#Steve Biro

[happyzenmonk]

Bald Eagle at the Canadian Raptor Conservancy 

Photo by Steve Biro

source:

We love David Attenborough

[mcyt-builds-contest]

The Frost Citadel

Builder : TangoTek

Series : Hermitcraft Season 9

Propaganda : decked out is not only an incredible build on the OUTSIDE, with a great colour scheme and a lot of detail, it's also a hugely important build for the season in general - being the place most people would hang out for the last few months of the server - and importantly a redstone MASTERPIECE. how did this man create literally an entire game with a point buy system and effect cards and randomised threats in minecraft?! like this is vanilla. i think the only mod used was for the disc system and even then he was ready to run that without mods. on so many levels this is such a fantastic build.

The Winter Cabin

Builder : Technoblade and Philza

Series : DSMP

Propaganda : techno and phil's cabins are THE build they're what minecraft is to me maybe not impressive or huge. they use common materials. there's no redstone mechanics. but they're what minecraft is about: making a place yours. making something with your friend. genuinely the most meaningful build in my opinion because it was simple and cozy and made sense for these characters! the stable with carl right in front. the dog house. the soft glow of the beacon. the fact their cabins are connected. similar but not the same. that's my propaganda op. that these cabins sum up what makes minecraft so lovely. and are a great memory for techno. | It's cozy and safe. The perfect hideaway for anyone looking to plan revenge and hold political book clubs. Includes three main houses and a giant training area. It has many adorable animals, including Steve. A polar bear.

Taglist!

@10piecechickenmcnugget

@choliosus

@biro-slay

@betweenlands

@xdsvoid

[whereifindsanity]

Steve Biro

[luveline]

More zombie au! Steve!!! Please! It’s literally so good I love how you write Steve all protective <3

thank you ♡ steve zombie au —steve gets sick. you meet a dark-haired stranger while looking for meds. fem!reader 2k

You compare your arm to the bottle in your hand. You've written a list of generic and brand name antibiotics in biro on your forearm, but they're smudging from nervous sweat. You're getting desperate. 

Nothing seems to match. You're shaking with aching arms and legs, fucking terrified as you sift through a floor of orange and white pill bottles that nothing is going to match your list, and worse, the pharmacy grows darker by the hour. You don't have a torch. 

Things are getting pretty bad at camp. There's not enough food to go around, no batteries, and now Steve's… 

A bottle slips out of your hand and knocks into another. You cringe and pick up the next. You've been searching for hours without sitting down, as hiding underneath the bottles is a carpeting of grainy glass from the smashed shelves. Three of your fingertips have cut and scabbed since you got here. 

"Fuck," you whisper, glaring at another wrong medication. "Fuck, fuck." 

Amoxicillin, ciprofloxacin, flucloxacillin. Anything to stop Steve's infection from getting into his blood. It's a gross wound, oozy and inflamed, and when you'd left him with Robin dutiful at his side his skin had glowed with heat like glass held in the centre of a furnace. Even with his eyes closed, he'd known what you were about to do. 

"Don't fucking leave," he'd grit out, fingers twitching up for your hand. 

You'd leaned forward and kissed his damp forehead. "I have to go. I love you. I'll be right back." 

That was ten hours ago at least. You have no idea what condition Steve might be in, so sure you'd find the pills and be back in arm's reach by noon. How sick can he get before it's too much? 

"Shit," you whisper, your fingers tingling. 

"What are you looking for?" 

You fall backward with a sharp gasp, pill bottles biting into your thighs. Your face swings around but the source of the voice is unclear, empty shelves and aisles either side of you. 

"Chill out–" 

"Where the fuck are you?" you demand, scrambling onto your feet with the use of one sacrificed palm. Glass like needles serrates your skin. "Fuck! Come out, loser!" 

"Hey, no need to be mean. I'm up in the ceiling." 

You look up. Peeking out from a displaced ceiling tile is a pale face silhouetted by a matt of dark hair. 

"You fucking little freak," you say, though you feel bad immediately. He's smiling and he isn't pointing any weapons at you, which is more than most strangers allow on the road. "Why are you up there?"

"I wanted to see if you had a gun, stupid." 

"You're stupid, stupid. What if it was in my bag?" 

"Point it at me, then!" 

You stare at him in silence. 

"That's what I thought," he says, framing a face in two hands like a baby angel on a gift card. "Can I come down or are you gonna keep bitchin'?" 

"Don't fucking come down here." 

"Or what?" he asks. 

"I'll get my gun out." 

"Mm, okay," he mocks. "I'll come help you find whatever it is that has your panties in a twist." 

"I swear to god–" 

"Listen. I'm a good guy, I swear." 

"That's what bad guys say." 

The stranger laughs a weird giggly laugh and climbs backwards. The ceiling tiles stress visibly under his weight but make no noise as he disappears from view. He swears a couple of times on the way down, unseen, before the stockroom door swings open and he appears in his intimidating glory in the doorway.

"If you kill me," you say, eyeing his spiked wristbands and the machete strapped to his waist with horrified apprehension, "my boyfriend will avenge me. Like, hunt you to the ends of the earth and slice you into little tiny pieces of vengeance." 

"That sounds like my kind of party, but your boyfriend has nothing to worry about. I got a girl." 

"Don't say rock and roll." 

"How the fuck would you guess that?" he asks, hand flying to the back of his neck for a bashful scratch. 

"My life feels like a shitty gimmicky horror movie, and you look the part." You bite the inside of your cheek. "I need antibiotics." 

"You and everybody else in the world. This for your vengeful boyfriend?" 

You don't need him knowing who they're for. He could be an evil guy, and the threat of Steve waiting for you might be your trump card. "No. My vengeful boyfriend left to look for cans in the shelter." 

"He'll be back soon, then." 

You take a step back. "I'll gouge your eyes out if you try anything, I'm serious. I don't care how big your knife is–" 

"I'm Eddie." Eddie smiles at you, shoving his hands into cargo pockets. Despite his weird questions and his choice of apparel, he looks less intimidating in the lingering light of the setting sun as it seeps between window shutters. "I don't want to hurt you." He frowns. "Any kind of hurt." 

"Can I have the machete?" 

"Nope. I can go put it down somewhere, though, if that's less scary." 

You shake your head, and with a great big sigh, lean down to sift through bottles. If he's going to hurt you, he might as well get on with it. The longer you spend talking to him, the sicker your Steve becomes. 

"You need antibiotics bad?" Eddie asks, his voice softening. 

"My best friend is sick." You toss a bottle, pick up another. "Infection probably getting into his blood. If I don't find something tonight, he's gonna die." 

"Well, we can't have that," Eddie says, crouching down to help. 

You sweep through bottle after bottle of things you wish you needed. Painkillers, sleeping pills, laxatives. Good shit, and nothing you need. 

"You know…" Eddie sighs. "I know you could lie to me, but is it just you, boyfriend and the dying bestie, or?"

You're not sure what the right answer is. Better for him to think you have an army waiting if you get lost, or better to hide them? He could belong to a cult of cannibals. Only… his clothes are squeaky clean. His curls shine with a gloss that comes solely with conditioner, which means he has the time and security to really wash things. 

But murders can wash their clothes, right?

"There's a couple of us," you say. 

"You're not from that place west, are you?" 

You put a pill bottle down slowly. "West?" 

"Yeah, there were people there, hundreds of 'em. We got a few stragglers, survivors from the fucking massacre that happened a few weeks ago. One girl said there must've been thirty, forty kids there, it's fucking awful." 

You swallow a lump. "Awful," you agree.

"Hopper says we can track down the people who did it if we just follow the blood trail," Eddie says, slipping into a theatrical bravado that won't stick. "I don't know… someone needs to stop them." 

You choke, "Hopper? Chief Hopper?" 

"Wait, you're from Hawkins?" Eddie asks. 

You give each other boggled looks, a thrumming hope building in your chest like a flickering flame in the dead of winter. 

"I think you better come back with me," Eddie says. 

"I need antibiotics," you say, wanting to explain it to him and now knowing how. Or even if you should. Awesome, Hopper's alive, but that doesn't mean Eddie's group are good people, or that they can help you. There's nothing anyone in the world can do for you right now if they don't have a handful of Augmentin. 

"You're from The College." 

"I don't have time for this," you say, half apology and half frustration. "Yeah, we were from The College, and now it's gone, and my boyfriend's gonna die if you don't help me find the right pills." You wince and snatch up another stupid bottle. 

"I can get you antibiotics," Eddie says, "but you're gonna have to trust me. Can you do that?"

"No." 

—

Steve wakes up two days later in an unfamiliar building. 

His eyes are made of sand, he can hardly breathe it's that cold, each breath as sharp as a needle as he sucks it in, but there's a roof over his head, a blanket over his chest, and your voice, your laugh rings like a song in the air. 

"He didn't do that, you're lying," you say with a laugh, pulling Steve's hand to your chest. 

"He did." Steve stiffens at the voice. Deeper, rougher than yours. "I swear on my life, he jumped right into Lover's Lake and swam backstroke to prove he could beat Louisa Park's best." 

"Did he beat her time?" 

"No, but he had a condom stuck to his ankle when he got out. Wasn't worth it." 

"Steve," you say. Steve thinks you've noticed he's waking up, but you hug his hand with a sympathetic sigh. "That's so embarrassing. You better wake up soon, I have making fun of you to do." 

"I think I'll stay asleep," he says hoarsely. 

You gasp and choke his fingers between yours. "Steve?" You climb up onto the bed, your weight dipping the mattress under his back. Your hand comes careful and warm against his chilled cheek. "You're awake. You're awake?" 

He strains to unglue his top lashes from his bottom lashes. You beam at him, the little scars around your mouth from a cruel hand shining in the white morning light. 

"What time is it?" he asks. 

"It's, like, seven in the morning." 

"I've been asleep that long?" 

"You've been unconscious for nearly two days," you correct. 

Steve can't remember anything. He has the barest memory of your lips on his forehead. Robin splashing cold water on him and calling him an asshole, and then, much quieter, her best friend. 

"Where's Robin?" he asks. 

"She's being Robin somewhere, you know, she loves being helpful. The kids need help getting settled." 

"And you're being lazy," Steve pokes. 

He lifts his chin so your kiss lands exactly where he wants it, the stubbly space below his jaw. You wrap your arms around him and hug him severely, squeezing his tender ribs. 

"I wasn't lazy, I had to go save you by myself." 

"Save everybody," the familiar but impossible voice adds. Steve doesn't want to believe it. He refuses to. "Like, an entire generation." 

"I didn't do anything," you say, kissing Steve again, a short path to his chapped lips. "Honey," —your voice lowers, your confession for Steve's ears alone— "I'm so happy you're okay. I was really, really scared." 

Steve feels the weight of your fear like a dumbell on his chest, but he's uber confused. Propping his chin over your shoulder and hugging you back, the evil wound on his arm that caused this whole mess throbbing like fire under his bandage, Steve sets his eyes on the boy sitting on the chair next to yours. 

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie says warmly, eyes dripping with a put upon affection. "Miss me?" 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Steve asks. 

"Saving the day, obviously." 

"I can't believe I found one of your friends," you say, sitting up a little to smile at him. You really are gorgeous in his eyes, better than any movie star. Your beatific little grin stirs something, but Eddie's snort stomps it dead. 

"We're not friends," Steve says. 

You stroke Steve's face with the back of your hand. "Don't be like that. He's really nice…" Your smile melds itself to a concerned frown. "I thought you were kicking it, Stevie. How's your arm feeling? Does it hurt a lot?" 

"It's fine," he says dismissively, wrapping his stronger arm around your waist. He's not jealous or anything, it's just cold in here, honest. "Munson, where the fuck did you come from?" 

"Right here, Stevie." 

"We're not far from the camp," you explain, stroking his face once again. "Or, we weren't when it was there. We're merging with this one to make a mega camp." 

"Why would we do that? We don't know that we can trust these people." 

"No, but we can trust Hopper." You smile. Steve knows things are gonna be okay, as long as you can smile like that. He leans his cheek into your hand, loved and relieved and– 

"Hopper?" Steve asks. 

"Jesus, Harrington," Eddie says, rolling his shoulders. "Keep up. If you can't comprehend the easy stuff, you're not gonna believe what we haven't told you." 

"What haven't you told me?" Steve asks. 

You push his shoulders down into the pillows. "I think you better lay down first." 

[mygayshortstories]

Back before the days of the internet, when I was in my mid 20s, this was my first experience at “cottaging” in a public toilet, when I happened across Steve, a gorgeous 18 year-old, just ravenous for sex. But this turned into more than just a 'quick one'.....

Steve the Pipe-Fitter 

I had a day off from work and had gone out to Coventry to photograph the Cathedral, only to be met with a ‘no photography’ sign at the door, so I’d spent the rest of the morning taking candid photos of nice young men out in the sun instead. A bit frustrated, I got back to town about 2 o’clock.

Just under the pedestrian ramp leading out of the railway station were the public toilets.  I had heard about ‘cottaging’ and knew that this lavatory, being busy and anonymous, was such a place, so whether or not my subconscious was drawing me there today I don’t know but when I actually went down there, it was to pay a genuine call, so I duly paid and went into a cubicle.

The partitions between the cubicles didn’t quite reach the ground, so there was a gap underneath of about 6 inches. After a while, my curiosity got the better of me. Although I had never done it before, I knelt down on the floor and looked underneath. To my naïve surprise, a few cubicles away, a face was looking back in my direction. My reaction was instantaneous; I sat up quickly. However, my reaction had been so swift that I hadn’t had time to see who it was or what he looked like. For some reason though, I couldn’t pluck up enough courage to look again. I just sat there.

A short while later, I saw a young pair of shoes, at the end of jean-clad legs, enter the cubicle next door. I say ‘young’ because the shoes were new and smart, with a brass toe-strip, fashionable at the time. Clearly it was someone fairly young; probably no older than me, at any rate. He seemed to sit down but then do nothing else. I was curious and couldn’t resist the temptation, so I wrote on a piece of toilet paper, “How old?” and slipped it under the partition. The note was quickly taken up and was shortly followed by the sound of a match being struck. At first, I thought he was burning the note in disgust but then I realized that he was using the match to write with.

The note came back; “18” it read. I drew a rather deep breath. Now what?

I returned the note; “I’m 26 – can I wank you off?”  I remember thinking at the time that punctuation was probably superfluous under the circumstances and that a fairly basic vocabulary was more apt.

Another match was struck on the other side and the note came back, “Lend me your pen”. I realised that he must have seen my stainless-steel biro when I had slipped the message under the partition and I wasn’t yet ready to risk losing one of my 21st Birthday presents. As I had nothing else to write with, I returned the note saying, “No – you’ll nick it” and indicated that he should continue using a match.

There was now a bit of a delay and I figured I must have blown my chances. At best, he didn’t have any more matches. “And all for the sake of losing a stainless-steel biro!” I thought to myself as I sat there.

However, to my surprise, eventually another note came back giving his approval to my original request, provided that I agreed to “suck him off”.  Needless to say, I immediately indicated agreement and told him, “Unlock when ready”.  I flushed the toilet and opened the door.

As I emerged from the cubicle, I then thought, “What do I do if he doesn’t unlock the door and just leaves me standing there like an idiot trying to get in?” It was pretty busy outside, with people coming and going, people washing their hands or waiting for a cubicle and some even hanging around at the urinals. They may or may not have known what was going on but I knew I had to risk it and be quick about it. As I turned, I saw his lock click to ‘vacant’ and I pretended to put in a coin and entered the cubicle.

On reflection, my hasty action deserved to lead me into serious trouble but my limited experience knew no better. I don’t know who I really expected to find inside but for a start he hadn’t lied about his age. He was a fraction taller than me, lightly built with short dark hair and wearing blue denim jeans and a black leather bomber-jacket over a plain white ‘T’ shirt. But what struck me so overwhelmingly was his incredibly beautiful face. He had blue-grey eyes and soft boyish features, so clean-shaven that he looked almost as if he had never shaved and never needed to. I could hardly believe my eyes how gorgeous he was.

He also must have been reasonably pleased with me because, instead of just offering me his cock to suck, we both feverishly began undressing each other. We didn’t get far though, before we were both embracing, hugging each other tightly. This first embrace said so much without words and it seemed to last for ages; he pressed his whole body to me, burying his face against my neck, hugging me and kissing my neck. He smelt nice too; he was clearly wearing after-shave or cologne of some kind. Whatever it was, it was doing its job perfectly and I was almost overwhelmed. At best, on entering the cubicle, I had expected - I had hoped – for an ‘ordinary’ young man (like me) who wanted quick, impersonal sex but nothing had prepared me for this situation. He wanted – he deserved – far more than just a quick wank, that much was certain. Looking into those glistening blue-grey eyes, set beneath luxuriant dark eyebrows, I just cradled his face in my hands and gently kissed him on the lips.

At this point, I must have realised the danger we were both in; two men in a public toilet, half undressed and one of us under 21. I felt I had to get him out of there to somewhere safer – and a little more romantic. I whispered into his ear,

“You’re so gorgeous; what on earth are you doing here?”

He merely hugged me all the more tightly and then he kissed me for the first time; not a peck or anything half-hearted but a full-blown, sloppy kiss. Oh heavens!  His lips tasted simply delicious! Memories came flooding back of an 18 year-old boy-friend I had a few years back, as I began to melt against him. Again, I whispered to him,

“I can’t bear the thought of you being caught here. Can I take you back to my place? It’s not too far and it’ll be safer there.”

Much to my surprise, he readily agreed, just as we noticed someone spying on us from under the partition with the next cubicle. It was that face again – the one I had seen looking back at me under the partitions - only this time, he was right next door and had already noticed two pairs of feet where there should be only one.

My newly discovered treasure left the cubicle first, flushing the toilet for effect, and I followed after a moment or two. When I emerged at the top of the steps, I thought that I had lost him and that he had run off, but then I caught a glimpse of him disappearing into a telephone kiosk. I still wasn’t sure whether he was trying to avoid me but I briskly walked up to the kiosk and when he saw me, he came out. As we walked away together, he seemed more on edge than I had expected and he was nervously looking around at the people about us.

As we walked on, I managed to ascertain that his name was Steve and that he was, of all things, a pipe-fitter. To this day, I don't know if he was having me on and it was some kind of jok on his part but without warning, he suddenly hustled me in front of a queue and onto a bus. Rather taken by surprise, I fumbled for the fare he had paid and followed him upstairs to where he was sitting, looking intently out of the window. He then told me that we had been followed from the toilet and he pointed to a middle-aged, rather scruffy looking man in the crowd who I remember seeing earlier, loitering in the public toilet. It was ‘The Face’ from under the partitions again!

We stayed on the bus as it went around the City Centre; meanwhile, he sat there, pressing his leg firmly against mine. Even through my jeans, I could feel the warmth of his leg and this tenuous connection of our bodies passed an electric sexuality between us that was getting me highly aroused! The blood was pumping through my cock, tightly crushed inside my briefs, and there was an uncomfortable dampness developing in my groin as pre-cum oozed into my underwear as we sat there, our jean-clad thighs pressed warmly together.

By the time we reached the Town Hall, he seemed to be less nervous. We had lost our follower, so we changed buses and headed to my place. On the way, I tried to make ‘small talk’ and he responded chattily. He had a gorgeous Liverpool accent but said he lived locally. I learned that he had left his parents in Liverpool to find work and that he shared a flat not far from where I now lived, so he didn’t feel that he was heading into totally strange parts. The short walk from the bus seemed to take ages; my heart was beating fast and it was thumping into my throat. I was nervous that we might meet someone I knew; what would I say? But as it happened, we didn’t pass anyone.

He seemed impressed when I showed him into my flat and immediately asked how much it cost. Typical of a Liverpool ‘Lad’, I thought; winningly engaging but always straight to the point. I took his leather bomber-jacket, gave him a Coke and sat down on the couch, patting the seat next to me, indicating for him to sit beside me, which he did. As I put my arm around him, he responded straight away by doing the same and by snuggling up to me affectionately. I stroked his face and again told him how beautiful he was.

“Thank you,” he said with a coy grin. He seemed genuinely flattered.

As I moved to kiss him, he turned toward me and our lips met for the second time in a kiss of such tenderness, quite unlike anything you could imagine from an 18 year-old. His lips were full and his mouth tasted slightly of mint, as our passions roused and our tongues entwined. I began to realise that he may have been 18 but he was no novice. He certainly knew how to kiss, that’s for sure!

Eagerly, he following me into the bedroom, where I drew the curtains and closed the door. In the semi-darkness, we embraced again but this time, unlike in the toilet cubicle, we were safe and secure from prying eyes. Our whole bodies now pressing together, we kissed and hugged. He began to unbutton my shirt as I removed his t-shirt, revealing soft tanned arms and a strong chest delicately peppered with tiny hairs. Again we hugged, but this time our skins touched for the first time and passed bodily warmth between us. Feverishly, I unzipped his flies and unbuckled his belt but by now, we were both so desperate to get into bed that we both just dropped our jeans and almost leapt into bed, still wearing our underpants.

Under the covers, we fell against each other, skin against skin, and I felt the warm hardness of his organ against mine through our underwear.  Soon, however, the underwear was gone and we were fully naked, entwined, hugging and kissing in a heat of frantic passion. I could feel his organ, large and full, between our stomachs as I lay on top of him and he began thrusting upwards to me.

Looking back from today’s world of the internet and ‘porn on tap’, it’s difficult to explain but all this excitement simply proved too much for me and his eagerness tipped me over the edge; all my pent-up sexual frustrations rose within me and I came uncontrollably against his stomach and erect cock, hugging and pressing myself to him. As I clung to him, my orgasm enveloped my whole body, as my semen gushed uncontrollably in pulses between us.

I was mortified. While I did not count myself as promiscuous, I had ‘been around the block a few times’, so this sort of thing was not supposed to happen to me and I was embarrassed. I thought I had blown my chances and it was all over. Light-heartedly, I apologized and quickly mopped up the mess, as I didn’t want to disappoint him. But there was no fear of that; he rolled me onto my back and knelt astride me, holding his throbbing penis in my face, foreskin already drawn back in anticipation. Evidently, he hadn’t forgotten our bargain back in the public toilet!

I too had no intention of breaking our ‘contract’, so I eagerly took his throbbing tool in my mouth and began sucking and playing with it. He loved it. We rolled about in a number of positions, with me sucking him and tickling and licking his testicles; and him thoroughly reveling in it. But I had to keep resting my jaw; it was beginning to ache and juices were everywhere; he was a big lad for one so slightly built.

 “I’m a good stayer,” he joked, and he certainly was. I wasn’t about to give up either; he was 18, beautiful - and all mine. 

But eventually, I felt the tell-tale signs; now on his back again with me crouched between his baby-soft thighs, his organ in my mouth and gripped in my hand, his breathing suddenly changed and he began gasping and shuddering. Don’t you simply love that moment when a young man loses all self-control just before he cums? With a deep, hard gasp, he exploded into my mouth 3 or 4 times, great gushes of salty cum coursing through his organ and filling my mouth.

Some guys (girls too, I suppose) don’t like the taste of a guy’s cum, so they either spit it out or let it dribble back out of their mouth. For me though, the whole experience is a very personal one and while I don’t much like the taste, I feel that swallowing it increases that connection; it creates an even deeper bond between the ‘giver’ and the ‘receiver’. Besides which, having a man’s cum permanently inside me is very satisfying; at least it is for me, at any rate!  Consequently, as his throbbing cock subsided, I swallowed all of his slimy, slithery juices. His body then relaxing and exhausted, he breathed heavily.

“Jeez, I needed that!” he said, as we collapsed into each other’s arms, once again hugging and kissing.

At this point, I thought he would want to leave, his passion satisfied; but he hadn’t had enough, it seemed. We continued laying together, caressing and stroking, hugging and kissing, rolling about in loving passion the likes of which I had not felt in a long while. Occasionally, we would rest and just lay still in each other’s arms, softly talking, only to return to the hugging and kissing with renewed vitality. I complimented him on how passionate a lover he was. He liked that.

I said, “You’re not shy either, are you”, and he looked at me, slightly surprised, and replied, “No”, as if it had never occurred to him.

As we still lay entwined, without any warning he then said,

“Well, can I stick it up you then?”

Although the abruptness of his request came as something of a surprise, it was by no means out of character. He was direct and to the point. But I saw this as an opportunity, so in an attempt to persuade him to meet me again, I said I thought maybe we should keep that for another time. He didn’t seem to mind, except that now we began exploring each other’s bottoms.

As I played my finger around his anus, I realised that this was one of his weak spots, as it was mine in fact. He began groaning and he clasped my hand, pressing my finger into him. With the aid of a little lube, I began to finger-fuck him, massaging his prostate while he writhed about, groaning in ecstasy. For a few moments, I had his entire body sensations under my control (again) and I sensed he was going to let go again. I felt tremendous. But he had other ideas still in his mind because he gently pushed me away, grabbing the lube and following my example. Now he was the one who had me under his control and my mind soon changed regarding his request to screw me! He rolled me over and took charge.

I asked him to take it gently – he was only young and I wasn’t sure how desperate he might be. But I need have had no fears. As I lay on my front over a pillow, face to one side and one knee raised, he lubricated his now throbbing organ and my aching anus. He entered me just a little at a time, pausing when I asked, allowing me to relax. He wasn’t particularly well-endowed, as if that mattered, but he was fairly narrow too, so I was able to accommodate him with very little discomfort. However, his cock was quite long and it was terrific to feel his slender organ sliding smoothly in and out, upwards and inwards, rhythmically inside me, as he lay against my back with his arms firmly clasped around me. It was sheer bliss.

Eventually, he began thrusting in earnest, almost withdrawing in between his full, hard thrusts into me. In fact, he slipped out twice and got a bit flustered at nearly losing it – he was obviously getting near to his climax. I calmed him as he entered again easily, softly encouraging him to continue, and he began thrusting again, now desperately. As I felt his rhythm change, he thrust once or twice really hard into me as far as he could go and, reaching his climax, he grasped both my hands on the pillow and buried his face against my neck. I could feel him holding his breath, as he held absolutely still for a second or two; and then I felt his organ pulsing high inside me – 2, 3, 4, 5 times he came into me, my insides warmed by the love fluid flowing into me. Then he let out a gasp and I felt him relax his frantic grip of me, as he just lay there on top of me, his tool still slowly throbbing the last of his orgasm inside me.

Exhausted, his tool slipped out of me as he still lay against my back, sighing and breathing heavily. I sighed too – frankly, I had never had it so good!  As we rolled over into each other’s arms once again, I told him so and he was justly flattered. We must have rolled about kissing and embracing for quite some time until he finally asked if I had cum when he screwed me. I told him I hadn’t, although I had been pretty close, and to my utter amazement, he said,

“Right, well it’s your turn then – I’ll do you a blow job” and with the words, “Let me at it!” he climbed over in-between my legs and began passionately sucking my still hard penis and tickling my testicles with his fingers.

Frankly, I was speechless; this 18 year-old fantasy had just had two quite tremendous orgasms in the space and he was still as excited and, what’s more, he was interested in me. I wasn’t expecting any more than I had already experienced but I was ready for anything he was prepared to offer and I was enjoying every precious moment.

He didn’t move up and down on me much; instead, he teased me with his mouth and tongue, second by second, so slowly that as I felt myself drawing towards a climax, it was so gently and slowly done that the tension was almost agonizing in its pleasure. I began shaking what seemed like ages before I came but then I could feel the fluid rising in me, flowing on its inexorable path to the outside world. I clutched at his head, gasping for breath, and came like a small fountain into his mouth, pumping away while he eagerly swallowed every drop I gave him until I was truly spent.

I was still gasping for breath when he collapsed against me again, where he lay for another ten minutes or so until it was time for him to return to his own flat. We had been in bed together for nearly three hours and finally he was leaving. We dressed and tidied up and I asked if I could see him again. To this day, his reply still baffles me.

“What do you think?” he said.

I’ve often wondered at the double meaning in his response but at the time, I took it at face value, gave him my phone number and attempted to express sincere feeling to him as I showed him out to the road and directed him to his bus home.

A beautiful cheery face smiled back at me as I waved to him disappearing down the road. As I returned to my flat and closed the door, I was alone again and felt suddenly empty and yet at the same time rejuvenated. For me, nothing short of a fantasy had come true and it felt all the better for knowing that he had had a bloody good time too! Our afternoon had been filled with such intense passion that I thought, “Surely this was more than just another ‘one night stand’ encounter?”  But he never contacted me and I never saw him again. All I have is the memory; the image etched in my mind of that beautiful young man’s face, the warmth of his soft skin against mine and that incredible Thursday afternoon.

If you liked that story, please let me know - even post a comment under “ask me a question”. Or perhaps you’d just like to read another story?

Here’s an index of my other sordid tales, many of them taken from true-life sexual adventures of my own: Erotic Gay Stories Index

[mothofmyth]

Steve Harrington takes up journaling.

Look, he's a very traumatised teenager in the 80s. He's got barely any friends, essentially no family worth a damn, and he's definitely not getting a therapist any time soon.

He remembered asking Nancy once, while they were still dating, why girls keep diaries. Why they write shit in them if they don't want anybody to read it.

She told him she likes it because it's like having a friend who can't give you advice you don't want, who won't give you their opinion or judgement on things they don't know enough about.

A diary can't betray your trust the way a human can, so long as you hide it well enough, and if you write something in it that you're not allowed to talk about, you can always tear out the page and throw it in a fire. It's how she compartmentalises. It's a release.

Steve honestly thought it was dumb at first. Leaving all of your secrets conveniently together in one place. If you invited friends over or threw a party and someone found it you'd be socially ruined before you even knew it was gone.

Still, after everything goes down... Steve has no friends his own age, he's sort of responsible for a bunch of traumatised kids, he's for all intents and purposes alone. He feels like he's going to pop if he doesn't tell someone something.

~

He's throwing another tantrum, as his mom would call it. Tearing up and throwing anything he can find, uncaring of the mess he'll have to clean up later. He just can't cope, and it's not like anybody's stopping him.

He turns his attention to a bookshelf, starts tearing pages out of paperbacks and launching them across the room. He picks up an old notebook, probably a spare he got for school and never got round to using.

It makes him pause, remembering an old, old conversation with somebody he used to love.

He figures, what harm could it do to try? It's not like destroying the house for the third time this week is helping much, nor did climbing into his dad's liquor cabinet and falling to the bottom of a bottle of barrel-aged whiskey.

He grabs a cracked biro off the floor, ignoring the way the plastic crunches a little in his too-firm grip.

He opens the book to the first page and begins to write.

He doesn't really know what he's doing, so he just starts putting his stream of consciousness onto the page. At first it's barely coherent scribblings, but once he starts, he finds there's things he wants to say, things he's been desperate to tell someone just to get them out of his head. He couldn't tell the kids, couldn't tell Nancy or his parents, definitely couldn't tell Tommy and Carol, so he tells the book, instead.

He pours out his darkest thoughts, writes things he would never say out loud, about how sometimes he wishes the demogorgon had taken him out, wishes Billy had killed him, how maybe the kids would be better off that way.

He writes about how exhausted he is, how much he hates his friends and the government and everybody who dragged him to this point and then left him hanging. Left him to drown.

Like Barb drowned. When he killed her. When stupid Nancy invited her stupid friend to his stupid party because stupid Tommy and stupid Carol wanted to play in his stupid pool at his stupid house because his stupid parents were on a stupid business trip.

He presses too hard and the paper tears under his pen. He realises he's crying when he tries to put the paper back together and the ink smudges on his fingers.

He writes and writes until he feels empty inside, then he puts it in a shoebox and stuffs it back under his bed, along with all of those feelings and fears and traumas. With his absent parents and miserable little life and everything that he can never show to the rest of the world.

He starts cleaning up in a haze, forgetting all about his diary for the time being. He's got responsibilities, after all. Who else is gonna step up, if not him?

~

End for now, but this could go a number of ways feel free to add on. Maybe someone finds the journal. Maybe they get upset by what they see. Maybe they're insulted, or scared, or worried and horrified about Steve's inner monologue.

Maybe some kind of magic happens and the book is actually connected to someone else in some way, and they're seeing everything he's writing and start writing back soulmates-style.

Maybe the book is someone, and they materialise from it having been created by Steve's thoughts or just summoned to 'fix' him.

Idk, as I said there's a lot of directions this could take.

[2t2r]

🦅✨ Symétrie parfaite ! Ce pygargue à tête blanche offre un reflet spectaculaire au Canadian Raptor Conservancy. Une vraie œuvre d’art de la nature ! 🤩

📸 Steve Biro

#Eagle #Nature #Wildlife #Canada #Majestic #BirdLovers

[porterdavis]

A remarkable symmetrical reflection of this beautiful Bald Eagle at the Canadian Raptor Conservancy.

More details/photos: https://bit.ly/3ZMo2lz

[📹 Steve Biro]

[theravequeen]

Give your sexuality headcanons NOW

Ok here we go

I'm only doing characters I care about a lot but if anyone wants a specific character feel free to ask I suppose!

Tony Stark - Bisexual as hell

(I ship him w/ Stephen Strange)

Stephen Strange - Gay. He is gay and Christine was his denial.

(I wonder who I ship him with /j)

Natasha Romanoff - Bisexual

(Ship her w/ Clint Barton)

Steve Rogers - Bisexual

(Stucky ride or die. SamStucky also good)

Clint Barton - Can't decide if he's the token straight or if he's also Bi

Bucky Barnes - Gay as hell

(Ship w/ Steve and/or Sam)

Sam Wilson - Bisexual

(why is everyone bisexual)

Peter Parker - Asexual/Biromantic

(he is me I am him) (Ship him with MJ the one & only <3)

Harley Keener: Pansexual

(ship him w/ OC(s))

MJ - Asexual/Biromantic

(ace/biro nation rise up)

Ned Leeds - Asexual/Aromantic

(obviously I ship him with no one)

Kate Bishop - Bisexual

Yelena Belova - Asexual/Aromantic

(Have been toying with QPR KateYelena but I'm not sure)

Also for funzies, they're not important in my AU but this ship has changed my brain chemistry:

Pepper Potts - Somewhere under the bi umbrella

(I Ship her with Christine Palmer)(but Pepperony is ok too)

Christine Palmer - Pansexual

(please keep StrangePalmer at least 32ft away from me) (Dr. Pepper Nation rise up)

I'm probably missing someone but hey if you forget them they're probably not that important right? OKAY BYEEE

[scienceacumen]

A remarkable symmetrical reflection of this beautiful Bald Eagle at the Canadian Raptor Conservancy 🦅

📷: Steve Biro

[mcyt-builds-contest]

The Winter Cabin

Builder : Technoblade and Philza

Series : DSMP

Propaganda : techno and phil's cabins are THE build they're what minecraft is to me maybe not impressive or huge. they use common materials. there's no redstone mechanics. but they're what minecraft is about: making a place yours. making something with your friend. genuinely the most meaningful build in my opinion because it was simple and cozy and made sense for these characters! the stable with carl right in front. the dog house. the soft glow of the beacon. the fact their cabins are connected. similar but not the same. that's my propaganda op. that these cabins sum up what makes minecraft so lovely. and are a great memory for techno. | It's cozy and safe. The perfect hideaway for anyone looking to plan revenge and hold political book clubs. Includes three main houses and a giant training area. It has many adorable animals, including Steve. A polar bear.

The Noisy Neighbors Tower

Builder : Pearlescentmoon and Bigbst4tz2

Series : Limited Life

Propaganda : It's a nice tower with a nice roof and at least 4 murders happened in it, And more were attempted. It has frogs, and the frogs have NOSES!!!! WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?????

Taglist!

@10piecechickenmcnugget @biro-slay @betweenlands

[whereifindsanity]

Steve Biro Photography

Skies over River Canard in Ontario, Canada.

[ulkaralakbarova]

Kenneth Feinberg, a powerful D.C. lawyer appointed Special Master of the 9/11 Fund, fights off the cynicism, bureaucracy, and politics associated with administering government funds and, in doing so, discovers what life is worth. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Kenneth Feinberg: Michael Keaton Camille Biros: Amy Ryan Charles Wolf: Stanley Tucci Lee Quinn: Tate Donovan Priya Khundi: Shunori Ramanathan Dede Feinberg: Talia Balsam Karen Donato: Laura Benanti Frank Donato: Chris Tardio Darryl Barnes: Ato Blankson-Wood Gloria Toms: Carolyn Mignini John Ashcroft: Victor Slezak Law Student Barron: Logan Hart Law Student Patel: Vihaan Samat Law Student Nguyen: Laura Sohn Bart Cuthbert: Marc Maron Defense Lawyer / William: Alfredo Narciso Plaintiff Lawyer / Gary: Jason Kravits Oliver: Clifton Samuels Older Man (Speaking Spanish): Louis Arcella Attorney 2: Melissa Miller Translator: Ana Isabel Dow Tom Schultz Sr.: Ian Blackman June Schultz: Connie Ray Senator Kennedy: Steve Vinovich Senator Hagel: Bill Winkler Michael Myers: Jeff Biehl Katherine Wolf: Stephanie Heitman 9/11 Mother / Cathy: Deborah Hedwall Blue Collar Man: Tom Bruno Airline Lobbyist: Bradford How Large Fireman: Chris Cardona Richard: David Fierro Laura: Lynne Wintersteller Don: Jon Wenc Jim: Wass Stevens Myrna: Zuzanna Szadkowski Maya: Gayle Rankin Joan: Catherine Curtin Janice: Shernita Anderson Graham Morris: Andy Schneeflock Jose: Brandon Hernandez Carlos: E.R. Ruiz Usher: David Edward Jackson Ruth: Johanna Day Victor: Joseph Ragno Fedex Carrier: Panama Redd Mail Woman: Kay Walbye Fay: Miriam Morales Airline Lobbyist #2: Stephen Reich James: James Ciccone Anthoula: Anthoula Katsimatides Dancer: Jaime Verazin Dancer: Alessandra Marconi Dancer: Lindsey Hailes Dancer: Marc Heitzman Dancer: Jacob ‘Seven Feet’ Melvin Dancer: Jeffery Duffy Meeting Attendee: Billy Lefkowitz Film Crew: Director: Sara Colangelo Producer: Max Borenstein Casting: Kerry Barden Casting: Paul Schnee Original Music Composer: Nico Muhly Costume Design: Mirren Gordon-Crozier Editor: Julia Bloch Production Design: Tommaso Ortino Director of Photography: Pepe Avila del Pino Executive Producer: Nik Bower Executive Producer: Deepak Nayar Executive Producer: Ara Keshishian Executive Producer: Kimberly Fox Unit Production Manager: Charles Miller Executive Producer: Edward Fee Executive Producer: Allen Liu Producer: Marc Butan Producer: Anthony Katagas Producer: Michael Sugar Producer: Brad Dorros Producer: Sean Sorensen Producer: Michael Keaton Set Decoration: Olivia Peebles Makeup Department Head: Ivy Ermert Makeup Artist: Diane Calfee Makeup Artist: Charles Zambrano Visual Effects Supervisor: Eran Dinur Executive Producer: Mary Aloe Set Medic: Bop Tweedie Choreographer: Mark Stuart Production Accountant: James Stayne Producer’s Assistant: Anthony Santos Producer’s Assistant: Laura Pilloni Production Coordinator: Amanda O’Reilly Assistant Production Coordinator: Marilyn Majich Location Assistant: Cenia Hampton Payroll Accountant: Catherine ‘Annie’ Eklund Stand In: Dillon Egyes Production Assistant: Michael Egues Dialogue Coach: Jessica Drake Production Secretary: Dana Darby Post Production Accountant: Nathaniel Carota Script Supervisor: Erika Sanz Corbacho Music Editor: Suzana Peric Music Supervisor: Rupert Hollier Music Supervisor: David Fish Location Manager: Dennis Voskov Assistant Location Manager: Brit Smith Location Scout: Tom Sexton Location Assistant: Lindsey Lambert Location Scout: Eric Jordan Nussbaum Location Assistant: George Marro Location Scout: Sarah Crofts Color Assistant: Ben White Digital Intermediate Editor: Samantha Uber Digital Conform Editor: Josh Perault Finishing Producer: Michael Maida First Assistant Editor: Gordon Holmes Post Production Assistant: Dillon Henry Assistant Editor: Dan Grbic Colorist: Sam Daley Additional Editor: Tariq Anwar Costumer: Kaitie Galligan Assistant Costume Designer: Caitlin Doukas Key Costumer: Sawyer Devuyst Wardrobe Supervisor: Jillian Daidone Set Costumer: Mary Caprari Costume Coordinator: Talia Brody-Barre ADR Voice Casting...

[comicsforyall]

Stan Lee’s Daredevil Begins

Origins

In the early 1960’s Stan Lee was hoping that the people would see the light, and superhero comics would ramp up in popularity. The likes of Fantastic Four and Spider-Man were captivating the masses, and importantly, their pockets. As outlined in Sean Howe’s Marvel Comics: The Untold Story, Lee was frantically capitalizing on recent growth in the market in an attempt to court both financial stability and overall legitimacy for himself as a writer and storyteller. Perhaps more impactfully he was striving to have those attributes applied to the comics as a medium itself.

Fans of the emerging Marvel universe were as caught up in the names behind the characters, than the costumed adventurers themselves. The likes of Steve Ditko, Stan himself, and certainly Jack Kirby, were attracting readers in an early form of fandom. In an effort to expand past the limited roster of both heroes and creators, Marvel comics began trying out fresh faces both off and on the page.

It would turn out that the faces really only needed to be fresh to the readers for the most part, as a good number of those recruited into the business at this time were veterans of sorts of the comic book industry. Along with himself and Kirby, Lee recruited artist Bill Everett to help with the creation of one of the new superheroes. Leaving right after the debut issue, creation would turn out to be the main contribution from Everett.

Slightly conflicting accounts of the design of Daredevil exist from all three of the regularly credited creators, as described by Mark Evanier on the Jack F.A.Q. at POVONLINE. Suffice to say Lee, Everett, and Kirby all seem to be wholly worthy of a co-creator credit. The full truth is most likely lost to the time, but the seemingly plausible explanation, as told by Marvel Comics’ former editor-in-chief Joe Quesada is that Lee, Everett, and Kirby significantly contributed to the initial character production. Artists Steve Ditko and Sol Brodsky also came in to help at least finish the issue, but their exact contributions have not been reliably expounded on. The starting point for Daredevil is precisely known however, as he originates from a former comics superhero named… Daredevil.

The original Daredevil was a Liv Gleason Publication character, created by Jack Binder in the 1940’s, and was slightly reworked early on by writer and artist Charles Biro. This costumed crime fighter would begin mute, equipped with a boomerang, and wearing a spiked metal belt over his superhero tights. The mute angle would quickly be dropped, and a background of being raised by an aboriginal community in Australia would be established, presumably to explain the boomerang shtick. The modern Daredevil would inherit the concept of a disability, though he would persist being blind, as opposed to his counterpart’s muteness. This, coupled with his evening status of costumed vigilante, were about all the shared crossover from the two heroes besides their moniker.

Early on in Lee’s run, Daredevil may appear to rip from the in-house hit of Spider-Man more than even the progenitor of his name. Using his billy clubs to swing around the city in lieu of webs, coupled with the signature quippy nature of Lee’s dialogue, it would take a bit for Daredevil to really break the mold. Many villains would be borrowed or generic, and honestly a lot of early Daredevil feels like it is re-treading ground a bit. As the series develops the relationships between the main characters do shine through, and that is where a lot of the title’s charm is derived.

For twenty four issues, the first half of the first volume of Daredevil only focuses on three characters in any depth. Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson are best friends and law partners, who start up the office of Nelson and Murdock. Karen Page is brought in immediately to act as their secretary. This small group and the overly dramatic connections between them, are the heart of the series.

Matthew Murdock

Matthew Murdock, The Man Without Fear, the titular Daredevil. Matt is a blind lawyer by day, and a crime fighting superhero by night. He has a superhuman radar sense that gives him increased perception abilities, and a vast array of related (and unrelated) powers. He received his blindness and radar sense from a truck spilling nuclear waste onto him as a child, while he was trying to save an old man. Also as a child, he was kept inside by his father relentlessly, in an attempt to keep Matt safe and successful in school. Matt’s physical prowess and fighting abilities are a combination of his radar sense and an intense training regiment he engaged in as a youth, in defiance of his father’s will.

Matt’s father, Jonathan ‘Battling Jack’ Murdoch was a boxer, who knew the dangers and downsides of a life of fighting for survival. These drawbacks would eventually end Matt’s father’s life and inspire the creation of the Daredevil persona. “Battling” Jack Murdock was ordered to throw a fight by the mob boss known as The Fixer. He refuses to do so in part because his son was in attendance of the fight and he felt a need to set an example. Jack would be taken out in a hit organized by The Fixer for this, and subsequently Matt would create his alter ego. This all happens in the first issue, prior to the climactic finale.

While hunting down The Fixer, Daredevil gets the villain into a pursuit, on foot and barrel. In the excitement, the mob boss has a heart attack and dies, but reveals that it was his lackey, Slade, who actually pulled the trigger on Jack Murdock. Daredevil finishes the night by turning Slade over to the police, announcing his name as Daredevil and running off into the night, promising to return. It’s a bizarre and weirdly tragic story that in many ways would define Stan Lee’s run on the title.

In the well-known origin of Spider-Man, Peter Parker’s refusal to act against a criminal results in the heartbreaking death of his uncle. This instills in him the responsibility of using his powers when they can make a difference. For Matt the situation is a bit different, as he actively trains and equips himself with the goal of going against a specific person. He does so, and from his own view he is quite successful. There is little to no worry over the death of The Fixer, and Matt seems to be having more fun than anything else towards the end of his introduction. He does not labor over guilt from the death at his hands, instead he throws himself fully into the Daredevil alter ego, even when it is not convenient in his day to day life.

Taken at face value, after becoming Daredevil, Matt is a callous jerk who routinely acts in defiance of basic decision making. He is much more concerned with quips and flips than being effective. This of course is all in service of playing the part of bouncing, energetic superhero. In many ways this archetypal personality would be reflected years down the line in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, with the headliners of Iron Man, Doctor Strange, and Captain Marvel. The witty, headstrong protagonist is something the Marvel fan base will continue to gravitate to time and time again. There’s nothing all that unique about the characterization of Matt, as compared to other similar main characters that permeate the industry, especially at his origins. He becomes much more of a flawed individual, when viewed as a human who often hides his own intent and emotions. Sometimes from himself, intentionally or otherwise.

Matt experienced the terrible murder and loss of his father as well the traumatic accident of losing his sight early on in life. These events obviously deeply affect him, as he makes the decisions to train and reach physical peak, while running around doling out vigilante justice with billy clubs.This is clearly eccentric, but is also self sabotage, as his endeavors consistently jeopardize his day job of the ostensibly upstanding defense attorney. He is almost obsessed with his vigilantism, as he continually throws himself into mortal danger, risks his financial stability, and deceives those closest to him, all while gleefully offering never ending puns and sarcasm.

Accepting the main character’s behavior as erratic and manic makes the entire reading experience more enjoyable, and is encouraged by the plot. Future developments, such as the introduction of yet another alter ego for Matt Murdock further play into the idea that he is a bit more disconnected from reality than he realizes.

From the main presentation, it could be said Matt comes across as a boilerplate protagonist, a bit generic. This is subverted in a couple of notable ways, but foremost amongst them in terms of notoriety is the disability that spawns his superhuman abilities.

Despite it being his most famous characteristic, it can hardly be said that being blind is a focal point of the series in any way. Matt can’t see, but with his radar-sense it’s demonstrated that he has far greater and more precise perception than his sighted peers. This is the crux of his ability to be a superhero, but also could be seen to undermine his integrity a bit. Since he has the capabilities, he isn’t really needing the extra concern and care he is given from those around him. He is omitting parts of the truth.

Following that line of interpretation is shallow though, because the reality is those with disabilities are indeed capable, they just face individual obstacles that severely impede them. Matt does not go into depth on the real day to day hardships he faces, despite his radar-sense, but then he is not exactly the most self-aware at all. Matt as a character, much like the entire series, comes across more fleshed out when taking into account the struggles he, as a fictional personality, would omit when retelling. The small moral conundrums and stark dichotomies in Matt’s life come together to create someone who, at the very least, is an excellent vehicle for melodrama.

Foggy Nelson

The other half of the law office, Franklin ‘Foggy’ Nelson is Matt’s best friend as well as coworker. He is petty, jealous, and overall a bit immature. He constantly feels inadequate, comparing himself to Matt despite the fact they are of very similar means. Add on top his pining over their secretary Karen Page, who is more interested in both Matt Murdock and Daredevil each, and Foggy can come across as an unlikeable guy. Irrational at times, and frequently self-serving, the quirks of his character thankfully come across as lighthearted thanks to the light hearted tone of the series. The problematic nature of much of Foggy’s behavior is rendered at least comical and at most justified in relation to the context of many of the convoluted situations. Foggy deceiving his friend’s by pretending to be Daredevil is forgivable and funny when juxtaposed to the fact that Matt does the opposite on a daily basis.

Appearing slightly shorter and more portly than his superhero friend, Foggy’s realistic character design is a welcome rarity on the comics scene. Unfortunately this serves for a few cheap gags, but does differentiate Foggy from his superhero friend, and the usual muscle bound foes Daredevil goes up against. The limited cast in the series almost forces the story to push and pull the main characters around their respective moral spectrums, and being more reflective of the everyman works in Foggy’s favor.

The heart of the relationship between Matt and Foggy is complicated at times, but sort of redeems them both. His best friend is not just keeping him in the dark in an attempt to keep him safe, along the lines of Superman or Spider-Man. Instead Foggy’s bff is actively lying about his disability, and frequently using his powers irresponsibly or inappropriately. Daredevil consistently leads villains to the law office, and occasionally uses his super hearing to listen in on his colleagues private conversations, and then subsequently deceive them. While this spin is not the focus of the series, it does help to shine a redeeming light on a character some might find a bit off putting or bland at times.

Karen Page

The third member of the law office is secretary Karen Page. Coming across as relatively likable and normal, her backstory is certainly the least explored of the main cast. She is the typical comic book stereotype of a 1960’s woman, written by a man. At times immature and boy crazy, Karen can come across as juvenile frequently, despite her not being notably young or anything of the sort. In the contemporary X-Men series, Lee sometimes gets away with awkwardly misogynistic depictions of the singular woman character, Jean Grey, by specifying she is younger and less experienced than her teammates. Besides potentially an education in law gap, there is no real scapegoat in place for Karen.

Karen is immediately smitten with Matt Murdock, but laments the perceived inherent truth that a blind man could never marry a woman who can see. It’s a weird thought process that both Karen and Matt have, just patently refusing the idea of a blind person finding love. Along with her crush on Matt, she falls for both Foggy, Daredevil, and the idea that Foggy could be Daredevil.

Some of Karen’s thoughts and dialogues are seemingly results of a man trying to replicate those he has seen from others, but does not quite understand. A more practical depiction would likely touch on the power imbalance of both her bosses having romantic interest in her as soon as she is hired. Of course this is a superhero comic book from the 1960’s, and as mentioned previously there are only three main characters, so they each have to stretch and fill narrative slots. The constrictions of the format pad out the lesser writing job done for Karen, much like it softens the blow from some of the other two’s more outright malicious or nonsensical actions.

At the end of the first twenty four issues, Karen has a lot of tropes and associated baggage placed on her that has to be overlooked, but if that is possible, she has a few shining moments. She comes out a bit inconsistent and not always likable, but compared to many comic side characters and romantic interests particularly, Karen Page has a burgeoning personality and seems poised for positive character growth.

Year One

Daredevil comes right out of the gate stumbling. The first issue is drawn by Bill Everett, and while it is well done, it’s the only one he ends up completing. After the debut, Joe Orlando picks up the next three without too jarring of a change, but the first four issues as a whole leave a bit to be desired artistically. While completely inoffensive and passable, the art’s largest drawback is that it is seemingly trying to replicate Kirby and to an extent Ditko, to varying levels of success. Both Everett and Orlando’s Daredevil can look like a posed mannequin instead of an acrobat in motion more often than not.

The stilted depiction is accentuated by the signature flowery dialogue of Lee. There is a definite sense of trying to cram the product with content in the opening few issues. The scenes are rapid and all over the place, but filled with tons of text to stretch the reading time and each scene out longer. While fighting Electro, Daredevil manages to fly a spaceship into space and back down to Earth in the span of a couple of pages. These types of hijinks are the heart of this era of Daredevil. The tone is the epitome of classic costumed vigilantes and that has to be accepted and enjoyed for the series to have a positive impact in any way.

Bolstering the borderline corny setup is the monster of the week structure taken by the comics. While not uncommon to comics at the time, it is notable that storylines barely stretch over multiple issues, and the villain is usually unique for each of the first ten or so issues. This adds to the memorability of the villains since they get books entirely dedicated to both their origin and fight with Daredevil. However it can suppress interest in the established cast of the book, as they don’t make many lasting or impactful decisions during this stint. The small bits of lasting continuity tend to happen in crowded word balloons over a single page of conversation between Matt, Foggy, and/or Karen bookending the issue.

The plots can be overly melodramatic, but also compelling, such as when Karen insists Matt get an experimental surgery to cure his blindness. However since he is scared it could turn off his Daredevil powers he does not want to go through with it. The biggest drawback to these dilemmas specifically is that the crux of the problem tends to just be that Matt can’t date Karen because he is blind. The inherent idea from both of them that a relationship is out of the question is so manufactured for the plot it feels barely plausible. To be fair though,The world of Daredevil, and Marvel comics in general, does not necessarily thrive in the plausible.

One of the more notable aspects of the first half-dozen issues is Daredevil’s costume. He is sporting a garish yellow and black color scheme as opposed to his usual muted shades of red. The original suit is passable, and gets points for more resembling an acrobat costume, which is the inspiration. However as soon as the new crimson costume appears on the page, it feels more natural for The Man Without Fear. Along with the red apparel comes creator Wally Wood, who puts in a distinctly personal run on the title.

Still being the 60’s, there is no escaping the attempts to build off Kirby’s influential artistic style, but Wally Wood is the first on this series to make the style his own. Daredevil begins to move through the space a bit more like Spider-Man, making the dynamic motions appear more believable and natural on page. The ‘Marvel method’ of making comics (art done first, dialogue inserted second) clearly comes through with Wood, more so than the previous Orlando. Arguably there is a wide array of pages that are more understandable when simply parsing the art, and ignoring the dialogue altogether. Lee’s signature verbosity can just over explain exactly what has been drawn, and frequently slows the book to a crawl. Given the weight of the story which is held up by the art, it’s only slightly surprising to come across the tenth issue of Daredevil. Unlike the rest of the first fifty, this issue is not written by Stan Lee, but instead Wally Wood.

The tenth issue is a bit of a breath of fresh air, being distinct in style from the surrounding bunch. While clearly intentionally keeping with Lee’s signature tone, the plot of the issue is more complex to start. The story involves a group of villains, The Ani-Men, who should feel generic with names like Frog-Man and Ape-Man, but they each have a lot of charm. There is a more clear arc, and the writing feels more purposeful than the previous stories, which were more concerned with explaining the page rather than advancing the plot. There is a case to be made that the issue benefits from the singular writer/artist, as opposed to the usual tag team approach. The entire story is a setup to a mystery that will be concluded in the next one, while claiming that all the hints the readers need are there if they can find it. Even a small gimmick like that feels innovative given the context.

This is not to try and elevate the comic too much and say that it is some masterpiece, or even to say it is not clearly replicating Lee. However it shows, at the time especially, that Lee is not the only person who can effectively write his characters. It proves in some cases a fresh perspective brings new life to a series. By the next issue though it is clear these are not the takeaways, at least from those behind the scenes.

The eleventh issue, and all those that follow up to number fifty are given back to Stan Lee’s pen. Wally Wood departs from the book, and the second half of his story is given to Lee to wrap up, cliffhanger and all. In an awkward move, Lee decides to print in the comic a message to the readers about the situation. He proclaims that Wood left it to Lee to finish the story without giving him the ending or any notes. He was clearly both covering in case the story came out subpar, but was also publicly shaming Wood. The wrap-up is fine, and honestly would have been more enjoyable if it was not undercut by the meta commentary informing of its potential flaws.

At this point in the narrative, Matt decides to give Murdock and Nelson the same treatment Wood gave Marvel, and he gets out of there. Bob Powell does pencils with Wood, and does a few issues on his own in the aftermath of the departure.

John Romita Sr, comes in after Powell and brings a striking look to the book. Under Romita’s pen the comic gets darker, and more detailed in a borderline striking departure from form. This won’t last too long, but is another welcome shake up to the already formulaic series. The evolution and maturity of the stories does ramp up with the new art, and the second year of Daredevil ushers in a new rhythm for the title.

Year Two

Arriving at issue twelve of Daredevil, the Marvel Universe as a whole is picking up in quality and it’s noticeable. While Wood’s art was fantastic, the book just did not really ever take off on his run, possibly due to the creative challenges behind the scenes. For Romita and Lee, the chemistry seems to be there from the start, and the mindset on how to present the stories has changed up. Multi-issue arcs become quite common, and some light plot throughlines begin persisting and progressing instead of snapping back to a hard set status quo after each caper.

While the first year of comics had a tendency towards introducing and defeating villains in a single issue, the second year sees a lot more recurring antagonists. The building of storylines and slowly growing complexity of the series is starting, and welcomed. Prior, the narrative felt like it was spinning its wheels trying to establish a consistent status quo. In the second year, there is more of an emphasis on character development. Daredevil also starts to come up against obstacles that are simply too large for one man, fearful or not.

With his reputation growing, the story sees Daredevil develop into a more understood threat by those around him. His enemies, such as the Masked Marauder and the Owl, begin employing muscle to try and head off Daredevil instead of opting to face him themselves. While inspiring fear may bring him some level of respect and acknowledgment, it also highlights the sheer ineffectiveness and overall futile effort of Matt Murdock to deal with crime.

As one man, no matter how good he can punch and kick, he is unable to physically take down multi level crime organizations that are embedded into their communities. Arguably, Matt could have better luck utilizing his law degree to elicit local change, rather than punching people. This dichotomy of breaking and enforcing the law in order to better society is recurring and compelling, but rarely explored in depth.

Closing Arguments

The first two years of Daredevil’s existence are the epitome of a beginning comic book superhero. Tropes and plot contrivances are abundant, the tone swings from lighthearted to surprisingly dark, with Stan Lee’s wise cracking dialogue shepherding the story along. Compared to modern books, there is not too much from this classic that hasn’t been seen before. However with services like Marvel Unlimited, the series becomes as accessible as any app, and Daredevil comics become a fun and easy way to waste time instead of the horrors of social media.

For the most part, the audience for this in the current day is mostly folks capitalizing on nostalgia or interested in the history and development of Daredevil. Arguably there is a lot of fun to be had, the book just requires a certain approach and limited expectations. The reader who idolizes their hero, and wants a paragon of virtue or a stone cold badass, will be disappointed. However the reader who is ready for melodramatic plots, severely flawed characters, and is willing to skip some text in the never ending fights, will have a solid experience.

Citation Station

The Cover Original Article

Daredevil, Issues 1-24

1-9, 11-24 written by Stan Lee

10 written by Wally Wood

1 art by Bill Everett

1 art by Jack Kirby

2-4 art by Joe Orlando

5-10 art by Wally Wood

9-11 art by Bob Powell

12-19 art by John Romita Sr.

Marvel Comics: The Untold Story, by Sean Howe

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