#picking up reading Iron Man comics again

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1968) #6

[moghedien]

obviously there are a bunch of issues with the MCU and I'm not gonna sit here and try to convince everyone that MCU movies are cinema or whatever so don't get what I'm gonna say twisted. I do find their kinda mainstay in cultural media and the dominance they had to be interesting, especially now in an era where the MCU is undeniably falling off and struggling. just as like a cultural analysis I find that interesting and everyone has their opinions of why it happened.

my opinion/theory on why the MCU just crashed is because they sort of forgot what it means to be telling a comic book story, especially a marvel comic book story. Because I've read thousands of issues of various marvel series at this point, across tons of different eras and events, and the thing that makes them last (which is also a thing that drives me personally crazy and I hate so much) is that the status quo doesn't really change. Or when it does, it lasts for a few arcs or years at most and then gets reverted back to the norm eventually. Like the fact that everything is pointless and nothing is a risk is something I loathe, but it is admittedly what keeps them going. If someone just got into comics, they can pick up a modern issue and expect to find Spider-man or Captain America or whoever. They may be introduced to new characters, but the big ones will show up eventually.

And after the last Avengers movie, like half of the mainstay cast are just gone. Which as someone who likes good stories, I think is a good opportunity (which is arguably being wasted but idk I haven't watched any MCU thing in years) to actually shake things up and develop characters that mainstream people are less familiar with and give them a chance to shine and tell interesting stories. But that's not why people like marvel comics.

People like marvel comics because if they want to read about Iron Man, they can pick up any random issue about Iron Man and it will most likely be the Iron Man they know. People like the status quo, and Marvel has never been high literature and has always basically been pulp storytelling, and it gave people status quo and familiarity. And I think Marvel Studios figured this out waaayyy too late.

Because if Marvel actually understood what people like about the comics, they would have embraced recasting major roles from the start. They wouldn't have tied characters' identities so strongly to their actors and would have made it clear that characters can and will continue on with different faces. There is no reason why Tony Stark needs to be RDJ or Steve Rogers needs to be Chris Evans. They would have had plans to not write these characters out of existance the second actors wanted to exit or died or were fired or any of the various reason why actors are no longer involved with the MCU. Hell they had precedent. They didn't have a problem replacing Terrence Howard with Don Cheadle, who are very different looking people who give very different performances, but we know why they felt ok with that recasting but won't recast any of their boys named Chris...

Anyway it seems like they realized that general audiences don't actually like change if its permanent and are learning the wrong lessons with the Doom casting nonsense and the fact that they seem to keep changing what the new story is to fit what they think audiences want.

I'm fine with the MCU dying off and its probably better for media that it does, but again I'm just kinda interested in the fumble from like an objective standpoint because it seemed like they just locked themselves into eventual failure in such a stupid way. Like they could have told the same safe representative Avengers storylines for decades and wouldn't have a meltdown every time an actor in a major role needed to be removed from production if they just accepted that people would be recast as needed. It would be worse for actors and it would be worse for movies in general probably, but it would have kept the MCU churning out pulp like the comics do to this day. But now people are realizing its not just pulp but pulp they don't want and its gonna kill the MCU eventually.

[nocturnesmoon]

Chapter 1: The Wandering Fool

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - Chapter 1: The Wandering Fool

Wordcount: 6.8k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious trauma, PTSD, Hallucinations, Paranoia, Anxiety, Disturbing Themes, let me know if i missed anything

Description: You ran from it all for a reason, it's easier to disappear when everyone thinks you're dead, but what happens when someone wants to bring you dangerously close to your past, the one you've been trying to run from for so long?

A/N: Trying to not panic over the fact i'm finally releasing this- Hope you enjoy it!!

[Next Chapter]

Through all your problems in life, your most prominent ones always seem to have a connection between the weather, and unnecessary questions. Since the dawn of time people have had this annoying notion of being very nosy.

There aren’t many places in the world you've been to where it's different. They can deny it all they want, it's all the same no matter where you go. Simultaneously the weather has never quite agreed with you. It makes your nonstop travel tedious, a draining task that often takes more time than you'd like it to.

Even here, with the amount of time it took you to get here in the first place because of the weather. It's an ironic turn when only a few days after your arrival, the sun turns the concrete into a fire from hell. A stark contrast to the storms and rain, that kept your flight delayed, again and again.

The heat makes you want to never leave that little flower shop, with the big fan in the corner. If it wasn't for the sharp floral smell, and the continuous buzzing of the thing, you could even have considered working here. It's not prone to traffic of many people, and those who are here are usually in a hurry, so they don't engage you in too much meaningless chatter, while you would work.

Unfortunately, you rarely have that luxury, every turn and twist in your day-to-day life, threatening you with the underlying feeling of being caught, of being known.

A loud sound erupts from the back, when the old man drops a pair of scissors. Children squeal outside the shop, as soon as the ball goes into the hoop placed above the window. It's a disaster waiting to happen. However, it kept the children happy and busy, in the early hours of the morning, when there was nothing to do yet, and the heat wasn't high enough to spoil their activity.

The quiet sound of snips continues soon after, the man continuously giving you odd looks from your request. You don't pay it any mind. Your hands nervously clutch at your wallet, the ache in your knuckles barely noticeable anymore.

One of the kids outside pick up the ball again, launching it at the hoop but missing by an inch. The ball bounces back, and you realize it before you see it. The silence between the kids is almost comical, the squealing and happy yelling gone within an instant.

A little streak of crimson runs down from the kid's cheek, the bruise already forming with unnatural colors. The other kids flock around them, fuzzing about with caring tones and careful touches. One of the older ones finds a rag to gently dab away the blood.

You wonder if it would still be warm to the touch, metallic in taste, an awful sign of life.

The kid's eyes keep staring ahead, through the window. You could pretend that they're looking at the pretty flowers, but you hold their eye contact with purpose. They look defeated in their shock, too big of a reaction for a little accident in your flawed opinion.

You could've stopped them, prevented it before it happened, they wouldn't have gotten hurt.

They continue to stare you down, a frown settled on their lips. Do they really think that you could've stopped them. The kids would've laughed at you at best. The eyes multiply tenfold when the other kids notice the injured one's staring. You keep it up, not backing down despite the uncomfortable feeling of too much attention on you. You've been too exposed today.

You've had eyes in the back of your neck ever since you left your room this morning. Not the usual way either, this time it's been from an unknown source.

You don't miss the man leaned up against the wall to a clothing boutique. His hood raised up, his lips moving to speak every now and then. He's doing a good job at pretending to watch the kids have fun and play.

The old man clears his throat. He's already arranged the flowers beautifully, they now rest on the counter, waiting for you to pay up.

You put down your payment in coins, ignore his grumbling in favor of grabbing the flowers and getting out of there in a hurry.

The café has been your only place of respite. A quaint little space you found when you first came to this place. It sits open to the streets, while still managing to feel packed away. Behind those old curtains, and dainty accessories adorning yellowish walls, is the best coffee you've had in years.

Ding

A pleasant little sound fills your ears every time you open the door, and step down in the lowlight place. As much as you liked it, every time you were here, you'd be fighting your instincts to make the sound again and again and again. Your own mental oblivion urging you forward.

Coffee is already placed on your table. Steam rising from the little blue cup, the one with a chipped side, unofficially assigned to you. The little corner is always free when you come in. There was always the question of whether the little spot was unpopular, or if there were other external factors for its lack of use.

It was hard to tell, by the already general lack of customers and patrons, but the little seat was always there for you.

Confined in your own little corner, you would spend the mornings of the past month sipping coffee, and looking like you belonged in a prison cell. With the amount of paranoia your posture exuded, it's impossible to not think you had something going on.

Luck has a tendency not to follow you in places like these, so you refrain from interacting too much with anything. It leaves you looking a bit like a social reject, but you comfort yourself in the knowledge that in a month, none of these people will see your face again.

At least people don't ask questions here.

You walk over to the counter and place the bouquet of spider lilies down next to the registry. Being careful not to disturb the beautiful order the nice old man had put them in. Your eyes linger for but a moment.

A meek old woman owns the place. Elena. She took a quick liking to you the first you arrived here a few weeks ago. She seemed to understand you in an underlying way, she never asked you the hard questions, she accepted your secrecy in a way only a mother who's seen the worst can do. It freaks you out.

You still feel bad about lying to her.

Had she been someone else, you might've been more inclined. To let the woman know who -what- you really are, would only put her in more harm’s way than necessary. That would even be before she could get a chance to hate you, for the things you've done to stay alive.

The wood protests when you settle into the chair. You pull back on the urge to wiggle in it. The old woman was nowhere to be seen, but the little rustle of pots and pans in the back gave you clear indication of where she is. There's always the fresh smell of newly baked pastries in the mornings, just before everyone wakes up for their daily hustles.

Not many people would come this early, making it a regular occurrence for you to spend that time here. Little hole in the wall only really served the continuing patrons, most others took to the more populated places.

A flash of light shines through the thin curtains, illuminating the dust swirling around in the air, as well as the colorful pillows carefully placed in each chair. They felt out of place to everything else in here. Newer. You quickly learnt a lot of things about the mentality of the people living here, you had to if you intended to blend in inconspicuously. Something you found out the hard way, was that the old woman tended to take things personally.

It didn't matter how much you meant it positively, negatively, no meaning at all. One little comment a faint evening, and the next day the pillows were all replaced.

You squint your eyes from the raging orange and put your focus back on the coffee. It's no longer steaming as much as before. You hadn't originally picked this place because it would provide you cover. In all fairness, if the place wasn't as cozy on the inside, it would likely be shady enough to be conspicuous, from the odd looking outside alone.

Yet still, it serves as your little paradise.

You find your brain goes quiet when you're in here. You can sip your coffee in peace, unaware of the shadows creeping in the corners of your eyes. It's numbing. Your little respite away from the danger outside, the danger within, and with Elena's nurturing soul, it makes you not want to leave.

Ding

Unfortunately, fate has a funny little tendency to give you the middle finger. It has never been on your side, and you doubt it is ever going to be.

Your little paradise is about to be invaded. With lingering smells of gunpowder, and blood so thick it will stain your soul. Patches of blonde and black hair, one making its way to your corner, and the other stationary at the door.

You take a sip of your coffee. It tastes wrong.

The blonde woman pulls out the chair opposite of you. She takes a moment to get comfortable before leaning in, her arms neatly folded on the table. She's playing on your domesticity, your familiarity, you know her too well to expect anything else. You don't doubt if you were look up, you'll see those blue eyes full of desperation, ready to ask you to move heaven and hell for her.

She's a few years too late.

Much to your surprise she keeps quiet when you take another sip. How kind of her. It doesn't last long. As soon as you put the chipped cup down, and acknowledge her, she opens her mouth to speak.

"No" you intercept her.

She closes her mouth, opens it, closes it. "You haven't even heard what I have to say," a small smile plays on her lips. It seems innocent enough. You know her better. She has blood on her hands, the same way you have blood on your teeth.

"The answer is no."

"I wouldn't come to you if it wasn't serious," her folded hands tighten, "You know that." She's honorable, as far as you know, but you're not ready to get back into your harness, so she can pull on your collar.

The next sip burns your tongue. You bite down on it, choke the yelp deep down in your throat. "Laswell..." you speak her name with urgency. The quicker you can shut her up and get her to leave, the quicker you can get back to making your plan to move.

"I need you to just hear me out alright?" she pauses, "it's in your best interest."

She's not letting you leave this place unless you agree.

Your eyes dart over to the man standing at the entrance. There's more than one way to get out of here, the one he is blocking is the least convenient. But you suppose you do owe it to Laswell to hear her out.

If you narrow it all down to the dirt and bones, she is the only reason why you're sitting in this café alive, while remaining dead to the world.

Your would-be grave is far from here. Dug and scraped with your own charred hands and broken nails.

Crack crack, bury the sin beneath blood and bone.

You can still hear it when you unfocus your brain, they won't let you forget.

"It's him, he's back" the words soil your throat, and they didn't even come from your own lips. "He's brought his group back along with him, and they're causing a bigger disturbance," It's sickening that she's even bringing this up.

She continues despite your grimace, "I would have pulled out every other resource I could before coming here, but you're the only person I can rely on to see this through."

She wants you to go back.

Go back, Go back, Go back.

"You're the only one I know that has both skill and cause."

Your eyebrow twitches, and you bite down on your tongue to not retaliate. You can taste the metal before you relent. The last thing you want to do is cause a scene in here.

The old woman doesn't deserve this.

"I understand your apprehension to this, but you know how important it is that we put a stop to him, you should want this more than anyone else."

The chair screeches as you push yourself to your feet. Your palms connect with the table, and it in turn rattles. The man who was standing stationary at the door breaks form. He reaches behind him, and let's his hand settle on something.

Not that you thought she would come here unarmed.

Laswell calls your name, bringing your attention back to her. She's a lot calmer than her jumpy backup. "It's just a talk, nothing more for now," it's all lies is what is.

"Bring attack dogs to all your family meetings?" you don't settle back into the chair. You were done with this place the moment Laswell and her soldier set foot in it.

She spares a single glance back at her friend, something reassuring in her face, it makes him ease back up to form. "Fine, there's no going around it with you," she wants it to all be lighthearted, to ease you in, you won't fall for it again.

"I am cashing in the favor, you'll be properly paid of course, and you can settle a score, does it really sound that bad?"

"Yes."

You stare into her blue eyes. She smells faintly of smoke. Her eyes won't leave you, but you see the contemplation in them, the searching of your figure. She's looking for the right bait, looking for the best way to sink her hooks into your ribs and drag you along.

"I don't want to have to do this to you..." her voice is quieter. It almost surprises you, but you know what she's talking about. She's in a bind herself.

She's not going to wait forever for you to say yes, and she needs you. On paper you are the perfect candidate for whatever she has planned. Though you doubt your mental profile lives up to the required standards. Certain things can be overlooked in desperation, you suppose.

"I'll hear you out," you start "somewhere else." The determination in her eyes border hope. It's pitiful that she thinks you'll have so much influence on her mission. You're really not all that.

You have the basic training, but also enough history to disqualify you, from any position within the military ever again. Laswell let's out a sigh of relief. Was she really that worried?

"Everything alright petal?" your eyes snap to Elena, a pot of something steaming in her hands that she places on the counter.

Laswell's backup twitches, seemingly surprised that the place wasn't as empty as he thought it was. You give the old woman a curt nod. It's enough to make her go about her day as normal, and you silently thank God that she isn't one to question.

"Always pick the jumpy attack dogs?"

Laswell stands up, breathing in harshly. If she doesn't like your resistance, she can pick someone else. "The squad is still weary from the last op." She explains.

You nod quietly in response. At least that's one thing you can sympathize with.

"Come, I'm not going to wait around for you to change your mind."

You hope Elena likes the flowers.

You feel like an idiot. Not even an hour out of the town you resided in, is an off the map military base. You are disgusted, appalled, shocked, disappointed. Every word in the book they could find.

You had prided yourself in being able to outrun anything. When Laswell helped you fake your own death, it was even easier. The amount of preparation you had to do when moving from place to place, was to put it mildly, extensive.

Somehow you completely missed this place.

It has your head reeling. Not even the rumbling of the car, or the passing outside, is enough to distract you. You catch Laswell eyes in the rearview mirror. She was first to get behind the wheel, which is a...choice.

Allowing out a soft sigh, you let your head rest against the window. The base is out past the middle of nowhere. You'd go crazy if you had to count all the corn fields you've passed by now.

Oh look...a cow.

"Nervous?"

The man next to you startles you out of your thoughts. You spare him a glance, not allowing yourself to linger too long at a time. He's casually dressed, his weapons hidden cleverly beneath layers of clothing.

If you remember right, Laswell called him Gaz. Odd nickname but not like you can judge, you've been called way worse.

He's got a good build, even with the blue hoodie you can see how his muscles fill it out. You don't doubt he could deck you fast if he wanted to. There'd be very little you could do about it, so out of form as you are. Occupied with everything else and staying out of sight, you haven't much time to keep yourself excessively fit.

Laswell picks her attack dogs well.

How sweet the sound of his bones breaking beneath your boot would sound.

You shake your head, grimacing at the thought. The little cracks that fill your ears are deafening.

"Don' worry, Cap's nice enough"

You don't doubt it, you just can't find it in yourself to care. Promises can so easily be broken; at the end of the day everyone wants something. That something has a tendency of putting you in danger, so you're not particularly excited.

"Gaz..." Laswell looks through the rearview mirror, making brief eye contact with the sergeant. Does she really think you that unhinged to not handle a simple conversation. A bit insulting.

"What...jus' making conversation," Gaz mumbles and turns his head to the side, subsequently joining you in looking out at the passing cows.

How much would she even tell Gaz about you. He couldn't know much, over half the things you're included in would be classified, and he's but a sergeant. His standoffish stance in the café was likely just to assess the danger, but the switch up is kind of freaking you out.

He seems nice enough overall, but you can't decide whether or not you actually want him to be. In a way it would be easier if he wasn't. You're not here to cultivate new friendships, you're here because you don't have another choice.

Whatever conversation he tries to make, dies out for the rest of the ride.

As soon as the car is put in park, Gaz jumps out. Gone within a blink of an eye, which you came to expect. The rest of the way was spent in awkward silence, and as much as you'd rather have silence, it was bad even for your taste.

Laswell takes it upon herself to lead you through the base. It's hard to ignore the looks and glares you get. You're an unknown variable, and without Laswell, you likely seem like an outright danger. It's a bit uncanny, to think that you once stood on their side, shoulder to shoulder with a sibling made of war.

She doesn't talk to you as you walk through base. You rely on your prior knowledge of the layout of UK military bases, to know where your exits would be. She parts with you in front of the "captains" office, a small throwaway promise to come get you once she has talked to him.

You don't question it, but it does make you raise a brow. Has she even told the captain you'd be coming? He would be the one supervising you when Laswell wouldn't be there, it's a pretty big thing to leave him in the dark about.

As soon as she closes the door, you let out a frustrated gust of air. This was already turning more complicated than you wanted it to be. Why didn't you resist a bit more, protest a bit more, you didn't even negotiate better terms with her. The shock alone, of seeing her again so soon after everything, rendered you unable to think logically.

At least the hallway is relatively empty.

Shadows start to creep in the corner of your vision. Thousands of little things hide there, occupying the otherwise empty space around.

You read the inscription on the door; Captain John Price.

The captain wasn't completely unknown to you. Though it all stems from rumors you heard, when you were a recruit. A few of your teammates had spoken about him in quiet whispers. Back then he didn't have the rank of Captain yet, nor a whole taskforce to command. He's come a long way.

Could they be similar?

No.

No one else could be like that, not that far. Especially not an old Idol, that would just be cruel.

"Kate you can't be serious...have you seen their file."

You perk up when you hear the slightly raised voices from inside. They're talking about you. You tilt your head closer. A grumbled brass voice sounds out, it reminds you of that of a dragon, most likely one belonging to the captain. You try to put a face to the name, but you can't remember any of the old pictures you saw. Every vivid image in your mind is distortedly different.

"You asked me to find extra help, this is it."

You'd laugh in her face if she was out here. There are much more qualified people than you, even with dealing with a group such as this.

"You could read one line in this and know they should not be handling a gun; much less be sent out in possible high-pressure situations."

You nod along for no one to see. You've done this song and dance trying to get reenlisted, twice before. More for the protection aspects than anything else. It would’ve been a lot easier getting your hands on weapons that way, instead of the unconventional way you've resorted to in your time away.

You did give yourself a bit of credit. Despite everything you had fared quite well for yourself, without Laswell's extended help. It came with strings, so you had turned it down.

At least you weren't dead in a ditch somewhere, which to be quite fair, you wouldn't put it past you for it to happen.

"John..."

"Kate..."

You start to wonder if Price would look like a dragon in human form. He already has the voice to match. Maybe he has a fiery beard, a tone that commands the respect of thousands. Would he hoard his possessions, to a disturbing extent?

The door scrapes against the floor when its opened. The sound makes you want to tear your ears off.

"Come on in" Kate waves you inside, making sure to close the door behind you. His office is simplistic, no personal touches around, only the standard issued items rest on his desk. From what you remember, he's used to moving from place to place often, it's likely that this office won't be his anymore by the end of the week.

"This is Captain John Price" She introduces you, and you offer him a nod of hopefully mutual respect. It's not reciprocated.

At first glance you notice two things about the captain.

One.

He stands tall. You don't doubt no matter how many meters you have in you, the man has ways of making you feel small.

He has a beard, beautiful eyes too, when you find it in you to look past the serious expression. It tells you all you need to know about him. At least he's not incompetent, he knows you shouldn't be here. Anyone would know after a single glance at you, even if Kate seems to think otherwise.

And two.

Price doesn't look like a dragon.

You don't know why it disappoints you. You knew very well he would not, and still, you find your heart sinking just little at his dismissive look.

It's a fantasy.

You stopped dreaming years ago; you have no intention of starting the childish notion again. You see enough things that weren't real, why add to it.

Price let's out a long sigh. His frustration with you is clear, but Laswell is steadfast in her opinion, no matter the resistance she wants you in this. The look she's sending his way, does as much as a firm set of words would. He folds his arms over his chest, looking back at her with as much determination as she is.

The quiet is...intruding.

You feel like you're witnessing something that you shouldn't be. The type of conversations, that your boss would have about you in private, to decide what to do with your behavior. You feel a need to say something, to break the silence and remind the two in the middle of a staring contest, that you're still here.

"Fine" Price concedes reluctantly, "but if there is anything-"

"There won't be any problems," she assures him "right?"

You freeze up the moment she refers to you. What were you supposed to say to that. You didn't want to be here, it was only out of obligation to her, to pay the blood debt you owe her.

You shrug your shoulders, finding a spot in the floor to stare at. The stain morphs and changes, subtly getting bigger and smaller, wider, and thinner all at once. It bleeds into the tile. You try to place a shape to it, but it changes too fast for you to decide on anything.

"Right then," Price moves over to his desk and pulls out a folder of multiple files. "You're going to want to know who you're going to work with," he slams the folder down on the wooden table. It creeks. You fight back a flinch.

"Kate has promised me you're going to be able to help," he doesn't sound convinced, "we'll see what you can do."

Laswell gives Price another glare. It would be comforting -her protectiveness- if it wasn't shrouded in obligation. It's laughable how much she believes you can solve her problem.

"You'll be accompanying the 141 in this, they've been working on this for the past month." Laswell chimes in as Price gets out the files of each respective member.

"I thought you needed my help immediately."

"I told you I was going to pull out all other resources before bringing you back into this." There's something pitying in her eyes, it makes you feel sick.

You were always going to be in this. No matter how much you hated it. It has been a part of so much of your life, there's nothing you can do to peel it off your skin. Lord knows you've tried to.

"Yes...We've been gathering as much information as we can on the group," Price leans his hip against the table. "We haven't found much, like the last time they were around, their efforts are very secretive, but we know where they're grouping. We have received reports, threats, missing persons rapports, all the signs the same group gave a few years ago, it seems very possible they have the same leader as well."

"The Divine Principle" you dig your nails into your palms. Your eyes catch the captains, now suddenly more attentive of you.

"You-"

"That's what they call themselves. I've hunted them before; I thought Laswell said." You don't bother looking towards the woman on your left, this is between you and the captain. He didn't seem to be quite convinced of your knowledge or skills. You didn't blame the man. You couldn't prove your skills worthy just yet, so your knowledge had to suffice.

You don't know why you suddenly feel the need to prove it to him, but there's something about his presence that makes you want him to like you. It's a rare feeling, the last time you felt like this you-

"She did, but she did not explain much about you, other than what's available in your file."

"I know enough to know they aren't good people," you switch up your stance, mimicking the way he was standing when you first came in. Your attention catches on the files again. You wonder who they could be, what their skills would include, if they would collide with your own.

You weren't used to working in groups like this, it was going to be different.

"Then you also know how important this mission is, they've done irreparable damage in the past, we can't have it happen again."

Price pushes one file towards you, holding the other three files in his grasp. "Gaz, who you already met as I understand it." You nod, thinking back to the man. Part of you had expected to meet him again, you should've realized he likely already was in the taskforce if he was accompanying Laswell.

"There's Soap, he'll be enthusiastic having a new member on the team I'll assure you that." Price places his file for you to see, giving you a moment before moving on. John MacTavish, Scottish by the looks of it, and an interesting hair choice of a mohawk. You're almost surprised they let him keep it.

"Lastly Ghost, and myself" he puts down the last file. It has no attached picture, but that isn't what initially grabs your attention as out of place as it is. What settles deep in your bones, is his name.

Simon Riley

Simon.

That Simon.

Your brow furrows as you read his name over and over and over again, gradually wishing he had a picture so you could confirm it for yourself. You hadn't seen or heard the name in years, not since you left Manchester. Was there really a chance it could be him.

"There's no picture," you pick up his file, as if reading his name closer would bring clarity to your adding questions.

"Never is," Price observes your hesitance the way you give Ghost's file more attention than the rest, "Do you know each other?"

"Might, it was a long time ago though, I doubt he'd even remember me."

He observes you for what feels like forever, trying to look past your carefully crafted mask, to gouge out the state of the relationship. "Well, it'd be good to have some familiarity on the team," he shrugs "can make the transition easier for you."

Yeah, if he doesn't despise you still.

You don't feel the need to tell the captain of your possibly declined relationship with the man. There's still a chance it's not him. You don't know why you're trying to fool yourself that it's not. You knew even back then that he wanted to join the military, that it had been all he ever wanted.

He's a lieutenant now. Despite everything you can't help but feel a little proud of him for making it this far, even if it's tinged with sadness.

"Will it be a problem?" Laswell brings your attention to her. Her voice layered with a sense of supposed knowledge that she is not supposed to have. It's hard to not get a little irritated, at this point you have no idea how much information the woman has in her skull. Information that you'd love nothing more than to erase from her memory.

"No, it will not" she isn't expecting any other answer. It's not like she's suddenly going to let you go if you do. Worst case scenario she restricts your workspace to avoid a conflict, and if she so desperately wants you to do this job, then you need your space.

"Make it quick, yeah?"

Gaz comes to a stop in front of the door to your little motel room. He makes a quick glance down each side of the hall. Deeming it clear, he leans back against the yellow tinted walls. Too bad he can't see the shadows breathing down his neck.

Though you'd never experienced anything shady or violent, you knew there was a rising criminal activity in the motel. You just never really spent enough time here to witness any of it.

"Yeah yeah," you grimace fumbling with your keys. You really should get rid of some of them, most of them didn't have a purpose anymore. Though like with most things, you had a hard time letting go.

The inside of your the little room you rented is exactly as you left it. Dresser door broken and splintered, curtains half closed, shadows looming in every corner and crevice.

Home sweet home, or something to that effect.

It's not a lot, but you don't complain, you've certainly lived with worse. Not staying in one spot for more than a month at a time didn't leave many options for work, so you had made do.

As much as you trusted Laswell's skills, and her promises, you had your own wariness to battle against. This way was the only one that actually made you feel like you had an advantage, against those that meant you harm.

The duffel bag with most of your belongings, had been hastily shoved into the dresser the morning prior. You find it uninterrupted in the same place, as expected. You glance towards the window and mark your possible exit. Should the man outside turn for whatever reason, the window would be loose, and you could break through the rusted glass frames.

For now, though, you had to trust that this taskforce you were to temporarily join, didn't actually want you dead. Yet.

Your variables are changing, and fast. There isn't a bigger part of you that enjoys this, and meeting up with Simon again could only prove trouble. He probably still held some resentment towards you, there's only the small hope that he keeps things professional.

You look down into your bag, rummaging around in the sealed pocket to locate your pile of papers. Years old and stained letters, some answered, some not. It was your only means of communication for a time, until it all stopped. You don't think he ever found out why, he would've contacted you if he did right? Or maybe he had decided then and there you weren't worth his energy.

Pushing the thoughts aside proved a much harder task than normal. You had gotten used to putting all into a tightly sealed box in your brain, but now that you knew for certain it would all come flooding out, it proved it harder to contain overall.

There isn't much to collect from the room itself, most of your things were already packed and ready for an easy go. You pick up an extra set of shoes and stuff them in before venturing to the bathroom.

You had to give it to this place, they had some of the most uncomfortable bathrooms you'd had the pleasure of occupying. The mirror is stained and dirty, the tile an ugly brown color, and not even to talk about the toilet itself, or the odd smell. Though the latter could be explained by you and your own ministrations.

Your eyes land on the cross tossed into the tub. Little thing on a chain, the same one you had worn for years at a time. Dried blood still gives it that discoloration.

Your knees click when you reach down and place it in the cup of your hand. To think that this little thing carries so much of you. It has seen it all, witnessed your greatest heights making you feel light as a feather, and watched all your sins unfold, burning like hellfire against your chest.

You've never hated a thing more.

Slipping it around your neck is a thoughtless process. The muscle memory in your fingers do the work for you, securing the chain on the back of your neck, like reattaching a leash.

You stand up straight and walk to the sink. Your toothbrush has fallen, it's green hue so faded it's turning white in some areas. You really should just get a new one.

Your reflection catches in the mirror, and you make the mistake of not looking away. Your face turns to a blob of colors and bleeding effects. There's nothing to tell and nothing to see. Your eyes cave in, your nose splitting apart, your ears fuse with your hair and your fingers are too long dragging off your skin.

You barely recognize yourself anymore. You know it's in there, begging to come out, but it'll only come worse than before if you let it.

It all morphs together. A thousand different shadows standing behind you, their long digits running over your arms and shoulders, beckoning you forward. They lean into your ears, fester in your brain, in your eyesight. The shadows in the corners are always the worst in front of mirrors.

It's your fault. You know what you did. You know that they would've still been alive if you hadn't done it. Why are you still here. Why do you think you can hide? You always go back, it's your place, it's ingrained on your skin.

There's never been an out for people like you.

You grab your toothbrush and exit the bathroom.

"You really been livin' in here?"

You clasp a hand over your mouth, masking the shriek you would've let out. You thought he was going to stay outside.

Gaz looks into mirror hanging next to the dresser with the broken door. He inspects his reflection, rubbing a thumb over a smudge of dirt on his neck.

"It was a temporary solution," you tell him as soon as you get your spiraling mind under control. You walk over to the duffel bag on the bed, throwing in the rest of your dwindling belongings.

You can feel his eyes on you, likely judging you. At least he has the decency to keep his mouth shut. You couldn't afford nicer in your current situation, and moving as frequently as you were, this was the least costly option.

"For how long?"

He walks over to the bed, glancing into your bag once before continuing his move around your room. You didn't truly know the answer to that question yourself.

Very long, too long, as long as you can hide like a coward.

"As long as necessary," you answer him while zipping up your duffel bag. It slings around your shoulder, fits neatly against your back. It's a familiar lightweight. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad, you were planning your move anyway.

He gives you a curious look, waiting for you to elaborate. You don't. His shoulders sag a bit when he seems to realize. "Hurry it up," he says and walks to the door, "don't got all day, we have a plane to catch."

He leaves you alone in the hollowing room. It turns a shade darker when the sun shifts outside the window. The shadows consume more of the room. Millions of little eyes watching you in secret.

You walk over to the wall and kneel. It feels wrong to do. There's so many little dents and scrapes hammered into it, the pattern of the wall hiding the little room perfectly. You bang on it once and quietly. Moving the cutout piece out of place, you reach inside to find the gun.

You check it, still fully loaded, and put it down amongst what little clothes you have. It's only for necessity of course, nothing vicious yet.

Come come come.

Your head tilts towards the window, the curtains managing to flow ever so slightly. They bleed into the background, the murky watery color splitting with the patterns on the walls, and the greenery outside.

All of it dark and gloomy. Threatening.

Your legs carry you there. The sun has disappeared behind a set of clouds, leaving dark promises of rain and thunder. The whispers are always the loudest when you're alone. They're not always saying anything. Sometimes they're shaming you, reminding you, other times it's incessant noise.

Occasionally they take shape. Shadow figures with creepy smiles, wide bloodshot eyes. It hides down in the forest behind the motel, to watch you through the window to your room. It's crooked grin bleeds and oozes. You forcefully blink a few times, trying to will it away, but you know it won't disappear until you get distracted, or it wants to go.

You don't hear it; it merely mouths it to you.

He'll find you.

And the scariest part is, you know it's right.

There's never been anywhere you could hide.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 ao3 (Complete)

Eddie has a telephone voice, which Dustin finds absolutely hysterical. As the pizza place answers, his whole register switches into something a little smoother, over-pronouncing each word, and Dustin watches him with undisguised glee.

Eddie must read his thoughts because while their order is repeated back to him, he blushes, covers the receiver and mouths, “Oh, fuck off.”

When he hangs up, he playfully cuffs Dustin on the back of the head. “Do you mind? I was putting on the performance of a lifetime there.”

“What performance?” comes Steve’s voice, and Dustin turns to see him leaning against the counter, Tews following at his heels.

“That I’m a polite young man, of course,” Eddie says with a toothy smile.

Steve whistles, all faux impressed. “The Academy will be in touch, man.” He dodges Eddie’s attempt to trip him up, smirking—then yawns a bit into his palm. “Henderson, your cat’s like a sleeping pill or something.”

Dustin scoops up Tews, rocks him until he wriggles out of his arms. “Why can’t you be cute like that with me? You just claw at all my clothes, you little shit.”

“Dustin!” Eddie gasps, “don’t use such language around the baby.”

“Yeah, dude,” Steve snickers. “Don’t wanna offend Mr Polite Young Man’s delicate sensibilities.”

Eddie whacks him with the take-out menu.

Their back-and-forth hardly stops all throughout dinner. Eddie makes it look easy, Dustin thinks: how he delivers each quip so there’s never a lingering silence, yet still spaces them out so that Steve has more time to retort back.

And because Eddie keeps talking engagingly, Steve clears his plate without seeming to realise it; and Dustin feels himself calm at the sight of his eyes gradually brightening.

It’s not the only sight he takes note of.

Eddie is sitting close to Steve, their shoulders touching—and whenever he wants the box of pizza passed to him, or more soda, he just taps Steve’s arm in question, all while carrying on the conversation. Maybe before, Dustin wouldn’t think anything of it, but now he considers how Eddie had sat on the couch with Steve, his hand in his hair, how he’s been there for him the whole day; and a silent little lightbulb goes off in Dustin’s brain.

Because it goes both ways.

The girls Steve has dated wouldn’t do this—have never done this, at least as far as Dustin can tell, remembering flashes of dates he’d seen on the rare occasions Steve wasn’t driving him places, at the cinema or diner, or…

He gets the feeling that Steve has always been subtly holding some parts of himself back with them. He doesn’t do that with Eddie. He lets him in.  Dustin watches as Eddie tidies the counter, gently nudging Steve out of the way with his hip. It’s like finally solving a puzzle: now Dustin knows which way to look, he can’t believe how he didn’t notice it before.

Instead of saying anything, he busies himself with finding fresh blankets for Steve. As he shakes them out, it occurs to him that this is kind of what Steve must do for him every time he stays over—the difference being that he’s over often enough to have a set of pyjamas waiting for him in the guest room. Steve even ironed them once, which Dustin had teased him relentlessly for, but secretly found it… nice.

As it nears 10pm, Steve suddenly jolts from where he’s sitting on the couch, dislodging Tews from his lap again.

“Sorry, baby,” Steve says distractedly, gives Tews an apologetic pat. Dustin notices the little pinch of stress around his eyes again, and doesn’t mention the fact that Eddie’s already got him calling his cat ‘baby’, too.

“What’s up?” Eddie says. He’s lounging on the floor, has a few of Dustin’s comics spread out in front of him.

“I told Robin I was gonna pick her up, I forgot. Shit, she’ll be closing soon.”

“On it,” Eddie says, almost singsong. In one move, he leaps to his feet and retrieves the keys to his van. “Back quicker than you can say—”

“Jack Robinson,” Dustin finishes; Eddie says it a lot, probably picked it up from his uncle.

Eddie winks at him, turns to Steve and gives a dimpled little smile before leaving.

Steve looks off into the distance, still frowning.

After making sure Tews has safely moved over to his food bowl, Dustin jumps onto the couch, blankets and all.

“Oof,” Steve huffs, “you trying to crush me?” But though he acts like he’s going to shove Dustin off, he never once does.

They poke at each other, complaining about bony elbows and freezing feet. As Dustin adjusts the blankets, he shifts so that Steve’s the one on the inside of the couch. Steve has never mentioned anything, but Dustin’s suspected for a little while that he likes to sleep with his back against a surface; probably makes him feel less exposed.

Now that Eddie isn’t here, Dustin can’t stop his mind from wandering back to Steve, sitting alone in the junkyard. To the thought of him waking up in an empty house, terrified out of his mind.

“You know you can… like, stay over whenever, right?” Dustin says.

Steve has said pretty much the same to him, but Dustin knows there’s a bit of a difference: that maybe Steve finds it easier to offer than take something for himself.

He feels Steve shrug next to him.

“Uh, you sure? Don’t wanna cramp your style, little man.” His voice goes into his parody of a middle-aged suburban dad, and Dustin has a sudden clarity about what his aim is: to make Dustin scoff and roll his eyes at him, and forget about the offer.

But he doesn’t take the bait.

He leans briefly into Steve’s shoulder and says, “You know I’d be fine with it, right? Like, Mike and Nancy, they hang out all the time even if they don’t act like it, just barge into each other’s rooms. Same thing with Lucas and Erica. Like, sure, they annoy each other sometimes, but that kinda comes with the deal.”

“Oh,” Steve says softly, and Dustin glances to the side; he doesn’t know what it is that he’s said, but Steve looks deeply touched. “Thanks, Dustin. Really. Thanks.” Dustin takes a deep breath. Gathers his courage. “I get them, too.”

“Huh?”

Dustin sighs, turns a little into Steve’s side. “Nightmares,” he mumbles.

“Oh,” Steve says again, and he wraps an arm around Dustin. “Oh, bud, I’m sorry. You… you wanna talk about it?”

Dustin pauses. Nods.

Steve squeezes his shoulders. “I know what happened with… with Eddie was awful, man, it’s my fault you went through all that shit alone—”

“No,” Dustin interrupts, because making Steve feel guilty isn’t remotely his aim. “They’re not… they’re not only about Eddie.” He closes his eyes; he’s not told this to anyone. “Sometimes they’re about you. Losing you.”

Silence.

“Sometimes the bats get you, too. Or…” And it’s stupid that what he says next makes him falter—compared to the previous dreams, it’s hardly anything, no blood or gore, but…

“Or you’re—I can see you, and I-I can’t tell which one of us is in The Upside Down, but you… you can’t hear me.”

“Hey.” Steve gently prods Dustin in the cheek, holds his gaze. “I’d always hear you. You never have to doubt that, got it? I’ll always come find you.”

Dustin nods again—for a moment, doesn’t trust himself to speak. He wiggles a little closer, sniffs.

Steve pulls him into a proper hug. “I’m sorry, I just—fuck, I get so scared sometimes, Dustin. I don’t—” He swallows. “I know I don’t say it, but, God, I love you so damn much. I don’t want a-anything to happen to you.”

Dustin returns the hug. Pulls back and makes sure Steve is looking him in the eye when he says, deadpan, “Steve. I hate to break it to you, but so much has happened to me.”

Steve snorts. “You know what I—ugh, you’re the worst.”

Dustin pauses. “But if something ever did happen,” he says carefully, tries to measure his tone to show he doesn’t mean anything Upside Down-related, not anymore, “then we’d be okay, in the end, I swear. You’ve got me, I’ve got you, right?”

Steve exhales. Nods a little jerkily. “Right.”

And what the hell, Dustin figures he might as well say it now—it’s too important to just remain an unsaid, sort of mutually understood thing.

“Steve? I love you, too.”

It takes a second, and then Dustin feels Steve start to shake. This time, the tears aren’t hidden; he just… lets them be.

“Aw, goddamn it,” Steve laughs wetly, “why’d you have to go and say that?”

“You started it,” Dustin says.

“Shut up,” Steve says, lips trembling a bit as he smiles.

Dustin gives him time, just waits in the quiet until Steve’s breathing comes out steady again.

“J,” Steve says eventually.

“Jaws,” Dustin says.

“Oh, boo. Predictable, Henderson.”

“V.”

“…Damn it, all I can think of is Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”

“That doesn’t start with V, dumbass.”

Steve lets out a long yawn, like it’s crept up on him. “I know, butthead.”

They go on like that, throwing out letters and movie titles like it’s a tennis match. Gradually, it takes longer and longer for Steve to reply, his voice growing mumbly until it trails off entirely; and Dustin feels him go slack and heavy with sleep.

He looks up at the ceiling, hears the front door softly open and close. Tews is in the hallway, greeting Eddie with a more vocal miaow, and Dustin laughs quietly as he hears Eddie croon, “Oh, baby, hello, aren’t you just the best, huh?”

When he enters the living room, Eddie spots that Steve’s fallen asleep immediately. His expression softens, and then he smiles, looks at Dustin and says, “You’re gonna get a crick in your neck if you keep laying all stiff like that.”

“Was worried I’d wake him up.”

“Nah, you won’t. Here, I’ll help.”

And Eddie very carefully manages to tilt Steve further against the back of the couch, giving Dustin just enough room to move away from the embrace so he can stretch out properly.

Eddie is about to head back to his spot on the floor, where he’s placed a sleeping bag from the van, when Steve makes a tiny, vague noise of distress.

Dustin and Eddie both freeze.

“M’gotta…” Steve sighs, face twitching. His eyes remain closed. “Car keys, where… they need… have to…”

“Shh. Hey, Steve, you’re okay.” Eddie reaches across, strokes Steve’s hair. “You’re… you’re just dreaming, sweetheart.”

“Hmm?”

“That’s it, go back to sleep. You’re at Dustin’s remember? Everyone’s safe.”

“Dustin,” Steve echoes faintly. “Safe…”

Eddie waits until Steve has settled back into a deep, hopefully dreamless sleep, then draws back his hand.

Dustin turns, watches him unzip the sleeping bag and lie down.

“Do you love him?” he asks.

Eddie stares up at him. Then: “Yeah,” he says simply.

“Good,” Dustin says.

Eddie’s mouth parts slightly. He blinks. “That’s it?” he whispers.

Dustin blinks back at him. “I mean, yeah? Should I… um, have said something else?”

Eddie exhales a laugh, smiles. “No, you’re good. That was… great.”

A moment of comfortable silence.

“Hey, Dustin.” Eddie lowers his voice further, even though Steve’s out for the count. “He, uh. He doesn’t know, okay? Not… not yet.”

“I kinda think he does, though,” Dustin says, then pulls back the blanket so he can raise one hand in acknowledgment. “But, like, I’m not gonna tell him. Swear on my mom.”

Eddie laughs again, and he somehow makes it sound thoughtful. “We’ll get there, man.”

And Dustin knows Eddie isn’t just referring to him and Steve, dancing around the beginning of something great.

Dustin thinks of Steve waking up and checking the news for car wrecks. Of the nightmares, shared between them all.

We’ll get there.

“You can come round whenever, too, obviously,” Dustin says. “Like, we could make it a thing? Saturdays or something, mom won’t mind. All three of us.”

Eddie’s expression goes soft again, his eyes overly bright. It kind of reminds Dustin of how his mom sometimes looks at him on the first day of school, or Christmas morning.

“What?”

Eddie smiles. “Nothing.” He sighs, closing his eyes. “Just… wish more people were as kind as you, Dustin Henderson.”

Dustin looks down at him, pride and affection welling in his chest. He can feel Steve’s light snores ruffling his hair, and he shuts his eyes, knows that two of the people he loves most in the world are on either side of him.

We’ll be okay. We’ll get there.

[bulkyphrase]

Identity Porn Rec List

Some of my favorite fics that deal with the difficulties and complications of having a secret identity.

Identity porn is a mainstay of Stony fic, but there are also some gems from Stucky, SamSteve, and whatever the ship name for Steve/Matt Murdock is.

given you a number, taken away your name by janonny (@awesomelifechoices) (Stony, General Audiences, 4,520 words)

Summary: As Tony behaves more erratically, S.H.I.E.L.D. sends in Steve as an undercover agent in S.I. to be Natasha’s back-up. Except Steve is really, really not cut out for this undercover business. - Before the lift’s doors closed, Stark suddenly grinned and said, “Call me Tony. Have a better rest of the day, big guy.” Awkwardly, Steve lifted his free hand and waved as the doors slid shut between them. What...what was he doing? Why was he waving? Steve hurriedly put his hand down and turned around sharply.

How to Woo the Winter Soldier by writeonclara (@writeonclara) (Stucky, General Audiences, 21,570 words)

Summary: “I think I’m ready to date again,” Steve said. “What,” Natasha said. “What?” Clint said, lowering his binoculars. He blinked at the dumbstruck look on the Captain’s face, then followed his gaze to where he was staring dopily at—at the Winter fucking Soldier. “Steve, no,” Clint groaned. Or: Steve courts the Winter Soldier. Also available as a podfic read by Akaihyou (@akaihyou)

I (created from fantasies) exist solely for you by Mizzy (@mizzy2k) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 62,917 words)

Summary: Six years ago, without the Avengers Initiative there to save the day, scientist Dr. Eric Selvig sacrificed himself to save the world, the almighty demi-god Thor was lost to a terrible storm, and vigilante Iron Man – spotted with a nuclear weapon trying to take advantage of the situation – was forever labelled an enemy of SHIELD. This is a comic book office AU, where Steve is defrosted a year too late, Thor has forgotten who he is, and no one knows Tony is Iron Man. Also includes: office pranks, inappropriate post-it notes, and superheroes who like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. Also available as a podfic read by badfinch (@read-by-badfinch)

More below the cut!

Love Is A Masquerade by Mizzy (@mizzy2k) (Stony, Mature, 12,010 words)

Summary: *loudspeaker noise* Please present your tickets here for your trip on the Steve/Tony Fantasy Trope Land express. On your left we have Masquerade Balls and Identity Porn; on the right we have Steve's Thirst for Iron Man's Thighs and Dramatic Balcony Kissing. Please keep your arms and legs within the ride at all times, thank you. Also featuring Classic Iron Man armor, Identity-Porn-Without-Porn, and Boys-In-Tights. You will need to leave your expectations for plot at the entrance to the fic; be kind and please pick up your trash before you go. Look, it's unrepentant fluff and crack, don't look at me like that, you're the one still reading this summary. [aka] When the Avengers are invited to attend Tony Stark's Annual Masquerade Ball, Steve's hoping Iron Man will be there--after all, he can wear a mask and keep his identity secret. So when Steve recognizes Iron Man's distinctive thighs, Steve is SO sure he's found Iron Man's pilot... He's right, but not in a way Steve would ever have guessed... Also available as a podfic read by paraka (@paraka)

Masked and Anonymous by panickyintheuk (@shiningredandgold) (Stony, Explicit, 4,236 words)

Summary: "When Mr. Stark opened the door, he had his shirt untucked, and no shoes on. It was evening, and it was his own apartment, and Steve was dropping by unannounced, so that was all really fair enough, but it was also the least put-together Steve had ever seen him." Steve drops in on Avengers benefactor Mr. Stark, but it seems that Mr. Stark was expecting him.

Not Just Anybody (Help) by kototyph (Samsteve, Teen And Up Audiences, 9,349 words)

Summary: Sam meets a homeless veteran with a famous name.

Straight on till Morning by Sineala (@sineala) (Stony, Explicit, 109,848 words)

Summary: Tony Stark resigned his commission in Starfleet five years ago, after a disastrous away mission, and he swore he'd never go back. He just wants to be left alone to build warp engines in peace. But the universe has more in store for him than that, as he discovers when Admiral Fury comes to him with an offer he could never have expected and cannot possibly refuse: first officer and chief engineer aboard the all-new USS Avenger, a starship of Tony's own design. What's more, the Avenger's captain is Steve Rogers, hero of the Earth-Romulan War. Believed dead for over a century, Steve is miraculously alive... and very, very attractive. But nothing is ever easy for Tony. As he wrestles with his secret desire for his new captain and his not-so-dormant fears, another mission starts to go wrong, and Tony becomes aware that Steve has secrets of his own -- and the truth could change everything. Also available as a podfic read by M_Samro (@msamro)

Super Villain Dating Tips - Or How Steve Won Over Tony Through The Art of Kidnapping by forgetmenotjimmy (Stony, General Audiences, 46,265 words)

Summary: Steve isn't evil, he's just trying to do the right thing whilst hiding from an insane General who's out for his blood - literally - but when he is forced to kidnap Tony to help him escape the cops, his plans to take down the Secret Division that experimented on him, well, they get put on the back burner. How does a villain date a hero? More kidnapping of course!

The Blind Leading by SkyisGray (Stucky, Explicit, 43,034 words)

Summary: Steve is specifically told not to fraternize with the independently contracted Winter Soldier.

The Corruption of Captain America by the Villain Tony Stark by ladililn (@ladililn) (Stony, Explicit, 50,344 words (WIP))

Summary: Iron Man paused. “Oh my god. You thought I was a robot.” “No, I—” Steve felt his face flushing. “I…considered the possibility,” he admitted. “You thought I was a robot who’s been hitting on you.” “Is that really so crazy?” Steve felt an inexplicable need to defend himself. “In the forties, I fought a Nazi with a skull for a head.”

Think of This as Solving Problems (That Should Never Have Occurred) by Sineala (@sineala) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 35,216 words)

Summary: No one knows Tony is Iron Man. Then Tony gets amnesia, and literally no one knows Tony is Iron Man.

To Make Much of Time by Sineala (@sineala) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 16,114 words)

Summary: When Iron Man rejects Steve's romantic advances, Steve is disappointed, but of course he understands -- Iron Man's secret identity is important. But when a portal opens and Tony Stark crashes into their midst from twelve years in the future, Steve starts to suspect that there are more secrets here than he can even begin to comprehend, and neither Iron Man nor Tony are providing any answers. Also available as a podfic read by paraka (@paraka)

What Lies Behind by kdm103020, xinsomniac1101x (@kdm103020, with art by @xinsomniac1101x) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 63,364 words)

Summary: Four months after the Battle of New York, Steve Rogers still hasn't managed to find his footing. The new century is strange and upsetting, and he appears to have no purpose in it. But when SHIELD sends him to liaise with the director of Stark Industries, his life starts to change in ways he could never imagine. Or, the MCU-rooted AU, in which Steve and Tony both still maintain their secret identities.

with liberty and justice for all by ria_green (Matt Murdock/Steve Rogers, Teen And Up Audiences, 14,020 words)

Summary: Steve and Matt's relationship is basically a romantic comedy. Except for one minor complication - they're both hiding their superhero/vigilante identities from each other.

[fortune-fool02]

The Way It Has To Be

Miguel O'Hara x Villain female reader

Summary: He's reminiscing once again and wonders why canon can be cruel.

Warning: Spoilers for Miguel's past, angst. Use of both the movie and comics. Light mentions of body-horror and insects -mostly centipede- Blood.

Word count: 1,603 words

Thank you for taking the time to read this! Please leave feedback/comment and reblog as I really appreciate it. Thank you. Also, if you guys want, I am up for writing a second part of this?

Please enjoy.

Over the time he had spent watching over the multiverse, Miguel had seen many things, many tragedies and hardships that all of them must endure to continue on their own stories and their own universes.

It was part of being Spider-Man. It was their 'curse' in a way. The canon events were moments that had to happen, something decided long before they were event born, carved out just for them; and it would not be denied of those events.

Miguel stared at the screen in front of him, unable to help himself, he knew this wasn't going to solve anything but he had to watch it again. His fingertips lightly brushed over the keys before he typed in a name and began to scroll through the different events like flicking through chapters of a book. A book that he had helped to construct and compose.

The warm hue of the amber glow painted his face as he stared at the screen in front of him, then pressed play.

He was standing beside a young woman, a look of concentration on his face as he examined a sample of blood under the microscope. His hair swept out of his face a little, faint clicking heard as he gently adjusted the magnification to get a more clear image through it. The cells seemed to be reacting to the introduction of the new drug, and for the moment, held stable. Hope flickered inside him as he watched, mentally counting the seconds before that hope was snuffed out as the cells began to try to reject the drug, and soon decomposed. Another failed attempt.

"Maldita sea." He cursed, leaning away from the microscope and running a hand through his hair with a low, heavy sigh. [Name] looked at him, sympathy painting her face as she rose her hand up and gently patted his back.

"Hey, it's alright, Miguel. We'll get there, okay?" She tried to encourage him. This project was one they had both been assigned for, and had a bit riding on this. Alchemax always demanded the best with no exceptions. They wanted this drug ready as soon as possible, no matter what. [Name] picked up the clipboard and recorded down the results before adding on a possible solution.

Miguel looked at her for the moment, a light smile on his lips. Even when pressed with failure after failure, she always found a way to look for the brighter side of things, to find a solution to the problem and gain the results they seek. She always tried to find light. [Name] often stood there with Miguel, offering her torch to keep him from being consumed by his troubles, and she didn't mind at all. Someone to help keep his head above the water, to lean on for comfort.

"Okay, let's see." [Name] spoke softly, glancing up at Miguel and showed him the structure of the idea. That soft smile of hers that radiated possibility and hope.

The video ended there. The last frame frozen on her sweet smile as she looked up at Miguel. He let it linger for a moment before moving onto the next moment.

"What do you mean you're off the project?" Disbelief dripped off Miguel's voice as he stood there, his expression contorted with shock as he watched [Name] poured herself a cup of coffee. Despite her, seemingly, calm expression, Miguel saw the way she gripped the cup's handle. The light tremble as she poured the hot liquid into it.

"That's exactly what I said to Stones. Apparently, he thinks my skills can be put to use elsewhere." She said, bitterness chewing away at her. She had spent so long ironing out this project and they were so close to a breakthrough only for that bastard she called a boss to kick her off. "I then told him that he can shove his pen up where the sun doesn't shine." The empty cups shook a little as she slammed the coffee jug back onto the counter a little harder than intended before bringing her hand to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose and breathing deeply to calm herself. Both her and Miguel worked on this project together, they worked so harmoniously with little issue. But their boss didn't see it as such.

A soft frown tugged Miguel's lips at this and he walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her to pull her into a comforting embrace. "Va a estar bien." He softly whispered against her, his hand moving in steady, slow circles on her back as she leaned into his warmth. The light tremble in her shoulders grew as a faint dampness did on his chest from her. If her face was not pressed against his chest, he would have noted the look in her eyes as the tears fell. It wasn't sorrow.

His hand hesitated lightly as it hovered over the next video. Something cold gnawing away at him. He was fully aware of the next video, but he couldn't stop now.

Something was off. Miguel could feel it. [Name] had been acting distant since she was cut off from the project, occupied with her own little thing that she refused to share the details of with Miguel. But it wasn't just that. Chemicals were going missing. Samples vanishing from their secured containers. And she would not stop fussing over the centipedes. They were a branch of the department that studied them and she had taken quite an interest in them. The few times that Miguel actually saw her out of work, she would look exhausted, worn down to the bone. More so than when she had been working with him.

"Don't worry about me, Miguel. I've got it all sorted." [Name] would always tell him with a smile. But it was always strained, lacking that sweetness to it. Now, he was worried.

An alarm had been triggered Alchemax and he was the first on the scene as Spiderman. There was blood splattered along the once white corridors, smears running all the way along the ceiling as if the workers had been dragged along it. Their bodies torn apart, mangled piles of flesh and bone that it was close to impossible to identify them. The people he worked with. Colleagues of his. He followed the trail, avoiding disturbing the bodies, and soon reached the source. There was shouting in one of the larger observation rooms, a bloodied handprint on the glass of the door.

[Name] turned her head towards the sound of the doors opening, her eyes blinking in surprise. "Spiderman? I wasn't expecting you to get here so quickly." Miguel took one look at her and felt dread claw inside him but he kept his voice steady. Her hands, her body, covered in blood that didn't belong to her. Something close to claws emerging from her nails and something about her stance seemed off. Like she was struggling to remain still. Twitching.

Stones laid at her feet, still alive, with her foot on his chest. "Miss [Surname], back away from him now." Miguel ordered. She was his friend, someone he cared about, but he didn't want to do this. He didn't want to have to arrest her. He prayed she wouldn't make this more harder than it had to be. Her eyes narrowed lightly, something flickered across them that he didn't like.

"You don't get it. This bastard worked me to the bone for so long, he pushed me down at every chance he got, and then he stole my work after kicking me off my own damn project!" Her foot pressed harder onto his chest, earning a crack from the bones and a pained cry from him. That anger he caught a mere glimpse of in the break-room all those weeks ago was equivalent to a forest fire, and she was going to ensure innocent people got burnt. "Never good enough for it. Never good enough for anything! So I proved him fucking wrong! I proved him that I am stronger than him!"

Her bones cracked sharply, a light groan slipping her lips as she hunched over, her arms wrapped around her abdomen. "I am capable of great things, I know I am. You never gave me the chance. Now, I'll fucking show you how strong I am!" Before Miguel could do anything, he watched as [Name] threw her head back, letting out a pained scream. Two large appendages burst forth from her back, layered with pointed spikes along the edges of them, blood splattered around, dripping off them as they coiled and thrashed about. Flesh crawled up along them, forming along the appendages until they finally stopped growing, now trailing behind her like a twisted cloak. Her jaw unhinged, her fangs elongating as her lower jaw split open, developing into mandibles before she finally turned back towards him.

Her eyes completely blacked out, showing no sign of the sweet, compassionate woman he once knew. How could this happen to her? How could she willingly do this to herself?

The video stopped just as [Name] had turned to lunge at him. Miguel staring at the frozen image of [Name]'s twisted form and that pain he felt that day still present. He couldn't bring himself to watch their fight again. To relive that pain. He didn't stop her that day, and, in truth, he didn't even know where she was anymore. A part of him hoped that there was a chance that she could still be saved, still be redeemed. Being Spiderman was a sacrifice, he knew that. But it didn't mean he liked it.

[dailycass-cain]

It's time at long last to delve into a certain secondary story in Detective Comics #1083 by Alex Paknadel and Robbi Rodriguez and my thoughts on it.

I SO did not expect to see a secondary Cass story as Ram V closes out his Tec run (but maybe I should've given he's let others give EVERYONE their due of his run).

And here ironically, a month before the character's 25th anniversary we get Cass.

I must confess reading the story drawn by Rodriguez along with Cass's appearance in #1082. It's got me reminiscing on Batgirls again.

It does make me truly miss that series. Even with the rewards that have been this run, Birds of Prey, and Spirit World.

However, unlike the prior two series, this one does a DEEP dive into the mindset of Cass and where she's at during this point of the run.

Some truly meaty stuff we get here character-wise.

The story continues where we left Cass in #1082, still roaming Gotham freely and making sure the city remembers the symbol of the bat.

I do adore any time a criminal mistakes her for Batman. Just another notch to add that she'd make a great successor to Bruce as Batman.

Likewise, I do enjoy HOW she's introduced. Going to town on the criminal lot and us the reader seeing her viewpoint on subduing them.

Yet, unlike the prior story, not everything is hunky-dory with Cass. With a few words of choice in the narration boxes, you can tell something is off with Cass.

And it's fascinating she sees relief in reuniting with probably one of the beings who can "understand" her-- Lady Shiva.

Probably the only downside I have with the story is this recurring cycle of Cass instantly mistrusting her, when really the last two stories with Shiva, her mom has been trying.

Still, they "talk" in the only way daughter/mother truly knows: fighting. Instantly, Shiva picks up what been clued to us the reader in the beginning: Cass is not well.

Though unlike the reader, Shiva lays out thickly what it is.

Since the Orgham have taken over Gotham they've been trying to wipe away the memory of the Bat via the. Yes, we know given a few issues ago Cass was immune to the Reality Engine wiping away the memory of the Bat.

Here we find out another reason why: she's fighting as Bruce.

Of course, being that this is an Orgham-controlled Gotham and Shiva has her own subplot in the issue. Their exchange is cut short by the arrival of Azmer demons.

Something I've been hoping for Cass to encounter since they showed up.

I do muse how bluntly Shiva starts this team-up to again say she's not up to any insidious shenanigans. Again, it's Shiva being blunt which I guess she has to do given Cass just always seems to untrust her.

And we get the "juiciest" portion next. Still fighting as Bruce, Cass is getting her butt handed to her by the Azmer when we get this memory:

Seven years it has been since we last saw you in a canon DC comic (fifteen years if we count this incarnation): welcome back David Cain you freaking bastard.

Again this goes back to what Cass said in her last story. She was built like Bruce, but differently, and here is how that came to be.

Which again is the core of Cassandra's character. She's always terrified of becoming what her father made her: this weapon of death. How she continues to go with this answer of NO and down this path of the bat.

That goes deeply into WHY the bat symbol means so much for Cass. It's not just a layer of justice, but redemption. That is her coda: "You can change. You CAN change."

Ironically, it's due to the Reality Engine that probably WHY Cass has this relapse. She's good, but we know from the "Outlaws" arc even she was being affected by the Reality Engine at an EXTREMELY close range.

And it's fun that Shiva is again the one to help Cass through this time. Because other than Bruce and Oynx (man I miss that friendship), she's probably the only one who can help her daughter.

Where once more, we get the recurring theme of Cass/Shiva finding mutual ground between one another, but also Shiva letting her daughter be what she wants to be. Which given all their history does feel like a new layer going with them (hopefully).

Again, this story ties so wonderfully with what Ram V has been doing with Cass. Showing again, how much the bat symbol means to her, and again reminding the reader that she's built like Bruce in sheer determination.

This was a REALLY good story that was built on prior with Cassandra. It gives Cass a sense of poetry at the end for her character. Her appearances here all tie together for this subplot of showing the any new reader WHO SHE IS, and why so damn enthralling as a character.

In a way, this really felt like a good unofficial celebration of the character. Though DC never fully said it, this does celebrate just means A LOT to so many.

The tale meant A LOT, giving us ANOTHER banger Cass story to boot.

Though I can't help but wonder? Even if there were rats in the story. My mind kept going here instead and Cass's "little friend" and nickname from Shadow of the Batgirl. I know it was probably unintentional.

If this is truly all we get in celebrating the anniversary of the character this TRULY was a story worthy for it. For that, I thank the creative team behind this and Ram V too for giving us this. Like you, Kelly, Michael, and Alyssa are just giving us all these bangers.🙏

[ollieoliver910]

*In Regards To Wong Creating The New Avengers...*

Yeah, I'm done with Marvel. I'm tapping out. Any lasting hope I had, especially when it came to Doctor Strange. One of the last pre endgame characters left that is still popular and relevant is now completely gone.

Benedict Cumberbatch man...he was so fucking robbed of something more. It also doesn't help that he had acknowledged in a podcast that M.O.M. did not feel like HIS movie...which it wasn't...which is why it sucked major donkey balls. Trust me, you do not want to suck donkey balls, but I wouldn't doubt that the people at marvel are getting high writing this shit just by doing that.

I don't even know where to start because I was processing the "Wong will create the Avengers" information for a couple of days...So I think I will begin things with this.

STRANGE should have replaced STARK as the leader (or one of the leaders) of the avengers. Infinity War and Endgame almost hinted at the fact that this was going to be the case...AND THAT WOULD HAVE MADE SENSE FOR HIS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT! Strange has problems working as a team, something that Tony himself had to overcome for almost ten years! The fact that they had this fantastic set up for Strange, especially when he is the exact opposite of Tony when it comes to his powers, and they didn't jump for it, like...ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? As a writer, this hurts me SO BADLY because it was the OBVIOUS thing to do! Even a high schooler who knew enough about the marvel cinematic universe would probably want Doctor Strange to go in that direction too! This isn't even a college level writing class thing, or a college class that trains you to pick apart every word from a book and analyze it. This is, simply, the most EASIST SHIT TO CONNECT. Even if you don't write for a living, you can just see and feel where they should have taken Doctor Strange and or the rest of the movies that followed Endgame. If it was me, I would have put Doctor Strange and Black Panther together as the next Iron Man and Cap dynamic, which again, with them being opposites (magic vs technology) would have worked so damn well! Sadly, because Chadwick Bosemen passed away, that will never come to be and with how bad the writing has become overtime. I don't think marvel would have the mental capacity to try to catch lightning in a bottle twice.

THIS, one top of my seething list of issues of how they disposed and misused Doctor Strange is why I am done with marvel, PERIOD. M.O.M wasn't even a Doctor Strange movie, it was a Wong and Wanda road trip movie that FORGOT they had set up something with Mordo and NEVER followed though on it. Plus, it didn't even feel like a Doctor Strange movie VISUALLY! That's what I loved about the OG movie. It was a trippy, surreal film with AMAZING effects that were also present in Infinity War, which to me, made that fight with Thanos my favorite scene in the movie.

In M.O.M, all that is GONE! Or is limited to a 10-20 second scene when Strange and Chevz travel to another dimension. I read a while back that Scott Derrickson wanted the second Doctor Strange film to be a horror movie, which sounds fucking awesome! But Disney was so against the idea that Derrickson left due to creative differences...and we got what we got instead...damn.

What makes everything a thousand times worse is the Wong pandering in every fricken film/tv show that comes out, and I used to like Wong! Mostly because in Infinity War and Endgame, he was robbed of any substantial screen time in those movies and I kind of felt bad for him because of that. Now, he has WAAAAY too much screen time, to the point where ALLEGEDLY, Wong might be the one creating the new avengers too...sigh...push an agenda.

Doctor Strange has only been demoted from Sorcerer Supreme once in the comics (I believe) in order to save the whole damn universe, but outside of that. Sorcerer Supreme IS his title. This is what makes him DOCTOR STRANGE, and to give that title to, essentially, your sidekick who does nothing other than berate your actions because your a straight white man is just like...FUCK. HOW DID WE GET HERE??? HOW???

I have no hope for Doctor Strange 3 if Marvel decides they are going to pursue it, why? Because there is no way a writer on that film can develop Strange and Clea's relationship within a single movie right before Cumberbatches contract is about to end. I literally guarantee you when Secret Wars is finally released. He will be one of the first ones to die. Without going too much into the comic itself, he was done justice there. With Secret Wars, his death will be agenda based, I would bet money on it.

So yeah, that's it. I'm done. I'll just sit behind my computer screen and continue to watch Disney burn. They already ruined all the other franchises they own, I guess pain is nothing but a flavor for them at this point...

Rant over.

Edit: Spider-Man: No Way Home is the last movie I felt Doctor Strange was phenomenal in. I wished they pushed the father/son dynamic with Strange and Peter so much more since Tony is no longer part of Peter's life...but don't worry. Marvel will revive everyone and none of this will matter in the end...barf...

[irondad-defensesquad]

What Irondad fics I would like to read!

Since I made my fic rec list, I decided to do the opposite - what concepts I want to read, so you guys can give me your recs, if you have any! Feel free to reblog, for that matter!

More might be added.

These are all very personal choices, of course, lmao.

Alright, these are what I would like to read:

DISCLAIMER: I will already preface that I don't read Avengers Family fics. This is just my preference and I respect everyone who likes them.

Protective Tony. I just live for protectiveness, lmao. Though I personally wouldn't want it to go too far. I know Tony can be an invasive person but sometimes I feel like some fanfictions go way too far - dare I say to the point of making Tony look abusive. I already have a controlling parent so I wouldn't like to read that 😓

Peter (accidentally) calling Tony "Uncle Ben". Him accidentally calling Tony "Dad" is quite common in fanfiction, but I'm surprised that I don't see many stories where Peter refers to him as his deceased uncle. The latter honestly makes a lot more sense to me than Peter calling Tony "Dad" (after all, Peter's dad died when he was very young, and Peter spent more time with Uncle Ben in his childhood). Anyway, that could happen in any scenario - in the heat of the moment (an argument), something casual, or when Peter is dreaming/feverish/hurt. Honestly, just any parallels between Uncle Ben and Tony is fine by me!

Peter dealing with self-harm and/or suicidal thoughts. No, I do not want to read anything graphic. I look forward to the comfort. I would like to see Peter confiding in Tony (and more characters too!). Sadly, I've read fics where Tony is way too harsh on Peter, which is odd to me since Tony would definitely know how it is to hide your feelings from others (Iron Man 2, anyone?). Not that he would perfectly know how to handle that, but y'know. That's just me, though!

Bullying. I suppose there are quite a few fanfics of Peter being bullied, but they don't always work for me. In some of them, Tony picks a fight with Flash, which is... wow. Don't do that, lmao. I can see him getting angry but not to this extent. I just want Tony to be there for Peter, no need for confrontations.

BONUS: Tony's past with bullying. I can understand why this is barely brought up in fanworks, because the MCU itself never quite showed Tony's past to us, only in the tie-in comics (which are mostly Howard treating him like garbage IIRC). In the first comics, however, Tony was bullied by the other kids in boarding school. I feel like he would relate to Peter if he found out about the latter's experience (even if they're not the same, of course).

Anti Steve/Anti Team Cap fics. I think some are way too OOC to me, and while I've read fics where Peter defends Tony from Steve and Team Cap, again, I don't think a confrontation is necessary. Or at least I would like the adult characters to handle that, like Rhodey, Happy or Pepper. It's pretty unfair that a fifteen-year-old is fighting a bunch of grown adults and no one else supports him. With that said, I want something similar to what I look in fics about bullying: like Peter learning about Siberia, not necessarily through Tony. Maybe Rhodey can tell him. Tony would probably not want to bring it up to Peter. Basically, I would like an analysis to how Team Cap/the Avengers treated Tony. I guess something deeper in this sense. I just love character studies.

Jarvis! Can be A.I. Jarvis, but I want more Edwin Jarvis! Sure, we all write about Tony not wanting to be like Howard, but I want Tony to remember Jarvis fondly, and perhaps we find out that he got a lot of parental skills from the butler. Maybe some flashbacks to Tony's past, maybe parallels... I don't often read Biodad fics as you all probably know, but feel free to send those too!

Vision!! I am such a Vision fan, you have no idea. I would've loved to see him interacting with Peter and especially Tony. He was such an intriguing character to me, and I would love to see stories that do him more justice.

Rhodey and Peter!!! I just love Rhodey and I need to read more fics with him. I'm all for Ironhusbands too! Rhodey telling Peter about MIT would be so sweet. Perhaps Peter confiding in him when he can't get to Tony for any reason...

Peter meeting Howard and Maria. Bonus if Peter isn't related to Tony. That's not a concept I see often...

Yinsen! He's also one of my faves, I would love to read an Alive Yinsen AU. And I would love him to meet Peter somehow (whether Tony is his bio dad or not).

Miles Morales! Can be a Spider-Verse crossover or not, but I like MCU Miles fics in particular (since he was sort of confirmed to exist in the MCU thanks to a Homecoming deleted scene). I like seeing Peter mentoring Miles, or even Miles and Tony bonding directly. If it's a crossover, I can imagine Miles being reminded of Peter B. once he meets Tony.

BONUS: Miles and Morgan! Not sure why I love imagining these two interacting, but if there are any stories with them, please send them to me!!

The Guardians of the Galaxy! After reading a comic where Tony joins them, I love seeing them being friends in the MCU. The guardians are my favorite hero team, tbh.

Nebula! I'm sad that her friendship with Tony wasn't given more screentime, they had such a sweet bond. And I would've loved to see her and Peter being friends. Maybe they could bond over wanting to protect Tony from Thanos, something like that.

Asexual Peter. I've always loved this headcanon! Bonus if Tony is also queer (I personally see him as bisexual, which is canon in some of the comics, I believe).

Trans Peter. I'm not trans myself (I'm non-binary though), but I like this headcanon too! My most self-indulgent need is seeing characters getting help for their menstrual cramps (because I sure know how painful they can be). But it doesn't have to be just that, anything with Trans Peter is great!

Post-Homecoming fics that mention Liz. There are a lot of fics where Tony finds out about the warehouse, but very few of them touch on Liz or the fact Toomes is her dad. It kinda sucks that Liz was basically forgotten after Homecoming. I would like to see more of her, even if it's just through mentions.

Touch-starved Peter. Because I am touch-starved. That's it. Give that boy some hugs and cuddles.

Just domestic fluff in general, can include other characters like Pepper, Morgan, Aunt May, Happy, Rhodey, Vision...

Post-NWH but Tony is alive. Ironic considering I never saw No Way Home and I will keep it like that LMAO, but fics where Tony somehow comes back or has been alive all this time... then he has to find Peter to understand what's happening... or maybe he also forgot Peter but he has these sparks in his memories... I even wrote two fics with nearly the same premise, so you can see how much I like this concept, lmao.

Peter giving Tony forehead kisses! That is so rare to find, I don't remember reading this before.

Presumed dead. Mostly Peter being supposedly dead. I'm a sucker for this trope.

--

... well, I guess this is it for now. Thanks for reading this far if you have! :)

[zahri-melitor]

Newish Comics:

Batman #146: okay so this story is finally actually picking up from where The Gotham War left off, with the same fault lines still in place. This is good actually! I am very soft that Damian's determined to keep believing in Bruce (especially as they're also spending quality time together over in Batman & Robin). Also I'm still enjoying Vandal Savage being annoying (sorry not sorry).

Birds of Prey #8: This comic is being written for queer women who like reading about women and I for one salute the entire team for their (fan)service. Excuse me. Several of those Barda panels and Dinah screaming for Barbara are going on my iconic list immediately.

Blue Beetle #8: Roma quits, Oo’li has a crush on Jaime, Jaime finally finds out Brenda is working for Victoria, and Victoria just gets even more on-page evil. I can't believe this is the last storyline we're getting before this gets cancelled, dammit.

Shazam! #10: I had to stop to howl with laughter about every third panel of this. Do yourself a favour. Read Shazam! Darla’s flying with Hoppy on a Pegasus. Freddy just got his licence and bought the Shaz-van! Also omg the lettering for the dragons!

DC’S Spring Breakout! #1: A mixed bag.

The Harley Quinn and King Shark story certainly happened (and I've read better versions of it).

The Batman and Mr Freeze story was quite predictable but sweet. Hit all the right notes in the space awarded to it.

MegFitz had a World's Finest Teen Titans story it felt, well, very MegFitz. She was writing characters in roles rather than writing the characters. On the upside Garth actually got to be the hero, so that made me happy.

The Metal Men story I honestly couldn't judge on characterisation but it was workmanlike. I was amused by the random Atlantean surfer.

The Katana story however was GOOD and delightfully creepy and just really fun Tatsu writing. Highlight of the issue for me.

The Lex Luthor story was incredibly funny in that Lex is there complaining about the damned aliens and how "The forces against us grow in number by the day" with a picture that includes Kon. I'm pretty sure you don't remember why that's hilariously ironic at this point, Lex, but Kon was very much your own fault here. (Lex also saying to Jason 'having trouble digging yourself out of the grave? Skill issue!)

J'onn story! J'onn getting screwed over again by Batman protocols! (This isn't nice, J'onn had one of the worst protocols of the lot, and all I can think is that this far, FAR milder route of attack is Bruce realising how far the other plan was over the line). But the dual shapeshifter fight scene was quite fun. This was probably my second favourite.

The Superman and Jimmy story was...fine. Why is Manchester Black alive and annoying people? This just felt mostly like lead in to current stories (whatever is happening with Zod and Absolute Power).

The Warlord #46: this week in the Lost World of Skartaris Travis is still hunting Jennifer’s trail when he and Shakira end up in a fight with a dinosaur.

Travis gets knocked around, but Shakira is so badly injured that…Death comes to claim her!

I have never been apart from you, my Champion. I have walked where you walked — drunk the lives you have spilled. I am ever at your side.

Travis then follows Death trying to convince her to return Shakira, into a cavern in hell.

I really like this art for Death?

In any case, Travis negotiates with her to get Shakira back and trades her 10 years of his life.

And Travis and Shakira return to Skartaris. Both alive.

Meanwhile Jennifer arrives at the mysterious tower of the ‘master’ of the hunchbacked man who has been leading her.

[neonseperatedau]

Leo’s Log Entries 234 to 345

It seems you stumbled across a broken control pad. As it boosts up, the label reads ‘Property of Leo’. Most files are corrupted. You take a look at those remaining. (Cass, @somerandomdudelmao thank you so much for creating such an inspiring, wonderful and heart-breaking story. Like many others, I was deeply moved by the latest updates. I hope you don’t mind the few creative liberties I took to tell bits of the comic from Leo’s perspective.)

Log entry 234: Man, this feels weird. It’s been ages since the last time I did an entry. The previous one dates so far back that I had both of my arms still. Sweet innocent Leo with two arms, I want to slap that idiot as soon as we got time travel. Donnie told me I should make it a habit again. I guess I kept zoning out during dinner because it was sometimes difficult to process every single crazy thing that had happened within a day. So, here I am, talking to this log and letting it record me. And Dee, if you are eavesdropping, I ate our final package of froot loops, probably the last one that remained on Earth. I needed to stress-eat after you had turned me into a tangerine-sized turtle tod. I only thought it fair to be somehow compensated for that unwanted experience…

Log entry 255: Case is pacing around all night. He had returned from a mission with Donnie being seriously hurt. You would think we’ve been through stuff like this so often it doesn’t bother us anymore. Nope. Each time, I see one of my family injured, I share their pain. Not in any physical sense. More in the ‘I wish I could have done something to prevent that’ kind of hurt. I long gave up on ‘what-if’ scenarios. The present moment doesn’t give two fs about your guilt. Mikey once told me that he envies me for being so focused on the present and that he sometimes struggles to be really here with us and not be torn between the spiritual realm and the physical. I laughed like a crazy person, and I think he misunderstood me. To me, it was the other way around. I miss Dad so much and I had no means of reaching him. Kinda ironic if you ask me that his ‘least favorite’ son was the one to lose his Ninpo and because of that was forced to let him go forever. Log entry 283: I can’t believe this really happened. I always knew Casey was like a good luck charm but that he would be the one to find Raph and bring him home! Raph is back! He is really back! I haven’t realized it until that big machine picked us all up and pressed us tightly into a hug how much I had relied on him and missed his presence. It was like taking that first breath of fresh air after staying underwater for too long. Our family is whole again. Well, as whole as it can be. Log entry 284: Today’s moral of the story: Things cannot go back to how they used to be. Raph refused to take up his old position, especially with some of his programs malfunctioning and Donnie not able to repair him entirely, he told me he doesn’t want the resistance to rely on him and that I had done a great job in taking up this role as leader. I totes understand him and yet…some part of me hoped I could revert to second-in-command. Spend some more time with Case. Go on my own missions. In the end, duty calls, and there’s no easy way out of it. Log entry 294: My big brother’s return was a miracle and even so, Dee found a way to grant us another one. I don’t want to know what that grenade is made out of, and it doesn’t matter. It can REVERSE the effects of Mikey’s quick aging and that is all that counts! Seeing Mike running around, messing with his abilities, and full of energy…I’m so happy for him. Between an ageless robot and a renewed younger bro, I’m the one who’s doomed to feel like an old fart. Second chances are rare. I always regretted that Mikey had to give up so much of his life for our cause. Let’s hope Donnie can continue to produce these anti-aging bombs for a long time. Log entry 301: It’s raining with the lowest levels of sulphur dioxide in the last ten years. It’s not like it’s super safe. That hadn’t prevented Case from running around and enjoying himself within the rain simulation that Donnie had created afterward. He wrapped us all up in his shenanigans and forced us to stop what we were doing and enjoy the little things in life. That’s…not a bad thing. Log entry 303: We lost Boston. Casualties approximately 200. A ceremony for the fallen is scheduled for the day after. April had intended to inspect the Boston branch and I’m somehow glad she got delayed and hadn’t managed to reach it in time. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure, she wouldn’t have returned. She’s on her way home and I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she hears about Raph. Log entry 314: Our scouting teams record higher rates of kraangified humans and yokai. It’s commonly considered a worse fate than death and yeah sure, we had figured out a way to reverse the process. Even so, it was dangerous for everyone involved and I forbid Mikey at one point to ‘treat’ anyone further. My brother would have crumbled away like overcooked toast if he would’ve cured every kraangified being there was. The instant I realized Casey had gotten infected, I was ready to beg my brother on my knees. Everyone’s selfish in their own ways, huh? Log entry 315: Casey shows great signs of improvement. Dee switched to ‘casual’ surveillance, aka his dozens of cameras whose locations nobody knows for sure. I’m doing my best to make the boy feel less responsible for what happened. We cannot blame ourselves for these things or else we would have lost our sanity long ago. Log entry 322: Hey, Dad. I know I cannot talk to you, but I really wonder if you felt the same way whenever we called you that: Dad. Case used that word to refer to me today. Well, to be honest, he also meant Donnie and Mikey, and Raph. It was one of those stupid ‘my dad is better than yours’ competitions, which makes it even better in my personal opinion. Back when I had promised Cass to look after her son, my first thought had been that this human baby was going to be a burden and I would surely mess everything up. But look at him, look at us. I would do anything for him. Heh, you surely had something similar on your mind when you went ahead and protected us at the cost of your own life. Log entry 343: Things have been busy. With April joining our team, I can allow myself to make more ballsy plans and we sure as hell need those victories. The Kraang continually pushes us back. It’s time to return to favor. Log entry 356: Man, my twin is the smartest person on earth. How did he manage to accidentally spill some of the anti-aging serum on himself? And how can such a small creature be so angry? We all haven’t slept for over 30 hours, afraid that if we take our eyes off him, he either ends up killing someone or gets eaten and I’m not thrilled about both options. Log entry 357: Casey is a genius. He built Tiny Tello a pair of custom glasses. He seems to recognize Mikey and me. Raph is too…changed. That human boy has a heart of gold, to do something so kind for someone who shows him no gratitude whatsoever. He insists it’s payback for everything ‘Uncle Donatello’ built for him. Long story short, my twin’s living in my scarf and it’s only the third weirdest thing to ever happen to me. The way he sometimes pads me with his small hands is adorable (note to myself that I should never mention that to Dee) and it makes me nostalgic for days long gone. Log entry 359: I shouldn’t be surprised that the base can’t exist long without Donnie’s maintenance. Occasionally Mike and I liked to make fun of him for merging with the place and being a true shut-in. Jokes on us that we realized how MUCH we are dependent on him once he turned into a small vicious turtle ball. We need to find a solution fast. Log entry 361: Not sure if it was sheer luck and honestly who cares. Dee is back and we need him now more than ever. Raph sustained some grave damage that isn’t fixable. The same goes for yours truly. They can berate me on how I need to be more careful all they want, I will never regret prioritizing Casey’s life. The longer our resistance continues like this, the more I believe this isn’t about me. They could easily replace me, but everyone in my family is so damn special and irreplaceable. I’m going to hold on to them for as long as I can. Log entry 378: Mikey was such an airhead when he was a teen. What happened? Like for real? He had developed an almost uncanny ability to know when we need someone to talk to or hug or, in Dee’s case, rest. And with his mad abilities, he won’t take a ‘no’ for an answer. I think I need to tell him more often how proud I am. Log entry 379: Casey called me in the middle of a meeting, that was already suspicious. The fact that Dee has been sleeping longer than six hours? Also, unusual. We’re currently taking turns, waiting for him to wake up and explain what’s going on. I’m recording this during my shift. My brother looks smaller and frail. He sinks into his bed almost as if the mattress is about to absorb him. His health was bad when Dad died. He had grieved through overwork and constant exhaustion. I couldn’t see a reason he would fall back into this old pattern. Maybe our injuries had made things worse for him. I should take over most of his work and redistribute it for a while. He won’t like it, but I don’t like seeing him like this even more. Log entry 380: Donnie has been infected. Even he doesn’t know when or where exactly. One thing is for sure, it rendered him weak for a while now and he had refused to let us know. It’s worrying that it’s a variant we haven’t dealt with before. But it’s okay. We’re going to figure something out. We always have. Log entry 385: Mikey and I had sat down late to discuss our options. His hair had turned mostly grey again, a sign my younger brother had done everything he could. Nothing worked. Good thing, the mystic isn’t our only trump card. There’s science, too. Donnie must be close to finding a solution, he has been working non-stop. Log entry 386: I just can’t understand why he would make an excessive list of things we’re supposed to take care of instead of focusing on himself. He’s supposed to be the smart one. So, what if the means to cure himself don’t exist anymore? There must be alternatives. Something even he overlooked. For the time being, we try to let him rest as much as possible and survey him. April’s visiting other resistance groups in the hope of answers. I’ve been contacting Draxum and he assured me to let me know when he found anything. Log entry 389: Casey asked me if he could sleep at my place for the night. He’s upset because Donnie made no effort in hiding his calculations of his own death. He might not act that way, but it must bother him as much as it did Casey. Dee just never expresses his emotions the same way others do. I tried to explain this to Casey. He didn’t say anything in return and quietly sobbed against the back of my shell. Log entry 399: We’ve returned to some form of normalcy, though everyone stays at the base for longer periods to hang around Donnie. He notices and refrains from commenting. Denying makes it a bit more bearable. He’s right here and we’ll be fucking damned to let anything change that. Log entry 415: I had no other choice but to move out on a mission myself. We recently lost fights we should’ve won and there are rumors that it has to do with Donnie’s health and our absence. I blame it on my lack of sleep that I stumbled into one of the Kraang’s traps. One mistake might cost your life, that’s how it has been for the last 20 years, and I was ready to pay the price. Then from nowhere, Donnie appeared in his slabby pullover and summoned the greatest arsenal of mystic weaponry that I’ve ever seen. Casey had surely been with Dee as a crutch. Though, it appeared as if it was the other way around and the boy held on to his uncle while he pushed back the entire Kraang army. It's been…a while since Donnie had gone all out. Witnessing what he’s capable of reminded me of the time we had full access to our Ninpo and had gotten extremely cocky. Even then, my twin had been the rational voice of the team. Choosing to be flashy on special occasions and focusing on providing us with the necessary support and firepower. It had never been anything personal. This time, when rockets flew over our heads causing grand explosions, I could see it in his eyes. He was free at that moment. His mind was consumed with revenge for what the Kraang had done to him and enjoying their screams and demise without a thought wasted on efficiency or greater purpose. Fearing he would collapse from over-exerting himself I had to grab him, and we retreated. He seemed in good spirits afterward. I’m telling myself that if he’s strong enough to pull something like this off, he must be okay. He must be. Log entry 422: A week after Donnie’s all-out attack, his health worsened visibly. As he huddles through his lab to take care of business as usual, we cherish the small things. Drinking tea together. Throwing bad puns at each other. The four of us are often sitting down, reminiscing about the times before this whole mess started. Sometimes April or Casey join us. We would like to show our concern and ask Donnie how he’s feeling, if he needs anything, what we can do for him, but we don’t. Life continues on. Log entry 435: I’m tired. I haven’t slept in a few days. Can’t tell exactly how long it has been. I don’t want to miss anything. Every second is precious, even writing this feels like a waste of time. But I also can’t hover over Donnie, he wouldn’t want that. He’s already mad at me since I denied taking over some of his tasks as if he’s already gone. He’s been trying to explain a few of his inventions to me that keep our base up and running, but it’s been difficult to focus. My mind drifts off to repeat the same few sentences over and over again. Please don’t leave us. Please stay with me. Please. Don’t go.

[euphorajeon]

a kaleidoscope of us | jjk

— pairing: basketball player!jk x named oc

— genre: fluff | high school au, childhood friends au, neighbors au, friends enemies to lovers

— word count: 5.3k

— warnings: childhood stories, jeongguk has always been annoying, jeongguk's crush was serious, junghwa loves him too yall she's just too shy to express it, mention of iron man, mention of jk's eight-pack abs (they're still innocent i swear^^), they're just too adorable :(

— summary: being neighbors with the star player of the school's basketball team since childhood comes with a lot of memories—of rain, ice cream, and of course: love.

— author's note: hope you enjoy reading ggukhwa go down the memory lane! they're too adorable i cannot :(

masterlist | basketball player!gguk masterlist

Graduation days are supposed to be held on a sunny day, where the weather is nice and the sun doesn’t make you sweat through your clothes. It’s supposed to be a day full of excitement, laughter, and joy as you celebrate going away from school and into something much bigger called college. The only thing that could stress you out on graduation day is if you misplaced your cap somewhere and couldn’t find it until the last last minute when you have to go.

(Seriously, though, that sounds like a Jeongguk thing to do and he really did misplace his cap five minutes before he and his family were supposed to go to school.)

Well, the point is, graduation days are supposed to go smoothly without a glitch, but Junghwa’s graduation day decided just to be out of the ordinary by bringing something different into the equation: rain. It was fine in the morning, the sun was shining brightly (which Junghwa slightly hated because it would make her sweat through her graduation gown) and there was no sign of rain anywhere. But the sky turned gloomy as the hour went by, and rain poured down the second the graduates finished tossing their caps into the air.

It was chaos all over as everyone tried to catch their caps before running away to find shelter. Junghwa was thankful that she was with Jiwoo the entire time, who held her hand and never let go even while they were running in search of a place that wasn’t drenched.

They’re back in the school building now, only slightly damp because their graduation gowns took most of the damage. Jiwoo is shaking water off her cap when she suddenly laughs, and when Junghwa looks at her in question, the girl nods her head in the direction of a group of girls standing not far from them.

“Did you see them trying to run in their heels in the rain? It was hilarious.” Jiwoo continues to laugh as one of the girls walks past them while complaining how soaking wet she is. “Mean girls got KO-ed by the rain.”

Jiwoo’s right. They’re the ‘mean girls’ who ambushed Junghwa last year after Jeongguk hugged her in front of the whole school (to protect her from the basketball coming her way, but they didn’t care) and made her come home early afterwards. Then she was forced to play basketball with Jeongguk and the rest is history.

“You know, if it weren’t for them, I think Jeongguk and I wouldn’t be dating right now.”

“You’re dating Jeongguk?!” Jiwoo whisper-shouts, eyes comically wide. Junghwa gives her a flat look which makes her let out a laugh again. “Speaking of Jeongguk, where is he? How come he hasn’t come running for you after this surprising turn of event?”

“Actually,” Junghwa says, lifting up her phone. “He’s texting me right now, asking where I am.”

Jiwoo shakes her head at the information. “He’s so in love with you that it’s gross and endearing at the same time.”

“Don’t say ‘in love’ like that, it’s gross.” Junghwa makes a face as she puts her phone back in her dress pocket. “He’s coming here, by the way.”

“Oh yeay, what a joy to be a third wheel,” Jiwoo fakes her enthusiasm with two weak fists raised in the air before grinning wide to show Junghwa that she’s not serious. “Kidding, I actually have to go soon because my family said they’re coming here to pick me up.”

Junghwa and Jiwoo then chat some more while waiting, talking about some high school memories, their friends, also the college they’re going to attend after this. It’s bittersweet, because on one side you’re pursuing higher education for a better future, but on the other side you have to go separate ways with your friends. Junghwa knows that high school friendships typically don’t last, but Jiwoo is a really good friend and it’s really sad to think that Junghwa is not going to attend the same college as her.

“Looks like your boyfriend’s here,” Jiwoo glances behind Junghwa and she turns around to find a smiling Jeongguk walking towards them. He has his gown hanging on his arm and his cap held in his hands, both wet from the rain just like everyone else’s. When he’s close enough, Junghwa just realizes that his hair is also wet from the rain instead of the styling gel he applied this morning, tufts of black sticking out indicating he’s run his fingers through it enough times to get rid of said gel. Weirdly, he still looks good even with messy hair like that.

“Hi baby,” Jeongguk says when he’s reached Junghwa, putting his arm around her shoulders before squeezing lightly. “Hello to you too, Jiwoo.”

“Hey.” Junghwa smiles back, patting Jeongguk’s cheek twice as a form of greeting. “Why is your hair so wet?” The girl then continues the trek of her hand upwards, feeling some wet strands of hair on her fingers.

The sight makes Jiwoo shake her head, conflicted between being endeared or grossed out by the couple in front of her. “Okay! I think that’s my cue to leave,” she says, opening up her arms to Junghwa. “Last hug before I do?”

Junghwa makes a sad face before embracing her friend in a tight hug. “Don’t you dare forget about me,” she whispers, which makes both girls smile because they know they will stay in each other’s minds even after going separate ways.

Jiwoo bids goodbye to Jeongguk as well before picking up her gown and cap off the floor and walking away. Junghwa watches as her figure gets smaller the farther she walks, and Jeongguk rubs his hand up and down Junghwa’s arm the moment he sees his girlfriend’s lips turn down into a frown.

“You’ll be okay, baby,” he whispers into her hair. “You’ll be okay.”

Jeongguk and Junghwa end up sitting on a concrete bench in front of the school to wait for Jeongguk’s dad to pick them up. Both families had planned to have late lunch together to celebrate Jeongguk and Junghwa’s graduation, and the couple were supposed to go to the restaurant together after the graduation ceremony is over. But mother nature happened, so now Jeongguk’s dad is on the way to pick them up from school.

“How long will it be until your dad gets here?” Junghwa asks as she carefully places her gown and cap beside her, taking care not to sit on it. It’s still awfully wet and she doesn’t want her dress to end up in the same state.

Jeongguk puts his own gown and cap on top of Junghwa’s before sitting down on her other side. “I don’t know, he said he just left the restaurant.” He shrugs. “Oh, and it’s raining, so expect traffic. He’s probably not gonna be here for a while.”

Junghwa nods while absent-mindedly kicking the ground with her sneakers. She looks up to watch the rain only to find her boyfriend staring at her feet with a funny look on his face. Bumping her shoulder with his, a chuckle escapes her mouth as she asks why he’s suddenly so interested in her choice of footwear today.

“It’s just unusual to see someone wearing a dress with sneakers on their feet.” Jeongguk bumps his girlfriend’s shoe with his own sneakers-clad foot. “You look good by the way. In a dress. I haven’t had a chance to tell you that since I saw you this morning.”

The girl scoffs and turns her head to look at the boy beside her to give him an are-you-sure? expression. “Really? With my hair matted to my forehead and semi-damp dress that’s sticking to my skin uncomfortably? You must have a peculiar definition for ‘looking good’.”

The boy laughs and ruffles Junghwa’s hair adoringly (also taking care not to mess her hair up too much) which does seem peculiar because Junghwa didn’t even say anything remotely funny. But hey, this is the same boy who has pined for Junghwa for six years, in a time when they weren’t even talking to each other. If anything, Jeongguk is the definition of peculiar itself.

“Hey, I don’t see you in a dress that much, give me a break.” Jeongguk grins. “And your hair’s fine! It’s still cute, I promise the rain didn’t do much damage.” He traces his fingers on Junghwa’s side braid that they don’t even know the name of, combing through a few tangled strands too while he’s at it.

“Yeah? It’s all my mom, I swear, I graduate high school and she thinks it’s the perfect opportunity to force me in dresses and fancy braids. This—” she gestures to the sneakers covering her feet, “—is a trade off I forced her to agree on. She was making me put on heels, Jeongguk! Imagine me, in heels, running in the rain trying to avoid being drenched. Even those mean girls couldn’t handle it.”

“Mean girls? Who?”

One more peculiar thing about Jeongguk is that he somehow always has perfect timing in situations where it is not really needed nor wanted. First with hitting Junghwa’s nose with his basketball, then hugging her to protect her from the same ball, and now—

“Hi, Jeongguk. Nice hair.”

—being given a compliment by the girl he was just asking about seconds ago. Well, one of the mean girls. Junghwa remembers clearly that she was the one who almost slapped her the day she was being ambushed. She’s also the only one who has the nerve to still flirt with Jeongguk even after he said he’s dating Junghwa. She was even bold enough to give Jeongguk a wink after her (unwanted) compliment about his hair, making Junghwa’s blood boil as she shoots daggers into her retreating back. The audacity of some people.

“Did she just wink at me?” Jeongguk voices out with a scrunched up face. “I wonder when she will stop. I told her over and over again that I have a girlfriend and her actions make me uncomfortable.”

“Why is your hair like that anyway?” Junghwa snaps, seemingly out of nowhere. “Why can’t you just have your hair like a wet dog so you don’t look this good and give her something to compliment you about? Huh?”

The grin Jeongguk lets out at Junghwa’s question is bright, all teeth and scrunched nose. It’s really amusing to him that his girlfriend can’t give him a compliment without sounding upset about it, like a reverse back-handed compliment. It almost sounds like she’s whining, too, about Jeongguk looking so good that he just wants to squish her in his arms right now.

“Okay, first, thank you for saying I look good,” he says around the remnants of his grin, holding up a finger when Junghwa opens her mouth to protest. “Second, my hair is like this because the basketball team dumped a bucket of cold water on my head. You know, boys and their rowdy ways.”

Junghwa looks like she still has some things to say about Jeongguk’s weirdly-well-styled wet hair, but deflates once she realizes there’s no use voicing them aloud. No matter what she says, how hard she denies it, how upset she gets, still doesn’t take away the fact that Jeongguk looks good with his wet strands of hair. Damn him and his good-looking everything.

“It reminds me of that time you played basketball when it was raining outside,” she mumbles instead. “You looked like a wet dog then, and you wouldn’t listen to me when I told you to stop playing and go inside when the rain poured harder. You kept dribbling, running, shooting the ball.. and then what did we get the next day?”

Cringing, Jeongguk allows himself to travel back to that day, just a few weeks before their graduation day. It was only drizzling at the beginning, so he ignored the drops of water from the sky making wet patches on his t-shirt and kept running around dribbling his orange basketball. He caught Junghwa’s attention around twenty minutes into his one-man game, which made him try out cool tricks to impress her. (It didn’t work.)

Junghwa had warned him about the rain and how he could get sick if he continued playing, but Jeongguk being Jeongguk just waved her off while running his hand through his soaked hair, hoping to entice his girl once more. (It didn’t work either.) She only rolled her eyes, trying to look annoyed but they both knew she was actually looking out for him as she continued watching him play.

Jeongguk was practicing his three-pointers when the rain suddenly poured harder, drops of water falling faster than Junghwa could finish calling out for her boyfriend. The sound of water hitting every surface it met greatly drowned out her shouts to get him to go inside, and she almost cried out in frustration when Jeongguk almost slipped on the slippery surface of the small basketball court. It seemed like nothing would stop him from playing basketball in that gloomy weather.

Junghwa ended up going out of her house with an umbrella in hand, marching up to the boy still shooting hoops with anger in every step she took. She dragged him off the court, ignoring his plea to go back to fetch his basketball, rolling forlornly into a puddle of water. When they got inside Jeongguk’s house, Junghyun, his older brother, had taken one glance at them and shook his head at the pair’s antics. Understandable, because it’s always like this with them. Annoying Jeongguk and Annoyed Junghwa.

She found out that all her effort to get him inside was kind of fruitless when she went to his house the next day and was met with a bedridden Jeongguk, droopy eyes and red nose. A touch on his skin felt like touching the embers of a dying fire, making Junghwa grumble even as she changed the wet cloth on Jeongguk’s forehead. His pouts and whines couldn’t get her to soften up and he yelped in pain when Junghwa pressed the cloth too hard on his forehead.

But, eh, as annoyed as she was with him, she never left his side that day.

Present-day-Jeongguk is currently nudging Junghwa’s arm with his in an attempt to get on her good side. “You’re still mad about that? I already said I was sorry..”

When Junghwa doesn’t say anything, he continues. “Besides, don’t you remember how fun it was to play in the rain? We used to do that as kids and you would have the biggest grin on your face, with your hair matted to your forehead and your clothes drenched down to the last thread. We used to run around together and you would step on puddles just so the water would splash on me—”

“Hey! It was you, not me!” A smack lands on Jeongguk’s bicep as the boy guffaws, deliberate in altering their childhood memories. It does the trick though, as Junghwa cracks a smile watching the same memory inside her head. “My favorite part was when your mom would hand us a steaming mug of hot chocolate as we sat side by side on your couch. I would always ask for extra marshmallows and you would always whine when she wouldn’t give you the same amount of it in your mug.”

A fond smile creeps its way into Jeongguk’s lips, remembering how Junghwa’s mug would always be overflowing with the white fluffy sweets, whereas his would be scarce of it. He used to complain about that to his mom, saying how it felt like Junghwa was her child instead of Jeongguk. His mom would always laugh and say that it would be lovely to have a daughter like Junghwa.

“Yeah, you were always my mom’s favorite,” Jeongguk reminisces. “You were over all the time that when you weren’t, all she did was ask ‘Where is Junghwa? Is she not coming today?’. At first I thought it was annoying, until you stopped coming over and made me wonder about the same thing.”

Junghwa shoves the boy on his shoulder, scoffing because the way he said it makes her look like the bad guy. “Hey, you were the one who got into the basketball team and got busy with it! I wasn’t gonna barge into your house and fight Junghyun for the Game Boy, it wasn’t as fun with him because he would always give the console to me the second I asked. Couldn’t even be called a fight.” Junghwa pauses for a bit before remembering something. “Oh, and my parents bought me a PS2 because they noticed I was at your house too much just to use your game consoles. I basically spent my middle school years hooked on that thing.”

Jeongguk scrunches up his face at the mention of Junghwa’s PS2, a console he was slightly familiar with. “Must be boring as heck, always playing against the system and never having the satisfaction of trashing your opponent—me—when you win.”

“Well I play adventure games so I didn’t need an opponent—”

“Oh wait, is that why you brought the PS2 along when we had our summer trip that one time? When there was the beach, the sand, the ocean, but all you wanted to do was hold the controller in your hand and play?”

Junghwa frowns at the memory, recalling the way her parents had forced her to come to the summer trip with the Jeons. She had planned to stay home all summer (because she hated the scorching hot sun) and finish the adventure game she was playing at that time, but her parents were not having it. It was after a lot of negotiations (and tears from her end) that Junghwa managed to pack her PS2 and bring it along to the beach house they had rented for the trip.

While Jeongguk and Junghyun were out enjoying the sun at the beach, Junghwa would always stay back in the house with her hand on a controller. She got scolded by her parents because of that, but Jeongguk’s mom (who has always had a soft spot for Junghwa) would say it was okay and even told her boys to play together with Junghwa like they would back home. They always played after dinner and the exhaustion from his activities in the day would always result in Jeongguk falling asleep on the couch.

So, they did play together on the trip, but it wasn’t the sole reason Junghwa brought her PS2 like Jeongguk thinks it is. She just didn’t like being out in the sun that much.

“Ha-ha, very funny. I remember you also had a controller in your hand at the end of the day, when you were asleep on the couch with drool on the side of your mouth.” Junghwa cackles, the image of thirteen year-old Jeongguk still vivid in her mind. “I wonder if Junghyun still has those pictures of you, they were golden and are not to be forgotten.”

“I think you need a friendly reminder that those pictures have both of us in frame, and I recall you didn’t look very attractive either slumped next to me with one identical controller in your hands.” The boy slouches against the bench, demonstrating how Junghwa looked in the pictures they’re talking about. He closes his eyes and lets out a very unattractive snore from the back of his throat, hands positioned as if he’s holding a PS controller. “This is what you look like in those pictures.”

“Like you said,” Junghwa shrugs, “thirteen year-olds aren’t supposed to be attractive.”

“I think I said eleven,” Jeongguk corrects with his brows furrowed, trying to remember the number. “But eh, memories from those years are blurred together in my head anyway, so it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

“I remember one thing from when we were eleven,” Junghwa says. “We used to bike around the neighborhood and you would always crash your bike against mine. You would do it over and over again while laughing like a maniac, making my hands hurt from trying to hold the handlebar steady. Weirdly, it was your bike that got jammed from all those crashings, not mine. I remember your dad shaking his head disapprovingly when he knew, but he still got you a new bicycle for your twelfth birthday.”

Both smile at the memory, the image of eleven year-old Jeongguk grinning sheepishly as he showed his dad his broken bicycle still clear in their minds. In the time when he was bicycle-less, Jeongguk would sometimes use Junghyun’s bicycle to still ride around the neighborhood with Junghwa. Other times, when she was feeling nice, Junghwa would let Jeongguk get a hold of the handlebar while she sat in the back. He would drive haphazardly and it would always make Junghwa yelp in fear, but every time she asked to switch he always refused.

(Jeongguk would never admit this out loud but he never let Junghwa take the handlebar because he simply liked the feeling of having her arms around his waist. And whenever he swerved left and right, her hold on him always tightened.)

“Yeah, the one I showed off to you as soon as my dad brought it home. You frowned so hard back then I almost thought you were jealous that I got a new bike and you didn’t.” Jeongguk shakes his head with a grin adorning his face. “Oh, speaking of birthday gifts, I remember what you got for your thirteenth birthday,” he continues, a glint of mirth in his eyes that makes Junghwa a bit scared of what’s going to come out of his mouth next.

She asks anyway: “And what would that be?”

“A cone of ice cream on the carpeted floor of the movies.”

As Jeongguk laughs, Junghwa makes his shoulder her personal punching bag for the day. Her punches and smacks don’t seem to affect him, though, as he continues speaking around the remnants of his laugh about the memory involving a fallen cone of ice cream.

“Your parents took you to the movies to watch Iron Man 2 and decided to bring me along, because they knew I also loved the superhero. And because you were a thirteen year-old with a five year-old soul inside her body, you asked for ice cream the minute we got there. I even remember the flavor of ice cream you got, it was cookies and cream, right? You always liked that flavor when you were little.”

“Alright, we all know you have a good memory of that day but I think that’s enough—”

“No, what are you talking about!” Jeongguk says. “This is a classic that must be told until the end. Too good to skip just like that.”

Junghwa rolls her eyes at his enthusiasm to tell the story of a memory she’s not too proud of. It’s silly, everyone must have experienced it at least once in their lives, but it doesn’t make her feel any less bad whenever she gets reminded of it. Unfortunately, the person sitting next to her just happens to be someone with a hobby of just that: reminding her of the stupid things she’d done in the past.

“Okay, where was I?” Junghwa really hates how much fun Jeongguk is having. “Oh, right, cookies and cream. So you got two scoops of said flavor, a glimmer in your eyes, a grin on your lips. I remember you sneered when I asked for a scoop of the same flavor as you, saying I was only doing that to copy you. I tried to prove you wrong by asking my ice cream to be put in a cup instead of a cone like yours. A wise move, might I add, because five seconds after we walked away from the booth you got too excited to watch where you were going and ended up tripping over your own two feet. The face you made when you realized you had just dropped your cone of ice cream was hilarious, I swear, I almost laughed out loud had you not burst out crying right at that second.”

“You did laugh out loud.” A finger is jabbed into Jeongguk’s chest. “You tried to muffle it by eating your ice cream but I knew you wouldn’t miss any opportunity to laugh at me.”

“You have to admit it was hilarious, though, from the way you tripped on literally nothing to the comedic timing of your cry. I also didn’t understand why you would cry over something so trivial like that. Your parents even offered to buy you another cone, but you refused.”

“I didn’t want them to waste more money because I had two left feet.”

“Junghwa, you were thirteen,” Jeongguk says in an exasperated tone, “no one would give you a hard time just because you accidentally dropped your cone of ice cream and asked for another. It’s ice cream, not a car.”

“Yeah, well, if you think like that then why did you share half of your ice cream with me?” Junghwa’s question shuts him up. “Was that why you got the same flavor? Because you knew that somehow I was gonna trip on air and drop my cone of ice cream? Or was there any other hidden motives?”

“Well, it’s not hidden anymore since you know I had had a crush on you since we were eleven.” Jeongguk shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “At first I just wanted to get the same flavor so you’d think I liked the same thing as you, without any intention of sharing it with you. But then you cried when you dropped your cone, and I hated seeing you so sad. At that moment I was thankful that I was a lovesick idiot who only wanted to get your attention—even only by getting the same ice cream flavor—because then I could share my ice cream with you. I felt like I was the one who got rid of your sadness, and it felt nice to know that I was able to make you smile again.”

It feels like a confession all over again, told in a nonchalant manner as if the things he just said are mere facts from when they were kids and not a big revelation of just how serious Jeongguk’s crush on Junghwa was. Junghwa had always thought that Jeongguk was just this annoying kid she was unfortunate enough to have as a neighbor who did things for the sole purpose of annoying her. Never had she thought that behind the annoying label she had always painted him with, there existed a boy who only wanted to make her smile.

“You’re smiling,” Jeongguk points out, a broad smile taking over his own features, “and blushing! I didn’t think my ice cream backstory would be so touching for someone like Park Junghwa. Thanks, babe.”

“Stop teasing me, you ass,” Junghwa hisses with cheeks still warm. “I always thought you shared your ice cream with me just because you felt bad that you still had yours and I didn’t. How was I supposed to know that thirteen year-old Jeongguk was so sweet and pure?”

“Oh, so eighteen year-old Jeongguk is not sweet and pure?”

“You can’t have an eight-pack on your stomach and expect to be called sweet and pure.”

Jeongguk lets out a shy laugh at that, crimson on the apple of his cheeks because Junghwa doesn’t really acknowledge the muscles he has on his body. The shirt-lifting incident a year ago was the only time she seemed affected by it, and Jeongguk would be lying if he said he didn’t feel disappointed every time he flexed and Junghwa never seemed to notice. Well, until now, that is.

(It makes him giddy inside to know that Junghwa even notices it’s an eight-pack instead of the usual six-pack. She pays attention to his body him!)

“Thanks for indirectly saying I’m hot, I know I am.” Jeongguk gives his girlfriend a wink while running his fingers through his (still) wet hair, making Junghwa shake her head at his display of (over)confidence. “But I’ll have you know I’m still as sweet and pure as thirteen year-old Jeongguk.”

“Yeah? How?”

“I still have that Iron Man cup we got after watching the movie.”

Junghwa makes a sound of surprise, eyes round in disbelief. The Iron Man cup in question is really just a regular tumbler with a small Iron Man figurine on the lid that you can detach from it. Junghwa remembers how Jeongguk held it in his hands the whole journey back home because he was afraid that his figurine would end up in pieces if it’s not put in the safety of his hands.

“You’re kidding. It’s been almost six years!” She exclaims.

“No, I’m serious,” Jeongguk grins. “It serves as a reminder of the day I saw the hero of my life and the day I shared ice creams with Park Junghwa.”

“You’re so cheesy it’s starting to get gross, Jeon.”

“You love me though.”

Junghwa can’t even deny it as she looks away from Jeongguk’s grinning face, choosing to stare at the sky instead. It’s still gloomy and pouring, without any sign of stopping soon. She wonders how long they will have to wait outside in this weather before being able to feel the warmth of the restaurant they’re going to after this. Soon, she hopes, because it’s really starting to get cold.

Jeongguk notices how Junghwa is slightly shivering from the cold gust of wind, pulling her into him for a side hug.

“Sorry I don’t have a jacket to give to you,” he says apologetically, hand rubbing up and down Junghwa’s arm in hopes of giving her a little warmth. She leans her head on his shoulder and snakes her arms around his waist, a complete 180 of minutes prior when she said Jeongguk was cheesy.

“It’s fine, you’re warm enough,” Junghwa mumbles into his collarbone. “Your shirt’s kinda damp though. You’ll have to change into a dry one or you’ll get sick.”

“Your dress is damp too,” Jeongguk chuckles. “It’s okay, we can be sick together and eat my mom’s chicken soup while cuddling on my bed. Sounds really nice.”

Junghwa doesn’t respond because turns out being in Jeongguk’s arms like this feels really warm and comfortable, she feels herself wanting to close her eyes and go to sleep. Maybe it’s the exhaustion from the whole graduation ceremony, maybe it’s the running away from the rain, or maybe it’s the talking with Jeongguk earlier. Whatever it is, Junghwa only knows it causes her fatigue right now.

“Hey, that’s my dad,” Jeongguk mumbles when his eyes catch his father’s figure from far away. He waves a hand towards him, and the older Jeon hastily makes his way to the pair still sitting on the concrete bench. “Babe, wake up, dad is here.”

When they’re all safely seated inside Jeongguk’s dad’s car, Jeongguk turns towards Junghwa who’s sitting in the back seat. With a grin brighter than the sun, he asks a question Junghwa wouldn’t expect after the day they just had in the cold rain.

“Want to get some ice cream before we go to the restaurant?”

When Junghwa only responds with a confused expression, Jeongguk continues: “For old time’s sake?”

“Seriously?”

Despite the slightly harsh tone, Junghwa is smiling. Jeongguk knows she’s already giving in from the way her eyes lit up when he referred to their childhood memory, no matter how good the act of pondering she’s putting up right now. He stares at her with hope in his eyes before Junghwa gives up and relents.

“Alright, but I’m getting mint chocolate now instead of cookies and cream.”

“Fine by me, just don’t drop it on the floor again.”

The laugh they share afterwards is warm and comfortable, and Junghwa thinks Jeongguk looks beautiful with his wide grin and scrunched nose. Worthy of getting his picture taken and stored as the first memory in their kaleidoscope of memories, one Junghwa would carry everywhere in case she encounters a cold, rainy day. She hopes she gets to see that smile for a long time, so she can keep adding to the kaleidoscope in her mind.

And as her own grin dims into a smile, she hopes he feels the same way.

— a/n: aaand that's it for jeongguk and junghwa! if you think they're adorable come tell them so here. thank you for reading ^_^

[an-aussie-button-masher]

The Multiverse's Mightiest Heroes - A Quick Review of the Marvel Rivals Closed Beta Test

   Doom strikes! Across an entangled timestream converging around a duo of battling Doctor Dooms, various iconic (and some obscure) heroes and villains from across the Marvel multiverse are thrown into battle in NetEase’s Marvel Rivals! An upcoming hero shooter in the same vein as Overwatch or Apex Legends, Rivals hosted a closed beta test earlier this year that I was lucky enough to participate in. For two weeks, testers got to play as 23 different Marvel characters battling in the halls of Asgard or the neon streets of Tokyo 2099 in a surprisingly polished beta with only a small handful of standout issues. Testers could play as tanky Vanguards like Thor or Magneto, powerful Duelists like Iron Man and Spider-Man, or helpful Strategists like Rocket Raccoon and Luna Snow. I’ll share my thoughts on the closed beta here before the full game releases on December 6th 2024 - enjoy!

   The majority of the cast has highly satisfying gameplay; bringing the thunder as Thor or zipping around as Spider-Man feels just as cool to play as it seems in the comics and films. Many characters should also feel very familiar to players of other hero shooters - for example, Storm’s controllable weather aura will remind Overwatch players of Lúcio’s switchable music - and I had no trouble quickly picking up how to play as, alongside, or against each hero despite the sheer number of them. Quick kill times means it’s easier to feel like you’re providing more impact per match even if it means more personal deaths - if all your scoreboard numbers are high, you can’t be doing too poorly right? The regenerating destructible environments also really set Rivals apart from the rest of the genre and keep things interesting. Someone hiding from you in a building? Just get rid of the building!   Of course, it was a beta test, so some issues are inevitable. I’m expecting most of these to be resolved by launch - but one can only hope. The lack of map variety was one particular problem; with only three game modes across four maps in total, it started to feel rather repetitive once I’d escorted Spider-Zero through Tokyo 2099 nine matches in a row. I’m also begging the developers to add proper Australia/Oceania servers - I, and plenty others, had to endure skyrocketing latency all beta long, getting repeatedly trapped in the loading screen for half the duration of many matches! I tended to be quite late to those first decisive team fights after staring at that 99% loading bar for several minutes.    Gameplay aside, this game’s artstyle is amazing. The characters all look incredibly striking and distinct, instantly recognisable yet with a unique twist on each one. Definitely my favourite look for Scarlet Witch in any of her adaptations. The voice acting is also top-notch, with an absolutely stacked cast; Troy Baker, Nolan North, Nika Futterman, Liam O’Brien, James Arnold Taylor, Yuri Lowenthal, and so so many more familiar talents. Finally, my personal highlight - lore! A hero shooter with actual in-game storytelling! Imagine that. Each hero includes a snippet of excellent writing found in their gallery that is just as compelling as the gameplay itself, showcasing various different story threads all slowly weaving together around the core conflict between two alternate versions of Doctor Doom. I’m just as excited to see how all their stories unfold as I am to play the game again when it releases on December 6th 2024.   I hope you enjoyed this quick review of the Marvel Rivals Closed Beta Test! Feedback, reblogs and likes are all much appreciated!

   Thanks for reading!

An Aussie Button-Masher

[zafirosreverie]

You belong to us (Proxima x Reader)

a/n: I did this in a hurry, but I hope you still like it!

for @1ntr0v3rt3dsna1l 

_______________________

You sighed as you tried to keep your eyes open and hold back a yawn, praying you wouldn't fall asleep in class, you didn't need another strike just months away from finishing your master's degree.

It had been a long time since you had stopped paying attention, you would simply wait for one of your classmates to lend you their notes later, although from their faces, you doubted that any of them were understanding something. That was what happened when you go to the same school where Crabbles taught, that man could make anything sound insufferably boring.

"Psst, Y/N" someone tapped your shoulder

You turned to look at Miranda with a tired look. You liked her, she was a good friend and the only one you really got along with in the whole school. But she was also a bit... quirky. Her mind was always off the charts and she couldn't go anywhere without her comics. You assumed it was nice, to be able to live in a world where heroes were real and life was a little more fun.

"Did you see the news this morning?" Miranda whispered, almost as if she was conspiring.

"You know I don't watch the news, Mir" you answered "nothing interesting ever happens anyway"

"Oh, but today it did happen!"

"What? Is the president's cat missing again?" you said sarcastically

"A ring appeared in the sky" Miranda replied, not bothered by your tone.

"A what?" you frowned

"A ring! The police say it was just some tank residue from an airplane and the refraction of light made the cameras pick it up a different color, but people are saying it was a portal!"

She seemed strangely happy for someone who was talking about an event that was totally impossible for science and that if it were true, the whole world should probably start to worry.

"Maybe you should stop reading so many comics" you said

"Oh come on, you can't tell me it wouldn't be cool to witness an alien invasion"

"Yeah, sure, except in that case, we'd probably be very, very dead."

"At least we'd leave in a cool way"

"Sometimes you worry me, Mir" you smiled

Your friend just playfully stuck her tongue out at you and turned her attention back to her phone, probably looking for more news about that supposed portal. You envied her being able to distract herself from the world so easily.

You looked out the window, imagining what that "residue of an airplane tank" would have been like, perhaps you would have seen it if you had left home a little earlier.

Without realizing it, your mind began to imagine people in iron armor coming out of the portal, or men turning into big green monsters, sorcerers with weird necklaces that controlled time, and many other things.

"I have to stop watching movies with Mir" you thought

However, you did not have time to lose yourself in your thoughts again. At that moment, the ground began to shake, the walls moved and the ceiling lamps almost fell on three of your classmates. It was a matter of seconds before chaos reigned.

The professor, to his credit, tried to calm everyone down and enforce earthquake protocols, but the truth was, no one was listening. You turned to reach Miranda and pull her under one of the desks.

"great way to die isn't it?" you said upset

"I preferred the aliens" she replied

Right at that moment, a blue light blinded you for a few seconds, before a huge portal opened in the middle of the room. Miranda gasped and tightened her grip on your hand, swallowing back a cry.

"Did you have to say it, Mir?" you whispered, but still clung closer to her as well.

A tall woman with blue hair walked out of the portal and...were those horns?! She was terrifying, imposing and... strangely familiar? You didn't know why, but you felt like you knew her from somewhere, maybe in a dream?

The woman's red eyes scanned the room, as if she was searching for something…or someone. You swallowed hard as her gaze locked on you and she smirked.

"Y/N" she said "get up" she ordered

How did she know your name?! Miranda looked at you fearfully and the way she clung to your arm didn't seem to please the woman at all, so you did as she ordered, not wanting to risk your friend's life.

"You're just like her" the woman said, taking your chin and examining you from head to toe "...you'll do."

You were uncomfortably aware of the stares from your classmates, but you didn't have time to pay attention to them. The words of this terrifyingly pretty woman made no sense to you.

"W-what do you want from me?" you whispered, feeling like you were walking a tightrope

"Y/N...the one from my world, my Y/N...died" she said dryly, but you could catch a glimmer of sadness in her voice "And our daughter, Renma, needs a new mom. You're coming with me"

"W-what?!" you opened your eyes wide

She just grabbed your wrist tightly and started pulling you into the portal. You could hear Miranda calling you, but the woman's grip was too strong for you to break free, besides, your mind was trying to catch up with everything.

"Y/N!!!"

As soon as you passed through the portal, Miranda's voice disappeared, just like your only way to return to your universe. It took you a moment to react and to realize that you were in some kind of strange ship and your heart skipped a beat. You had to be dreaming, this had to be a nightmare.

"Renma will be here any minute" the woman told you "I suggest you put a smile on your face and act like you are a loving mother if you don't want to get in trouble"

"Where am I?" you asked

"In your new home"

"I need to go back" you said "I don't belong here, I don't even know who you are"

The woman looked at you with an impassive face, but in her eyes shone the same sadness that you had heard in her voice a few moments before. At that point it first occurred to you that maybe the daughter she was talking about wasn't the only one who needed a new Y/N.

"You're not coming back" she told you coldly "this is your new home and you'd better get used to it"

Her tone really said that there was no room for negotiations. And to be honest, what did you know about ships, space or aliens? Anything! That was Miranda's specialty, so it's not like you had much hope of escaping either.

But on second thought. Would you want to do it? Sure, you would miss your house, your plants, your city but... what did you really have? No family or friends besides Mir and you weren't going to drag her into this madness.

Deciding that your best option at that moment was to humor her and do as you were told while you found a way to return to or wake up from the nightmare, you worked up the courage to speak again.

"...at least tell me your name" you said "I-it would be ridiculous not to know who you are if we're supposed to have a daughter together" you clarified when she looked at you suspiciously.

The woman studied you again, sweeping her gaze over your entire body, more carefully than when she did it the first time. She at least seemed to find something that she liked because she smiled slightly before looking back at you.

"Proxima Midnight" she said "You're my wife, you were training when the Nova attacked so we'll have to train harder... I hope you're in good physical condition because I'm not going to lose another Y/N"

You opened your mouth to ask but just at that moment the doors of the room you were in opened and a little girl ran in. You didn't even have to ask who she was, because she was the very image of the woman in front of you.

"Mom!" she smiled when she saw you and immediately ran to hug your legs.

Feeling Proxima's penetrating gaze on you, you bent down to take her and let her hide her face in your neck, even though her little horns bothered you a little.

"Hello little dragon" you said, not knowing where you got the nickname from, it just felt natural.

However, Proxima seemed to like it, so you didn't think much of it. The woman moved closer to you and put a hand on your shoulder so she could whisper in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You belong to us now"

[sineala]

How did Carol/Rhodey start/happen? I like the ship and it seems to be sticking more or less (for a comics couple) but was it a, “we need Tony and Carol to fight over someone” thing? And were they interacting often before that point?

And it seems like Rhodey is now a permanent part of both the Iron Man and Captain Marvel supporting cast about 10 years running now, does someone pulling double duty in 2 solo books (when they definitely came from 1) long term happen often in comics? With team books I’m sure it does.

I haven't backread all Carol's appearances, and I actually haven't read all of KSD's run, which is where Carol/Rhodey comes from. As far as I can tell, they got together between KSD's first and second Captain Marvel runs, off-page. In the first issue of the second (2014) run, they're already together.

I skimmed Wiki and I can't find anything in Rhodey's earlier appearances list that looks like it would have had a lot of Carol, or vice versa. I know they must have overlapped a little in Busiek's Iron Man run, but as far as I can remember, Rhodey wasn't a major part of that run and the Carol & Tony friendship absolutely was. So I can't say for sure, but if they interacted a lot before this, I can't find it. I have the impression that KSD put them together because they were both pilots and therefore basically had similar ambitions.

All of this predates the Civil War II "Tony and Carol fight about which of them loved Rhodey more" plotline by several years and I would be very surprised if they'd already had that in mind when the Carol/Rhodey thing started.

Carol is a character who, for better or worse (and, yes, the "worse" has been pretty awful), has a lot of early canonical history in which she is defined by her relationships to men -- I mean, she basically started off as Mar-Vell's girlfriend and, uh, let's not talk about Avengers #200 ever again -- but I think for the most part Marvel seems to have figured out that she has the most popularity when they focus on her as a success of feminism (see: Chris Claremont's work on the original Ms. Marvel run, as well as her massive popularity surge due to KSD's Captain Marvel run) and I think in that light, Carol/Rhodey is a long-term choice that makes a lot of sense because they can clearly support each other as equals and they understand where they're each coming from and it's very nice and you don't have a setup where Carol is obviously "the love interest" or anything like that.

(However, if you read Avengers Annual #10, Chris Claremont's fixit for Avengers #200, you will see that he was clearly where everyone got the Carol/Jess from.)

There have definitely been characters pulling double-duty in multiple solo books. I don't know for sure how much all of this overlapped in terms of simultaneous appearances (I suspect not all that much, because I think Marvel cared a lot more about making sure characters couldn't be two places at once back when they had fewer comics) -- but, I mean, the character I immediately think of is Rick Jones, everyone's favorite perma-sidekick. Seriously, he started off with the Hulk, moved on to Steve, went back to the Hulk, then eventually ended up with Mar-Vell (and then Genis-Vell) -- and if you asked me to pick one and only one hero to say he's associated with, I really don't think I could. That guy gets around.

[angelsxwords]

your nightmare.

(1) of dreams and nightmares.

summary: while going about his duties, corinthian meets someone he cannot frighten. it annoys and intrigues him.

corinthian x f!reader. supposed to be set in 1890. warnings: maybe corinthian himself but nothing more than that. a/n: maaaaaaaybe I'll turn this into a mini-series. i got some ideas cooking in my brain. and re-upload because tumblr tags didn't work. disclaimer: i haven't read the comics so i took this post from the man himself and did a tiny thing.

He met her in a dream.

Following the purpose his creator had bestowed upon him, as one does, Corinthian entered a tiny world with a sky so bright and beautiful it could sicken him. He, a nightmare, is used to the cold claws of darkness, tearing at humanity, and revealing whatever they might wish to hide.

Whenever he steps into a dream, the darkness follows him and changes the atmosphere to something more nightmare-ish. In that case, blue hues became drenched in red and the nature beneath his feet, with its flowers, bushes, and trees, withered and died.

Corinthian strolled across the way he caved himself, hands tucked into the pockets of his sleek, creme-coloured dress pants. The eyes he doesn’t truly have wandered across the dreamer‘s world and watched it decay, watched the shadows of fears and uncertainties rise like skeletons from their graves. It wasn’t as satisfying as it used to be, really; when he was younger, this was enough. But now he seeks more of humanity. A sin, perhaps.

Whilst the thought of living a greater life plagued Corinthian‘s mind, he stumbled across a familiar face. The dreamer.

He stood still, between burning trees and crying skies, his eyebrows knitted together. With the marvellous work he was doing, he expected a terrified face and a terrified voice, yet Corinthian found her staring back at him with fascination but worry in her eyes.

Hasty steps approached him quickly, skipping through the ash and the smoke and the rain. She must have noticed he wasn’t affected – nothing touched his being, as if he were shielded by an invisible force. However, she neither cared nor wanted to discover what caused the sudden change.

"You shouldn’t be here," she called, breathless. "We need to hide somewhere. It’s not safe here, not anymore."

"I can see that much," Corinthian retorted, looking up at the sky. His hand reached up to take off his hat, holding it to his chest and bidding her farewell. 

"I will be taking my leave. Good luck."

The little world of hers had been infected — the poison would spread until she found the cure or awoke. Whichever happened first, Corinthian did not know. And frankly, he hadn’t cared, either. 

But rather than letting him go, the dreamer wrapped her hands around his arm and pleaded for him to accompany her, for him to stay.  Ironic, really, if one considered he was the cause of that nightmare.

"I just want to make sure you’re safe. Please."

Corinthian visits her every night, afterwards.

At first, it is to see when or if he can genuinely upset her. None of his creations seem to do the trick, no matter how deeply he picks and pries at her unconscious, her fears. It annoys him, to some extent.

"You again," she greets him during the seventh dream. The darkness in Corinthian’s wake does not consume her world, this time. 

"I’ve been seeing you every night. Lurking around corners, off in the distance. Seconds before a disaster occurs."

She always wears a beautiful white dress that falls naturally over her hips, with puffy leg-of-mutton sleeves. She rivals an angel‘s image; it flows and sways as calmly as the water in a river with every movement she makes. 

Corinthian smirks.

"Is it your doing, then? Are you my nightmare? Or the personification of my nightmares?"

"’Suppose you could say that, yeah," he answers truthfully, staring off into the distance. He isn’t supposed to be hers and he certainly isn’t supposed to be visiting her every night, either. But Dream of the Endless, busy as he is, will hardly notice.

Behind them, there is a castle, a grand garden with a pond and one of the newer cars. In her dreams, she lives a life of royalty and adventure, whilst poverty and cruelty plague her waking hours.

"I don’t think I understand," she continues and takes a step closer to him. Corinthian silently observes the creases on her young face, the evident confusion in her eyes. 

"If you are my nightmare, why do you appear to me in such beauty? And why haven’t you ruined this dream yet?"

"Not really feeling like it today." 

Today, Corinthian feels like talking. Like getting under her skin, understanding what she is all about. Above all, he feels like popping her pretty eyes out of her little skull, if only to better study her.

"Beauty, you said," he repeats her words, but it feels awkward and unfamiliar on his tongue, "referring to my appearance, or…?"

"I always imagined a nightmare to resemble a monster. An abomination. Neither of which you are."

"Consider myself flattered."

Corinthian hasn’t interacted properly with a dreamer before. Until then, he always showed up for a short fraction of time to cause havoc, before moving on to the next dreamer. In the Waking World, where he had escaped to a scarce number of times thus far, he had often met men and women alike, who were all enticed by his looks and charms. Attention he certainly likes to receive.

"Would you mind going for a stroll around the castle with me?"

He offers his elbow for her to take, lips curled up in a smile that usually gets him whatever he desires. The dreamer does not seem immune to this and loops her arm around his with a shy smile. She is unsure but does seem to have developed a sense of trust in him. Which, considering he haunts her dreams and drenches them in despair, did not make the most sense.  Not that Corinthian minds — with such circumstances, it will be easier to discover more about her.

And discover more he certainly does. She talks of her life, of the challenges she faces, and he listens. Most are mundane matters; the everyday family dispute, a man who threw a rude comment her way, the bills that need to be paid. She seems perfectly ordinary, really.

"What about you, my nightmare?"

At a crossroads marked by a glorious fountain, they come to a halt. She looks at him as if waiting for a great fairytale to be told, but Corinthian chuckles and shakes his head.

"Trying to get my job done, nothing more than that." 

“Your job – turning dreams into nightmares?” He merely hums in affirmation; thus, she continues. “Who is your employer, then? You must have one, if this is but a job of yours.”

“Well, more than what you consider a job. My life, my purpose. What I was made to be.”

Although, there is doubt in his mind. Corinthian is unsure in his craft, sometimes. In quiet moments, he wonders if this is truly all there is, all he can grasp. He wonders why he can’t be more, when the Waking World can offer him so much more. 

The dreamer’s face falters at his words. Rather than beaming with curiosity, as she has before, a frown decorates her features.

“This is all you do?”

“For all of eternity.” A hint of bitterness, perhaps even anger, drips from his lips like a venom. She seems to pick up on his change rather quickly and squeezes his arm gently to offer comfort. Corinthian tilts his head to the side to look at her, an eyebrow raised. 

“We must both live awfully dull lives, then.”

He huffs in amusement. “Dull is one way to describe it.”

Their attention finally shifts to the fountain once more. There are two paths for them to choose: One, covered with cobblestone, leads further to the castle. The other path, which is created by trees, patches of grass and branches, leads into the forest.

“How much time do I have left with you? Will your … creator not question why you choose to remain in one dream for such a significantly longer time?”

She is amusing, that little human of his. A smile tugs on his lips with the concern seeping into her words. It is odd to hear, even feel someone care. Nevertheless, after knowing him for barely a week. Morpheus hasn’t managed to show even an ounce of such a feeling towards his creation in – what, three centuries?

Who knows what was before that. Before him. Corinthian refuses to believe his creator was ever different, despite not being alive for too long. Or rather not as long as other dreams and nightmares.

“Dream won’t care, I’m sure. Or notice.”

A wave of confusion gently washes over her. “Dream?”

“Morpheus. Oneiros. The Sandman, think that nickname recently became popular in literature.”

Corinthian guides her to the left path of the crossroads, slowly and gently as she connects the new pieces to her puzzle. The dreamer follows him without hesitance, leaning against his side whilst the gears in her head turn and turn. 

After a long moment of silence passed them, Corinthian asks: “Haven’t heard of him? The king of dreams and nightmares?”

It does not surprise him; she lives in a rather secluded village, further away from the busy streets and bustling atmosphere of the city. Word needs longer to spread to the far corners. A couple more years, perhaps, before they too know of the stories written by silly men.

Once Corinthian received the confirmation that she has, in fact, not heard of it yet, he grasps the opportunity to tell her. He talks more than he initially intended to; talks of the things his master has created, including his very self, and all that he does day and night. Corinthian sugar-coats it all, really, rather than allowing his own humble opinions to diminish the fascination such stories cause to arise in humans.

After all, the way her eyes sparkle and shine as he talks of the great castle, the bridge, fields, and creatures, is a sight he could relish in for hours on end.