#yeah no i just turned it off halfway through: the trap wanda got stuck in and the portrayal of crashing between dimensions were fun

[zoanzon]

Finally watched Multiverse of Madness because I wanted to see horror-MCU movie doing multiverse surrealism.

Instead...wow, there's a lot going on. Lot of worldbuilding stuff and casting choices, lot of plot choices (and making it nearly incomprehensible if you didn't see Wandavision//making it groan over the amount of stuff you're expexted to have watched), and by god is there some special effects happening.

Was so looking forward to it - like one of the last two things I was planning on seeing from MCU going forward, other than S2 of Loki - and instead I just finally gave up on it halfway in.

[youarerageandserenity]

Not Dead Yet: pt. 1

Inspired by this au board.  by @esteicy-blog , I wanted to do a zombie apocalypse au. And it got.... long. So hopefully i’ll continue this into actual shipping and badassery. But here have a really long introduction. 

The slap of his feet was all that could be heard over the pounding of blood in his ears and his jagged breaths. 

Look back? No he didn’t dare turn for even a second. 

Dirt sprayed in every direction as a bullet hit the ground just inches from his foot. Pietro summoned the rest of his energy to push harder into his sprint. 

They were getting closer. 

The safe zones weren’t safe anymore. They were nothing but killing arenas keeping everyone inside. He knew. He’d seen it. Even the people who were supposed to keep them safe.... he’d take humanoid monsters any time. 

You weren’t allowed to leave. Wanda had always said it was to keep the people on the inside from seeing what they were missing. 

Maybe she was right. For about a mile and a half there was nothing but dirt and pavement and abandoned buildings, evidence they’d been shrinking the zone daily. But just past that, was more green than he’d ever seen. 

It hurt to breathe, he couldn’t even feel his legs anymore. Pietro heard the sharp growl of a dog and more gunshots. His chest heaved. Up, down, up, down, each movement like the drag of a knife against his rib cage. 

Pietro felt his feet hit the grass before he heard anything. Plants growing up the sides of buildings , consuming them. Pushing through what was so often taken as nearly indestructible. Concrete, brick, asphalt, it all crumbled under the weight of its natural attacker. It was the first reminder in years that the world had once been unified by roads and freeways and cities. 

His leg nearly gave out from beneath him and in the brief pause he could hear them. Still running strong. In a last ditch attempt, he ducked in between buildings, dodging and weaving and gritting his teeth against every fiber of his body wanting to give out, there was a beeping. 

He remembers the beeping long into his life. He’d assumed his ears were ringing for a moment. And then, there was nothing but darkness and pain and silence. 

Remy LeBeau carefully made his way through rubble, picking apart crumbled buildings, though time consuming, was usually at least a little worth while. He whistled softly and pulled a tattered dusty blanket out from beneath a chunk of drywall and stuffed it into his bag. He hummed in approval when he stumbled across a dented can of baked beans. 

A quiet groan to his left had a gun in his hand before he could blink. But there was nothing. No one. No creature, no guard. 

A cough. Another groan, and a few bits of house shifted from a pile. Then a nauseatingly weak, “Hello?” 

His entire body was tense. Instead of daring step forward, he responded, “ Hello?” 

“I need help.”

“How did you get buried in there?”

“Guards. Christ, please come help. I’ve been stuck here for....” The voice trailed off. 

Fucking hell... his heart was going to get him into trouble one of these days, that was for god damn sure. “Alright I’m coming.” He called. 

Remy slung the gun back over his shoulder and dropped the bag down beside the pile of talking rubble.Gingerly, he began to lift the debris off of what he gradually began to see was a very beautiful young man. His lips were cracked and his eyes were surrounded by dark circles. But most definitely human. At the very least, the bruises and scabbing made sure that was clear. His leg was caught between a pipe and a concrete slab at such a wrong angle it nearly made Remy lose his lunch. 

“Oh god.” 

“It hurts more than it looks.” Came the raw voice.

“Alright, well we’re gonna have to do something about that.” The swelling was awful. And it only looked worse when he removed the concrete. “Close your eyes and count to ten.” He ordered trying to contain himself. It wasn’t the worst accident he’d seen out here. But that didn’t mean he wanted to handle it. 

“Why?” 

“You want to play twenty questions or you wanna get out of here?” 

A sharp glare pierced a hole right through him before the stranger closed his eyes and began counting. At four, his words became a sharp inhale and the most strangled cry Remy had ever heard. And then game the vomit. Which, really, was only stomach acid at that point. Remy watched on with pity before offering a bottle of water. 

The stranger saw the plastic and looked at him with immediate distrust. 

“Just drink it.” 

He was too dehydrated to question it. The stranger downed the whole bottle in a flash. 

“Alright that’s good. Think you trust me enough to take you somewhere?” 

“Not as far as I could throw you.”

“Probably smart. Come on. I have a safe house not too far from here.” Remy pulled the man to stand on one foot and wrapped an arm around him for support. “Name’s Remy, by the way. Remy LeBeau.” 

He could see a thousand questions in the stranger’s eyes. How did he have a safe house when nowhere was safe anymore?  Where did he get the water? Where did he come from? Why was he helping him? Lucky for Remy, the man simply said. 

“Pietro.” 

Because he didn’t have any sort of nice answers. 

The safe house was loud. That was Pietro’s first thought. Lined with locks and traps and reinforced everywhere he could think of, it did seem relatively safe. His second thought, was that nearly half of the people in it seemed dangerous. Tattoos and scars and alcohol and cigarettes seemed to be primary features, not to mention  the weapons scattered on every surface you could see. Pietro’s stomach clenched. He hadn’t been saved by a random survivor. It was becoming abundantly clear, he’d been saved by a gangster. 

“I know how it looks. But it’s a real good place to be, trust me.” Remy murmured into his ear. 

A strange man with unwashed hair and hollow cheeks grinned. “Well lookie what Blanc dragged in. Your daddy ain’t gonna be happy you’re taking in strays.” 

“My dad’ll deal.” Remy didn’t seem all that concerned about the man’s unnerving look, but Pietro had every instinct telling him to get the hell out. “Here, go fuck with someone else.” He grinned and tugged the beans from his bag to toss over. 

The man smirked and shrugged. “He won’t hear it from me. But you know he’s gonna be pissed. “ He stalked off, eating from the can. 

“Yeah... good crowd.” Pietro muttered as Remy led him through a door in the back where there was a long hall of doorways, most of them only had a curtain up to cover it, but a few still had something on its hinges. A little over halfway down, Remy took him through a door and into a small but warm bedroom. Pietro gratefully sat on the bed. The mattress creaked loudly in the room. His eyes roamed over the walls. They were lined with hand drawn pictures, some on paper and some directly onto the wall. There was a stack of blankets in the corner and a chest against one of the walls without a lock on it. Under the bed, there was another with one. 

Remy dropped his bag next to the chest. “This is my room but go ahead and crash there. I’ll get the doc in here to try and do something about your...everything soon.” The man slid off his jacket and dropped it inside the chest before sitting on it. 

They stared at one another for a long time. Neither moved much. Finally, Pietro spoke. “Why are you helping me?” 

“Because I’m an idiot. Next question.” 

“Who are all those people.” 

“Well... Those people are... the closest thing to family I got. Used to be hundreds of us, now its about twenty. We all came together from New Orleans pretty early on. It got bad there right before we left. Cut us in half just leaving the city.” 

“But who are they? Who are you? Half of those people look like prisoners.” 

“Fair enough... we used to be an elite group of thieves. But now? We’re just doing what we gotta do to survive. No quarantine zone in their right minds was gonna let any of us have a passport, so we made our own. I promise. We ain’t dangerous. “

“Give me one good reason to trust anything you say.” 

“Well I did basically carry you the whole way here. I’m not sure why else I’d do that.” 

Pietro chewed at the inside of his cheek. His body was drained and exhausted, he hadn’t eaten in two days , he was beaten and sore across every inch. Did he really have anywhere else to go, and any reason to argue? He might as well die here rather than under an exploded building. He nodded softly and laid down. 

“How long was you under that building?” 

“I don’t know... A day? Two? “ 

“What happened?” 

“I left the quarantine zone...they weren’t happy about it.” He rolled over to face the wall. 

“Alright... I can take a hint. I’ll get you some food when you wake up. We can talk more then. You get yourself to sleep, Pietro.” 

As if his body waited for the permission.