#its a marvel he is able to function.
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the thing is there's like, a point of oversaturation for everything, and it's why so many things get dropped after a few minutes. and we act like millennials or gen z kids "have short attention spans" but... that's not quite it. it's more like - we did like it. you just ruined it.
capitalism sees product A having moderate success, and then everything has to come out with their "own version" of product A (which is often exactly the same). and they dump extreme amounts of money and environmental waste into each horrible simulacrum they trot out each season.
now it's not just tiktokkers making videos; it's that instagram and even fucking tumblr both think you want live feeds and video-first programming. and it helps them, because videos are easier to sneak native ads into. the books coming out all have to have 78 buzzwords in them for SEO, or otherwise they don't get published. they are making a live-action remake of moana. i haven't googled it, but there's probably another marvel or starwars something coming out, no matter when you're reading this post.
and we are like "hi, this clone of project A completely misses the point of the original. it is soulless and colorless and miserable." and the company nods and says "yes totally. here is a different clone, but special." and we look at clone 2 and we say "nope, this one is still flat and bad, y'all" and they're like "no, totally, we hear you," and then they make another clone but this time it's, like, a joyless prequel. and by the time they've successfully rolled out "clone 89", the market is incredibly oversaturated, and the consumer is blamed because the company isn't turning a profit.
and like - take even something digital like the tumblr "live streaming" function i just mentioned. that has to take up server space and some amount of carbon footprint; just so this brokenass blue hellsite can roll out a feature that literally none of its userbase actually wants. the thing that's the kicker here: even something that doesn't have a physical production plant still impacts the environment.
and it all just feels like it's rolling out of control because like, you watch companies pour hundreds of thousands of dollars into a remake of a remake of something nobody wants anymore and you're like, not able to afford eggs anymore. and you tell the company that really what you want is a good story about survival and they say "okay so you mean a YA white protagonist has some kind of 'spicy' love triangle" and you're like - hey man i think you're misunderstanding the point of storytelling but they've already printed 76 versions of "city of blood and magic" and "queen of diamond rule" and spent literally millions of dollars on the movie "Candy Crush Killer: Coming to Eat You".
it's like being stuck in a room with a clown that keeps telling the same joke over and over but it's worse every time. and that would be fine but he keeps fucking charging you 6.99. and you keep being like "no, i know it made me laugh the first time, but that's because it was different and new" and the clown is just aggressively sitting there saying "well! plenty of people like my jokes! the reason you're bored of this is because maybe there's something wrong with you!"
#this was much longer i had to cut it down for legibility#but i do want to say i am aware this post doesnt touch on human rights violations as a result of fast fashion#that is because it deserves its own post with a completely different tone#i am an environmental educator#so that's what i know the most about. it wouldn't be appropriate of me to mention off-hand the real and legitimate suffering#that people are going through#without doing my research and providing real ways to help#this is a vent post about a thing i'm watching happen; not a call to action. it would be INCREDIBLY demeaning#to all those affected by the fast fashion industry to pretend that a post like this could speak to their suffering#unfortunately one of the horrible things about latestage capitalism as an activist is that SO many things are linked to this#and i WANT to talk about all of them but it would be a book in its own right. in fact there ARE books about each level of this#and i encourage you to seek them out and read them!!! i am not an expert on that i am just a person on tumblr doing my favorite activity#(complaining)#and it's like - this is the individual versus the industry problem again right because im blaming myself#for being an expert on environmental disaster (which is fucking important) but not knowing EVERYTHING about fast fashion#i'm blaming myself for not covering the many layers of this incredibly complicated problem im pointing out#rather than being like. yeah so actually the fault here lies with the billion dollar industries actually.#my failure to be able to condense an incredibly immense problem that is BOOK-LENGTH into a single text post that i post for free#is not in ANY fucking way the same amount of harm as. you know. the ACTUAL COMPANIES doing this ACTUAL THING for ACTUAL MONEY.#anyway im gonna go donate money while i'm thinking about it. maybe you can too. we can both just agree - well i fuckin tried didn't i#which is more than their CEOs can say
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I'm Not Her Pt.5
(Father Miguel O’Hara x Teen! Daughter Reader)
Summary: Miguel O’Hara is your biological father but it’s not great being his daughter when he’s hooked in the past still.
Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of its characters. This short One-Shot has made it into a series! Read part one, two, three and four please to understand the prompt better. (Linked Below) This chapter is full on Miguel's POV.
Word Count: 300 words
Warnings: Use of female pronouns, Use of (Y/N), angst, Father Miguel, overall, it’s just sad for now. Other dimensional Miguel…mention of blood, stabbing, knife, cursing, maybe consider yandere behavior from other dimensional Miguel and Miguel's POV/version of the story??...Uhhh I think that is all for now.
I know it's short, very short but It's better than not being able to read another chapter for a long time.
Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6
Miguel's Version?? POV-ish? (I know there is term, but my head is fried from college classes) Also Scenes with Jess and Peter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pain, that was all he felt when his eyes open. He looked around his surroundings noticing he was on a pile of trash bags. Letting out a grunt, Miguel looks down at his abdomen seeing the bleeding, "Lyla?" He calls out before looking at his arm, his watch missing " Puta Madre" He whispers and looks around before getting out of the dumpster. He leans up against the wall and recollects his thoughts out loud. "Okay, Other me too my life...stabbed me with the intentions of killing me...shut Lyla off...(Y/N) ...(Y/N)!" He finally took note of his daughter's life, you were in danger seeing the crazy look on that other dimensional self. "No no no..." He repeats before swinging up to the roof top to avoid being spotted. Reaching the rooftop, he punches the wall, " What to do Miguel!" He yells at himself feeling lost. He slowly slides down the wall and puts his hand over his wound, his healing function slowly working on the wound, but it still hurts. Many emotions were running through his mind, hurt, anger and mostly, disappointment. He was disappointed in himself for every leaving someone who was his flesh and blood. What went wrong? He thinks back to the time where he left his dimension to be with Gabriella, the day of your birthday. He knew it was wrong but, something pulled him to that dimension before destroying it. He looks at his hands where Gabriella was taken from him. Slowly, the image of her was replaced with you. "No!" He gets up determined, he wasn't going to lose you next.
Miguel walked down the streets of this earth he was stuck in, after knocking a drunken man who was harassing a young lady. Which he was gifted a 50 dollar from the young woman for helping her. He used it to buy clothing to fit in and draw less attention. He was on edge in case this earth had another Miguel which he would happily keep his distance after experiencing the variant who dumped him here. He stops at the Alchemax building and walks past a couple of workers who were busy chatting, taking the opportunity to sneak his hand in their lab coat pocket, taking their ID card. He walks through the thick doors, sliding the card accessing him to the lab. Taking the nearest empty Lab, he got to work on making a prototype watch to take him home. He doesn't care if it was going to take weeks, he will get his life back but most importantly, get you back before he loses you for good.
Back at the Spider Society, Peter walked down the hall into Miguel's office with Jess. " Empty...this is the second day he hasn't shown and not responding our text?" Peter looks around the office, for any clues where his boss might be. Jess walks over " You know what's stranger...no Lyla or (Y/N) either..." The woman stands next to him looking at the monitors trying to find Miguel's location without his approval before smiling " Ah, it shows he's back home with (Y/N), maybe he took your advice Peter." He looks at the location, your dot and "Miguels" together. " Miguel? Taking my advice? I doubt it but hey miracles happen sometimes" Peter shrugs before looking at the dots " Maybe he finally took note and appreciate what he has now and not what he lost in the past?" The tired man smiles softly, " I can't wait to tease him for taking my so-called terrible advice, I'm a great mentor after all!" He grins before seeing warning signs on the computer. " Hey Jess...what's with that?" He backs away from the computer quickly " I swear I did not touch a button!" Jess quickly types away, " Seems trying to hack us? No... trying to reprogram..." She goes to stop whatever is going on before Lyla's voice can be heard. " N-no Stop!" Her voice glitches out. The woman pulls her hands away from the computer. Lyla was finally rebooted and appears in front of them. " We have a big emergency!" Both adults look at each other before nodding looking back at Lyla, " Tell us what to do."
Miguel growls breaking the 5th watch as it failed. " Maldita Sea! " He pulls on his hair in frustration, he grips the table quickly as he glitches, time was wasting for him. For your life and his. He walks over to the bench to grab more materials before looking back seeing a portal open. " For once, I am happy to see you." Miguel mutters seeing Peter stand there smiling " Need help buddy? As a dad myself, let's go save your kid."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors Note: I'M BACK...for now... but THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! So much love this series are getting. Thank you so much for the support. Make sure to like and reblog so others can be aware of my works! Anyway, thank you so much for the support! Sorry for any grammar errors. Remember to stay hydrated and to keep on simping! (Simp City Population: 364 *WOW!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH*)
Spanish Translation:
1. Puta Madre - Soo...it has a lot of meaning like holy shit, no fucking way or motherfucker...just know it's not a very nice word and I grew up with Mexican uncles who say it a lot.
2. maldita Sea - fucking dammit.
Taglist: @perfectprofessorloverapricot @otaku-degenarate @strbyallycow @zeyzeys-stuff @moonshine147 @dhadiirah @ghibliwatcher @certified-kaeya-kinnie @luvsvnlqt-things @lunamhm565i @sangdium45 @lazyotakuofficial @ihateuguys @pinkeroppi @lady-necromancer @ayanokomu @coralineyouareinterribledanger @idcalol @punnylilac @ace-spades-1 @marxo5 @reiko69 @itadorismedicalstudent @bontensbabygirl @Simpthe3rd @fluffyart5000 @blkmystery @ariparri @i-d-k-f-r @champomiel @oooof-ifellforyou @jannajuju @staple-your-mouth @atanukileaf @namtaeh @estella-satn @darlin-collins @acebalikkanaplease @luvers-checks @arrozyfrijoles23 @sigynxlokiwifelover @millerworld @perilous-pasta @tired-writer04 @marit332 @kiyomi-uchiha777
I know some names don't get tagged, I don't know why. If spelled it incorrectly, let me know, I have terrible eyesight. Please comment below to be added to or removed from the taglist! Thank you!
#miguel ohara fic#across the spiderverse fic#miguel o'hara#miguel ohara x reader#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel ohara x fem!reader#father figure miguel ohara#miguel ohara x platonic reader
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not to be crazy but i think the first time his darling called him “husband” during sex clover came immediately and then spent like 20 min crying about it
[suggestive/very light smut, minors begone]
"Clover - you coming to bed soon?"
"In a moment, dear. Just finishing up."
The magician waits for the settle of the bed as you lay back down before snipping the excess string of the stitching over his heart, picking up a roll of bandages as he places the medical scissors in hand on the counter. He wraps the gauze around his torso twice over with a third binding for good measure. It really was a hassle, more nights than before now considering he had a lover. Nothing Clover had tried was able to seal the wound. Stitches of various patterns, patches and whatever cut of cloth deemed viable- all bled through by that eternal infliction within his heart. The only functional stopper was the dagger that had done him in. The ghastly sight disgusted him before, but now it only reminds him of how times had changed for the better.
Though his heart had been torn to shreds in the physical sense, it and his broken soul had been mended by the simple comfort of another to share his bed with. Clover wipes at the mirror, staring deeply at his reflection. A man once without a love now a beast with so much he'd die for good at its lost. How could such a face catch the eye of someone as magnificent as you?
Somwhere, his ears catch the faint rustle of fabric. Clover's eyes dart to the bathroom door as an article of clothing hits the tile.
"What a spacious bed. If only I had a certain rabbit to take up some of the room."
"Ah - I'll be there shortly, my love." Clover gathers up his supplies and crams them into the medicine cabinet before dropping to pick up the fallen cloth. His face burns red; fur frizzled as he smoothes the soft fabric in his hands realizing it to be your underwear. The rabbit hops to his feet, flicking off the bathroom light as he barrels into the bedroom. You sit up as he makes his way over to the bed, pressed back against the headboard as his lips meet yours - fingers gripping the hip of your night shirt.
You giggle, roused to laughter by his fluff as he kisses at your neck. "If I had known this was going to be your reaction, I would've done that sooner."
Clover freezes like a deer in headlines; ears twitching with a nervous tic. "I.. I'm sorry, did I keep you waiting too long? A-am I going too fast? This is all so new and I suppose all the excitement just makes me a little..."
Clover yelps as you bring your hands up to his face. " I'm just messing with you. There's no rush, Clover so just take it easy."
The rabbit melts as your warm thumb strokes over his cheek. How serene every waking second with you was. His ever present fears and anxieties washes right away spending mere seconds in your arms. Clover sighs, placing a palm over your left - tracing the cold metal wrapped around your finger.
"I'm aware, it's just... being with you is such a wonderful experience, Angel. I'd hate for there to be any reason you didn't feel the same."
"If I didn't, I probably wouldn't be sitting here half naked in your bed. Now, you gonna kiss me again or -"
You didn't need to tell Clover thrice. Clover kisses you, gently lowering his weight atop you as he supports your back with one hand. You help undo his belt as he rolls your shirt up to your chest, marveling at your breathtaking image through lidded eyes. He could never find himself getting used to the sight - falling in love all over again everytime you give him more to behold.
Clover whines into your chest, squeezing the back of your neck as he presses in deep. He fancied himself the type to treat his love as the treasure they were, but finally having you in his grasp he couldn't control himself. He swore another night he'd give you everything you do deserved. A dreamy smile spreads across his face your fingers lock together. You weren't technically wed just yet, but how he heart leapt being able to claim you as his spouse now. In the dead of night, the word slipped from his lips as you held each other dear. It was magical.
Clover rocks into you slow, cherishing the heat your body gives as he imagines the night of your official commune. Holding you - like this, hours after your vows of everlasting devotion. He'd lean in, whispering ever so softly. "What has someone like I done to desire a spouse as wonderful as you?'
Clover flushes. He didn't mean to say that aloud. To his surprise, you lock your arms around his neck sporting a dazed smile of your own - stealing his heart for the billionth time as you speak.
"Dunno. What did I do to get such a loving husband?"
"H-husband?..." His ears fall flat; a whimper caught in his throat as tears cloud his vision. Your husband - him. It was too much to bare. An angel, his dear gift from above - choosing him of all beings. His spouse to have, to love, to...
"F-uck..." Clover pants, gripping the sheets as he bottoms out inside you, spilling deep as he buries himself in your warmth. He fucks lazily into you, energy spent - but determined to ride his high to completion. He shutters, pulling out as he picks his tired body off of you. The euphoria fades, and shame overtakes as his cum leaks out onto the satin sheets.
"Stars, I... I usually don't- I didn't mean to- I was going to pull out I just-"
Clover gasps - tearducts reaching compacity as he throws himself towards the end of the bed covering his eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm an awful husband. I don't even deserve to be the one who can call you his spouse."
You shoot up from the mattress as he wails, throwing a comforting arm over his shoulder. "Clover - Clover, it's okay. Don't say that about yourself over something like this."
Clover wipes at his eyes. "But... but, I failed you as a husband...."
"No you didn't. You just got a little excited, that's all. I love you, Clover - and this doesn't change anything."
You press a kiss to his tear soaked fur as Clover brings his hands down to his chest. Moments like this remind him of one of the best things about being married. Loving your soul mate through faults and all. Yours only made you more perfect in his eyes. He wondered if it was the same for you.
Clover rubs his nose against your hand. "S-still... I feel bad. Is there anyway I can make this up to you?"
"There's nothing for you to make up for, but if you really want to..." His eyes widen as you guide his head between your thighs, throwing a leg over his shoulder. "I think here would be a good start."
Clover paws at your thighs, gripping them to pull you closer to his face as tongue licks at your sex and his release. Here was a much better placement for him and he prayed with all his tattered heart you'd be able to take all that he was so willing and eager to give.
#yandere oc#yandere imagines#yandere headcanons#yandere x you#yandere insert#yandere blurb#male yandere#yandere scenarios#yandere x reader#yandere#soft yandere#yandere drabble#♣️ my oc#yandere smut
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Seizing the opportunity
On a crisp fall evening, Hans and Kai meandered through the bustling streets of London, bathed in the enchanting glow of neon lights. They chanced upon an antiquated shop nestled among contemporary boutiques, its air redolent with the scent of aged books and presided over by a disinterested elderly salesman engrossed in a newspaper.
In the rear of the shop, Hans discovered a leather-bound book secured with an iron clasp. "Kai, check this out!" he exclaimed, flipping through its aged pages adorned with intricate symbols. Kai, ever stoic, raised an eyebrow. "Astral projection? Seriously? You think this stuff works?" Hans replied with a grin, "There's only one way to find out," as he walked toward the front of the store, extracting his wallet to part with 40 quid. "You're ridiculous," Kai retorted with a smirk as they exited the shop. "Eh, it could be fun either way," Hans replied.
That night, they sat down and opened the book, reading the spell together and promptly finding themselves flung into the astral realm. Hovering above their bodies, they exchanged bewildered glances, remarking, "That is so freaky." Kai, with a hint of curiosity, suggested, "Let me see if I can see you in my body," floating back down.
As Kai's eyes opened, he looked up and asked, "Hans, are you still there?" "I'm here, bro," Hans replied, but his words fell silent to Kai's ears. Floating back down into himself, Hans and Kai marveled at the oddity of their experience. "But I think we can get up to a lot more here," Kai said.
Over the next few weeks, they immersed themselves in the astral realm almost every night, relishing the newfound freedom that came with it. Despite being confined to the pace of their real-world counterparts, they enjoyed the advantage of never feeling sweaty, cold, or tired. They exploited these perks, phasing through walls, eavesdropping on strangers, sneaking into movies, and even infiltrating a game at Arsenal.
Despite their daring escapades, each night concluded with their return to their physical bodies. Alone in their respective apartments, Hans and Kai's dormant bodies rested. The solitude of their living arrangements added to the convenience, ensuring there were no prying roommates or family members to interrupt their nocturnal adventures.
---
As the nights unfolded, their mastery over astral projection deepened, and the possibilities began to take root in Hans's mind. One evening, as they were hanging out in their astral forms, Hans broached an idea with Kai.
"Hey, so I think there’s one thing left we haven’t tried," Hans said, his astral face sporting a sheepish smirk. "What if we tried being in each other's bodies?"
Kai, ever the voice of reason, furrowed his brows. "Body swapping? Are you serious? Do you think that would even work?"
“I was looking through the book earlier this week. It seems like if we just go back to each other’s bodies instead of our own, that we should be able to control them as normal and have access to enough of the other’s memories to function,” Hans replied.
Kai looked at him skeptically. Undeterred, Hans pressed on. "Come on, it could be fun! Just imagine experiencing life from a different perspective."
Kai hesitated. "I don't know, Hans. It sounds a little weird."
Unbeknownst to Kai, Hans wanted more than just a playful adventure. With an unspoken (and unrequited) crush on Kai, Hans longed to understand Kai's world, to feel what he felt, to experience life through his eyes.
Hans finally half-lied, "Kai, I've always wondered what it's like to be you. Not just for the thrill of it, but because... I don't know, I feel like there's something about you that I don't quite get."
Kai, oblivious to Hans's hidden feelings, softened at his friend's vulnerability. "I guess it could be interesting. But promise me we'll be careful."
With a subtle grin, Hans agreed, "Deal. It'll be our little secret adventure." And so, Kai, driven more by curiosity than enthusiasm, reluctantly agreed to the body-swapping experiment.
---
The next evening, Hans and Kai prepared for their unprecedented venture into each other's lives. With a mutual understanding, they initiated their astral projection, leaving their physical bodies behind in their respective apartments.
Walking through the astral realm, they eventually reached the familiar threshold of each other's homes. In the soft glow of moonlight, Hans entered Kai's apartment and found his friend's body waiting for him, shirtless in bed, with the covers strewn across the floor. Simultaneously, Kai navigated the astral plane to Hans's apartment, where Hans's form lay snuggled under a mountain of covers.
Gently descending, they each phased into the foreign vessels, staying asleep for the rest of the evening.
The next morning, Hans, now in Kai's body, woke up early. Launching himself out of bed, he was excited to start exploring Kai's life. He first headed to the gym, relishing in the admiration of other gym-goers as he lifted weights. The thrill of being someone else, even for a fleeting moment, sent shivers of excitement down his borrowed spine.
Meanwhile, Kai, now in Hans's body, found that he had overslept and was late for a planned outing with Hans’ friends. He quickly made his way downtown, where he was greeted by faces that were somewhat familiar – he had met them with Hans before, but never stayed long enough to really talk. Nevertheless, Kai was surprised at how easily he connected with Hans’ friends. They spent the entire afternoon laughing and joking, and Kai even understood all of their inside jokes.
That evening, the two projected again, making their way back to their own bodies. Kai, surprisingly pleased by his nice outing, quickly texted Hans, saying, “I can’t wait until we do that again.”
---
That month, Hans and Kai continued to swap bodies, experiencing each other's lives in a cascade of adventures. Kai, mingling with Hans’s friends and reveling in newfound prowess at the gym, even started dressing a bit more stylishly to attract attention.
However, as the weeks unfolded, their frequent astral walks attracted the attention of an astral spirit—an old man who had died a few hundred years ago. Intrigued by the two men and their unusual exchanges, the old man closely monitored Hans and Kai during their swaps.
After observing a discernible pattern over a few weeks, the old man saw an opening. On one fateful Thursday night, as Hans prepared to inhabit Kai's body, the old man seized his opportunity. Lurking outside Hans’ apartment, he ascended the astral stairs and entered Hans’s bedroom. Gazing at the sleeping body, he turned around and gently faded down.
Waking up in Hans’s body, the old man ran his hand across his now smooth cheek and smiled. “This will do nicely,” he said to himself with a slight chuckle.
Twenty minutes later, Kai arrived at Hans’ apartment, slowly walking up the stairs. Upon entering Hans’ room, he was met with a mixture of shock and dread—Hans’s bed was empty.
Meanwhile, Hans, now inhabited by the old spirit, had departed into the night. Unbeknownst to Kai, the old man ventured into the realm of a gay bar—an experience he had never dreamed of when he was alive.
The old man found himself the center of attention, hit on by numerous hot bears who wanted to dance with him.
Aware that this was only a fleeting experience, he decided to make the most of it before returning the body to its owner.
After a guy bought him a drink, he asked, "How’s about having me over sometime?" The old man, embracing the spontaneity of his borrowed life, responded, “I am only in town this weekend, but I think I’m free tonight.” The bear smiled, firmly squeezing his ass before leading him out of the club.
---
Friday and Saturday unfolded like any other day. The old man, now residing in Hans’s body, reveled in his new form. On Saturday morning, he glanced at his phone and noticed a text from Kai. Drawing on Hans's memories, he recalled the meeting place across town at Kai's apartment.
As he arrived, the old man couldn't help but admire Kai's attractiveness, even though he had glimpsed it through Hans's borrowed memories, the reality was striking.
Hans, now inhabiting Kai's body, felt an unexpected longing within him. Summoning the courage, he confessed to Kai's physical form, "Kai, there's something I need to tell you. I... I want to stay in your body permanently."
The old man in Hans’s body, furrowed his borrowed brows in confusion. The request caught him off guard, "Hans, are you serious? This was just supposed to be a temporary adventure."
Kai, in Hans's body, offered a compelling explanation but concluded with, "But I don’t want to do this if you don’t agree."
The old man took a moment, feeling a warm sensation of excitement fill Hans's body. The allure of the younger vessel had grown into a desire to extend his borrowed time in the astral plane. He said, "You know, Hans, I never meant for this to be a forever thing, but I’ve been having a really great time in your body too. I agree with you, I think this is how things are meant to be."
"Really?!" Hans exclaimed, "Oh, that’s great! I found the spell that will tether us to our new bodies more permanently."
Flipping through the pages, Hans located a spell promising to anchor their souls to their chosen vessels. Hesitating only briefly, they performed the ritual. The astral plane buzzed with energy as incantations were spoken, and ethereal energies interwove, binding the souls to their newfound hosts.
As the tethering spell took effect, the two felt their insides burning, altering the appearance of their souls to match their new bodies.
---
Seven months had passed since that day. One evening, as the pair walked along the Thames at sunset, they reflected on how great their lives had become since they’d decided to stay swapped.
Kai expressed his satisfaction with his new form. In fact, over the past few months, Kai never raised the thought of astral projection once. For him, the idea of leaving his perfect form seemed unnecessary. Hans never brought up the topic either. Deep down, he knew that the original Kai would still try to reclaim his body if given the chance. Actually, he would occasionally attempt to force his way into their bodies, prompting Hans to devise a story about evil spirits in the astral realm attempting to possess the living. The new Kai, unaware of what was really happening, expressed concern, but never really gave it a second thought.
As they walked, Hans finally mustered the courage to ask Kai a question. "Hmm, Kai," he began, a hint of nervousness in his voice, "how about we make this moment even more special? What do you say to a date?"
Kai looked at Hans, surprise and delight twinkling in his eyes. "A date? You're full of surprises, aren't you? I'd love that," he responded with a genuine smile.
In a moment that felt just as magical as the sunset that painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, Kai pulled Hans in for a sweet, lingering kiss. Kai wrapped his arm around Hans waist pulling him in deeper before lacing their fingers together and continuing their stroll.
Feeling his face warm and blushing, Hans couldn't help but think to himself, "I’m glad I seized the chance when I had it, it doesn't get any better than this."
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SFW 141 With a Dolphin Hybrid Reader
NOTICE; GN/Male Reader
ADDITIONAL; I don't mind Fem/Fem aligned readers reading but don't feel insulted/complain that I strictly don't do Fem reader, not my cuppa tea mate.
INSPIRATION; @/Bluegiragi Monster AU on Twt and Tumblr
NOTE; To them you probably sound like a person who gets high off poison lets be honest.. Fuckin' Dolphins.. (I love them)
When Price first recruits you, he instantly knows you'll be a fucking great swimmer with those tail and fins, and marvels at the fact you're able to still breathe out of water.
Price takes notice of both your playful or reserved nature, and while he doesn't mind it, it'll be hell once you meet Soap.
Price is sure to train you for more on land situations, after all, there aren't as many missions in the water compared to the land, and he hopes you don't catch him smoking. He isnt sure how well your lungs could handle it on top of being on land.
Although Price gets a little concerned when you get a little too close to the pufferfish nearby on tropical missions..
Soap takes notice of you pretty early on, his nose is sharp when he smells the ocean on you, and gets excited at such a unique scent. And if you're as fast as you say, you know you'll both be racing around the militarys pool. (You, often win of course, but Soap still attempts it.)
Soap hears of the way you consider your family a pod, as he considers the 141 a pack. Purring at the thought of possibly hunting together for the group sometime!
Soap isnt as vocal with his sounds like Gaz in comparison to Price or Ghost, but still loud enough. He sounds like a motor engine, purring and cooing at your little clicks, whistles, and squeals.
Soap who also notices you have like, no fucking body hair. Like hello? You dont seem to have much of an odor and not much hair, lucky bastard is all he can grumble out, but he doesn't mean it to much to heart.
Its Gaz who's able to almost mimic your sounds back, he's trilling and chirping to you happily while the other guys watch in mild interest at your little chirp fest. It's only unless they get interrupted that Gaz returns a little more reserved with a grin on his face after what just happened.
Gaz who admires your personal whistle, its sharp and keen, almost like his own call, and you two are both quick to use it during missions.
Gaz who notices how much you eat, and hell is amused compared to concerned and even urges you to eat more, unaware of your second stomach. Its until you tell him that hes surprised that one stomach is for storage and the other, actual consumption.
Gaz who notices your echolocation in the water, marvelling at the sharp and precise echo as you maneuver through the water quickly and cleanly.
Its Ghost who obviously, takes time to watch you, you're the kind of lad who needs a team to function. He can respect such a thing, after all a majority of 141 is created of hybrids who work together, and surprisingly well.
Although Ghost's a little surprised at your horrible sense of smell compared to, say, Soap, or even Price and his old nose.
But Ghost appreciates your sense of logic. After all Dolphins are considered smarter, and he puts that to the test at times with quick questions on the battle field of what to do next. If he deems it a good answer he may apply it to the battle tactic.
In the end, the 141 loves their local dolphin.
#cod#cod mw2#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#kyle gaz garrick#john price#gn reader#male reader#monster au#alistair writes ☕️
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Summary: Sipping from the other's drink
Pairing: Jonathan Levy x Reader
Warnings: author makes certain claims about academia that may or may not be true and are entirely biased because of her own experience with it (and a huge thanks to @pennyserenade for reading this over for me)
Word Count: 2.3k
Jonathan’s brought you to a summer mixer at the Department Head’s family home, designed to maintain connections through the faculty during the slow months of the summer as well as create new ones with the incoming graduate students to the department.
A newly-minted associate professor for the fall term, Jonathan at least doesn’t have to worry about students of his own.
Really, he’s only here for the drinks.
Academics’ pockets, though they don’t usually run deep, are quite generous when it comes to their alcohol, perhaps a sort of defence mechanism when it comes to dealing with the stress of their way of life.
Everyone, however, seems to be at ease. It’s a late afternoon sort of function in order to encourage them to drink as much as they would like without feeling guilty about it, and loosened from the heavy burden of tweeds and thick wools, the faculty are clad instead in linen, cool and airy.
Tongues are loose, smiles are quick to be given. People have forgotten the relentless competition they’re usually in when it comes to funding, to office space, to good class slots.
All in all, he thinks that today has been a good day to introduce you to the people he’s going to passive aggressively work with for the rest of his life.
He gazes across the room and finds the blue of your shirt, sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of neutrals and whites. You’re talking to one of the faculty spouses, nodding your head and laughing. There’s a glass of pink lemonade in your hands, your hair falls around you as if you’re holding a secret within your chest.
Jonathan yearns for you to be by your side again, to smell the perfume he bought for your six-month anniversary, the one you always spray into the crook of your neck because that’s always where he likes to press his face whenever he’s deep in thought.
As if on cue, the conversation dies down and you drift back to his side.
He marvels at how easily you’ve managed to fit yourself into this new crowd, how you laugh as the department fart tells you some lame joke that he’s probably told millions of others before you. You brush it off with grace and ease, I’ll talk to you soon, alright?
It had taken him almost five years before he’d mastered that skill. The gentle brush off that made the other feel like you were doing them a favour.
He loves you, that much he knows for sure.
After the storm cloud of Mira and the past twenty years of his life had passed, he’d met you. As simple as that, as if the universe was only waiting for him before they let him hold onto the rest of his life like a delicate crystal glass.
“Hi,” you come up close to him and Jonathan can smell your perfume and the strawberries on your breath. He wonders if he’ll be able to taste your drink if he kisses you long enough.
He also wonders, as an addendum, how quickly he would lose his position if he did that. Despite all the shouting the university did about being progressive and open-minded, the tenured faculty members were still dreadfully hard-headed, old-fashioned.
Jonathan supposes that he was too. Maybe he still is, simply by nature of his daily proximity to him on the same floor of the social sciences building, crumbling at the seams since the last of its renovations in the seventies.
“Hi,” he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in close to him. There’s a glass of whiskey in his other hand that he doesn’t care much for anymore now that you’re here. He kisses the side of your head, brushes away some of your hair from your temple, “Enjoying yourself?”
You giggle, it rings out like a fairybell. You lean up close to him and murmur in his ear, “You work with some very strange people.”
He can’t help but laugh at that, turning his head to meet your sparkling eyes. “Yeah, I suppose I do.”
“Very strange,” you muse again, looking out across the room. “And I thought you were the strange one.”
That hits him in a funny way he wasn’t planning on it doing. He remembers once in high school his cross country running coach said she’d stepped, wearing thick-soled hiking shoes, on a pebble the wrong way and ended up having to go to physio for six months.
He supposes he feels a little like that pulled muscle.
He hums, tries to push down the blow you’d struck at him without realising it.
“Strange?”
“Mmhm,” your fingers drift around his waist and rest on top of his tummy, the one Ava had pointed out the other day in passing. “Strange, yeah. You got the whole, mysterious, hot, brooding professor thing going for you.”
“And that’s strange to you?”
You shrug. Jonathan feels the heat of your gaze against his face and he doesn’t feel like turning to meet it. Instead, he favours the sharp burn of whiskey. He ended up with a glass in his hand because some snot-nose had offered to pour him a drink and he’d been too much of a pushover and too concerned about what other people thought of him to say he preferred a red wine.
You’re never like that.
You were never like him; either because that’s who you were at your core, or because you’d manage to escape the way academia chipped away at one’s soul, until there was an empty, arthritis-ridden husk of a person by the time they reached tenure.
Opposites did attract, he supposes.
You were different from him. You weren’t afraid to drink the pink lemonade that had been left out for the few kids running around in the back garden, you weren’t afraid to call him weird if that’s what you thought of him.
Jonathan wonders why it took you so long to say it to him.
He’s about to try and pry the answer out of you when someone else approaches the two of you together. A newly-tenured professor whom Jonathan never really did get along with, particularly when he was working his post-doctorate and the guy had picked up an obnoxious habit of hanging around the kitchen coffee-maker and smacking his gum as loud as he could.
There couldn’t have been anyone worse that could have showed up at the time.
“Jonathan!”
Something inside him curls into himself at the thought, and as if you could feel it, your arm wraps around him a little tighter.
The man’s trying to make some small talk, the bare bones of it before he surely starts to boast of himself and his students and the latest hotshot fund he got because of his new tenure.
“Hi,” you smile at him sweetly and make a green little sprout of something bad shoot up inside his stomach, a bitter taste lingering at the back of his throat. You introduce yourself as Jonathan’s partner and are just about to move to go away when he speaks up again, cutting you short.
“I liked Mina more, Levy,” he grins and shows off his teeth like a predator. Against the off-white of his linen suit, they look even whiter, standing out like a sign against his tanned skin. “Shame you two had to end it the way you did.”
Jonathan tries to remind himself that he doesn’t know how things ended with Mira. That it’s just another poke at him and his life to get a rise out of him.
You smile at the guy again, there’s a sharper edge to it. His prickly rose. “Well, if you’ll excuse us.”
Then you’re guiding him away from the stuffy room and towards a bench against the side of the house. There’s a full view of the backyard, the sloping apple tree and whispering aspens all around, the toddlers playing tag in shrill shrieks.
He sits down with a low exhale, you follow beside him, slouching and shucking off your shoes. “Christ,” you mutter under your breath.
It’s probably the most genuine thing he’s heard all afternoon and he can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Yeah, sorry.”
“You deal with that everyday?” It sounds like you’re pitying him. He wonders if that’s ever what Mira thought of him whenever he took her to these events. If she ever raised her eyebrows in surprise at each precise way you had to deal with everyone in the department.
He swallows back his thoughts and nods, “More or less.”
“Jonathan,” you shift and face him again. Still, he can’t bear to look at you anymore. Strange and Mira have started to float around his head like a crib mobile. “I…and you…” the rest of your words are lost to your breath as you turn around again, swearing quietly before reaching for his drink and taking a sip.
He likes how your lips were on the same place where his was.
The alcohol burns your throat and you grimace at him, “I didn’t know you liked whiskey.”
“I don’t.”
“Huh,” you seemed to have heard something stitched and laced into his words that he hadn’t noticed he’d put there in the first place.
You weren’t much of a drinker. Yet another thing that Jonathan noticed when he started dating you. At New Years’ you had some champagne, small sips whenever you clinked glasses with the people around you before you’d pass your flute onto him to finish.
Now that he thinks about it, that may have been your first sip of whiskey ever.
Quite early on, once he’d taken you out on your fifth date and it was shaping out to be something serious like a marble statue carving, Jonathan had cracked open his ribs and showed you the bleeding insides of him.
You’d taken some steps together quickly, probably too quickly if it meant that he doesn’t know now if you’ve ever had spirits before.
That had been another thing he’d noticed when he’d started dating again, seriously and for real this time. Twenty years with a person leads to a tremendous collection of trivial information that he’s not sure he’ll ever fully be rid of again.
It was strange to sit across from someone at dinner and not know how they took their coffee, what side of the bed they liked to sleep on, what order they unloaded the dishwasher and if they had a dishwasher anyways because the renting market is growing out of control.
“Did you like it?” he asks suddenly, hoping to catch onto a trivial fact of yours, like collecting baseball cards or butterflies with a net.
“Hm? Oh,” you look down at the whiskey glass and shake your head, handing it back to him. “Not really my thing.”
Something still nags at him. Maybe it was a mistake bringing you here. You’re the only sober one out of all the guests. Even the host himself is growing rosy and red. It didn’t really look good to see that all your partner’s coworkers were borderline alcoholics, that they dealt with a tremendous amount of repressed trauma and stress and didn’t seek any help for it because of the size of their egos.
Right then and there he vows to do better for you. He throws the rest of his drink out onto the garden, sets the glass down on the wooden bench with a heavy thud of well made crystal.
“Do you really think me strange?” he asks you suddenly. Finally, after a long while, he meets your eye.
“I…well,” you shrug and take in a slow breath. “Yeah, in certain ways. I think I do.”
“I see.”
Your words imbed themselves into his skin like shrapnel.
“But…I don’t have a PhD, I can’t really…” you let out a breath and look out at the garden and the children playing. “Besides, I haven’t been divorced…I haven’t been in your shoes.”
“I trust your opinion of me.”
“It’s not that I think you’re strange necessarily,” you gesture back to the house and the rattle of chatter that keeps growing louder with each drink getting poured. “I…this is all very new to me. And I’m trying to understand what it’s like for you.”
Jonathan starts to smile, “And how’s that going?”
“Not very well,” you laugh and run your thumb against the rim of your glass. “I just drank whiskey for the first time.”
He starts to laugh as well, and wrapping his arm around you, he pulls you into the side of his body. His other hand comes and takes your lemonade from your hands, sipping from it as well.
It tastes like his childhood and hot summer evenings spent with his mother and his aunt, listening to gossip he shouldn’t have been listening to as their nimble fingers worked away with their knitting needles.
“Do you wanna go home now?”
“You still need to show face,” you muse quietly, tracing the outer seam of his pants with your finger. “They’re probably already starting to wonder where you’ve gone off to, and it’s going to hurt their frail little egos.”
He barks out a laugh, and kisses the crown of your head, “God, I love you.”
“I do too,” he hears the smile in your voice and it goes straight into his chest, wraps a couple pieces of his heart together and puts them back into place. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll entertain myself.”
Jonathan kisses you this time, properly, the way he wanted to. Your fingers run through his beard and trace his jawline all the way around his ears and back down.
Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.
Masterlist here. Summer Drabbles here.
#jonathan levy#jonathan levy x reader#jonathan levy x you#jonathan levy x y/n#jonathan levy x female!reader#jonathan levy fluff#jonathan levy angst#jonathan levy fanfiction#jonathan levy fanfic#jonathan levy fic#jonathan levy x f!reader#jonathan levy imagine#scenes from a marriage fanfiction#scenes from a marriage#scenes from a marriage imagine#scenes from a marriage fic#oscar isaac
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The Science of the Serum
Allow me, if you will, to put some science into the science fiction of the marvel cinematic universe.
the shield super soldier serum functions as an imperfect non sentient symbiote
it’s a unique blend of cells that requires a host to survive, when it enters into the system of the host, it immediately starts taking over and in a series of rapid cell multiplication and deletion, starts to make things better by replacing the old cells with the serum enhanced cells
however the cell replacement is imperfect in that it replaces healthy host cells fine, replaces its own cells very well, but damaged tissue is difficult for the serum to recognize and replace to optimum functionality
Steve had weak muscles but they were healthy muscles and therefore they were able to be enhanced by the serum, it took longer for his lungs to operate at full capacity but Steve had medication to assist the function of his normal lungs and so between the medication and the serum they were able to get those lungs up and running pretty quickly
Now what about damaged/imperfect cells that don’t heal on their own, even with the super soldier serum? This treatise posits that they remain the same in that the super soldier serum cannot determine how to fix these cells and so it settles with imitating the cells to the best of their enhanced abilities
Operating under this assumption, it can be inferred that the scars that Steve had pre-serum stayed with him after the serum was introduced into his system
Insert a transition sentence here!
Prior to the sleek vaccine system we know and love involving a singular needle depositing the vaccine intramuscularly, the vaccines, specifically the smallpox vaccine in this case, that were in use around the time when Steve was wandering around being all pre-serum and adorable were administered through scratches into the superficial layers of the skin created by multipronged lancets
As such, anyone who received the small pox vaccination were left with a distinctive scar on their arm
So obviously Steve was like what’s this something to make me less sick? Sign me the fuck up and of course he drags Bucky along and then a half hour later they’re walking out of the clinic with perfectly circular wounds on their left biceps
Of course they laugh: chicks dig scars! need me to kiss it better? I'll give you a lollipop if you don't cry this time. and these little scars that they share feel more like badges of honor, brotherhood, and love than they feel like representations of their inoculations
Now when Steve rescues Bucky from hydra imprisonment Bucky is obviously thrilled to see him but also he’s never seen Steve like this before, he finally has the physical presence that is attitude always needed and now it’s like he’s transformed. Bucky always knew Steve was brave but seeing him in battle is this cognitive dissonance that he can’t really get over for a while.
That is until one night they’re sleeping rough with the commandos camped out in the middle of nowhere and they get shoved into the same tent because dammit Steve snores and Bucky is the only one who can sleep through it and so they’re lying together, Bucky trying to find a way back to his friend that suddenly he doesn’t feel like he knows any more
Bucky is running his fingers over the new Steve just trying to familiarize himself with this new body when he feels that little nickel sized depression in Steve’s skin and by god it’s night out and he can’t see a damn thing but Bucky would know that scar anywhere in the world because he has the exact same one. And so their matching scars become almost a talisman to remind them of who they were and who they are to each other.
Months go by and hydra is pleased with the success of their brain washing, they’ve almost got the asset convinced he’s all machine, there’s back slaps and congratulations all around but it had nothing to do with those shoddy scientists. Bucky wasn’t Bucky anymore when he reached for that little dimpled scar on his arm and felt only cold smooth metal. he wasn’t Steve’s Bucky anymore. he wasn’t Bucky anymore. He wasn’t anyone anymore. he was only ready to comply
#mcu#bucky barnes#steve rogers#headcanon#science fiction#fictional science#my source is that i made it the fuck up#stucky#steve bucky#steve x bucky#winter soldier#captain america
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just some thoughts from sherlock and co. Mailbag episode
honestly I did this to myself and at 3am no less.
In an mailbag episode on the sherlock and co. patreon, answering a question on their favorite musicals, John answered Les Misèrables. And being the romantic we know our loveable doctor to be, I was perusing the songs from the 2013 movie album and came across On My Own.
Sung by Èpoine about her unrequited love for Marius. And that is sad in its own regard, there's a reason it's one of the musicals most popular songs and Samantha Barks does a great job of that crushing emotional weight of being so wrapped in someone, so ultimately dazzled by them and wanting to be near them. But knowing they will not look at you the same, will not place the same value on the time and proximity you share. And that is not their fault and it is hard to love someone and desire to be close and yet have them be the source of your greatest pain and rejection, even though they may wish you no harm.
It's been hinted at and out right stated (by Sherlock) that John wants to be liked. And given what we've heard about John's last relationship (the one whereby he gained ownership of Archie after the split) and perhaps some insecurities there, insecurities in his own capabilities, comparing himself to others, its understandable to read John as something of an insecure man. Not in a toxic manner but John definitely has a lot of self doubts about himself and his place in the world and what he can offer to others. Despite him so naturally being able to attune to people and their needs and being quite bloody smart and intuitive. All round just a decent person.
And John, as much as anyone, marvels at Sherlock Holmes. This almost mythical figure. John admires Sherlock and maybe envies him on some level. I think not in Sherlock's deduction skills or specific knowledge skillsets but maybe in Sherlock's apparent surety in himself and where he is in life and what he wants from it. Sherlock is plainly himself, even if it means not "fitting in " John often tries to mould himself to what others might like, and hey, as a people pleaser, oh boy do I understand that. Almost becomes like muscle memory.
Sherlock in turn, I think admires John's social prowess. His ability to express the complexity of emotions. Just because someone doesn't emote the typical way doesn't mean they don't feel the emotions. And that can be incredibly frustrating when you want to communicate with others. Sherlock cares about people. He's interested in people. And he can't always express or connect with them in the way he wants. Like a language barrier he mentioned in another mailbag episode. That is why Sherlock and John work. They draw out in each other and supplement for the qualities they lack or yearn to have more of. They're a balancing act. A good one. And I'm not the first to point that out.
All this to say, imagine when that act is separated. The Fall. Grown so comfortable to have the other's support, always by each others side and then, suddenly the other person isn't there. And you have to remember how you functioned without them before. But you can't go back. You're not the same person you were. But if they aren't there to remind you, to encourage you, it's easy to fall back into old habits.
And so the song. On My Own. From John's perspective, watching the man the myth the dazzling legend that is Sherlock Holmes, getting swept up in the adventures, feeling totally out of place but thrilled be along for the ride, participating, maybe growing in confidence all because of coincidental flat share with possibly the most brilliant and bizzare man he's ever met. The world is changing for John Watson. And Sherlock is seemingly at the center of it all. He's found purpose. Friends. A home. Maybe more. But John is as fallible in his assumptions as any of us are. And Sherlock appears to have no interest in such relationships and John, not confident enough to make the first move. So he can daydream. Of what it would be like to be with Sherlock. And what it would be like be without Sherlock.
And then the Fall. And he truly is without Sherlock and his world has dulled and greyed and blurred. The city has lost its glimmer. The flat is quiet. The words are meaningless. And John sits with his what ifs.
Don't think of John hearing this song. Of the heartbreak of knowing that you can ever be with the one you love. And knowing that taste of what brilliant technicolours the world is when you were with them, full of stimulating twinkling lights. And thinking it could never be that way again. Don't imagine John, sat in the flat, in the achingly quiet flat, as a woman sings for her never was love, head in his hands, Archie resting his head on John's knee. Don't think of John cursing himself for not being sure enough to tell Sherlock how he felt, for not being good enough again to save his friend. Don't think of John Watson, once again, on his own.
#sherlock and co#sherlock and co.#sherlock & co#sherlock homes#john watson#I just have a lot of feelings about these two okay?#I dunno if I expressed myself well but here we are#jonklock
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One day I will be broken open,
split in two so even you
can see the lack of symmetry,
as my past comes back to haunt me.
My innards will be
something gross and disgusting,
rotting and spewing fumes
that clear any room
with its deathly perfume.
The mortician will be able to exhume
what he will probably assume
is an empty room, a wound
without the expected organ.
He will tear in searching
for the source of what was hurting
only to find thin vines
of shriveled blood vessels
that spit sparse clouds of dust.
Strangers will ponder the marvelous
but obscene scene of a human being
who hasn’t had a beating heart
for what feels like an eternity.
The oddity before society,
scientist will weep and proclaim
in vain this cannot be reality.
How can any body function
without a ticker in center?
Where did his blood enter
and exit?
How could he even exist?
Like a sideshow freak
they will stand in awe of me
not knowing that it is easy
to exist without a heartbeat
when it was the heart
that was slowly killing me
by breaking in increments.
All it took was sharp clean implement
to remove the impediment
to my peaceful existence,
but no one will be able to consider this
because they have been told it is
better to have loved and loss
than to never have loved at all.
I say it is better to have learned young,
have the surgery done,
and move on less vulnerable,
than being completely destroyed.
-2023
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Safety and Comfort || Marc Spector x Male Reader
Characters: Marc Spector X Male!Reader | Steven Grant X Male!Reader
Fandom: Marvel, Moon Knight
Warnings: None
Summary: Marc was exhausted, he just needs some comfort.
Author’s Note: This the first fic that i’ve ever written. I can’t say I’m completely satisfied with it, but I consider it a good first try. Also English is not my first language.
Marc was exhausted.
He had just finished a mission: some criminals had stolen ancient Egyptian artefacts with dangerous magical abilities, and Khonshu had demanded to get them back and take vengeance on them. He had been reluctant considering he hadn’t slept well the previous night and wasn’t in the best shape, but the choice was taken from him.
He had been able to find them relatively quickly. The thieves had been in the middle of selling some of the artefacts when he interrupted them. He had managed to take them out and get the artefacts back. After interrogating one of them and putting the fear of God (Ha!) into him, he went after the others.
Marc, as Moon Knight, had spent the night retrieving what was stolen, dealing with the criminals, and handing out Khonshu’s justice. It took some time, but he finally dealt with everyone, though not before getting shot in the shoulder as well as stabbed and bruised. Khonshu hadn’t healed him right away, leaving him to deal with the wounds on his own. It was only much later that Khonshu healed him.
Marc suspected that the reason he hadn’t done so earlier was because of the argument they had in the morning over Steven interfering in their business, and this was just Khonshu being petty.
It didn’t take long to return to his—Steven’s apartment. He got off the elevator, reached the door, and opened it. The place was quite tidy, as Steven liked to keep it clean. He took off his jacket and quietly walked through the apartment.
He paused, and stared.
You were sitting in his bed, reading a book with headphones on. You saw him standing there and smiled at him warmly.
"Hey, rough night?" You spoke.
"You could say that." Marc replied, giving a small smile back.
You watched carefully as your lover eased himself into the room, bags around his eyes, and half-lidded. His shoulders hung low. He was unsteady on his feet as he walked shakily towards the bed—towards you. His steps were heavy, as if he was still burdened by the weight of his ceremonial suit. You knew what that meant immediately.
It had been a bad night.
You’d known Marc Spector for almost a whole year at this point; your relationship consisted of nine months of that year.
You had first met Steven at a park in London.
Steven had been on his break, so he had wanted to spend it in the park. You’d been there for quite some time when he first arrived, just soaking up the calm atmosphere.
After ten minutes or so of peaceful quiet, you looked over at the tired man who had joined you, and, without much else to do or say, you offered him half of your pickle sandwich from the bag you were carrying. He had stared at you for a moment, visibly dumbfounded and nervous, before a soft laugh suddenly made its way out of his chest.
You met up a few more times after that.
You met Marc on accident while you were in Steven’s apartment. Ha’d known about you, of course. It took a while for him to warm up to you, but after you cooked him a mean steak that had him moaning... Well, the rest, as they say, is history.
You've known about Moon Knight for six months now—nearly halfway through seven.
It had been an accident. You’d spent the night with Marc and lingered in bed to watch the sunrise. Marc had returned home from a rough night and was functioning on autopilot, entering his bedroom still in his suit without the mask and cowl and with a black eye.
Needless to say, there were a lot of questions that needed answers.
You got off the bed, putting your book aside, and took the headphones off. You walked up to him and cupped his cheek, your heart tightening a little when he sighed and leaned into the contact.
“Marc, are you alright?” You asked softly, noticing his battered state.
"I'm fi-" you cut him off. "Be honest with me, please," you said, stroking his cheek.
"I'm tired, just tired." He sighed.
You shook your head and sighed, not wanting to pressure him too much. You decided to just drop it, and you’ll hear him out when he’s ready. For now, you’ll take care of him.
"Well, why don't you go take a shower and try to get some rest? It’ll be good for you to freshen up," you said as you brushed his unruly curls from his forehead.
Marc nodded and didn’t resist when you took his hand and led him to the bathroom. You always had been the one with the best ideas. Both he and Steven agreed on this fact.
With the shower running, Marc stripped out of his clothes and tossed them into the hamper. He stepped into the shower, not bothering that the water hadn’t heated up much yet. He focused on washing some of the blood off of him.
While he was in the shower, he got lost in his thoughts, thinking about you and how you were waiting for him outside, ready to offer your support in any way.
Marc still couldn’t believe someone like you wanted to be with him. You were a pure, kind, and wonderful person. Not at all like him, who killed and had blood on his hands; he was unworthy of someone as bright as you. Though you would lay it into Marc if you heard him think like that.
He huffed a laugh. You were always protective of those you loved and wouldn’t let anyone speak ill of them, even themselves. Eventually, his mind made its way back down to earth. By then he had washed himself clean and stepped outside.
Slipping into a t-shirt and sweatpants, Marc left the bathroom and walked back over to you. You smiled at him and stood up.
Reaching up tentatively, you brushed a lock out of the ex-mercenary’s eyes. Dark brown peeked through, and the corners of Marc’s mouth quirked upwards.
"Hi..." he whispered as he leaned forward and butted his forehead against yours.
You hummed in contentment. "Hey there. Did you have a nice shower? I have to say you look quite handsome, all cleaned up.”
Marc chuckled, shaking his head with their foreheads still connected. "Does that mean I didn’t look handsome before?" he joked. Now it was your turn to chuckle.
It felt good to just laugh with you after the rather eventful night.
He angled his head, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your lips. They were soft and so addicting he could get lost in the feeling.
"Nope, you’ll always be gorgeous to me," you teased, earning another kiss.
He sighed contently.
"C’mon, sweetheart," you said, offering your hand to him.
He took your hand, and you gently tugged him to bed, trying to get him to lie back with you. You positioned yourself against the bedpost and gently guided his head into your lap. He adjusted himself and wrapped his arms around you.
He hummed, feeling your hand through his hair and a kiss on his head. “You should get some sleep, love.” You eventually murmured.
He blinked at you slowly.
“...I love you...”
His voice was soft, the roughness lost somewhere in his relaxation. His eyes stared tiredly into yours. You took a moment to just look him over, taking in every detail: the way his damp hair partially obscured his eyes, the faint dusting of a blush high on his cheekbones, the slight part of his lips.
God.
He was so beautiful.
“I love you too.” You replied warmly, leaning over and kissing him softly.
You opened the book and began to read to him; your voice was smooth and soft as you carefully read each page to him. It wasn’t long before he fell asleep, surrounded by your warmth.
You felt him gradually relax, and his breathing became even. His eyes were closed, and for the first time in a long time, he looked calm and peaceful in his sleep. You let a hand run down the side of Marc’s face, gently so as not to wake him up. You placed the book off to the side and let sleep overtake you.
The next morning, Steven woke up feeling incredibly warm. He opened his eyes slowly and realised he was asleep on your chest. Your arms were wrapped securely around him, protectively. The steady beat of your heart against his ear calmed him down. He should probably get up and get ready for his job, but honestly, that seemed like too much work.
He didn’t really feel like getting up, so he did the only thing he could think of. He closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the safety and comfort you so openly provided.
#moon knight#moonknight#marc spector#marc spector x male reader#marc spector x male!reader#Steven grant x male reader#marc spector x reader#x male reader#x reader#marvel
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To reply to this without cluttering up someone else's reblogs:
I DEFINITELY have my issues with Alan Moore, but that quote has been taken widely out of context to fuel the anger machine. In context, this is commentary on the modern mass-media superhero movie, specifically how far it is from its working-class Jewish roots:
Today’s franchised übermenschen, aimed at a supposedly adult audience, seem to be serving some kind of different function, and fulfilling different needs. [...] The superheroes themselves – largely written and drawn by creators who have never stood up for their own rights against the companies that employ them, much less the rights of a Jack Kirby or Jerry Siegel or Joe Schuster – would seem to be largely employed as cowardice compensators, perhaps a bit like the handgun on the nightstand. I would also remark that save for a smattering of non-white characters (and non-white creators) these books and these iconic characters are still very much white supremacist dreams of the master race.
This is a legitimate criticism of popular superheroes, even early on. An example relevant to this quote: Alan Moore grew up with Marvelman, Britain's homegrown 1950s stand-in for Captain Marvel. Some pretty visible choices were made about who could be superhuman in their version of this story.
Not obvious from this image: Freddy Freeman (left image, in blue) was the one Marvel Family member with a Jewish co-creator (Mac Raboy). He was a disabled boy with a very personal vendetta against the Nazis who had targeted him and his grandfather. All this was left out of his (fully abled) Marvelman counterpart. But even Captain Marvel was a version of Superman made marketable by filing down the anti-establishment edges! (Unlike early Supes, Cap would never talk back to a cop.) All three publishers used racial caricatures in their stories.
All this buries the lede: Mick Anglo, creator of the Marvelman Family, was also Jewish. I don't know why he made the choices he did.
The initial image in the post you commented on is from "Superman is Jewish? How comic book superheroes came to serve truth, justice, and the Jewish-American way" by Harry Brod. It's available on archive.org and while it's ultimately a celebration of Jewish contributions to comics, it touches on a lot of these points: the popular re-capture of the underdog's dreams of righteous violence, the "de-Jewification" of superheroes in the modern movie imagination, and the idea that not all art created by [identity] people will actually express that identity, especially when writing into a different dominant culture.
Alan Moore can be dismissive of the Jewish histories to superheroism, but I don't want to throw out his argument--white supremacy has sunk its hooks deep into the genre's imagery since Siegel and Shuster put pen to paper.
#olivertxt#that ''since'' is doing a lot of work. but in general a lot of comics DO have radical jewish roots and more people should look there#to find out what that actually looked like. especially people who Want To Write Comics I think#you're a spiderman gal I REALLY do rec Brod's book for its takes on Peter Parker vs Clark Kent#comics history#capecritical
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I promise that it’s worth the risk
24.2k || ao3
Carlos has an accident at work and for a while, TK thinks everything is lost.
But then he wakes up, and everything is okay.
But then it isn’t, because Carlos doesn’t remember him. In fact, Carlos doesn’t remember anything of the past three years: the entirety of TK’s time in Austin. Which is a pretty sick joke on the universe’s behalf, in TK’s opinion. He doesn’t know how to deal with that fact that though he didn’t lose Carlos, he did lose him in just about every way that matters.
But if one thing will always be true it’s that TK Strand loves Carlos Reyes with his entire heart and nothing is going to stop him from being there for him, whatever may come.
Six months later, the amnesia fic is finally done!
There are so many people I need to thank for getting me through the writing of this and making sure I actually did finish writing this in so many different ways. I’m going to list a few but I know that the list is not limited to just them: @moviegeek03, @justaswampdemon, @pragmatic-optimist, @doublel27
Beta’d by the wonderful @terramous
If you’d like to listen to the playlist I made to go with this fic, you can find that here. Happy reading!
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In the days that followed he would marvel that all it took to upend his entire world was one phone call.
Because that’s all it had been: a single call from a kind but efficient nurse in a hospital across the city. TK had never been on the other end of the call from the hospital. He could say with absolute certainty that he hated it.
Well, at the moment, he didn’t really feel like he could say anything at all. He was frozen at the edge of the station kitchen as Nancy gently pried his phone from his hand and Marjan placed a warm hand on his shoulder as she studied him with worried eyes. He wanted to assure them he was fine, that they didn’t have to worry, but that would be a lie. He was so far from fine he couldn’t even remember the sound of the word. His world had just been tipped off its axis and now it felt like it was spinning in place, stuck at this moment and a single line repeating in his head like a broken record: Detective Reyes has been injured in the line of duty.
He doesn’t know how Carlos had done it so many times. How had he even been able to breathe after getting one of those calls, let alone function? It’s all TK can do to agree to his dad’s offer to drive him to the hospital and to sit silently in the passenger seat, anxious fingers twisting at the gold band on his necklace as the world flashes by outside the window.
He could feel his dad’s eyes on him and he knew without looking what he would see. The weight of his gaze felt familiar; it was the same one he had felt so often in the days right after his mom had died. He knew his dad meant well, but he couldn’t handle it. The thought of losing Carlos like he had his mom…it was too much. He couldn’t bear those connections right now.
“Please stop looking at me like that.”
His dad looked startled by the sound of his voice, but he recovered quickly, “Like what?”
“Like he’s already dead.”
[continue reading on ao3]
#911 lone star#tarlos#tarlos fic#911ls fic#tk strand#carlos reyes#my writing#amnesia fic#userbones#userkimmy#tuserpaige#userthai#tusersilence#tusersonia#jazzyjess#actuallysara#buckybarnesalways#reyesstrand
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Saw The Marvels last night and have been trying to organize my thoughts ever since.
The best part of the film is the chemistry between its leads. Kamala, Carol, and Monica bounce off of each other well. Kamala in particular brings a lot of charm to this group that helps break down the emotional walls that Monica and Carol both have on display.
Where the film struggles is in finding things for these characters to do. The plot is one of the simplest Marvel's ever put-forward; No more complex than "There exists a bad guy and we must defeat her because heroes defeat bad guys," with no twists or turns along the way. We didn't get her the first time. We didn't get her the second time. We didn't get her the third time. But by Thor, we got her the fourth time!
That's basically it. The story consists of fighting Dar-Benn, then going to the next place where we will fight Dar-Benn. Although Nick Fury and Kamala's family provide several great moments to the film (including a hilarious but consequence-free sequence where S.A.B.E.R. forces must be rescued by a litter of Flerkens), the straightforward series of consecutive boss fights offers no opportunities for characters outside our core trio to influence the plot in any meaningful way.
It's really just these three characters carrying the weight of the film, so their dynamic better be gold.
Fortunately, it is. It absolutely is.
This also puts a lot of pressure on Dar-Benn. As a boss fight, she needs to be able to believably juggle three superheroes at once, one of whom is the most powerful MCU character of all time. Here, the film falters. She seems just like every other Kree bad guy, but with a special MacGuffin to give her Dragon Ball Z Power Levels so she can throw punches at Carol's weight class.
She bodies everyone constantly in the fight scenes but it never feels like she should be giving them all so much trouble. It has that vibe of when a solo hero's villain has to be a team-up bad guy for an arc. Like, normally Spider-Man can handle Doc Ock easily enough, but he needs to be an Avengers villain now so suddenly he's powerful enough to take down Thor and the Hulk simultaneously.
Dar-Benn is helped in this endeavor by the film's special gimmick. Carol, Monica, and Kamala constantly swapping places with each other is a cool element that provides both plentiful comedy and some awesome moments, especially as they learn to take advantage of it.
It's also not explained very well and is barely integrated into the plot. It's a weird thing that the Quantum Bands suddenly started doing to to them one day. They learned how to go with it. Then, once the story was far enough along, it stopped of its own accord. More "Sure, I guess this might as well happen" than an interesting new metaphysic.
The story seems either sorely underwritten or utterly butchered by reshoots. Heavy emphasis is placed on galactic worldbuilding and expositing lore than on putting its characters through an emotional and thematic journey.
That's not to say there isn't an emotional journey, mind you. Monica and Kamala's stories are more or less relegated to reacting to Carol. Their parts in the plot are defined by how Carol has respectively influenced them, for better and for worse. As much as the title bills itself as a team-up, this is unambiguously Carol 2. Kamala and Monica are static characters, primarily working to help examine Carol by offering their respective lenses.
But that examination goes deep, and in directions it's rare to see a story willing to take its protag in. Especially a superhero story.
The Marvels primarily interrogates Carol's loner behavior. Carol is Marvel's most powerful hero, but that doesn't mean she can't make mistakes when she takes too much on herself. The unilateral decisions she makes on behalf of others keep blowing up in her face and making things worse. She has to learn to stop talking for five minutes and listen to what other people think.
Which is the central narrative function, both for Kamala and Monica's presence here and for the mechanical decision to handcuff them to Carol's wrists so that she can't run away. It all serves to develop Carol into someone who sees the value in leaning on others, and teach her how to chill for five minutes.
The film also tackles some heavy subject matter with Carol's greatest mistake. This is the thing that's haunting her, and it's a genuinely tragic political mistake. One that world leaders have made many times throughout history.
In short, Carol thought she could bring peace by breaking into the hostile enemy state and decapitating their leadership. She didn't understand that you can't just snipe the king and bail. That leaves a region in chaos. Without prolonged reconstruction, this kind of destabilization can have devastating consequences not only for the destabilized nation, but for everyone else around it.
Unfortunately, while it would be good to see the impacts of this on more than just Carol, we don't. Not really. The only other character impacted is Dar-Benn but. Like. The loss of Hala has turned the Kree from an imperialist people who conquer, enslave, and exterminate worlds into an imperialist people who conquer, enslave, and exterminate worlds. It's a lateral move from what they were doing before to what they're doing now.
The Kree might throw out the name "Annihilator" here and there but it's all lip service. They're more or less the same Evil Overlord bad guys they've always been. Dar-Benn even gets an opportunity for nuance at the very end, but decides she'd rather kill herself out of spite instead. For as high as the stakes are raised for these battles, they have the energy of "Titanium Man is robbing the diamond store! We must stop him from stealing all of the precious jewels."
That a throwaway line at the end assures us that the affected planets - despite Carmen Sandiego stealing their oceans and atmosphere - are inexplicably fine also contributes to this feeling more like a Saturday Morning Cartoon episode than a cinematic blockbuster. Everything resets to status quo in the end. Well, except Monica, who's been drafted for the next round of multiversal shenanigans.
All things considered, this movie felt middle-of-the-road for me. There's a lot here to like but it needed more time in the oven.
Unfortunately, it's also headed for a far harsher reception than it deserves. The SAG-AFTRA strike meant actors aren't doing the usual talk show circuits to market the film. Between that and the film's heavy reliance on Disney Plus homework for its core appeal, it's struggling to find an audience. It's competing with Incredible Hulk and Ant-Man this weekend for lowest opening in Marvel history, which undercuts its legitimate charms by quite a lot.
Hopefully Marvel won't take the wrong lesson from the film's underperformance. But who am I kidding? We all know what studio executives are like.
#marvel#marvel cinematic universe#the marvels#carol danvers#captain marvel#kamala khan#ms marvel#monica rambeau#photon
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walks in with a coffee. hey what’s up I’m a little obsessed with your bromantic flight au and yr mind. if Kai forged Lloyd a new arm cause he kinda accidentally caused it to get yeeted, does it also work with his dragon form or not? Like, when he transforms, can the arm change like a transformer to be the appropriate dragon-shaped limb it’s meant to be?
Jk but in essence!! yes!!! The prosthetic can change configurations depending on what form Lloyd takes, thanks to both Kai's intricate mental-smithing skills and Lloyd's dragon/oni magic. Considering reaching the "ideal arm" is a major plot point I took my sweet time in trying to map out how to best create the perfect prosthetic for a guy like Lloyd. (Warning: I go full-bananas and lore dump on you).
Like, I think the best thing to come out of this is how similar the upper anatomy for humans and dragons are, even in terms of evolutionary development. Oni anatomy comes super close, being one of the only other creatures in the First Realm to walk upright bipedally. Considering that human and dragon-oni hybrids have the same origin, it makes sense that their physiologies are practically the same... if only with minor differences.
The general consensus is that no, you can't regrew limbs unless you're a lizard.
The best that you can do is adapt around the missing limb, but functionality will not be 100%. You can bring it up to 99% and have it mimic real life but it won't quite be a real arm or a real leg carrying every single movement the original limb could once do, but that's fine. The point of the prosthetic is to restore as much functionality as physically possible to the amputee. But it's going to need a lot more consideration when you apply that to a hybrid, which is why we go through like a million iterations of that limb.
If the quote "a downed dragon is a dead dragon" rings any bells, then it definitely applies to the hybrids. Cut off a dragon's wings and tails and you've basically grounded the thing; not even elemental essences can save it. But cut off the limbs of a hybrid, a wingless creature born to channel elemental essences through its limbs, and you've basically won. Jeopardising even one limb is enough to drastically lower all of their capabilities. So. Yes. Missing limbs are bad for the hybrids.
So Lloyd very much needs that prosthetic to survive. Lucky we have Kai to develop one for him!
(It takes him months. obviously.)
Kai develops something he calls the "self-regulatory piston". Well, not really. The dragon hunters have been using this piece of tech for quite some to help with developing prosthetics for amputees. Kai just upgraded it- big time. How it works is that it channels biological electrical/mechanical energy to work - the pistons function as replacements for tendons, ligaments and muscles by contracting and pumping out energy in exchange for movement. Since humans are tiny things, the pistons can make these prosthetics function like real limbs. However the same can't be said for Lloyd.
Kai can get the prosthetic attached to Lloyd. He can get it undergo transformation to match dragon-Lloyd's size. The thing is that the prosthetic becomes a dead weight. All those fine pistons and engineering marvels in the prosthetics? They don't match up quite nicely when scaled up. They certainly are not able to channel Lloyd's dragon-oni magic to make it work. And we know hybrids are hindered by limb loss since they can't fly. So Kai has to climb up and manually move the limb himself, in order to give Lloyd a fighting chance at flight.
TLDR: yes, Kai makes Lloyd a new arm. Yes the prosthetic gets scaled up to match dragon-Lloyd's size, it just loses functionality when the size increases.
i don't know if i explained that clearly so if you wants to ask more questions please do. many hugs
#sorry for taking so long anon ive been busy and had some thoughts and just. yeh.#bromantic flight#ninjago au#kai smith#lloyd garmadon#kai jiang#ninjago#prosthetics#lore stuff#or at least. my attempt to justify the fictional prosthetic limb#agni of wisdom
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What's Dal's Halloween costume this year? How does modern Dal spend Halloween?
Oohhh, good question!!
Halloween is a fantastic (fang-tastic ehe. hehehe.) time to just play it up and be more unapologetically vampiric (within reason)!
Modern Dal/Damon is nothing if not consistent and predictable haha. He'll take the opportunity to wear his older fashion and mix it with modern jewelry, especially earrings and rings on his fingers, really looking the part of a noble. Victorian wear, ruffles and all. Maybe a few bat-shaped pieces for the giggles. He'll dress the part, show his fangs a little more. Maybe have some pork blood in his mini fridge, alongside other clearly labeled red drinks for his employees to have. Some fake blood on his clothes or even his face. Complain about the sun and humans a little bit, as a treat.
And because his employees already joke about him being a vampire, they'll call him Dracula.
Ooh.. unless I want him to be a little snooty and be like "Actually I am a lesser-known vampire named Dalmatius (Damon's actual name)". And the kids can ask questions about this supposed vampire, trying to trip him up about this vampire they've never heard of, which he'll be able to answer easily because.. it's him.
He's not the most festive, and if he does any decoration it's rather bare-bones. BUT.. for the entire month of October, he'll gladly let his employees decorate the store and even dress up how they want, as long as it doesn't compromise their safety or the safety of customers (ie tripping hazards or jumpscares or rapidly flashing lights, etc) or prevent them from doing their work.
He will also keep a bowl of various candies at the front desk for people to grab from, and a sign at the front of the store to let those with kids know that they can come in and grab some. Kids get free candy, and more people glimpse his store and possibly become customers. Win/win.
On the day of Halloween itself, the store closes early, but because half of its function is to be a refuge for his employees who may not want to go back home early, they're welcome to stay until the end of the usual, non-holiday business hours while Damon cleans up.
I haven't gotten the layout of his store figured out entirely just yet. I know it's small but I'd like for there to be a break room. Maybe there's a tv in there, possibly able to stream some things. Damon isn't hurting for money, so why not?
Once he does go home, Damon's house is decorated a little bit. Lawn ornaments of spooky skeletons or graves, and whatever his friends have contributed. He will answer the door to give out candy and marvel at the costumes.
Once the trick-or-treaters go home for the day, he might spend time with his daughter (who splits time between his and his ex-wife's house), his son (who he connected with later in the boy's life), and/or his friends! They may watch horror movies and Damon will make Halloween-themed foods for them. While he can eat, he doesn't need to, so he enjoys the opportunity to cook for others. And unlike pretty much every other version of Dal, Damon is a good cook!
Now I really, really wanna draw Halloween dressed-up Damon xD
#ask#Anonymous#his employees are on the Older Teen-to-Young Adult side and he basically treats them like his own children#so i often call them ''the kids''#while the store does make him money. he's capable of running it himself#having employees just makes it possible for him to give these ''kids'' money to become financially stable#because he wants to help kids who might not have the resources to help themselves yet. and money is a huge barrier. and he can help w that#he grew up in a bad home and doesn't want kids to go through that#my oc#damon rex#missy rambles
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Asura by nature are very clever creatures, and Qirri is clever than most by far. She has a fascination with assistive devices, largely driven by both her own need for them and for the needs of her close friends. And because I have been enabled, here's some of the assistive devices Qirri's puzzled through:
Stabilization and Aim Assist for Rifles and Pistols
As a result of Qirri's albinism, her eyesight is poor. Though she wears glasses that do help a lot of the time, it'll never fully correct her vision. As such, she devised stabilizers to be built into her rifle, as well as a floating aim assist to make firing rifles and pistols easier for fighting at a distance.
The principles going into the design aren't that different from basic golemancy. It uses the same stabilization principles that keep large golems from wobbling.
The floating aim assist allows her to move the rifle while the sight remains in place, helping her use the floater instead of trying to adjust by what she can see. Though the targeting sensor isn't perfect, it has helped her considerably.
Transition Lenses
A joint effort between Qirri and Taimi started not long after the two met and became thick as thieves, these fancy lenses for Qirri's glasses adjust their tint based on the level of light in an area. It helps her to compensate for the natural light sensitivity she has as an asura as well as the extra level she has from her albinism.
The lenses do need to be replaced every six months as the alchemic compound in the glass will stop working over time, but they're working on a formula that will last longer and change tint faster.
J.U.I.C.E.
A more recent invention, JUICE is Qirri's jade mech, designed with the help of Taimi and Yao, though most of the input was hers. With its name standing for Jade Unit Immediate Care, Exotech (Taimi's idea), the jade mech has a lot of functions that most jade mechs - even Finn - won't include.
A scan feature that allows the mech to determine if immediate care or simply rest is needed for an injury or an episode, a recall feature that allows those with access to have the mech follow a designated party while carrying her if necessary (the designated party is usually Yao), and a protocol that allows it to dispense highly concentrated doses of the same compound Qirri uses in her nebulizer if she's struggling to breath and it appears severe.
Even Qirri's jade bot can plug into it, recharging its own stores of medication for the nebulizer it holds inside it, reducing the need for her to travel back to Seitung or Rata Sum for more doses.
JUICE is a marvel of modern engineering, even if she thinks they should workshop its name a little bit more.
The Gauntlet
The Gauntlet was another recent invention of Qirri's, made not for her, Zanthe, or Taimi, but instead for Garrus. The Gauntlet's design was very special, inspired by that fateful day a decade back when Garrus shoved her out of the way of a charging Risen abomination, taking devastating damage to his arm that never healed properly due to a necrotic infection.
Though they were able to save his arm, it would ache constantly, and he never gained full strength back. He did use gloves to try to assist, but nothing seemed to be helping as much as it could.
Over the years, Qirri dedicated hours trying to figure something out. It could help both him and Taimi, she figured, but nothing stuck.
But with Taimi's new leg braces, she had an idea.
Starting with that basic design (and Taimi's improvements) as a base, Qirri began working on a jade gauntlet that could compensate for the old injury and the lack of muscle strength in Garrus's arm. Thus far, his early tests with the gauntlet have been promising, and Qirri is still working on perfecting the design to hopefully help reduce some of the pain he experiences as well.
Jade Nebulizer
One of the last recent inventions Qirri has concocted is more a heavy modification than an invention. Using her original nebulizer design based on asuran golem tech back in Rata Sum, she was able to put her head together with Joon's to create a similar device.
Instead of the single compartment that held the alchemic compound, water, and the medicinal herb mixture, there's three separate compartments with a central one. Using magic and alchemy, each button press allows a measured amount of each necessary ingredient into the central chamber, which creates the mist a user breathes in.
As a result, it carries far more charges than the golemic nebulizer Qirri used to carry from Rata Sum. It lasts longer, meaning less reason for her to go back to Seitung Province for refills... and a more recent update lets her do limited refills from JUICE.
A similar device, without the mask, stays clipped to Qirri's belt when she knows she might be in a fight. It connects via a tube to her travel ventilator, allowing her to breathe easier when she needs to be moving around.
She hasn't needed that iteration quite as much since building JUICE, largely because with her rifle, she can stay back more often.
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