#We Could Be Heroes

[alpha-beta-gamer]

We Could Be Heroes is a carnage-filled physics-based side-scrolling beat 'em up where everything's a weapon!

Read More & Play The Alpha Demo, Free (Steam)

Gameplay Video:

[nicolethered]

Pedro as Marcus Moreno in We Can Be Heroes (2020)

[shoot-me-now-or-shoot-me-later92]

Can we have more Marcus Moreno pleeeease?

[revasserium]

tragic heroes

he sees it in the way you look at him, at the way you see passed all his bravado, all his helpless insecurities, hidden behind a firm exterior, or an easy smile, or a wink and a kiss to the cameras.

the first time you ask if he’s tired, he almost breaks down.

“exhausted,” he says, finally admitting it to himself, letting the height of his body curl in on itself till he’s sure he could fit comfortably in your arms and stay there.

“shh…” you tell him, “it’s okay…”

“everyone gets tired sometimes, even superheros like you,” you say, reaching for him, pulling him into you, into your chest, holding him like a breath, carrying him in your arms as though that’s where he’s always belonged.

“i’m not a superhero,” he says, his voice small and tight and terribly different from the way it usually is.

“of course you are,” you say, pulling back to look at him, to cup his cheeks between your hands like water in a stand storm, like something beautiful, something precious and perfect — something made so by it’s mere existence.

and when he tries to shake his head, to open his mouth and tell you how wrong you are, you shut him up with a kiss. you kiss him so hard and so deep that for a moment, he can’t remember a time when he wasn’t kissing you. you kiss him hard enough to bruise, hard enough to forget.

when you finally pull away, he looks down to find you smiling and he leans down to kiss you back like acceptance, like pain and knowing and remembering.

“you’ll always be my hero.”

ATSUMU, bokuto, hoshiumi, HINATA, midoriya, oikawa, MIRIO

[sneetsnootyoit]

How I think the Pedro Boys would react to you being audhd (autism and adhd) P.2

P.1 here

Does research and carries around fidgets and sensory aids for you (they're still learning, but at least they're trying)

Marcus Moreno, Marcus Pike, Pero Tovar, Javi Gutierrez

Does research and carries around fidgets and sensory aids for you (things they know work for you)

Frankie Morales, Oberyn Martell, Tim Rockford, Silva

"Bitch, me too!"

Dieter Bravo, Dio Morrissey

Pictures provided by @serenaxpedro

[nothingbutpoison]

[littlebeethings]

With the Morning Light

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Reader Word count: 1500 Warnings: None, just fluff Summary: Nights when Marcus was gone were the hardest. You couldn’t stop yourself from worrying about him, wondering if you would see him again. This night was no different. Only when he finally did stumbled into your little house, bruised and bloody, he had a baby in his arms. Masterlist | Ao3

It was one of those nights you hated most. The nights where you were left alone to worry. The house was dark and quiet which allowed all the thoughts you could normally drown out during the day to spark to life.

It was well past midnight and the coffee between your hands had long gone cold. You continued to grip the mug regardless. It not only helped you stay awake during nights like these, but it also helped ground you. When the thoughts became too much, you focused on the smooth, round ceramic beneath your fingertips.

The mug was a part of a set your aunt gave you when you married. They fit perfectly in your hands. When you opened the gift after you got home from your honeymoon, you didn’t imagine them being used so late at night to keep you from panicking.

You knew what being Marcus’s partner entailed when you said “I do.” You knew it when you said “Yes!” And you knew it when you asked him to get coffee all those years ago. You had nights like these long before the wedding and before the engagement, but before you had roommates or family nearby you could stay with when these nights got to be too hard. I guess it was your fault for wanting a little bit of land away from the hustle and bustle of the city you spent your days in. But Marcus had agreed.

Originally, the home was going to be built from scratch. Marcus wanted it to be perfect for the two of you. You were on the way to the lot your realtor wanted to show you when you passed this house.

Marcus had one hand on the wheel and one hand around yours. His finger ran over the engagement ring he had put on you not three months prior. You leaned your head against the window and watched the tall trees pass.

“We have to have chickens,” you said.

“Chickens?” Marcus asked.

“Yes, chickens,” you smiled thinking of your aunt’s chickens and the taste of farm-fresh eggs. Having a little basket on the counter with brown and blue eggs inside.

“We will get chickens then,” Marcus said. “We can have the coop modeled after our house.”

You laughed, “A normal coop will do.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence watching the scenery pass you by. You love the idea that you would someday soon be living out here with the love of your life. It put a smile on your face that you couldn’t get rid of.

The car went around a large turn when you saw it. The little gray stone house being eaten by green veins, hidden by large oak trees, and was that a willow tree on the left?

“Marcus, stop the car,” you said, your eyes glued to the house with the red and white for sale sign in the yard.

“What is it?” he asked, slowing the car down.

“That house,” you said. “That’s the house.”

Marcus pulled the car off to the side. You both stepped out of the car, and you jogged over to the little wooden gate that opened into the yard. Marcus came to stand behind you, his arms slowly wrapped around your waist and his chin came to rest on your shoulder. You laid your arms over his.

“This is our house,” he whispered, taking in every little detail. It would need work. A lot of work. But it was your house.

“We’re home.”

You called your realtor and had an offer in before the day ended. The first thing you did when you moved in was hang a porch swing in the willow tree.

It took time, but the first floor was almost completely renovated and you would be starting work on the upstairs bedrooms in a few months. You had chickens, just like you wanted. Some mornings you would get up with the sun and collect the eggs while Marcus fixed coffee. The two of you would meet beneath the willow and drink your coffee and listen to the sounds of the countryside. Those mornings were perfect. Other mornings, especially in the winter months, you would stay in bed a little while longer. Marcus would get up and start a fire in the fireplace across from your bed and then crawl under the covers beside you. Those mornings were wonderful.

It’s the nights alone you didn’t like.

You woke up with your cheek pressed against the wooden dining table. The screen door had been what woke you. The screen door. Marcus.

You stood us quickly, your chair screeching against the floor. Marcus stood in the entryway still in his tactical suit. He was covered in dirt, blood, and bruises. Whose blood, you didn’t know. And in his arms was a little girl no older than four. She was sound asleep against Marcus’s shoulder.

You wondered if this was what Catelyn Stark felt when Ned came home with Jon. But Marcus had not been to war, nor would he have cheated, and he didn’t have a sister who ran away with a married man and caused the war that Marcus would theoretically be fighting in.

“Whose child is this?” You asked, moving closer and brushing the little girl’s long hair from her face.

“Is the guest room still set up from when your sister’s son stayed the night?” Marcus asked. He sounded so tired.

“Yes,” you said, reaching out to take the girl from him. He hesitated at first. Something you didn’t recognize flashed across his face. Then he released her to you. Quietly, you took the girl up the stairs to the guest room and tucked her into the twin bed.

When you came back downstairs, Marcus was sitting at the kitchen table. You grabbed the medkit you kept under the sink and fixed a glass of water. Carefully, you began to clean Marcus’s face. He closed his eyes, his hand rested on your hip as you worked. 

“Marcus,” you whispered. “Whose child is sleeping in our guestroom?”

He sighed. “No one.”

You placed the rag you had been using to wipe his face on the table and cupped his cheeks. “She has to be someone.”

Marcus leaned into your touch and looked up at you. “She was at an orphanage that had been attacked. She was the only child left.” Your name fell from his lips and the way he said it caused something in you to shatter. “They were all dead. All of them.”

“Oh, Marcus.” You gathered him in your arms, his head resting against your chest. 

“I couldn’t save them,” he cried. “I couldn’t save any of them.”

“You saved her,” you whispered.

You didn’t get him to bed until almost three. You left him sleeping in the bedroom, having gently pried his tactical suit off him and coaxing him into the bed. 

Climbing the stairs you wondered what would come next. There were so many different paths from this one. You never imagined yourself a mother, but then Marcus showed up with her in his arms and you had the same feeling you felt when you saw this house.

You quietly entered the guestroom. The little girl was still fast asleep. Her little body moved with each breath. You sat in the chair beside the window and that’s where you sat until morning. The last thought before sleep took you was, “this is our child.”

You woke up with your arms wrapped around a tiny human. Sometime in the night, the little girl had crawled into your lap. And sometime in the night, you had wrapped your arms around her.

The pounding of someone running up the stairs echoed around you and then Marcus was there. He sighed and his hand gripped his bare chest when he saw you. “You weren’t there when I woke up,” he said.

“I didn’t want her to be alone,” you said. You reached your hand out, silently asking him to join you. He did. He kissed the top of your head before sitting on the floor beside the chair. His hand gripped yours like it was his lifeline.

“What do we do now?” Marcus asked. His eyes on the little girl in your lap.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, burying your nose in the little girl’s hair.

“Her name’s Missy,” Marcus said.

“Missy,” you repeated, trying the name on your tongue.

“I know you said no kids,” Marcus began.

“I said no biological kids,” you corrected him.

“Biological kids,” Marcus paused. “Would you ever consider. . . ?”

Missy stirred a bit only to press farther into you. Your body reacted in this warm, fuzzy way. It had you holding her closer to you, rubbing circles into her back as you remembered your mother doing to you when you were sick or tired as a kid. Marcus squeezed your hand and you squeezed back. 

The night was finally over and with the morning sun, you could breathe.

“Yes.”

[sirowsky-stories]

Recovery

Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

Submitted by @yourstrulylightstar283 No prompts for this one, it's based on This Ask. Character: Marcus Moreno

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Marcus Moreno x Original Female Character Sarah, plus daughters Missy and Bianca. AU. Allusions to severe injuries. Flashbacks. Comfort and fluff. Word Count: 680 Masterlist of the Celebration Sirowsky's Main Masterlist

   It’s been over a month when he’s finally discharged from the hospital, and it feels so good to be back home.    Of course, his last mission with the Heroics had to have gone bad, sending him into retirement with a bang. He’s not sure why he ever expected that it would just go smoothly, because that’s almost never been the case in the past.

   Thankfully though, he is alive and well on his way back to normal, surrounded by family and friends, all of whom have been there for him every step of the way.    He still has a long way to go with months of physical therapy to get through before he’ll be considered fully recovered, but there’s no rush. He’s got everything he needs right here at home, because that’s where his girls are.

   They’re in the kitchen today, preparing a small feast to celebrate his survival and homecoming, and he happily sits in a reclining armchair in the living room, watching the three of them bustle about, helping each other with the various dishes while joking around and having fun.    God, he loves the sounds of their happiness.

   Once all the dishes are finished, they help him get to the table since he still gets winded if he exerts himself too much. The long-term effects of a busted lung.    Then Missy calls for everyone’s attention.

   “So, I know that it’s Halloween this weekend, but I thought that maybe we could look at this like a mini Thanksgiving dinner. Because I feel like we all have so much to be thankful for right now and I, for one, don’t feel like focusing on anything scary for a good long while.”

   “I think that’s a great idea, sweetheart,” Sarah agrees, and Missy smiles at her adoptive mother before turning to her adoptive sister.

   “Is that alright with you, Bianca?”

   “Of course,” her little sister agrees. “You know I don’t like spooky stuff anyway.”

   Marcus hears them agree and start to chatter happily about all the things they’re grateful for right now, but his mind is drifting.    A light sting of pain from his damaged side has brought him back to that night. To the fight and the loss. The terrible pain that he suffered as his body was broken long before he lost consciousness.    How he’d tried to keep fighting to protect his teammates.

   He remembers every punch and every cut, followed by the unyielding pavement that had broken his fall, after he’d been hurled ten feet into the air, finally leaving him unable to rise back up anymore.    And he remembers waking up but being unable to ask about his team. Not knowing if he’d failed to protect them had scared him more than his own condition had.

   “Dad?” Missy’s voice reaches him, breaking through the haze of pain and fear, and he refocuses to find all three of them staring at him with concerned expressions now.

   Clearly, they’ve been trying to get his attention more than once.

   “I’m okay,” he assures them. “I just… needed to remember.”

   They know what he means by that. How he sometimes can’t stop the images, but has to let them live and be real, because if he tries to bury or ignore them, they come back in the form of crippling nightmares or unbearable headaches.

   “Did it pass?” Bianca asks quietly, and he smiles softly at her.

   “It always does when I’m around my girls.”

   That makes them all smile, relieving all tension from the room as they dig into the delicious food that they’ve spent all afternoon making.    And Marcus thinks to himself that it doesn’t matter what he’s been through, because the network of support that surrounds him will forever protect him from any real harm. Their love shields his heart and keeps the deepest and most precious parts of his mind safe.

   Through the care that they give to his soul, he has in some ways already fully recovered. And that’s what he’s gonna tell them that he’s thankful for, every Thanksgiving for as long as he lives.

THE END

I'm sorry for the delay @yourstrulylightstar283 but all the little stories I've been writing for this celebration really helped to inspire me to write this, so I hope you like it.

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[c0kewh0re6969]

Doing a shit ton of c0k3 and drinking all day and getting steps in instead of eating 🩷

[nicolethered]

Pedro as Marcus Moreno in We Can Be Heroes (2020)

[cringengl]

My vision of the Stranger Things s5 ending is with Heroes by David Bowie playing whilst a montage of all the characters plays.

And as the camera zooms out of a Byler forehead touch, the lyrics that play are:

"'Cause we're lovers, and that is a fact

Yes we're lovers, and that is that"

Creating overall a beautiful parallel to finding Will's body in s1 (where we get a montage of the characters finding out that Will is apparently dead) and the s4 ending where most of the main characters are faced with a feeling of doom as they see what Hawkins has become.

[binkbonkers]

cried the heroes yesterday, cried to heroes today, will probably cry to heroes tomorrow

[nyx-b-log]

doing a post on a saturday for once, go me!

haven't made anymore progress on all the living and the dead, but will definitely go back to it soon.

instead, i've been busy reading project hail mary by andy weir, which is a good time and surprisingly easy read! i'm flying through it, got maybe a quarter left? i like the way it's structured, and honestly the sheer joy coming out of these characters doing science makes it so much more fun to read.

for audiobook, i'm about two thirds of the way through we could be heroes by mike chen. it's not really breaking any new ground, and if i was reading it physically then i would finished it incredibly quickly, but it's fine. popcorn read, sort of. good audiobook tho (british accent aside. it's passable, but not great).

will have finished both of these by next week, so will give full thoughts then!

[cevans-is-classic]

Marcus thinks you calling him and asking him to come over will be this sweet moment where you tell him how you feel, and he plans the rest of your life together.

No.

Instead, you want to go towel shopping with him because he has the "good, fluffy ones. I figure superheros need the good stuff, and you deliver — so help."

Better luck next time, he thinks.

[bermudianabroad]

The job that rejected me must not have filled the position as they’ve just posted the same role on their website and I am so so tempted to slide my application back at them... like: heyyy 😎👉👉