. Closer. More direct. You felt like her voice was brushing the back of your neck.

“I’m not asking you to steal it. Just… look at it. Once. Open the door. Read a page. Do it for you. For what you feel when no one’s watching.”

Your throat was dry. You didn’t say yes.

But you didn’t say no either.

And that was enough for Wanda to smile.

—

The sanctuary’s hallways were silent. That thick kind of silence that makes your steps sound like betrayal.

You knew you weren’t supposed to be there. If someone saw you—if Wong, for instance, peeked around the corner with his usual suspicious stare—there’d be no excuse.

But your feet moved anyway.

The grimoire was sealed in a locked chamber, hidden behind an illusionary mist. A section no one used. No one should use. Years ago, you’d heard rumors about the books kept there: ancient arts, forbidden spells, magic even Stephen avoided unless absolutely necessary.

The air smelled of old paper, ozone, and danger.

And still, you knew which book to look for. You’d seen it in the reflection. Black, with worn edges. An inscription you didn’t fully understand, but one that seemed to whisper to you every time you blinked.

You found it.

You picked it up with trembling hands.

You felt something shift behind you—like the library itself was breathing—but no one was there. No reflection. No voice.

Just you and the weight of the book in your arms.

You returned to your room as if in a trance. Closed the door. Placed the grimoire on the desk. Stared at it.

Didn’t open it.

You sat at the edge of the bed, hands clasped, looking at the book like it was a bomb. Part of you wanted it. Wanted to open it. To feel power in your hands. To understand why Wanda insisted so much.

But the other part—the louder part—was scared. Scared of what you’d find. Scared of her.

You closed your eyes. Took a deep breath.

And then, with no reflection nearby—no water, no glass, no polished surface—you heard her.

“Read it on a full moon.”

Her voice was different this time. Farther away. Like it came from somewhere very, very deep. A vibration in your bones, not your ears.

You turned, searching. Nothing. No one.

Only the book. Still. Waiting.

You got up. Put it in a box. Hid it under the mattress.

You didn’t hear her again after that.

Not that night.

Not the next.

Not in the bathroom mirror.

Not in the windows.

Not even in your dreams.

As if, having gotten what she wanted, Wanda no longer needed to speak.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen when the full moon rose.

—

The room shuddered with a pulse of red energy right after your lips sealed the final syllables of the spell. For an instant, silence was absolute. Then, as if the universe split in two, the air thickened—cold.

A guttural crack filled the space, like bones snapping and twisting in impossible directions.

From the shadows cast by candlelight, Wanda emerged. She didn’t walk. She assembled.

Her body reformed like a gruesome puzzle: jaw snapping into place, shoulders dislocating only to realign, fingers spinning backward before straightening. Her gaze glowed red—not angry, but… hungry.

“You did it…” her voice dragged toward you, slow, silky, as if the air itself obeyed her—“I knew you would.”

Your hands trembled, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You didn’t know if it was fear, excitement, or the terrifying sense that you'd crossed a line and there was no way back.

“So much resistance…” she murmured, floating closer, never touching the floor—“and look at you now. Beautiful. Submissive. Willing.” She smiled, "Such a good pet".

Before you could speak, something invisible wrapped around your wrists—strands of pulsing red magic, making your skin prickle with each ghostly touch. In a blink, you were pinned against the wall, arms spread, bound like an offering. It didn’t hurt. Not physically. But it burned deep inside your chest.

Wanda tilted her head. Her smile was wicked, almost tender.

“Before I burn everything down… I think it’s only fair I have a little fun with you.”

And that’s when the real torment began.

Her fingers moved through the air, and a cold current brushed your abdomen, drifting lower. It wasn’t flesh. It was something else—an extension of her. Dark. Dead. Yet so real that your body arched instinctively.

“Can you feel it?” she whispered, as if speaking louder would break something inside you—“It’s the price of your obedience. And also your reward.”

[sonicboom357]

so you saying is that the marvel universe has a Dan everywhere system now?

the more you think about it it give marvel a Deus ex Machina for story writer.

your hero having a tough time fighting send in Dan saying how he wants to fight the villain, your villain is not enough of a challenge at the moment send in Dan, and we can also say that their is no true rule to when ever Dan wins or losses.

as you mention early he is fighting heroes, villains, and civilians which one could use to say that he is using various level of power at the moment

so if he wants to be street level he's street level, you want him to be fighting Thanos with a infinity gauntlet he can also do that as well

if we also take in the fact that Dan has been doing this for years he could have learned spells, techniques and fighting styles over the years so no hero or villain has a true leg up on him for he will learn a new way to fight you.

also we could use him as an excuse to help people not in the sense that hey I do this because I care, but in a way where he like "a happy healthy person is a much better fight than a sad sick one."

so he could would just randomly to either give you money to pay back some debts, or just nice after fight food.

"he hates giving people this comfort it reminds him of his past self. where it remind him of when he need help or just the fragments of Danny linger to be a hero that just kick in."

DP X Marvel #26

Danny didn’t really think it through. In his defense, there weren’t a lot of guidebooks titled “How to Deal with the Psychotic Future Version of Yourself You Accidentally Redeemed But Are Still Terrified Of.” Jazz suggested therapy. Sam suggested containment. Tucker suggested launching him into deep space. Danny, brilliant and seventeen and sleep-deprived after three days of babysitting a now mostly-reformed Dan Phantom, decided, “Screw it,” ripped open a portal to another dimension, and told him to “go make friends.” Dan grinned, sharp-toothed and wicked, and without hesitation dove through the swirling green and blue mass of unstable ectoplasmic energy.

Thus began the Marvel Universe’s greatest headache.

The first incident happened barely four hours after Dan’s arrival. New York woke up to a brand new urban legend: a demon with burning blue eyes and silver-streaked black hair beating the living shit out of Shocker in the middle of Times Square. People recorded it, of course. Viral videos showed Shocker screaming, running, trying desperately to aim his gauntlets while Dan literally phased through every attack like he was swatting a mosquito. Somewhere in the footage, Dan shouted, “C’MON, MAN! HIT HARDER, YOU’RE EMBARRASSING YOURSELF!” before drop-kicking Shocker into a halal cart.

The Avengers noticed. Specifically, Spider-Man noticed, because Peter Parker had never been so personally offended by something in his life.

“He’s stealing my bit,” Peter whined to MJ later, scrolling through TikTok and watching the mysterious “Blue Devil” bodyslam the Rhino into a GAP storefront. “That’s MY thing. Wisecracking and beating up guys in animal costumes.”

MJ, deadpan as ever, didn’t even look up from her book. “Maybe if you hit the gym once in a while, you could still compete.”

Elsewhere, S.H.I.E.L.D. was losing their collective shit.

Nick Fury reviewed the footage with the grim severity of a man preparing for war. “I want every available agent tailing him. Find out what he is, what he wants, and for God’s sake, do not engage.”

Unfortunately, Dan had other plans. He wanted engagement. Constant, chaotic, no-holds-barred engagement.

When the X-Men tried to approach him peacefully—because, to be fair, a floating, smirking, six-foot-seven superpowered anomaly screamed “mutant”—Dan responded by challenging Wolverine to a fistfight in the middle of Central Park.

“You smell angry,” Dan said, cracking his knuckles and grinning wide. “I like that. C’mon, Knives. Show me what those claws can do.”

Wolverine, never one to back down from a challenge, growled and immediately lunged. It took six X-Men to pull them apart. Logan was half in love and half homicidal.

Jean Grey, massaging her temples afterward, sighed, “He’s not a mutant. He’s something else. Something… worse.”

Meanwhile, Dan wasn’t picky about his opponents. Hero? Villain? Civilian? If you looked at him wrong, he was ready to throw hands. He got into a screaming match with Daredevil over a parking spot. He suplexed Deadpool into a dumpster for calling him “Discount Nightcrawler.” He made Venom cry after a fifteen-minute insult match that Eddie Brock would never fully recover from.

The Fantastic Four tried to reason with him.

“We can help you,” Reed Richards said, voice patient like he was talking to a rabid cat. “We have resources—”

Dan blew up the top three floors of the Baxter Building and left a sticky note on the ruins that said, “UR WELCOME - D.”

The thing was, Dan wasn’t evil anymore. Not really. He wasn’t trying to take over the world. He wasn’t murdering anyone. He just had a lifetime’s worth of rage, grief, and unresolved abandonment issues—and no idea what to do with them except get into constant, escalating, deeply unnecessary fights.

It got to a point where the heroes started treating Dan like a natural disaster.

“Code Blue,” a harried S.H.I.E.L.D. agent barked over comms one afternoon. “I repeat, Code Blue! The entity is currently body-slamming Juggernaut through Grand Central!”

Cap sighed, already pulling on his shield. “Alright, team. Let’s move out.”

Black Widow holstered her guns. “At least it’s not another alien invasion.”

Thor, cheerful as ever, grinned. “I relish a good battle!”

Hawkeye muttered, “You relish being concussed.”

Dan, for his part, loved the attention. He loved the chaos. He loved the feeling of letting loose in a world that could actually handle him, where nobody flinched when he punched through a concrete wall or melted a tank with a blast of pure ectoplasmic fire.

He was happy, in his deeply deranged, borderline-psychotic way.

That didn’t mean he was easy to deal with.

After Dan singlehandedly wrecked a Hydra base (“I was bored, okay?” he said when the Avengers confronted him), Tony Stark decided to try a different tactic.

“Look, Big and Blue,” Tony said, lounging on the ruined remains of what was once a cutting-edge jet. “Ever think about channeling that rage into something… productive? Like, say, joining the Avengers?”

Dan blinked, actually considering it for a full five seconds.

Then he laughed so hard he almost dropped a car on Tony’s head.

“Me? Work with you guys? Under orders? Are you high, Tin Man?”

Steve Rogers, exhausted and already developing a migraine, tried. “You could do a lot of good—”

“I am doing good,” Dan said brightly. “I’m keeping you on your toes. No need to thank me.”

“You broke Clint’s arm last week,” Natasha reminded him.

“He’ll live.”

“He was trying to give you a granola bar.”

Dan shrugged, utterly unbothered. “He looked suspicious.”

The closest thing Dan had to a friend was Deadpool. Not because they got along—they didn’t, not even a little—but because Deadpool was the only one insane enough to keep up.

They had a rivalry. A bloody, chaotic, absolutely incomprehensible rivalry that involved prank wars, bar fights, and one extremely regrettable karaoke contest that left three bars in ruins and a citywide ban on musical gatherings involving either party.

“I hate you,” Dan snarled once, pinning Deadpool to a wall after a four-hour chase across Manhattan.

“I hate you more!” Wade screeched back, thrilled beyond belief.

“Great! Friends forever!” Wade cackled.

Dan screamed into the void.

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton was back in his own dimension, blissfully unaware, telling Jazz, “See? Everything’s fine.”

Jazz, reading a news article titled “Unknown Supernatural Entity Causes $3 Billion in Property Damage, Punches Doctor Doom in the Face” quietly considered strangling him.

Eventually, the heroes adapted. Dan was like bad weather. You prepared for him. You kept an eye out for ominous blue clouds and spontaneous outbreaks of screaming. Sometimes he helped. Sometimes he made things worse. Mostly, he made things interesting.

There were even betting pools.

“Fifty bucks says he crashes this gala,” Sam Wilson said, tightening his bowtie before a high-profile Avengers event.

“Hundred says he wears a suit to crash it,” Bucky Barnes added, deadpan.

“Two hundred he punches Tony before dessert,” Carol Danvers said, sipping champagne.

Dan did crash the gala. In a tuxedo.

He punched Tony before the entrees even made it out.

By then, nobody was even surprised.

The turning point came when Galactus tried to devour Earth (again). The heroes mobilized. Big stakes. High drama. Apocalyptic dread.

Dan showed up in the middle of the chaos, lazily floating beside Captain Marvel.

“Hey,” he said, tilting his head at the giant cosmic entity looming in the sky. “I’m gonna punch that.”

Carol, blinking, said, “You can’t just punch Galactus.”

Dan, already cracking his knuckles, grinned. “Watch me.”

And then he did.

Nobody knew how. It defied physics, logic, and every law of reality. But somehow, Dan punched Galactus so hard the giant stumbled, clutched his jaw, and left.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Deadpool clapped. “THAT’S MY BEST ENEMY!”

Thor dropped his hammer.

Tony sat down on the ground and decided to reconsider all his life choices.

Steve very seriously said, “We are never letting him leave.”

Thus, against all odds, Dan Phantom—the violent, chaotic, semi-redeemed ghost of a now-erased dystopian future—became an honorary Avenger much to his own dismay.

He didn’t exactly follow rules. He certainly didn’t behave. But when Thanos invaded three months later and Dan showed up by suplexing a Leviathan out of the sky and riding it into battle like a demented cowboy, nobody complained.

Well. Except the Leviathan.

In the end, Danny was right.

Everything was fine.

If your definition of “fine” included a psychotic ghost terrorizing both heroes and villains equally, destabilizing multiple governments, and becoming a beloved menace.

But hey. Could be worse.

At least he wasn’t totally evil anymore.

[fortressofwestview]

Leaving this here cuz why not ❤️

Tik Tok saw it first.

[mysticmilktea]

Something about this maroon sports jacket makes me feral

[mimicben]

@feiramie POV you just saw this guy surf out of a planet that’s in the middle of being eaten

The idea of having Johnny’s first interactions with the rest of the MCU cast being that of the guardians is absolutely hilarious to me, so I had to do a little drawing of what I believe their POV would’ve been lol

From this au I’ve also discovered that drawing people surfing is immensely difficult XDD

[asgardtea]

It's so poetic that Loki ruled Asgard much longer than Thor. Loki truly was the actual Odinson.

[luvlyluxx]

A prequel winterwidow movie would change my life actually

This is necessary thanks

Photo from pinterest!!:)

[runes-and-roses]

She Who Fell From the Stars

A Johnny Storm x reader(OC) love story

Warning: some cursing, love tension, memory lost. Will eventually start following along the 2025 movie

*so many ppl liked part 1 🫣 now I'm nervous. I hope you all end up liking where this story goes. This story will follow as closely as I can to the 2025 movie, I've only seen it once at this point and I'm going off by my memory and of course there will be some adjustment to include the reader (OC) so spoilers ahead in the coming parts.

Part 2/?

-----------------------------------------

Baxter Building — Medic room

You wake to a quiet hum.

Soft. Constant. Mechanical.

Your body feels like it’s been asleep for days — heavy, slow to respond. Your limbs ache, your breath shallow but steady.

You blink, again and again, until the dark room becomes clearer.

Medical equipment. Dim lights. A chair in the corner.

And someone in it.

He’s slouched back, one leg propped over the armrest, arms crossed tightly across his chest. His head tilts just slightly, like he never fully gave in to sleep. You recognize the blonde hair, the strong jawline.

Johnny.

You watch him, uncertain.

Then, without warning, your bed creaks as you shift. The motion is enough. He stirs, blinks, sits up fast.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough from sleep. Then a small smile. “You’re awake. That’s a good sign.”

You don’t answer right away. It takes effort just to speak.

“Where... where am I really?”

He stands, walking toward your bedside slowly. “Baxter Building. My Home. You almost crashed-landed. I caught you.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “No big deal.”

You stare at him. “I don’t remember falling.”

“Yeah, well... falling from the sky usually leaves an impression. So.” He smiles, but it’s gentle this time, less show-off.

“I need to get up,” you say suddenly.

“You sure?” He steps closer. “You've been out for days. Might want to ease into it.”

“I feel stuck,” you whisper.

He doesn’t argue. He just offers a hand.

You hesitate. Then take it.

His grip is warm — stable.

He helps you stand. Your legs tremble, but you stay upright.

“Come on,” Johnny says. “The others are dying to meet the girl who fell out of the sky.”

.

Johnny leads you down a corridor lit with soft, sterile lights. The distant voices echo faintly.

You’re not sure how far you’ve walked — every step feels both foreign and necessary — but eventually he stops in front of a wide door. His hand hovers over a panel, and he glances back at you with a crooked half-smile.

“They're not as charming as me,” he says, tapping the panel. “But they’re family.”

The door slides open with a gentle hiss, revealing a spacious room that looks part lab, part lounge. Scattered monitors, strange devices humming with low energy — and three figures who look up as you enter.

The woman is the first to approach — blonde, sharp-eyed, and somehow calming just by standing there.

“This is my sister Sue Storm,” Johnny says. “Smartest person I know, if you don't count Reed — and even then, it's close.”

Sue offers a gentle smile, her voice soft but confident. “You’re awake. That’s a relief. We were worried about you.”

Next is a man leaning over some kind of holographic display. His dark eyes flick to you with immediate curiosity, mind clearly running a mile a minute even as he steps forward.

“Reed Richards,” Johnny adds. “Resident genius. He's already trying to figure out how you survived the fall — or what planet you came from.”

“I haven’t ruled out alternate dimensions,” Reed says seriously, though there’s a warmth behind his words. “It’s good to meet you.”

And then there’s a rumble — footsteps, heavier than the others. The last figure towers in the back, orange-skinned and solid like carved stone.

Johnny lifts his chin toward him. “And that’s Ben Grimm. Don’t let the rocky exterior fool you. He is a big softy on the inside”

Ben crosses his arms, expression unreadable — then nods once. “Hey.”

You look at them — all of them — and that strange feeling returns. Not fear. Not confusion. A resonance.

.

Baxter Building — Reed's Lab

The lights were soft, but your senses felt overwhelmed. You sat on one end of a long couch, wrapped in a blanket Sue had quietly handed you. Everything in the Baxter Building gleamed — steel, glass, light. You felt out of place.

Reed, Ben, Sue, and Johnny stood nearby — giving you space, but watching. Curious. Cautious.

“You’ve had a lot of scans run,” Reed said gently, standing by a touchscreen table. “Nothing invasive, just diagnostics. Your vitals are stable, though your cellular energy is... unusual.”

“I don’t remember anything,” you whispered. “Not even my name.”

The room fell quiet.

“That’s okay,” Sue said softly. “It"ll come back in time.”

Johnny stepped forward, hands in his pockets. “Well... until it does, maybe you should have something to go by.”

You blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, a little awkwardly. “I was thinking... maybe we could call you Dawn.”

You tilted your head.

“You were falling from the sky just as the sun was rising,” he said. “It’s when I caught you. The sky lit up behind you — it looked like you were made of light.”

Sue gave her brother a look — half amused, half questioning. “Getting poetic now, are we?”

Ben smirked. “Better than calling her Comet Girl or Crash Landing.”

Reed didn’t comment. He simply studied your reaction.

You repeated the word under your breath. “Dawn.”

It felt soft. Not yours, but… not wrong.

“I like it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny smiled, clearly relieved. “Then it’s yours. Until you remember the rest.”

"It suits you,” Sue said with a warm smile. “New light. New beginning. And clearly, someone made an impression on my brother.”

Johnny gave her a sideways glance, half-playful, half-defensive. “What? I’m allowed to be poetic once in a while.”

Sue laughed under her breath, nudging Ben. “I like it. I haven’t seen him this... tuned in to someone in a long time.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Sure it’s not just the mysterious part of her that he’s into?”

“Ben,” Sue warned lightly, then turned to you with a gentle expression. “It’s a good name. You don’t have to keep it forever. But for now, it’s yours.”

You held onto it like a lifeline.

“Thank you,” you said. “All of you.”

Well,” Reed said, cutting in, “while the name helps for now, we still need to be careful. She fell from orbit without a scratch. And the energy signatures—”

Johnny cut him off. “She’s not a science project, Reed.”

“No one said she was,” Reed replied calmly. “But something brought her here. And we’d be foolish not to understand what — or who — she might be.”

You sank deeper into the couch, shrinking under their attention.

But then Johnny sat down on the armrest beside you, leaning toward your shoulder — just enough to make it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

“You’re safe here,” he said. “We’ve got you, Dawn.”

In that moment, you believed him.

Sue glanced at Johnny again, then at you — something warm flickering in her eyes.

She stepped closer and said, fondly, “Well, Dawn… welcome to the family.”

.

Baxter Building — Kitchen

Johnny lingered near the kitchen, arms crossed, watching Dawn settle on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her. His usual cocky grin was softer, more thoughtful.

Sue approached Johnny, leaning against the counter beside him.

“So,” she said with a teasing smile, “calling her Dawn, huh?”

Johnny shrugged, not meeting her eyes. "What can I say? She kind of lit up the sky when she fell.”

Sue laughed, folding her arms. “I’m happy for you, you know. It’s been a while since someone caught your interest like this.”

He finally glanced at her, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, well... it’s complicated.”

Sue’s smile softened. “I get it. Just don’t forget, She’s was someone before all this.”

Johnny nodded, quietly. “I know.”

Sue bumped his shoulder lightly. “Good. Because if anyone’s going to look out for her, it should be you.”

He gave her a small, grateful smile.

“You’ve got this, Johnny.”

And for the first time in days, he felt like truly happy.

.

To be continued.