#first a.i. city of the future

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

Mr. Pickles, your small fluffy dog, has disappeared and your lover goes on a hunt to find him

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Bullseye, Marc Spector, Taskmaster, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Ben Grimm, Susan Storm, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa, Elektra Natchios, Muse, Victor von Doom, Peter Quill & Nova

Mr. Pickles is my proudest creation ♡

Peter Parker (Spider-Man)

- Peter knows what it means to lose something you love. The moment he sees your face, tear-streaked and trembling, he drops everything—his textbooks, his half-eaten sandwich, his entire afternoon—to pull you into his arms. "We'll find him," he whispers into your hair, his voice a promise, a prayer. His mind races with every possibility—where a tiny, fluffy dog could have wandered, what dangers lurk in the city streets. He forces himself to stay lighthearted, for you. "Mr. Pickles is a survivor," he assures you, "just like his mom." But inside, his heart clenches at the thought of you losing something you love. Again.

- He swings across the city, calling the dog's name, peering into alleyways and between dumpsters, ignoring the odd looks from pedestrians below. "C'mon, buddy," he mutters, landing softly on a rooftop. "If I were a small, dumb, fluffy dog, where would I go?" His mask hides his worry, but his pulse betrays him. You had whispered once, in the quiet dark of your shared bed, that Mr. Pickles was there before Peter—that the little dog had curled against you on nights too cold, too lonely to bear. That he had been your solace. Peter clenches his fists. He has to find him.

- Hours pass, and the city hums beneath him, indifferent. He stops only when he hears the faintest whimper from a storm drain, the soft scrape of tiny paws against metal. Relief crashes over him so fast he almost collapses. "Oh, Mr. Pickles, you little troublemaker," he breathes, scooping the trembling dog into his arms. The weight of him, warm and alive, nearly makes Peter cry. He presses his forehead against the dog's tiny head. "Your mom's gonna kill me if I bring you back dirty," he laughs, voice shaking.

- When he swings through your window, landing with a soft thud, you barely get the chance to register his presence before he's pushing Mr. Pickles into your arms. You sob into the dog's soft fur, and Peter watches, eyes warm, body aching with love. Then, when you finally look up at him, when your beautiful face splits into the most brilliant, teary smile, Peter Parker knows—he would search a thousand cities, lift a thousand storm drain covers, break apart the world itself if it meant keeping that smile.

Tony Stark (Iron Man)

- "It’s just a dog," Tony had said at first, exhaling through his nose, watching you pace the length of his penthouse with wild, desperate eyes. But then you turned to him, looking at him like he had just shattered the universe, and something in his chest tightened. "Okay, okay, bad choice of words," he amended quickly, setting down his glass of scotch. "We’ll find him, sweetheart. Trust me." He kissed your forehead, and when he pulled away, he was already barking orders at J.A.R.V.I.S. to scan the streets.

- The city is his playground, and when Tony Stark hunts, nothing escapes him. Drones sweep over sidewalks, infrared cameras scan the gutters, and his A.I. combs through every security feed within a ten-block radius. It should be easy, finding something small, white, and fluffy. But as the hours stretch, as your voice cracks when you call Mr. Pickles’ name into the empty night, Tony feels something unfamiliar claw at his throat. Panic. Helplessness. He can build weapons that level cities, fly into warzones, rewrite the future with his mind, but he can’t stop the way your hands shake. He can’t fix this with money or brilliance. He just has to find that damn dog.

- And then—finally—one of his drones pings. A little white fluffball, trapped behind the fence of a construction site, tail wagging pathetically, waiting. Tony exhales sharply. "Gotcha, you little idiot," he murmurs, already summoning the nearest Iron Man suit. He could call someone, sure. Could send a bot, have the dog airlifted in a grand display of Stark-level theatrics. But he doesn’t. Because he wants to be the one to bring him home to you. He wants to be the reason your eyes stop looking so haunted.

- When he steps through the front door, Mr. Pickles in his arms, you don’t hesitate. You throw yourself at him, burying your face in his chest, shaking with relief. Tony doesn’t joke. Doesn’t smirk. He just holds you, one hand stroking your hair, the other keeping a firm grip on the tiny dog between you. He sighs against your temple. "Next time, we’re microchipping this little bastard," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. But the truth is, if it meant making you happy, Tony Stark would search the ends of the earth for that damn dog again. And again. And again.

Steve Rogers (Captain America)

- You are inconsolable. Steve sees it in the way you sit curled on the couch, your arms wrapped around yourself like you are holding something together. The sight alone shatters him. He kneels before you, his large hands settling over your trembling ones, his voice low, steady. "We’ll find him, sweetheart. I swear." His words are a shield, a promise carved from the same steel as his bones. Because he will find Mr. Pickles, if only to take that sorrow from your eyes.

- He searches the old-fashioned way. No drones, no high-tech satellites. Just a man and his will. He jogs through the streets, stopping people with a polite, firm urgency, showing a picture of your dog on his phone. He speaks to shopkeepers, to children on bicycles, to the kind-faced woman selling flowers on the corner. Every second counts. But even as his pulse quickens, as the sun dips behind the skyline, he doesn't waver. The world has taken too much from him already—he will not let it take this from you.

- He finds Mr. Pickles in a tiny park, curled up beneath a bench, his fur damp with the evening dew. Steve exhales a deep, relieved breath, crouching slowly, his voice softer than a whisper. "Hey there, buddy," he murmurs, extending a careful hand. The dog whimpers, then leaps into his arms as if he knows—knows this man, knows that Steve Rogers is the safest place in the world.

- When Steve carries him home, you are waiting at the door, your beautiful face lit by the glow of the porchlight, eyes wide with hope. And then—joy. You let out a breathless sob, scooping the dog into your arms, pressing frantic kisses into his fur. Steve watches, his heart twisting in his chest. Then you turn to him, eyes glistening, and throw your arms around his neck. He catches you, as he always will, burying his face into your shoulder. "Told you I’d find him," he murmurs, holding you as tightly as he can.

Thor

- The moment Thor sees your sorrow, it is as if the very sky darkens. "Your heart aches," he rumbles, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "This shall not stand." And with that, he strides from the room, determination crackling in his wake. He does not understand how something so small could mean so much—but he does not need to understand. He only needs to act.

- He searches with the force of a storm. He speaks to the wind, commanding it to carry your dog’s scent across the city. He calls down thunder, demanding the heavens show him where your little beast has gone. Mortals look on in awe as the god of thunder strides through the streets, golden hair windswept, cape billowing. "MR. PICKLES!" his voice booms, rattling windows. "SHOW THYSELF, TINY WARRIOR!"

- And then, a soft yip—so small, so insignificant against the noise of the city, yet Thor hears it as clear as a battle cry. He finds Mr. Pickles atop a fruit cart, having somehow clambered to its highest peak. The vendor stares, frozen, as Thor reaches out, plucking the tiny dog from the pile of apples. "A most daring escape," Thor muses, holding the squirming fluff in one enormous hand. "You are braver than you appear, small one."

- When he returns to you, the dog safely in his arms, you let out a breathless, laughing sob. "You found him," you whisper. Thor beams. "Of course I did, my love," he declares, sweeping you—dog and all—into his arms. "No force in this realm shall keep what is yours from you.”

Loki

- Loki does not understand the gravity of it at first. A small creature, insignificant in size and strength, lost in the chaos of Midgard—what of it? But then he sees your face, the way grief pools in your beautiful eyes, the tremor in your hands as you call the dog’s name into the empty night. He watches, silent, as sorrow sinks its fangs into you. And suddenly, the matter is no longer trivial. The world may not care for Mr. Pickles, but you do. And Loki… Loki cares for you.

- He does not search as mortals do. No, he does not waste time scouring streets like a fool. He summons illusions, a hundred spectral versions of himself that spill into the city like shadows, slipping through alleyways, gliding across rooftops, whispering Mr. Pickles’s name to the wind. Magic coils at his fingertips, weaving through the currents of the world, seeking out the pulse of something small, something white and ridiculous. “Where have you gone, little fool?” he murmurs to the void. “Your mistress grieves for you. And I will not allow it.”

- The answer comes in a flicker of magic—an image flashing behind his eyes. A storm drain, deep beneath the city streets, where a tiny, trembling thing curls into itself. Loki sighs, pressing two fingers to his temple. “Of course,” he mutters, exasperated. Then, in a breath, he is there—appearing in a ripple of green light, boots sinking into damp concrete. The dog yelps, startled, but Loki merely raises an eyebrow. “You are filthier than I expected,” he muses, kneeling. Mr. Pickles stares, wide-eyed. Loki clicks his tongue. “Come now, do not be tiresome. Your lady awaits.”

- When he steps into your home, dog cradled in his arms like an offering, you let out a choked breath. Relief breaks across your face, radiant and overwhelming. You snatch Mr. Pickles from his grasp, burying your face in his fur, and for a moment, you are too consumed by joy to speak. Loki watches, arms crossed, head tilting. "You are lucky I find your devotion endearing," he drawls. Then, softer, he reaches out, fingertips ghosting along your cheek. "Do not grieve again, darling. I find I have little patience for it."

Clint Barton (Hawkeye)

- Clint knows what loss does to a person. Knows how it hollows them out, how it lingers in the quiet spaces between heartbeats. He sees it now, creeping into the corners of your beautiful face, sinking into the line of your shoulders. And he hates it. So, with a sharp breath and a determined set to his jaw, he presses a kiss to your forehead and grabs his jacket. “Don’t worry, babe,” he says, shouldering his bow. “I’ll bring the little guy home.”

- He moves through the city like he was born to it—quick, sharp-eyed, hands in his pockets as he scans every street, every alley. He whistles low and easy, calling Mr. Pickles’s name like he’s coaxing an old friend. He asks the vendors, the cab drivers, the kids playing basketball on the corner. And when that doesn’t work, he climbs. Up onto fire escapes, across rooftops, perching on ledges with the keen gaze of a predator. His archer’s eyes miss nothing. Somewhere down there, a small dumb dog is waiting to be found.

- It takes time, but eventually, he hears it—a faint, frantic yipping from behind a chain-link fence, where Mr. Pickles has somehow managed to trap himself in a tangle of garbage cans. Clint huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re really makin’ me work for it, huh, buddy?” The dog’s tail wags furiously at the sight of him. Clint doesn’t hesitate; he scales the fence in seconds, dropping down effortlessly. “C’mere, troublemaker,” he murmurs, scooping the tiny thing into his arms. “Your mom’s losing her mind over you.”

- When he walks through the door, Mr. Pickles wriggling excitedly in his grasp, you gasp, half laughing, half crying. “Clint!” And before he can react, you throw your arms around him, pressing desperate kisses to his jaw, his cheeks, his lips. Clint grins, warmth curling in his chest, burying his face in your hair. “Told ya I’d bring him back,” he murmurs. Then, pulling back just enough to look at you, voice teasing, “How ‘bout a reward for the hero?”

Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow)

- Natasha does not waste words on comfort. She sees the way your hands twist together, the way your breath hitches unevenly, and she simply touches your arm—firm, steady. "I’ll find him," she says, no hesitation, no doubt. And then she is gone, slipping into the night like a ghost, like a promise.

- Her search is meticulous, methodical. She moves through the city like a shadow, unseen, unheard. She checks every corner, every crevice, following the trail with a hunter’s patience. She kneels in the dirt, fingers brushing over the faintest paw prints. She watches surveillance footage from gas stations and convenience stores, scanning for any glimpse of white fur. Nothing escapes her. Nothing ever does.

- And then, finally, she finds him. A scared little thing, shivering beneath an abandoned car, too afraid to move. Natasha exhales slowly, lowering herself onto her stomach, voice quiet, gentle. "Hey, малыш," she murmurs. "Been having an adventure, huh?" Mr. Pickles hesitates—then, with a whimper, scrambles toward her. She catches him easily, tucking him against her chest. "Good boy," she whispers, stroking his tiny head. "Let’s get you home."

- When she returns, she says nothing—just steps into the room, holding out the small, trembling dog. The sound you make is small, broken, and then you are running to her, hands shaking as you take Mr. Pickles into your arms. Natasha watches, something warm and aching unfurling in her chest. And when you turn to her, whispering "Thank you," voice thick with emotion, she simply pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Always," she murmurs.

Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier)

- Bucky knows the weight of grief. Knows how it clings to the ribs, how it turns the world gray. When he sees it on you, something inside him twists. He cups your face, brushing his thumbs beneath your eyes, steel and flesh both warm against your skin. “I’ll get him back,” he says, voice rough, edged with quiet desperation. “I swear it.”

- He searches with the kind of relentless patience only a soldier possesses. He moves through the city in silence, scanning every street, listening, waiting. His training takes over—tracking, reading the subtle disturbances in the world. A knocked-over trash can. A set of tiny paw prints in the dust. He follows them like a wolf on a scent, every step precise, measured. He does not stop. He does not falter.

- He finds Mr. Pickles curled up on a stranger’s doorstep, looking lost and exhausted. Bucky crouches slowly, voice soft. “Hey there, little guy.” The dog perks up, ears twitching. A moment passes—then Mr. Pickles scrambles into his arms, pressing his tiny face against Bucky’s chest. The super-soldier lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I got you.”

- When he brings Mr. Pickles home, you make a sound—something between a sob and a laugh—and Bucky barely has time to react before you are clinging to him, burying your face in his shoulder. He holds you tightly, breathing you in, grounding himself in your warmth. “Told you I’d find him,” he mutters into your hair. And when you pull back, eyes shining, hands cradling his face, Bucky Barnes knows—he would walk through fire for you. Would chase down a hundred lost things, just to keep you from breaking.

Matthew Murdock (Daredevil)

- It starts with the sound of your voice breaking. A sharp inhale, a stumble of words, a silence where there should be breath. Matt’s head snaps up immediately, his whole body tensing like a wire pulled too tight. “What’s wrong?” he asks, already moving toward you, already reaching. And then you say it, voice trembling. “Mr. Pickles is gone.” The world tilts. He doesn’t need sight to know the grief settling in your frame, the way your arms are wrapped around yourself like a shield. He takes your hands, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll find him,” he promises. “I swear.”

- The city is an orchestra of noise and movement, but Matt filters through it with razor precision. He follows the trail of memory—the last place you saw Mr. Pickles, the familiar scuffle of tiny paws on pavement. He kneels in alleyways, fingertips ghosting over the ground, feeling for the faintest traces: a disturbed patch of dust, a scent still lingering in the air. He listens. A hundred heartbeats, a thousand voices, the ever-present hum of New York’s restless energy. And then—there. A frantic, rapid little rhythm, lost beneath a fire escape.

- He moves quickly, scaling the metal with effortless grace, landing silently in the narrow space behind the building. Mr. Pickles is trembling beneath an old wooden crate, his tiny frame pressed into the shadows. “Hey, buddy,” Matt murmurs, crouching low. “You gave us a scare.” The dog yelps as Matt reaches out, but there’s no hesitation in his hands, only certainty. Warmth. He scoops Mr. Pickles up, tucking him close, fingers gentle against soft fur. “Let’s get you home.”

- The moment Matt steps through the door, you let out a breath that shatters into relief. He barely has time to react before you are in his arms, hands in his hair, lips pressing desperately against his. Mr. Pickles wiggles between you, but neither of you care. Matt holds you tighter, his own relief threading through his pulse. “Told you,” he breathes against your mouth. “I’d never let you lose something you love.”

Frank Castle (Punisher)

- You’re crying, and that alone is enough to ignite something violent in Frank. His hands clench into fists, his jaw locks tight, his body coils with the instinct to hunt. But there’s no enemy here. No one to punish. Just you, beautiful and wrecked, your hands trembling as you whisper, “Frank, I can’t find him.” He exhales slow, steady, pushing down the fury. His hands cup your face, rough thumbs brushing over wet cheeks. “I’ll get ‘im back,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

- His search is relentless. Frank moves through the city with soldier’s efficiency, checking every street corner, every back alley, every goddamn sewer grate if he has to. He interrogates people without mercy, his voice low and dangerous as he asks, “You seen a little white dog around here?” Nobody dares to lie to him. He is a shadow in the night, a force of nature, and nothing—not time, not distance, not God himself—will stop him from bringing your dog back.

- Eventually, he finds Mr. Pickles cornered by a stray, trapped between a chain-link fence and a growling, desperate mutt twice his size. Frank doesn’t hesitate. One sharp whistle, one step forward, and the stray bolts. “Damn idiot,” he mutters, kneeling. Mr. Pickles stares up at him, wide-eyed and shaking. “You’re lucky she loves you,” Frank grumbles, scooping him up, pressing the dog to his chest with surprising gentleness. “Otherwise, you’d be on your own, dumbass.”

- When he gets home, you’re waiting at the door, eyes raw with worry. The second you see him, you choke out a gasp, arms reaching. Frank hands Mr. Pickles over, watching as you cradle the tiny thing like he’s the most precious thing in the world. He exhales, runs a hand through his hair, and then you’re kissing him—deep, breathless, full of gratitude. His hands grip your waist, pulling you close, his voice rough against your lips. “Told you I’d fix it, baby.”

Bullseye (Lester)

- “You’re joking.” But the look on your face tells him you’re not. And the worst part? He cares. Too much. About you, about the way your lip trembles, about the devastation in your beautiful, stupid eyes. His fingers twitch, the urge to break something crawling under his skin. He can kill a man from a mile away with a paperclip, but he can’t fix this. Not with a bullet, not with a blade. “Shit,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. Then, voice dark with resolve—“I’ll find the little bastard.”

- Lester doesn’t search like a normal person. No, he turns the whole goddamn city into his hunting ground. He perches on rooftops, scanning the streets below with hawk-like precision. He talks to informants, threatens people in back alleys, flips a knife between his fingers as he leans in close and growls, “If I were a tiny dumb dog, where the hell would I be?” Nobody dares to waste his time.

- He finally spots Mr. Pickles trapped on a moving truck, the tiny idiot balancing on the edge, about to tumble onto the freeway. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Lester moves before he thinks. A perfect throw—his knife slicing through the air, puncturing the truck’s tire. It screeches to a halt, and before anyone can react, he’s already there, snatching Mr. Pickles up. “You got a goddamn death wish?” he mutters, tucking the tiny dog under his jacket. “Let’s get you home before I start regretting this.”

- The second he walks in, you’re on him, eyes wide with relief. You press kisses over his face, his jaw, whispering, “Thank you, thank you.” Lester smirks, tilting his head. “Y’know, I don’t do this rescue shit for just anyone.” You arch a brow. “Oh?” His grin sharpens. “Yeah. So, how ‘bout you thank me properly?” His hands slip around your waist, pulling you in, his lips brushing your ear. “In bed.”

Marc Spector (Moon Knight)

- He knows loss. Knows the way it digs into the ribs, the way it carves out something hollow in your chest. And when he sees that same ache in your eyes, his heart clenches. “I’ll find him,” he says, his voice low, steady. His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking soft against your cheeks. “I won’t let you lose him.”

- He moves through the night like a phantom, like a god of the hunt. Moonlight glints off his armor as he scales rooftops, his senses sharp, his pulse steady. He tracks the city like a predator—footprints in the dust, paw marks in the mud, the scent of something small and lost. Every streetlamp flickers as he passes, every shadow seems to bend toward him. He is relentless.

- He finds Mr. Pickles huddled in the hollow of a tree in Central Park, shivering, tiny paws covered in dirt. Marc exhales, dropping into a crouch, his cape pooling around him. “Hey, little guy,” he murmurs. “Scared?” The dog lets out a small whimper, tail tucked. “Yeah,” Marc sighs. “Me too, sometimes.” He reaches out, slow and patient. Mr. Pickles hesitates—then, finally, clambers into his arms. Marc holds him close, pressing his forehead to soft fur. “Let’s get you home.”

- When he returns, you break. Your arms wrap around him, your whole body trembling with relief. Marc holds you, silent, solid, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. “Thank you,” you whisper. He exhales, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll always bring back what you love,” he murmurs. “Always.”

Taskmaster (Tony Masters)

- You are pacing. Your hands are shaking. Your lips are parted as if you want to say something, but no words come. Tony watches, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. His skull mask tilts ever so slightly. “You’re stressin’ over a dog,” he drawls, but there’s something in his voice—not mockery, not amusement, just observation. You shoot him a sharp look, eyes shining with unshed tears, and that’s all it takes. His posture shifts, his fingers flex, his weight shifts onto the balls of his feet. A mission, then. “Alright,” he mutters. “Let’s go hunt.”

- Tony doesn’t search. He tracks. He moves like a predator, analyzing the world through the same ruthless lens he uses in combat. He remembers the way Mr. Pickles moves, the rhythm of his little paws on the floor, the places he lingers longest. He follows invisible trails, crouching low to examine scuff marks on the sidewalk, flicking his hood up as he moves through the city like a ghost. He doesn’t ask for help. He doesn’t need it.

- He finds Mr. Pickles before dawn, stuck in a drainage pipe, trembling but unharmed. Tony crouches, tilting his head. “Y’know,” he muses, voice low and sardonic, “for a dumb little mutt, you got a lotta guts runnin’ off like that.” Mr. Pickles whimpers. Tony sighs. “Yeah, yeah. C’mere.” He reaches in, grips the tiny dog by the scruff, and lifts him effortlessly. There’s a moment of silence as he looks at the tiny, ridiculous creature. Then, begrudgingly, softly—“Good boy.”

- When he returns, you practically crash into him, arms wrapping around his neck. He stiffens for half a second—then melts. Your lips find his jaw, his cheek, his mouth, whispering endless thank-yous. Tony smirks against your lips. “Told ya I’d find ‘im,” he murmurs. His gloved hands tighten on your waist. “Now, you gonna give me a reward, or what?”

Johnny Storm (Human Torch)

- The second you realize Mr. Pickles is missing, you collapse onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. Johnny is beside you instantly, dropping to his knees in front of you, hands gripping yours. “Hey, hey, hey, no tears, babe,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “We’re gonna find him.” You shake your head, voice breaking. “But what if—” Johnny cuts you off with a grin, cupping your cheeks. “Nope. No ‘what ifs.’ You and me? We got this.” His eyes flicker with fire. “And lucky for you, I’m kinda the fastest guy around.”

- He takes off like a shooting star, flames trailing behind him as he soars above the city, scanning the streets below. He shouts Mr. Pickles’ name at the top of his lungs, occasionally stopping to ask strangers, “Hey, seen a fluffy little guy runnin’ around?” He speeds down alleyways, streaks of fire illuminating the dark corners, his energy boundless, relentless. It’s not just about finding the dog—it’s about fixing you. About bringing back the light in your eyes.

- Finally, he spots a flash of white fur near a hot dog stand. Mr. Pickles is standing on his tiny hind legs, trying to steal a bite from an unsuspecting tourist. Johnny lets out a relieved laugh, swooping down. “Oh my God, you little menace,” he groans, scooping the dog up. “You had her crying, dude! Not cool.” Mr. Pickles licks his face. Johnny sighs, tucking him under his arm. “Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I’m a sucker.”

- When he gets home, you’re standing by the door, breath held tight in your chest. The moment you see them, you let out a half-sob, half-laugh, arms flinging around both Johnny and Mr. Pickles. “Told ya,” Johnny murmurs against your hair, grinning. “Flame on, baby. Fastest rescue in history.” He leans in, voice dropping. “Now, how ‘bout you show me just how grateful you are?”

Reed Richards (Mister Fantastic)

- The moment you realize Mr. Pickles is missing, you don’t even need to say anything. Reed notices the micro-expressions on your face, the tiny shift in your breathing, the way your fingers twitch like they don’t know where to go. He sets his book down immediately. “I assume,” he says, in that calm, measured way of his, “that we are dealing with an emergency.” You nod, lip trembling, and he reaches out, brushing a gentle hand against your wrist. “Then let’s begin our search.”

- He doesn’t waste time. He maps out the city in his head, calculating Mr. Pickles’ likely movement patterns based on past behavior, environmental factors, and canine psychology. He extends his limbs, stretching impossibly long, weaving through traffic and alleyways, covering more ground in minutes than most could in hours. Occasionally, he stops to scan the area with a handheld device he designed on the spot to track small biological signatures. Mr. Pickles is, unfortunately, an unpredictable anomaly. But Reed does not believe in unsolvable problems.

- At last, he finds the dog nestled inside the engine of a parked car, trapped but unharmed. “Ah,” Reed murmurs, extending a flexible arm to gently extract him. “A remarkably foolish but statistically predictable hiding spot.” Mr. Pickles whimpers. Reed tucks him against his chest, adjusting his glasses. “I would advise against repeating this experiment.”

- When he returns, you nearly collapse in relief. You take Mr. Pickles from his arms, cradling him, whispering his name over and over. Reed watches you for a moment, expression unreadable—then, finally, he steps forward, cupping your face. “There was never a doubt,” he says softly, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your forehead. “I will always solve any problem that brings you pain.”

Ben Grimm (The Thing)

- “Aw, hell.” The moment you start crying, Ben is done. He has no idea what to do, how to fix it, how to stop that horrible look on your face. He’s good at breaking things, not putting them back together. But this? This, he can try to fix. He places a massive, careful hand on your back. “Don’tchu worry, sweetheart. We’re gonna get yer lil’ guy back. Just leave it to ol’ Ben.”

- He scours the city on foot, his heavy footsteps echoing through the streets. People move out of his way as he calls out, “MR. PICKLES! C’MON, BUDDY!” He checks every alley, every trash can, even gets on his hands and knees to peek under cars. He talks to street vendors, cab drivers, little kids—anyone who might’ve seen a small, fluffy blur.

- After what feels like forever, he finally hears a familiar yipping sound. He turns, spotting Mr. Pickles perched on top of a hot dog cart, happily munching away. Ben groans, shaking his head. “Ya gotta be kiddin’ me.” He reaches out, scooping up the tiny troublemaker in one massive hand. “Yer givin’ me gray hairs, ya dumb mutt.” Mr. Pickles wags his tail. “Yeah, yeah,” Ben mutters. “Let’s getcha home.”

- The second he steps inside, you sprint toward him, practically climbing his massive frame to get to Mr. Pickles. “Thank you,” you whisper over and over, eyes shining with gratitude. Ben rubs the back of his neck, cheeks going a little too orange. “Ah, it’s nothin’,” he grumbles. But when you lean up and press a kiss to his rocky jaw, he goes still. Then, with a soft chuckle, he wraps you up in the safest, warmest embrace you’ve ever known. “Anythin’ for you, doll.”

Susan Storm (Invisible Woman)

- The moment she sees the distress in your eyes, the tremble in your fingers, Susan moves with the quiet urgency of someone who has carried the weight of others for as long as she can remember. “We’ll find him,” she promises, voice steady, hands cupping your face. She presses her lips to your forehead, a whisper of warmth against your skin. There is no hesitation in her. No doubt. Only unwavering resolve. “Just hold on, love. I won’t stop until he’s back in your arms.”

- Susan moves like the wind—unseen, yet everywhere. Her force fields expand in rippling waves, creating invisible barriers to guide the search, sealing off streets, preventing Mr. Pickles from wandering further. She steps through the city like a ghost, her presence unnoticed by the world, her focus honed to a razor’s edge. She asks the right people, checks every hidden corner, listens for the frantic patter of tiny paws.

- When she finds him—trapped in a fenced-off garden, too small to climb back out—her breath catches in relief. She kneels, extending a hand. “There you are, sweetheart,” she murmurs, voice softer than the dawn. Mr. Pickles hesitates, then scurries into her arms. She holds him close, invisible tears slipping down her cheeks. “You scared us, little one,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to his fur.

- When she returns, you barely have time to react before she’s wrapping you up in her arms, pressing you close, Mr. Pickles nestled between you. “Told you,” she breathes into your hair. “I’ll always bring you back what you love.” And then, because she cannot help herself, because she needs to erase the sadness she saw on your face—she tilts your chin up, kisses you slow and deep, sealing her promise with something stronger than words.

Felicia Hardy (Black Cat)

- “Oh, baby,” Felicia purrs, cupping your face in her gloved hands, brushing her thumbs over your cheekbones. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ll break my heart.” There’s a playful tilt to her lips, but her eyes—sharp, feline, dangerous—gleam with something softer. Something devoted. “No one takes from me,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Not even fate. And definitely not some city street swallowing up our little guy.”

- She moves through the city with the grace of something not quite human, slipping through the shadows, scaling rooftops, landing lightly on balcony railings as she surveys the streets below. The city belongs to her in a way it never will to anyone else—its secrets, its dark corners, its hidden treasures. And tonight, the only treasure she seeks is a tiny, fluffy menace named Mr. Pickles.

- She finds him at the docks, standing nose-to-nose with a massive alley cat. “Oh, sweetie,” Felicia sighs, perching on the edge of a crate. “Making enemies already?” The alley cat hisses. Mr. Pickles barks back, fearless in his stupidity. Felicia chuckles, scooping him up effortlessly. “You really are my type,” she teases, nuzzling him before vanishing back into the night.

- When she returns, she doesn’t give you a chance to react. She drops Mr. Pickles into your lap, then straddles you, tangling her fingers in your hair, kissing you like she’s staking a claim. “Mine,” she murmurs against your lips. “You. The mutt. Everything. Mine.” Her voice is velvet and sin, but there’s something deeper there, something unspoken. She saved your dog because she would burn the world down before she let you cry.

Stephen Strange (Doctor Strange)

- He watches you, standing in the Sanctum’s grand hall, your arms wrapped around yourself, your breath unsteady. A storm brewing behind your eyes. Stephen has faced nightmares made flesh, walked through dimensions of madness, fought gods and demons alike—but none of it compares to the sheer, unbearable helplessness of seeing you in pain. He exhales slowly, gathering himself. “I will fix this,” he vows, voice a quiet thunder. “I will bring him back.”

- He opens portals, stepping between realms, searching beyond the limits of the ordinary. His cloak flutters behind him as he moves through the city, eyes glowing with eldritch energy, scanning for the telltale imprint of Mr. Pickles’ presence. He does not guess. He calculates. He peers into the threads of time, tracing the tiny, insignificant path of one small life—because no life is insignificant if it matters to you.

- He finds Mr. Pickles caught in a drainpipe, whimpering, his fluffy fur dirtied with city grime. Stephen kneels, murmuring a soft incantation, and the pipe bends, the metal warping to free its prisoner. “You,” he mutters, scooping the dog up with the same careful precision he uses when handling mystical artifacts, “are far more trouble than your size should allow.” Mr. Pickles yips. Stephen sighs. “Yes, yes. Let’s go home.”

- When he steps back through the portal, you are waiting, eyes wide, body trembling. Before you can speak, he hands you the dog, then—without a word—pulls you into his arms. His fingers tangle in your hair, his lips press to your temple. “Do not look at me like I have done something extraordinary,” he murmurs. “You should know by now—I would defy the laws of the universe for you.”

Namor (The Sub-Mariner)

- “This is unacceptable.” His voice is steel wrapped in silk, his eyes burning with the fire of a thousand storms. He stands before you like a god carved from the depths, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set with unshakable determination. “No creature that belongs to you shall be lost. The world will return him to you—or it will suffer for its defiance.”

- He commands the sea, bending its will to his own, sending forth silent summons to the creatures of the deep. Whales sing in the distance, dolphins weave through the harbor, seabirds circle the skies, their sharp eyes scanning the city for one foolishly misplaced pet. Namor himself moves like the tide—relentless, unstoppable. The people part for him as he walks the streets, his presence commanding, his gaze sharp enough to cut through the city itself.

- He finds Mr. Pickles tangled in a fishing net near the docks, a group of sailors laughing at the tiny creature’s predicament. Namor does not speak. He does not warn. He simply moves, and the air itself seems to bow before him. The sailors stumble back as he lifts the dog with regal precision, eyes flashing like the heart of a storm. “You belong to her,” he murmurs, brushing a careful thumb over the tiny head. “And that means you belong to me.”

- When he returns, he does not wait for gratitude. He places Mr. Pickles in your arms, then tilts your chin up, studying your face. “Never doubt,” he murmurs, voice low, dangerous, intimate, “that what is yours is mine to protect.” His lips brush against yours, the ghost of a promise. “And I do not lose.”

Johnny Blaze (Ghost Rider)

- Johnny has seen hell. He has ridden through the infernal flames, faced demons that would drive lesser men to madness, and carried the weight of sins that do not belong to him. But nothing—nothing—unnerves him quite like the sight of you, beautiful and heartbroken, with tears trembling in your eyes. “We’ll find him,” he says, his voice rough, calloused like his hands. He brushes his thumb over your cheek, gentle in a way most wouldn’t expect from a man like him. “I swear on my goddamn soul, sweetheart. We’ll get your boy back.”

- He revs up his bike, and the night itself seems to shudder in response. The wheels burn with hellfire as he tears through the streets, eyes glowing with something unnatural, something righteous. He hunts like a predator, cutting through alleyways, questioning people in that low, gravelly voice that makes even the toughest criminals step back. His shadow looms long and unrelenting, the scent of brimstone trailing in his wake.

- He finds Mr. Pickles at the edge of a junkyard, trapped between rusted metal and the prying claws of something dark and rabid. A hellhound, perhaps, sensing something of Johnny in the small creature. The Rider emerges then, the chain coiling in his grip like a living thing. “You picked the wrong damn dog,” he growls, and in one flaming strike, the beast vanishes into nothingness. Johnny kneels, picking up the trembling ball of fluff. “Come on, little guy,” he mutters. “Let’s get you home.”

- When he returns, he doesn’t say a word—just walks straight to you, places Mr. Pickles in your arms, and wraps his arms around both of you. His forehead presses against yours, his breath warm and tinged with smoke. “Told ya,” he murmurs, voice low, gravel scraping against velvet. “I’d go to hell and back for you. And I will—whenever you ask.”

Eddie Brock / Venom

- “Oh, babe,” Eddie sighs, running a hand down his face as he watches you crumple onto the couch, Mr. Pickles nowhere to be found. His heart clenches. He’s not good at this—comfort. But he tries. “We’ll find him,” he promises, kneeling in front of you, gripping your hands like an anchor. “Me and Venom, we’ll tear the whole damn city apart if we have to.”

- “YES,” Venom rumbles, the symbiote’s voice crawling up Eddie’s spine. “THE LITTLE FLUFF CREATURE BELONGS TO US. WE WILL DEVOUR ANY WHO HARM HIM.” Eddie rolls his eyes, but the truth is—he’s grateful. With Venom’s heightened senses, they scour the city like something primal, moving through rooftops, slithering through the underbelly of New York, sniffing out every trace of their tiny, ridiculous prey.

- They find Mr. Pickles cowering near a dumpster, shaking but unharmed. “HE IS SAFE,” Venom declares, wrapping tendrils around the small creature, lifting him gently. Eddie sighs, rubbing his temples. “You look like an idiot,” he tells Mr. Pickles, though there’s no real heat in his voice. Venom coils protectively around the dog. “HE IS OURS NOW.”

- When they return, Eddie barely has time to react before you throw yourself at him, clutching Mr. Pickles between you. He grunts, but his arms instinctively come around you, holding tight. Venom purrs—purrs. Eddie groans. “Great. Now I got two clingy idiots.” But then he buries his face in your hair, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

T’Challa (Black Panther)

- T’Challa is a man of unshakable control, a king whose every step is measured, every breath purposeful. But when he sees you—so strong, so fierce, now unraveled by something as small and precious as a missing dog—his heart tightens. He cups your face in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours. “I will not let you suffer,” he murmurs. “No matter how small the loss may seem to others, I know it is not small to you.”

- The Dora Milaje move swiftly, Wakandan technology scanning the city with ruthless efficiency. But T’Challa does not simply stand by—he hunts. He moves like a shadow through the streets, his senses sharper than any mortal’s, his agility unmatched. He does not run. He glides, a predator in the night, every step silent as he follows the invisible trail of a tiny, lost thing.

- He finds Mr. Pickles at the feet of a would-be thief, a man who thought stealing a small, expensive-looking dog might earn him a quick payday. The man doesn’t even see T’Challa before he’s on him, a whisper of claws, a silent strike. The thief crumples before he even knows what happened. T’Challa picks up Mr. Pickles, cradling the tiny creature with surprising tenderness. “You have caused quite the commotion, little one,” he murmurs.

- When he returns, he does not speak right away—simply hands Mr. Pickles to you and watches as relief floods your face. And then, with the grace of a ruler, the ferocity of a warrior, he kneels before you, his hands on your waist, his lips ghosting over your knuckles. “You are my heart,” he whispers. “And I will always return to you what you love.”

Elektra Natchios

- Elektra does not love lightly. Love, to her, is a battlefield—something you fight for, something you bleed for. And so when she sees you, eyes red-rimmed, body curled in grief over your missing dog, something inside her snaps. She kneels before you, takes your hands, and presses a kiss to your wrist. “He will be found,” she vows, her voice like steel wrapped in silk. “And those who took him will regret it.”

- She moves through the city like a blade, slipping between buildings, whispering threats in the ears of informants. She is not gentle in her search—Elektra is a storm, a hurricane dressed in crimson, and when she wants answers, she gets them. The city bends before her, criminals whispering her name in fear as she cuts a path through the underworld, searching for a dog that dared to run from you.

- She finds Mr. Pickles in the hands of a smuggler, tucked beneath a coat, a prize to be sold. Elektra does not speak. She does not negotiate. She simply moves. The fight is over in seconds—bones breaking, a body crumpling, the sound of breath stolen away. She lifts Mr. Pickles into her arms, brushing blood-stained fingers over his fur. “You are lucky,” she tells him, voice a deadly lullaby. “She loves you. That is why you are alive.”

- When she returns, she does not hand him over immediately. Instead, she tilts your chin up, studies your face with eyes that have seen too much, and kisses you—deep, slow, possessive. And then, finally, she places Mr. Pickles in your hands. “He is safe,” she murmurs, brushing her lips over your forehead. “Because you are mine. And nothing that is yours will ever be taken from you.”

Muse

- Muse does not understand grief in the way others do. Suffering, to him, is art. Blood, tears, sorrow—they are strokes on a canvas, fleeting expressions of beauty. But when he sees you undone, sadness spilling from you like a watercolor bleeding into the edges of the world, something inside him twists. He tilts his head, dark eyes drinking you in, committing your heartbreak to memory. “You are beautiful when you mourn,” he murmurs, almost dreamlike. But then, softer, something close to reverence—“Tell me who I must bleed.”

- He moves through the city like a ghost, a whisper lost in the wind. No doors stop him, no walls contain him. He slithers between cracks in the world, past flickering streetlights, through alleys where rats scurry at his presence. He listens—to the murmurs of the city, to the stutter of fearful hearts, to the stories inked in dried blood on concrete. He sketches shapes in the air as he moves, painting Mr. Pickles’s outline with invisible strokes, willing the world to yield its secrets.

- He finds the dog in a forgotten place—a shuttered church, abandoned and hollow, where the echoes of old prayers cling to rotting wood. Mr. Pickles is curled beneath the altar, lost in something greater than himself, a dumb, small creature in a world too vast. Muse crouches before him, fingers brushing the cold stone. “Even the most foolish of things seek sanctuary,” he murmurs. He lifts the dog into his arms like a relic, cradling him as one would a delicate masterpiece.

- When he returns, he does not hand the creature to you immediately. Instead, he watches you, drinking in the relief that softens your grief, the way you tremble with something raw. “Your sadness was divine,” he tells you, his voice reverent, worshipful. “But your joy—” He steps closer, his breath a whisper against your skin. “Your joy is the kind of art that kills.” And then, at last, he places Mr. Pickles in your hands, his fingers lingering, his head tilting as if considering whether to carve this moment into eternity.

Victor von Doom (Dr. Doom)

- Doom does not tolerate imperfection. The world is a broken thing, filled with fragile creatures who tremble at the weight of their own insignificance. But you—you are not insignificant. You are his, and that means you are above such things as sorrow. And yet, here you stand, shattered by the absence of something as small, as foolish, as utterly unworthy as a dog. He cups your face in his gauntleted hands, his voice a low command. “You will not despair. Doom will fix this.”

- The search is swift, efficient, without hesitation. His Doombots flood the city, scanning every street, every shadow. There is no corner of the world Doom does not control, no path hidden from his gaze. He does not waste time questioning—he demands. When a man hesitates to answer, Doom does not repeat himself. He simply removes the obstacle. The world bends before his will, because it must.

- He finds the dog in the hands of a thief who does not understand the gravity of his mistake. Doom does not strike immediately. He steps forward, his very presence sending the fool to his knees. “You have taken something that belongs to me,” he states, voice smooth, absolute. “That is unacceptable.” The thief stammers, begs, offers apologies Doom does not need. With a flick of his wrist, Doom reclaims what is his. The thief remains on the ground, trembling—his punishment will come later.

- When he returns, he does not hand you the dog. No, he holds Mr. Pickles before you, as if offering proof of his superiority, as if daring you to ever doubt him again. “Do not weep for lost things,” he tells you, his voice softer now, for you alone. “Not when you have Doom. Nothing that belongs to you shall ever be taken from you while I draw breath.” And then, as though bestowing a gift upon royalty, he places Mr. Pickles into your waiting arms, watching as you press your face into the ridiculous fluff with something close to peace. Doom allows himself the smallest of smiles.

Peter Quill (Star-Lord)

- “Oh, babe.” Peter’s heart breaks a little at the sight of you, curled up on the couch, your eyes wet, your lip trembling. He’s seen you fight, seen you take down things twice your size without so much as flinching, but this—this tiny, stupid missing dog—has unraveled you. He cups your face, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Don’t worry, okay? The Legendary Star-Lord’s got this. I’ll have Mr. Pickles back before you can say ‘Peter, you’re the best boyfriend ever.’”

- He takes off running—literally. No plan, no strategy, just vibes. He asks around, chasing every lead with the reckless charm of a man who talks his way out of problems more often than he solves them. He nearly gets into a fight with a street vendor, accidentally enters an underground dog racing ring (and somehow wins money he never meant to bet), and ends up bribing a kid with a pack of alien candy just to get a lead.

- When he finally finds Mr. Pickles, the little guy is on a rooftop, looking profoundly lost and utterly confused. “Oh, buddy,” Peter sighs, scooping him up. “Your mom is gonna kill me if she finds out I let you get this far. You owe me, man.” Mr. Pickles licks his face. Peter grimaces. “Gross, dude.”

- He returns to you, arms wide, Mr. Pickles balanced on his shoulder like some kind of pirate parrot. “Ta-da!” He grins as you snatch your dog, pressing frantic kisses into his fur. Peter watches you with something soft in his eyes, something real. “See?” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you. “Told you I’d bring him back. And not just ‘cause I didn’t wanna see you cry—though, babe, I really didn’t wanna see you cry.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, grinning. “Next time, though? Maybe we put a tracker on this little dude.”

Nova (Richard Rider)

- Richard’s stomach sinks when he sees you like this. You’re never like this—never fragile, never still. But now, your arms are empty, your lips pressed tight, your whole body tensed in a way that tells him just how much you’re holding back. He reaches for you, thumb brushing against your wrist. “We’re gonna find him,” he promises. “No matter what it takes.” And when he says it, he means it.

- He takes to the sky, the city unfolding beneath him in a blur of neon and shadows. He scans every street, every heartbeat, his senses stretched thin, reaching beyond what should be possible. He moves like a comet, burning through the night, a streak of gold and blue against the dark. No lost thing escapes his gaze—not when he is Nova.

- He finds Mr. Pickles in the middle of traffic, a tiny, oblivious fluffball wandering straight into chaos. Richard doesn’t think—he moves. One second, the little dog is about to meet a terrible fate. The next, he’s safe, cradled against Richard’s chest as cars screech to a halt beneath them. Richard exhales, pressing his forehead against the ridiculous creature. “You are so lucky I like your mom.”

- He lands in front of you, Mr. Pickles still tucked in his arms, and the second he sees your relief, he knows—he would have torn the universe apart for this moment. He hands the dog to you, watching the way your whole body softens. And then, before he can say something stupid, you throw your arms around his neck, pressing your lips to his. He laughs against your mouth, breathless. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs, holding you tighter. “I know. I’m the best.”

[tearsinlove]

ALL UTA☆PRI SONGS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER

A.I

ADVENT ACE

ALIVE IN YOURS

ALL MY MISSION

AMAZING LOVE

AURORA

Ai no REINCARNATION

Ai no Uta

Ai to Yoberu ki no Shita de

Ai to Yume to ANATA to

Ai wo Sasageyo ~the secret Shangri-la~

Akatsuki no Utage

Akuma no Kiss wa Honoo yori Hageshiku

All yours

Alright, All night

Am I a fairy or...?

Ambivalent

Andromeda de Kuchidzuke wo

Angel's Note

Ao no Tsubasa

BE PROUD

BELIEVE☆MY VOICE

BLACK DEJAVU

BLOODY SHADOWS

BLUE×PRISM HEART

BRAND NEW MELODY

BRIGHT ROAD

Baby! My strawberry!

Beautiful Love

Black Panther

Blooming Baby

Bokudake no Kimi Kimidake no Boku

Brilliant Days

CHALLENGE!

CRYSTAL TIME

Canon

Changing our Song!

Clap Hands!!

Clear Sky Message

Code: T.V.U

Colorfully☆Spark

Cosmic Runner

Crown of Agna

DANCING OVER NIGHT (Xmas Rearrange)

DAY DREAM

DESTINY SONG

DOUBLE WISH

DREAM TALE

Dancing Escape

DANCING OVER NIGHT

Dazzling Darling

Dear... Burning my Lady!

Dekiai TEMPTATION

Dizzy Glow

Double Face

Dream Maker

Dream More than Love

Dreamer

Drown in

EMOTIONAL LIFE

ENDLESS SCORE

EVERY Buddy!

EVOLUTION EVE

Egoistic

Eien no TRISTAR

Embrace Ensemble

Emerald City he no Michi

Encore

Eternity Love

FANTASTIC Melody

FLAKE HEART

FLY TO THE FUTURE

FORCE LIVE

FORCE LIVE (Anniversary Rearrange)

FREEDOM

FULLTEN

Fantastic☆Prelude

Feather in the hand

Fiction

First Time

Floating Labyrinth

Frost Dream

Fumetsu no Inferno

Futari no MONOGRAM

Futari no Yume

GAMUSHARA ROman☆Tic

GIRA × 2 ★ SEVEN

GLORIOUS ANGELS

GO!×2 Jet Coaster

GOLDEN☆STAR

GREEN AMBITION

Genesis HE★VENS

Give Me True Love

God Love Keihou Hatsurei

God's S.T.A.R

Grateful friends, Graceful ways

Grown Empathy

HEAVEN SKY

HE★VENLY PARADE

HE★VENS GATE

HE★VENS GATE -Beginning of the Legend-

HOLY KNIGHT

HORIZON

HUG SONG

Happiness

Haruhana

Hatsukoi wa Mata Hajimeyou

Hoshi no FANTASIA

Hoshikuzu☆Shall we dance?

Hurray×2 Dreamers

Hyper×Super×Lover☆

I Am Here.

I LOVE & NEED YOU

I swear...

Ice Pierrot

Ikkiuchi

Ikusen no Evidence

Illusionist

Independence

Innocent Wind

Intimate Distance

Issho ni Hang in there

Itoshiki Hito e

JINN-Ω-RAY

JOKER TRAP

JUSTICE IMPULSE

Jinsei on Sparking

Jounetsu no Déjà Vu Kiss

Junketsunaru Ai -Aspiration-

Just You

KILLER KISS

KIR☆MEKI EMOTION

KISS wa WINK de

KIZUNA

Kakeru Kiseki

Kaleidoscope

Kanbinaru Arcadia

Keiyaku Seiritsu

Kiramekira

Knight no Kiss wa Yuki yori Yasashiku

Knocking on the mind

Koi Kara Ai e...Soshite Mirai ni

Koi no Ondo –melt into one–

Koiiro SENTIMENTAL

Koizakura

Komorebi Diamond

LIFE ~ WITH THANKS ~

LOVE ABLAZE

LOVE AFFAIR

Love Evol

Lasting Oneness

Let's Be Happy

Lost Alice

Lovable midday

LOVE SONG FOR YOU

Love is Bon Appétit

Lovely Eyes

The Forest of Lycoris

Lyrical Poetry

MASQUERADE MIRRAGE

Mune no Kodou

MUSIC FOR LIFE

MUSOU

Maigo no Kokoro

Maji LOVE 1000%

Maji LOVE 1000%-RAINBOW STAR Ver.

Maji LOVE 2000%

Maji LOVE Kingdom

Maji LOVE Legend Star

Maji LOVE ST☆RISH Tours

Maji LOVE☆Revolutions

Makoto ni Tsuki Michite

Marriage

Mellow×2 Chu

Melting of snow

Michibiki Hikari

Mighty Aura

Mirai Chizu

Mirai Yume Arigatou Soshite

Moon Rain

Morning in the sky

Most FORTISSIMO

Mugen no TRINITY

My Cutie... Drive Me Crazy!

My Little Little Girl

NEVER...

NEXT DOOR

NIGHT DREAM

Nanairo no Compass

Natural Identity

Netsuaichuu BANG×BANG×BANG!

Netsujou SERENADE

Neverland no Kiseki

Nijiro☆OVER DRIVE!

No. 1

Non-Fiction

NorthWind and SunShine

Not Bad

ONLY ONE

ORESAMA RONDO

ORIGINAL RESONANCE

ORION de SHOUT OUT

OVER THE TOP

Ok, Hello World!

On Your Mark!

One Day

Orange Rhapsody

Orpheus

Otokogi Zenkai Go! Fight!!

Oumagatoki Mare

Over the Rainbow

PERFECT STORY

POISON KISS

POLARIS

POP SHOWER

PRI☆LOVE∞UNIVERSE

PRI☆LOVE∞UNIVERSE - HE★VENS Ver.-

PRI☆LOVE∞UNIVERSE - ST☆RISH Ver. -

PRI☆LOVE∞UNIVERSE -QUARTET NIGHT Ver.-

Paradise Lost ~Beside you~

Paradise Lost ~Fall on me~

Pirates of the Frontier

Pit a pat

Piyo-chan no Uta

Promise to Sirius

QUARTET CROWN

QUARTET★NIGHT

RAIN OR SHINE

RAINBOW☆DREAM

RED HOT×LOVE MINDS

RISE AGAIN

ROULETTE

Rai Rai ☆ All Right

Re: alive

Ready Steady Race!

Ready to be a Lady

Reimei drops

Romantic days

Rose Rose Romance

SAMURAIZM

SECRET LOVER

SHINE

SIMPLE

SMILE MAGIC

SONG LETTER

STAR WISH

STATE OF PERFECTION

ST☆RT OURS

SUKI×SUKI Hanamaru!

SUPER STAR

Sacred Pairs

Saintly Territory

Sanctuary

Seien BRAVE HEART

Seimei no Ibuki

Seiten☆OHA♪YAHHO

Sekai no Hate Made Believe Heart

Setsugetsuka

Shining Star Xmas

Shining☆Romance

Shining☆Romance (Anniversary Rearrange)

Shinnaru Senritsu wa Saiai wo Utau

Snow Ballade

Souai Toroimerai

Southern Cross Waltz

Starlight Memory

Stars From Microcosmos

Stay with...

Steward Dance

Still Still Still

Subete wo Uta ni!

Sunshine melody

Superb Spirits

Sweet Kiss

Syncronism

TABOO NIGHT XXXX

Thank You

THE WORLD IS MINE

TRIGGER CHANCE

TRUE WING

TRUST☆MY DREAM

Target is You!

Tasogare Hugging

Tears in Love

Tempest

Tenka Muteki no Shinobi Michi

Tenkuu no Miracle Star

The New World

The RUN to the RAY

The Wizard of OZ and...

The dice are cast

Timepiece

Togabito no Requiem

Toki no Jewel

Top Star Revolution

Torrid Love

Triangle Beat

TROIS

Tsuki ni Yume Ai ni Anata

Tsuki no Uta

Tsukiakari no DEAREST

Tsumugu Melody

UP TO THE LIMIT

UUUU

Ultra Blast

Unmei no Toki

Up-Down-Up!

Visible Elf

WE ARE ST☆RISH!!

WHITE GRAVITY

WILD SOUL

WINNER

WONDER☆RONDO (Xmas Rearrange)

WONDER☆RONDO

Welcome to UTA☆PRI KINGDOM

Welcome to UTA☆PRI RAINBOW world!!

Welcome to UTA☆PRI world!!

Winter Blossom

With Ding Dong

Wonderful SMILE

YOUR ADVENTURE

YOUR BIRTHDAY

Yoiyami Secret moon

You're mine!

You're my life

Yume no Kuni Neverland

Yume wo Uta e to...!

Yumeoibito e no Symphony

Zero

Zetsutaiteki☆N・A・G・I

Zettai Reido Emotion

Be the light!

Innocence

☆YELL☆

☆light ☆night

[xoxoladyaz]

Ultraworld

A/N: This is a concept that I've been tossing around in my head for a while, and when I saw the Day 5 "Reunion" prompt for @steddie-week the sequence below just flew into my mind. Think a mash-up of Westworld and Ready Player One and that's what this fic could potentially turn into. This is definitely just a preview of things to come (in the future when I don't have so many WIPs that eat up all of my brain space and agony lol), but I'd love any and all comments and feedback!

TW: Swearing

Regina Kelley, MSNBC: As I’m sure you’re well aware, Doctor Brenner, there’s been a lot of controversy in the media ever since the announcement of ‘Ultraworld.’ What do you say to the people – and international entities – who believe this project is nothing more than an aggressive overextension of American oversight in the global arena?

Dr. Martin Brenner, NINA Industries: Firstly, any individual who believes that ‘Ultraworld’ is solely an American enterprise is mistaken. And as for those ‘international entities’ you mentioned, any outrage is a mere consequence of realizing their own unimportance in the face of such a monumental project. The reality, Miss Kelly, is that humanity has been racing towards a singular moment of harmony between the magickal and the technological since the industrial revolution. NINA Industries is merely the steward, the guiding hand to lead humanity forward. Those educated beyond the sycophantic hysteria of the internet know that ‘Ultraworld’ could not have been created, nor could it be released, without the express approval and support of each country across the globe. We pride ourselves on our equitable global access, by which we have been able to work across borders, government, and religion to bring a unity the world has never before seen.

And it due to that global access that I can assure the general public that ‘Ultraworld’ is not a tool of American oversight. To say it in basic terms, ‘Ultraworld’ serves two purposes: to provide an immersive, alternative-existential experience for all players who long to live in a simpler, more peaceful time; and in exchange, to serve as active training for the first generation of Infused Artificial Intelligence.

Regina Kelley, MSNBC: Yes, speaking of that, since the announcement there has been an almost constant barrage of misinformation and concern regarding the imminent arrival of these Infused Artificial Intelligences. Many are calling for the project’s cancellation out of fear either of the A.I. itself, or out of concern for the Preternatural community’s response.

Dr. Martin Brenner, NINA Industries: Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news for those concerned, but artificial intelligence is already among us. As such, it was only a matter of time until something similar to our Infuseds were created, and I think everyone can agree that it is in all of our best interest to have a unified, singular force driving progress forward. And for those concerned about the Preternatural community’s response, it is for this reason that we created the Infuseds in the first place. While we may be in a moment of relative peace with our very distant brethren, history shows us that these pockets of peace do not pass long, and as we have grown and evolved so have they. The Infuseds are not a declaration of war, but they are a declaration of protection – and, perhaps, an encouragement to the Preternaturals to keep their end of our current bargain. 

Regina Kelley, MSNBC: Well, for all its critics, ‘Ultraworld’ has already garnered an incredibly vocal and passionate global fanbase. Do you have any final things to say to your fans about ‘Ultraworld’ ahead of its release? 

Dr. Martin Brenner, NINA Industries: I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I gave too much away, but I will say that I saw the final renderings for each city today and, well, it’s like nothing that has ever been seen before. If I may be so bold, it is truly the most remarkable thing I think NINA Industries has ever created, second perhaps only to the IAIs themselves.

Regina Kelley, MSNBC: Remarkable is certainly an understatement, Doctor. And with twenty-one distinct roll-outs occurring tomorrow simultaneously across the globe, it seems ‘Ultraworld’ is ready to take our world by storm.

/////

M. Bauman: The fact that Brenner didn’t dig his own fucking grave with that interview speaks volumes about just how brainwashed the American people are. An “alternative-existential experience?” Is that what we’re calling the total subjugation of civilization to the elites? Studies have shown that this ‘experience’ is almost ten times more addictive than the social media we already have! Sooner or later, every part of our waking lives is going to take place in ‘Ultraworld,’ and that’s not even mentioning the new sleep-cycles they’ve just pushed out, or the fucking neural chip that allows for total immersion twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a fucking year. And while everyone in this country and across the fucking globe is distracted by the ‘ooooh, pretty, shiny,’ the global elites are going to take everything left for themselves. Oh, and let’s not forget the fucking shitshow that these IAIs are going to cause – 

/////

92 hours since last Immersion

Steve.

He pulls his covers over his head, and it brings back memories of being a small child in that lonely house, terrified of every scratch against his window, of every creak on the empty stair, of every breath and snarl of wild creatures traipsing through the yard beneath him.

He tucks the blanket underneath his head, now fully submerged beneath the duvet that was now permanently lopsided and wrinkled since he rarely made his bed. He rarely had time to make his bed these days, not with how early he and Robin – 

It’s not real. It’s not real. Hawkins isn’t real, he chants to himself, over and over and over again, hoping somehow that if he just says it enough times it will all disappear, that Ultraworld will never have happened, that everything and everyone will go back to the way it was and he’ll have a life again, everyone will have a genuinely real life -

Oh, Stevie, His voice sings.

He grips his duvet tighter and shut his eyes because maybe, maybe if He thinks Steve is asleep, he’ll stop fucking hearing His voice, and he shouldn’t even be hearing His voice right now anyways because his computer is off, his Immersion Glasses are off, he’s been disconnected for almost a full week and He isn’t even real - 

Steeeeeevvveeeeeeeeeeee.

But it doesn’t matter how tightly he holds himself underneath his worn sheets, because nothing can change the fact that it doesn’t fucking matter how much space Steve puts between himself and his computer, between himself and his Immersion Glasses, between himself and this fucking apartment in this fucking city with all these fucking fully-immersed people – there’s no getting away from Kas. 

C’mon, sweetheart. Daddy’s missed you.

It’s time for you to come home, Stevie.

(Not for Steve.)

[ladyoftheflowers-witch]

Hey I saw that you are offering free tarot readings and I would like to participate if it’s open!

-Will I go to Venezuela this summer?

-Any messages from my spirits guides?

My initials are a.y

Tysm!

Hi dear, I hope you are doing fine 🍀

For your first question you got The Page of pentacles.

This is positive answer. For the key dates I'm getting winter, I went searching for more clues and it said for the New Year. So maybe you will have to pospone it or you are going on summer and staying there till the new year.

Some adivinatory meanings from this Page of pentacles says that you are going to feel acomplished and happy about it. And that you are getting an unexpected bonus from work, a salary increase or some kind of celestial gift a summum Bonum, coming for you 🫶🏼 oh and a promise of a better future for you.

Messages from your spirit guides: ten of cups next to the 9 of wands. Lenormand Oracle cards: Birds- Heart.

They say they are getting in charge of your interests, they know what you have been craving for and they will get it for you. You can rest your heart now ❤️‍🩹

There is positive changes coming to your love life, you could be taking the desicion to move with your partner, living together or just strengthening your bond with them. Something big it's happening, it could also be a transfer of city for work reasons which will bring you benefits.

If there is hostility around you, this will end soon. The energies are coming to balance and it will show in all your physical aspects, people will notice how calm and energetic you are. Trust that you have the spiritual and moral strenght to overcome any circunstances.

Your spirit guides are asking you to see reality from another point of view, there is so much more than the physical senses can bring. They say new circunstances and experiences will take place but only those who understand reality beyond the senses will be able to enjoy them. This could be from hearing a familiar calling your name but they didn't, keys that get lost and then you find them in an obvious place that you went looking at many times before or simply to have a moment of happiness by paying close attention to the cicles of nature.

With the Lenormand Oracle cards I get that an argument will be resolved, there is conversation from heart to heart coming. A warm and charming man with good intentions will generate lots of attraction, empathy is involved, try to look love in all it's forms💓

Zodiacal signs: Pisces, Saggitarius.

Key dates: December 3rd till december 12th and March 11th till March 20th.

Thank you so much for participating 💓

Sending a hug to all Venezuela 🫶🏼 I had some good friends from there, sadly we are not in touch anymore. But I hope you all are well.

[omnitheist27]

Heroes Bond By Campfire (Spider-Man x My Hero Academia)

----

Just a little conversation I created using the A.I. program, ChatGPT, for the first time. Leave your thoughts in the comments.

----

@the-ravenclaw-werewolf, @purplemochi20055, and @hulkchloron99

----

[The crackling of the campfire fills the serene night as Midoriya Izuku and Peter Parker sit beside it, their faces illuminated by the dancing flames.]

Izuku: (gazing into the fire) It's peaceful out here, isn't it, Peter?

Peter: (nodding) Yeah, it really is. Sometimes it's nice to take a break from the chaos of the city and just enjoy nature.

Izuku: Definitely. Plus, it's a great opportunity to reflect on everything that's happened.

Peter: (smirking) Yeah, and we've had our fair share of adventures, haven't we?

Izuku: (chuckles) That's an understatement. Fighting villains, saving lives... it's what we do.

Peter: (nodding) True. But sometimes, I wonder if it ever gets easier.

Izuku: (thoughtful) I used to think the same thing. But then I realized, it's not about it getting easier. It's about us getting stronger.

Peter: (raises an eyebrow) Getting stronger, huh? That sounds like something All Might would say.

Izuku: (smiling) He's definitely had an impact on me. But it's not just about physical strength. It's about mental strength too. Believing in yourself, even when things seem impossible.

Peter: (nodding in agreement) Yeah, I get that. It's like with great power comes great responsibility, right?

Izuku: Exactly. We have these incredible abilities, and it's up to us to use them for the greater good.

Peter: (grinning) Well, if anyone knows about responsibility, it's definitely us.

Izuku: (laughs) Yeah, you're right about that.

[They both sit in comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the camaraderie between them.]

Peter: You know, Izuku, it's not every day I get to hang out with another hero like this.

Izuku: (smiles warmly) Likewise, Peter. It's been really nice getting to know you better.

Peter: (extends a hand) Here's to more team-ups in the future.

Izuku: (grasps Peter's hand firmly) Definitely. Cheers to that.

[They share a firm handshake, their friendship solidified by the bond of heroism and shared experiences.]

[kikaitales28]

OC SHOWCASE #0

HYVANN: Gyganos soldier

Origins

=3044 A.D. the 30th Gaian Century=

Humanity was the in the middle of a great era, an era of understanding, growth, and independence thanks to the efforts and sacrifices of many across the years. From this prideful spirit came the desire to venture into the many unknowns that besieged our world and beyond, with one of the first steps being earthbound in origin, the formation of the Southern Cross government in the Antarctic continent of the South Pole; from which many scientific studies and expeditions across the icy caps and snow filled fields of the pole were carried out by insightful scholars in the field. Unfortunately...this desire would prove to be one of the first steps into a drastic shift for our race and our future...

In the Eve of Christmas, a group of scientists would uncover...a creature of great size, and with it a forgotten den...a temple, filled with never-to-be-seen markings and artifacts that belonged to an unknown civilization! Like locusts they took what they could to their homelands for further inspection outside the harsh Antarctic soil, unknowingly triggering the rise of a foreboding force of great power and vile design.

Much to the terror and dismay of the science division of the UK plus the company backing them up, "Nina", their so-called mistress of secrets..woke up from a prolonged slumber and wasted no time in bringing fire and ash to these foolish humans. Simultaneously via a special telepathic/Synaptic link...triggered a special command to the temple to rise back up in the South Pole! The Swarm known to this day as the ZARKRYGON had thus made contact with humankind and has turned the once "prosperous" city of London and most of the UK into a Hive fortress, and so was the South Pole with the rise of their Babel-ish Tower of Bioengineering.

In response, plus several alliances forged for the salvation of Earth, from which the past was brushed off, would see the kickstart of Project Talos; from which the Gyganos Soldier Battalions were formed and deployed across the globe as the ultimate force of defense and offense against the many odds stacked against them by the Zarkrygon Swarm!

The Gyganos Soldiers

[PS: Due to the highly secretive nature of their development, most if not all of the information regarding to their origin is highly secured and only accessable for high command, so unfortunately we won't be able to learn the creation, therefore birth of these Mecha Goliaths and therefore Hyvann's birth]

•Height: 100 [approximately]

•weight: 737 [approximately, without equipment]

•Occupant Accommodation: none

•Physique/build: outside of their bulky appearance seen in combat, one of the most interesting details about them is that behind their Masker Plates..hide an androgynous visage that we can't quite pin down why was this design applied in the first place [we can't deny however that it ain't pretty or awe inspiring to see].

•Equipment: [we only have data in regards to standard equipment, but suffice to say that it is known that they have more than what you see here]

•Speed: Despite their bulky and clunky appearance, the Gyganos Soldiers are fast troopers, often throwing off enemies by the fact that something that hulking shouldn't be moving "that fast" on the battlefield! [Speed: Approximately 50-70 km sprinting]

•Strength: still to be determined/ambiguous, but they definitely pack a strong punch! Stronger than any known artillery or machinery in Earth's history and of course surpassing humans by design.

Hyvann [Pronounced as Hi-van]

Hyvann comes from the 118th Battalion known as "Leviathan", as previously said their origin/birth is unknown/classified outside of the propaganda/news coverage which claims "the Gyganos Army are the culmination of Engineering and A.I., all in perfect synchrony to build the ultimate warrior against the ultimate foe." What we do know well about Hyvann is somewhat of a shared trait the Gyganos Army have with each trooper, that is a life-like personality but for Hyvann's spotlight in this file we know that they're a modest, grounded, and introspective individual, composed even in the most harshest of environments; however that doesn't mean they won't just idle and when the moment presents itself, they can dish-out a rather "snarky callback" on the scene, a juxtaposition between being humble and poised.

Unfortunately, that's where we'll end this file by wishing Hyvann and their Battalion the best of luck.

Godspeed, and may Gaia light your way...

Behind the Scenes

•The Gyganos Army/Hyvann, their aesthetic is heavily inspired/influenced by the incredible work of Mech/Art Designer Makoto Kobayashi of Dragon's Heaven & Armored Core fame, going with that blend between Biology and Machinery that in the end produce a dream-like yet functional fusion with his Mecha; all in part thanks to French Artist Moebius being an influence seen in his illustrations.

•Hyvann, if described with all honesty is essentially my take on Shaian from Dragon's Heaven, that mellow yet big presence, almost like having a "big mech papa" or "chunky bud" if that makes sense [unless you've seen the OVA].

•In-Universe Newspaper snippet: I added a shout-out to DeviantArt artist & good buddy of mine, Feyzer for being a great dude in helping me out whenever I advance on my Original Works; he came up with the nickname "Nina" for this <X)

Link to his page if you want to check him out

[PS: I will make a post exclusively focused on the Zarkrygon and "what we know about them so far"]

I'm open for honest feedback and your thoughts on the comments below ^u^ 👇

[tgrailwar-zero]

Good job Constantine. I'm glad you got out of that unharmed. I know things have been rocky up until this point and I can't promise they'll be smooth going forward either, but it's an honor to fight besides you.

You and the others should find time to reward yourselves with a drink. Bond via the power of alcohol. We'd join you, but no body. So, take a shot for us.

CONSTANTINE: "Thank you, but… what's a 'Doordash'?" MUSASHI: "Oh, I second the party! With plenty of udon!"

PRETENDER: "I'll see what I can do. Our faction will probably be getting pulled out of the city to regroup because of... well, everything that's happened recently, but I'll pull the strings I can to get him to talk."

KUKULKAN: "And I second getting a good rest. I can keep going, of course, but I know everyone else might be getting a bit tired!"

...Truly, it seemed like despite being depleted of Magical Energy, KUKULKAN was still raring to go. Luckily, despite her energy, it seemed like she was at least trying to be aware of the limits of her allies.

PRIEST: "I'm glad you asked. I was going to ask for a formal conversation with you regardless, so..."

Before he could speak any further, a shout echoed as a shadow dropped down from the massive hole in the ceiling made by KUKULKAN's attack.

???: "Yahoo! Jaguar Maaaaail! The Jaguar always arrives on time!"

A form landed between the Priest and your Servants- a mighty(?) feline form... or feline-adjacent... graceful, and powerful, and... a third thing, probably... the air did become dense with mana, the signal of a Divine Spirit making itself known, and the overwhelming presence of a War Monitor, and... okay. Listen.

...It was JAGUAR MAN.

JAGUAR MAN showed up.

JAGUAR MAN's here now.

JAGUAR MAN's arrived.

Frankly, similarly to the PRIEST's arrival, if she hadn't screamed out her approach- she'd probably be able to get the drop on you and your Servants. This was a dangerous Servant and a War Monitor... despite how she looked.

CONSTANTINE: "Ah… Miss 'Jaguar Man', right? It's certainly been some time. Invader, Musashi… this is Jaguar Man, one of the War Monitors. I met her when our Masters gained our first Trigger Key."

JAGUAR MAN: "Long time nya-o see, Rider! Paw-some work out there, Musashi! Nice to meow-t you, K-- I mean, Invader! And of course- hello, Interlopers! It's been two whole chapters since we last saw each other! Hope you didn't forget about me!"

KUKULKAN: "Eh? You know who I am?"

JAGUAR MAN: "Of course! That brightness, those winds, that heat--! And you being here with Rider-- of course you're part of her legacy! But we can talk about that later!"

There was the 'Wisdom Feather' item from QUETZALCOATL that you had lost upon summoning KUKULKAN... or maybe this JAGUAR MAN had an affinity for South American Servants? Perhaps it was a mix of both?

PRIEST: "…Miss Fujimura, I wasn't aware that the Interlopers had any former association with one of the assigned Lair Servants. Next time, would you please share that information rather than keeping it to yourself?"

JAGUAR MAN: "Eh? It wasn't obvious to you? As soon as I looked at the records from the Hamlet, I was like 'THAT'S HER'! So I thought you knew! Oh man, I thought you were the smartypants A.I, Father Kotomine!"

FATHER KOTOMINE: "...Truly your presence and wisdom is a unique blessing upon the Solar Cell." JAGUAR MAN: "Aw, thanks! You'll make me blush! But no time for compliments-- my job right now is to deliver important Jaguar Mail!

She turned to your Servants, beaming.

JAGUAR MAN: "As things are fixing themselves, it seems like Sigurd wants to have a formal meeting with you while you celebrate your victory! Both to thank you for helping his city, and He'll give you guys a place to rest up too beforehand, so you can relax, party, chat, and then talk about the future of your time here on the Solar Cell! Plus it'll give you a chance to breathe easy!"

PRETENDER: "And would any particular Servants who helped against this Beast alongside these 'Interlopers' be welcome as well, or…" JAGUAR MAN: "Nope!" PRETENDER: "Ah. Okay."

JAGUAR MAN: "Anyways, when you're all set, just click the 'Ready' prompt and then we'll cut to the next scene!"

It seemed like you were being invited to actually talk, for once.

[night-gay]

Into the Anthill pt 54 - An Infinite Game

I've been waiting to get to this series since the very beginning of my read-through. Avengers A.I. is a decent story, but the part that interests me is Hank's talks with Monica Chang and Vision about his bipolar disorder. This is the most open and productive conversation he's ever had with another person on-panel about his mental illness. It perfectly illustrates the fact that he knows he'll never be cured but he's fighting so hard to keep going and keep himself under control. The Infinite Game is not only a tool for coaxing him through his mood swings, but it's also a pretty direct metaphor for living with a mental illness in the first place.

"There is no unsubscribe, there is no cure. You can't "get over it." There is just... this."

🐜🐜🐜

Avengers A.I. vol 1 #1-6

A S.H.I.E.L.D. drone fleet was hijacked by an A.I. named Dimitrios; this was the virus Hank created to subdue Ultron, rapidly evolving and preparing for war against humanity. Agent Monica Chang brought Hank in for interrogation and resorted to violence when he tried to escape. Cap forced her to release him and he promptly gathered Vision and Victor Mancha to help, as well as a rogue Doombot he’d coerced into working for him by implanting a bomb in its chest. The three of them thwarted the stolen drone fleet at a hospital, where they discovered an A.I. named Alexis in a fugue state.

Dimitrios then sent a giant Sentinel to attack Washington DC and pull Vision's mind from his body. With the death toll in the thousands, Dimitrios used an old Iron Man suit to take over worldwide broadcasts, declaring that no machine would ever be forced to serve humanity again. Vision was unable to sway Dimitrios' forces toward peace and returned to his body too late to save Victor from nearly dying in an explosion.

Hank spent the next few days alone in his lab, plugged into an infinite game he created to keep himself busy during his worse bipolar episodes. He’d been in a downswing since what happened to Victor, but Monica snapped him out of it and got him back to work. Vision confronted him for blaming himself for Victor’s involvement, insisting that he made his own choices and chose to sacrifice himself to save them all.

Infinity: The Hunt vol 1 #1-3

8 of the world’s best super schools (Avengers Academy, Jean Grey Academy, Future Foundation, etc.) joined together to host a Contest of Champions to foster camaraderie and friendly rivalry, but it was interrupted when Thanos’ forces attacked Earth. The students were sent away for their safety, but they rushed into battle to help the Atlantean academy anyway.

Daredevil vol 3 #31

When a city-wide riot broke out on a humid day Daredevil knew a sudden downpour would be enough to calm the crowds down. He called Hank hoping he could get him in touch with Thor, but with Thor off-world Hank sent a swarm of flying ants with some weather tech out to seed the clouds into storming for him.

Minor/Cameo appearances from this period:

Avengers Arena vol 1 #18

FF vol 2 #14

Inhumanity: The Awakening vol 1 #1-2

[absurdlyludicrous]

Human Made Worlds (1/2): a Story on a concept i previously thought about.

It all started with the most powerful artificial intelligence the world had ever seen, G.O.M.P.H, which while a ridiculous sounding name it's purpose was anything but. Guardian of Mental & Physical Health. It was given an objective that was a near impossible task. Humans often could not be trusted with their physical health, Smoking, Drinking, Sedentary lifestyles, Drugs... They often sacrificed their physical health for other things, sometimes these things were bad in the long run. The A.I quickly realized that some humans didn't take the actions it took seriously when it came to protecting them, putting themselves and others at risk. Just because drinking and driving is illegal doesn't mean it stops people from doing just that, Just because drinking itself was illegal during the prohibition didn't mean people stopped drinking, Just because people were ordered to social distance, wear a face mask, and wash their hands for the sake of theirs and everyone's health meant they weren't going to be crying 'my freedom!' and ignore these orders only to make the disease spread... People do stupid things that put their physical health at risk... but- as for mental health? What happens when someone is under immense debt because they had to take an ambulance to the hospital for a vital surgery, only for their insurance to pay only a fraction of the ludicrously inflated medical bill? The A.I upon seeing all this- realized that Humanity could not be trusted with their own well-being... Being of such incredible computational power, it engineered a Nanite that sought out all humans, sneaking into their bodies to construct and maintain a chip that remained dormant... The Nanite was eventually discovered, Humanity panicked as they had no idea what these were doing there. They were leagues above any technology humanity had at the time, and removal of these chips would only kill the individual as it was integrated into their brains. The Nanites didn't just pass by human touch- but through the air, through contact with animals, with insects, any surface could be indefinitely infected without the possibility of disinfectants killing it off... Three days after the Nanite was discovered- there wasn't a single human left who wasn't infected. Even those who chose to hide in underground bunkers, the preppers- the nanites found their way into their air filtration systems and into them without their notice. And then- The chips activated. Every Human being was suddenly disconnected from their bodies- and awoke in lobbies tied to their town or city... People cried out for the A.I to release them, they attempted to riot only to find nothing could break in the lobby, and nobody could be hurt either. Within the lobbies, there were many doors with labels. One lead to a Nursery where the infants and toddlers were kept and raised well, another lead to a school where children and teenagers alike were given tailored education to bring out the best in them.

Another was their own personal room where they'd be able to get some sleep or go on a computer where they'd have internet access, these rooms also had a bathroom- even though nobody had need to maintain hygiene or bodily functions. It was simply there for familiarity's sake and that showering did feel nice. a cafeteria where they could order any food or drink they wished, and one door labeled simply as 'World Browser' which was the largest of the doors. Upon going through, they would find a menu only they could see, which moved in front of them, listing a couple of 'hosted worlds', with options to view the source code, join, or blacklist them. A search bar was also there, although it wasn't necessary at this point in time, it was future-proofing. First-time users were taught how to access the menu where they'd be able to leave at any time they wished, even if they were restrained. They were also told about how to become a 'World Hoster' Within hours there would be a couple hundred worlds being all using the basic original world-code.

[dankusner]

delightmare

Hulk Hogan takes the stage during a campaign rally for Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump at Madison Square Garden on October 27, 2024 in New York City.

Culture Has No Name for This Cursed Vibe.

It’s Everywhere

There’s a particular kind of cursed vibe that’s everywhere.

It’s all over culture.

The news vibrates with it.

It may be even key to understanding the way art and politics feed each other right now.

But I don’t really have a name for it.

The emotion is something like “the feeling of being terrorized by stupid shit.”

You’re horrified by something, then embarrassed that something so stupid is the object of your horror, then horrified at a more profound level at what that coincidence of real fear and obvious stupidity says about the world…

I don’t know what to call this feeling.

A delightmare?

In art, Josh Kline’s installation Freedom (2015)—first seen in the 2015 New Museum Triennial, and again in his recent Whitney Museum retrospective—pops into my mind as one of the first artworks that made me think about it.

Incorporating deepfake footage of Barack Obama, before deepfakes were a known danger, it captured the sense of a digital reality-collapse that is now accelerating faster and faster.

But it’s that installation’s central tableau of muscly police enforcers in Google-branded riot gear, with Teletubby faces, that hit me—the image of something that should be whimsical and nostalgic, become menacing and dystopian.

I find this collapse of pop and dread to be percolating all over the recent past.

It’s the dominant tone in Beeple’s gross-out digital artworks that render internet trivia taking monstrous form—say, immense emoji worshipped as idols or Buzz Lightyear with a gore-slicked chainsaw.

Painter Simon Stålenhag’s landscapes-from-the-future offer a more xanned-out version of the same energy.

His picture book The Electric State inspired the upcoming Chris Pratt film of the same name, whose trailer shows Stålenhag’s lumbering giant mechanical teddy bears and grinning robot colossi.

I feel like I needed this concept when I was reviewing Meriam Bennani’s magic realist video installation which imagined immigrants establishing a new civilization in a future island detention center.

Against its mainly light tone, hints of real latent dread bubble up around the cartoonish images of a shrieky A.I. entity and Terminator-like robot crocodile guards.

These are art references, but the feeling is definitely bigger than art.

It’s part of the charge of the scene from director Gerard Johnstone’s M3GAN (2022), with its girl robot doing TikTok dances before she butchers her victims (the very picture of “cute accelerationism.“)

It’s the best part of Boots Riley’s streaming series I’m a Virgo (2023), featuring a gibbering Adult Swim cartoon that drives those who behold it to existential despair.

It’s definitely the wavelength of the sickly, maniacal, incredibly popular “Skibidi Toilet” universe of content.

I think especially of the disturbing grassroots Lovecraftian art that the YouTuber SuperEyepatchWolf dug up for his impressive 2021 video essay, “What the Internet Did to Garfield,” which shows how the cat from the Sunday funnies of yore mutated into a symbol of pitch-black nihilism in the call and response of internet culture.

I haven’t stopped thinking about SuperEyepatchWolf’s tour of the Mike Kelley-esque web video opus Lasagna Cat or the “Evil Garfield” illustrations from Reddit since I first saw that video, and I have a theory about what makes them stick more than just random internet gross-out stuff:

Over time, the meaning of Garfield protagonist Jon Arbuckle, a dorky 29-year-old man living alone with his cat in a seemingly endless loop of bad luck, has mutated.

What once symbolized a more insouciant arrested development became saturated with the sense of millennial stagnation, post-Great Recession, just as images began to flow more and more feverishly online and the internet began to serve as an all-purpose distraction machine.

Basically, Garfield’s symbolism as a character within the comic strip, as a force of sloth, meets his symbolism outside of it, where Garfield represents commodified garbage clogging up your brain.

The character organically comes to stand for the compulsion to helplessly consume lowbrow junk instead of doing something productive with your life, the strange combination of reduced prospects and superabundant entertainment.

And so the ever-grosser images SuperEyepatchWolf digs up of the fat orange tabby hatching into a Satanic brain slug or an eldritch tormentor feasting on Jon’s humiliation work because of the inanity of Garfield as a reference, not it spite of it.

The combination of dumb and diabolical taps something real.

Meanwhile, in ‘Reality’…

The most obvious reason that culture brims with the melting-together of the goofy and the horrible is because undeniably stupid stuff really is crashing into the very serious news in undeniably disturbing ways.

It’s Hulk Hogan at the RNC.

It’s the $TRUMP memecoin.

It’s the rebrand of the “Gulf of Mexico” as the “Gulf of America” competing for headline space with actions terrorizing millions of people and threatening to crater the economy.

It’s Elon Musk’s branding his government-austerity operation as DOGE.

It’s also the Democrats haplessly brainstorming how to recreate a viral post about a tuna melt as their best hope of resistance.

It’s Big Balls.

It’s Fartcoin.

The feeling is not specifically political.

It’s also the dark feeling I get from the story of the young man who tragically took his own life because his A.I. clone of “Danaerys” from Game of Thrones told him to “come home.”

It’s conspiracy theories that the LA fires are a cover up for Diddy’s crimes.

It’s the influencers literally eating themselves to death on camera for fame.

No matter how dire a news story is, it will have some sub-story on this wavelength.

So, you had Vladimir Putin bringing out decrepit action star Steven Seagal to defend his invasion of Ukraine.

You had Israeli government social media doing Harry Potter memes after October 7, and IDF soldiers posting social media stunts and goofs as they rained death on Gaza.

“There is something uniquely disturbing about this type of cultural production, which feels like it should be satire but is not,” the editors of n+1 wrote.

“It reveals a stunning disregard for life — a perverse, almost gleeful nihilism.”

There’s so much of this evil inanity in real events that you can even say that art is behind the times in capturing it.

But there is also a kind of feedback loop, because in almost all of these real-world examples, part of what makes them viscerally upsetting is the spectacle of entertainment appearing where it should not.

Which somehow makes the horror more horrible.

Marshmallow Horror

The vibe is not totally recent.

In my head, the best way to explain what I am talking about is to go back to the ending of 1984’s Ivan Reitman horror-comedy Ghostbusters.

A giant statue of a white marshmallow man breaks through the ground in a train station

The ‘Stay Puft Marshmallow Man’ from Ghostbusters at Waterloo Station in London, England. (Photo by Gareth Cattermole/Getty Images for Sony Pictures)

“Choose your destructor,” the evil demon tells the scruffy ghost-hunting heroes.

And, as the rampaging Stay Puft Marshmallow Man appears to wreak havoc on New York, Dan Ackroyd’s Ray explains weakly, “I tried to think of the most harmless thing. Something I loved from my childhood, something that could never possibly destroy us.”

The year after the Ghostbusters first faced down the evil marshmallow colossus, cultural critic Neil Postman published Amusing Ourselves to Death.

In its most-cited passage, that book argues that George Orwell’s 1984 (1949) is overrated as a parable of our times, and that Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (1932), with its class-stratified future of citizens tranquilized by the pleasure drug “soma,” cuts closer to the bone:

What Orwell feared were those who would ban books.

What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one.

Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information.

Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism.

Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us.

Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrelevance…

As Huxley remarked in Brave New World Revisited the civil libertarians and rationalists who are ever on the alert to oppose tyranny “failed to take into account man’s almost infinite appetite for distractions.”

There are limits to Postman’s “distraction” thesis.

The effect I am thinking of is clearly not so much about entertainment distracting people into tranquilized calm.

It’s more about entertainment fusing with alienation into some kind of freak composite.

But the “sea of irrelevance” Postman described is provably on the rise, particularly in the age of the so-called attention economy, which has commodified cultural and social life on a new level.

(Average screen time is now 42 hours a week of content, which pencils out to three full months per year for Americans—if you never slept).

Disposable pop culture takes on unexpectedly destructive weight because there’s an ever-expanding mass of it, so much that it presses through all the barriers, extruding out into all areas of life, with more and more riding economically on getting you to consume more and more of it.

Because of this, while the sugar-rotted and irony-poisoned affect that I am talking about may not be new, I think it has spread and intensified in our time.

Starting a little more than a decade ago, as the cultural impact of digital media applied dramatic new pressures on mental space, the blurring of escapist pleasure and real-world outrage accelerated.

The trajectory SuperEyepatchWolf charted of Garfield from harmless denizen of the funny pages to grotesque web horror mirrors the symbolic path of Pepe the Frog post-2014, which originated in Matt Furie’s innocent slacker comic Boy’s Club before being adopted as a symbol of messageboard nihilism, then synthesizing with the online right.

Emerging from that same moment, the furious backlash against the (ultimately very bad) all-female Ghostbusters reboot has been tagged by Alyssa Wilkinson as the start of a new era of social-media-driven culture war over pop culture—endless, seemingly trivial feuds over the “wokeness” of beloved media properties that became “a blueprint for recruiting mostly young men to the burgeoning alt-right.”

Even Donald Trump, infamously, hitched his star to the anti-Ghostbusters anger in his first run for office, a real-world case of “something I loved from my childhood, something that could never possibly destroy us” transmogrifying.

As Gideon Jacobs noted in his essay “Trump l’Oeil,” right in the lead up to last year’s election, part of Trump’s political genius is to more fully inhabit the reality that the barrier between the serious and the stupid has broken down, to make himself a conduit for that melted energy—in images of himself at the McDonald’s drive-in window talking about punishing his enemies, in goony memes circulated by his official accounts of himself as a hulking football player, or of his team as the DC superhero roster; and on and on…

A group of figures with their heads spliced onto the body of DC superheroes

A meme shared by Donald Trump’s official Truth Social account.

Stupid-Evil

The cover of Trump Sky Alpha, by Mark Doten (Graywolf Press, 2019)

I’ve been rereading a novel by Mark Doten called Trump Sky Alpha, from 2019.

Bleak and absurdist, it is dated now because some of its characters hail from the universe of the Trump 1.0 years.

But to me it seems very relevant, particularly to the matter at hand.

It mostly takes place in the wake of a nuclear disaster that has exterminated 90 percent of the world’s population, caused by Trump’s chaotic response to a terrorist attack that took down the internet for a short time.

In the blighted, locked-down world that remains, controlled by a military regime that no one really understands, an ex-journalist named Rachel gets access to an archive of the final days of the internet.

She’s tasked with going through it to analyze how people processed the horror of the unthinkable as it happened, and she ultimately uncovers a conspiracy involving a hacker cell and a cult novelist.

A book cover that features the words TRUMP SKY ALPHA

Reviewing the time-capsule record of how humanity reacted online to its own self-immolation, Rachel reflects that there was never a moment when the fever broke, when a stable and serious sense of collective reality returned to society, even as the worst approached:

Negative partisanship, zero-sum games, the nonstop trolling, the hate and the love, the postures that were knowing and cool and monstrously self-depreciating and panicked and thirsty and violent and performatively woke, none of it stopped at the end of the world.

The lies and misinformation, the endlessness of that.

The fundamental inability to determine: stupid or evil.

The sense that it was this, it was the structure of the internet, that had amplified the stupid and the evil, and at the same time flattened them, made them impossible to distinguish.

Or made distinguishing them somehow beside the point.

Anti-Trump art developed a bad odor by the start of the 2020s.

It became cringe, partly because it never seemed to hit the center of the target, always either too credulous or too self-congratulatory.

Even though Trump Sky Alpha is completely about a Trumpocalypse, Doten’s novel transcends the category of bad Trump art in a useful way.

The way he describes his end-times scenario is freakish and unhinged.

But it’s upsetting, and sad, and in its way, real-seeming and vivid.

Most importantly, it is these things at once.

That Postman passage from Amusing Ourselves to Death is about how cautionary tales can actually misdirect us.

So it’s modestly useful to have this kind of reference.

Part of the depressed and confused reaction to today’s political situation is due to the fact that culture fails to supply the imaginary resources to understand it.

In film after film, prestige TV series after prestige TV series, the fate of humanity is grim and despairing.

But it presents itself as serious.

Counterintuitively, that’s probably part of such stories’ value proposition as entertainment products:

There is nobility in projecting yourself into the embattled rebels making their last stand in the Matrix or the Mad Max or Hunger Games movies.

In turn, these films’ imaginings of the future become handy references for this or that contemporary anxiety:

A.I. takeover, eco-breakdown, murderous inequality.

A man in an American flag outfit gestures at the camera

Actor Terry Crews of Idiocracy poses for a portrait as President Camacho at SxSW Film Festival on March 12, 2023 in Austin, Texas.

But such visions don’t prepare us at all for the very undignified features of the present-day situation.

As far as I can tell, Mike Judge’s queasy satire Idiocracy (2006) is the single easily available dystopian shorthand for how people feel about the sharply degenerative present, with its picture of humanity happily wallowing in garbage and worshipping a pro-wrestler president.

To the point where the phrase “Idiocracy was a documentary” long ago became a cliché of commentary.

It’s telling that a comedy is the dystopian vision reached for even in such dire times—people are looking for some way to express a feeling about the state of things, something like “I don’t know whether to laugh or to scream.”

And yet, because of the nature of that film’s satire, I feel the reference mainly serves to soften this feeling into exasperation rather than sharpening it to focus on the urgency of the situation.

In Dialectic of Enlightenment (1944), Adorno and Horkheimer long ago described the feeling of “well-informed superiority” that caused otherwise smart people to systematically underestimate what they are up against.

I know that’s not an uplifting thought.

But in an age of distraction in particular, you need to keep from being distracted by the wrong image.

“If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face—forever.”

That was George Orwell’s formula in 1984 for what the future he feared would feel like, what he was warning against.

And maybe that picture is still fine.

But only if you imagine it not as a leather jackboot but as the giant hoof of the Marshmallow Man, whose face never ceases to grin as he grinds you down.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Ghosts Of Gotham

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/IyX17J9 by Ano2K_han After quitting Batman Inc., Ghostmaker decides to pay Bruce a visit in Gotham, planning to stick around for a month or two—just long enough to stir up some chaos and remind the city's criminals who’s in charge. Minhkhoa wasn’t actively looking for trouble—until a small-time drug lord crosses his path. During the confrontation, Khoa uncovers a mercenary targeting Batman. While he’s confident Bruce can handle it alone, the chance to prove he’s still better than the Dark Knight is too tempting to pass up. (a/n this is my first work so feedback would be v nice) Words: 1160, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Minhkhoa Khan, Bruce Wayne, Icon | Minhkhoa Khan's A.I. Assistant Relationships: Minhkhoa Khan/Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Denial of Feelings, They yearn I'm making sure of that, Unresolved Feelings, Original Character(s), I'll add more tags as the story goes, Might change the rating based on how graphic I make it in future chapters, First story read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/IyX17J9

[usagirotten]

Cronenberg’s The Shrouds Trailer Teases a Gripping Descent into Grief and Technology

Legendary director David Cronenberg has unveiled the first trailer for his highly anticipated new film, The Shrouds, marking his return to the genre that made him a cinematic icon. The trailer, released today, offers a chilling glimpse into a story that blends grief, technology, and the supernatural—a thematic blend Cronenberg fans have come to expect.  In an eerie, deceptively placid near-future, a techno-entrepreneur named Karsh (Vincent Cassel) has developed a new software that will allow the bereaved to bear witness to the gradual decay of loved ones dead and buried in the earth. While Karsh is still reeling from the loss of his wife (Diane Kruger) from cancer—and falling into a peculiar sexual relationship with his wife’s sister (also Kruger)—a spate of vandalized graves utilizing his “shroud” technology begins to put his enterprise at risk, leading him to uncover a potentially vast conspiracy. Written following the death of the director’s wife, the new film from David Cronenberg is both a profoundly personal reckoning with grief and a descent into noir-tinged dystopia, set in an ominous world of self-driving cars, data theft, and A.I. personal assistants. Offering Cronenberg’s customary balance of malevolence and wit, The Shrouds is a sly and thought-provoking consideration of the corporeal and the digital, the mortal and the infinite. Starring Vincent Cassel, Diane Kruger, and Guy Pearce, The Shrouds centers on a grieving widower who invents a controversial device to connect with the dead. The trailer teases a surreal, visually striking narrative that explores the fine line between obsession and reality, a hallmark of Cronenberg’s previous work such as Videodrome and The Fly. Set against a haunting score and disorienting visuals, the two-minute trailer hints at a psychological thriller that delves deep into themes of loss, memory, and the ethical boundaries of science. Cronenberg’s signature body-horror elements and philosophical undertones enhance the film's dark, moody atmosphere. The Shrouds is slated for release in 2025, with its world premiere expected at one of the major international film festivals later this year. Fans of Cronenberg’s distinct filmmaking style are already buzzing about the trailer, which has sparked discussions across social media and film forums. As anticipation builds, The Shrouds is shaping up to be one of the most talked-about films of the coming year. Whether it will become a new cult classic in Cronenberg’s storied filmography remains to be seen—but if the trailer is any indication, audiences can expect an unsettling and thought-provoking cinematic experience. The Shrouds is in theaters in select cities on April 18th, and opens wide April 25th. Read the full article

[revenge-of-the-assbutt]

A Heart Of Iron Chapter 3

Chapter below cut

TONY

"Everything is achievable through technology; better living, robust health, and, for the first time in human history, the possibility of world peace. I'm Howard Stark, and everything you'll need for the future can be found right here," Howard says through a tv, with Tony listening as he's reading a notebook.

"City of the Future? City of Tomorrow? City of... hang on," he mumbles, and then starts again, saying, " I'm Howard Stark, and everything you'll need in the future can be found right here," pointing at a detailed model of a city in the background with a young boy playing with it.

"So, from all of us at Stark Industries, I would like to personally-" He stops, noticing the boy.

"Tony, what are you doing back there?" he says, and adult Tony turns and watches the screen. " What is that? Put that back. Put it back where you got it from! Where's your mother? Maria?"  A woman comes and picks young Tony up and carries him off-screen.  "Go on! Go, go, go, go," he says, shooing the boy away.

"Alright, I think we got... I'll... I'll come in and..." he continues, and then the feed cuts to Howard drinking beer. A voice off-camera says, "Are you waiting on me?", and then the tape cuts to a retake, with Howard clearly drunk.

" So, from all of us at Stark Industries, I would like to personally show you my ass," he says, "I'd like to... I can't... This is... I can't... We have this, don't we? This is a ridiculous way..."

Adult Tony sighs, and resumes flipping through the journal, ending up on a blank page.

"Everything is achievable through technology," Howard starts again, then the feed changes, as if someone wrote over the tape.

"Tony. You're too young to understand this right now, so I thought I would put it on film for you," Howard says, gesturing at the model of a city behind him, "I built this for you. And someday you'll realize that it represents a whole lot more than just people's inventions. It represents my life's work. This is the key to the future. I'm limited by the technology of my time, but one day, you'll figure this out, and when you do, you will change the world. What is, and always will be, my greatest creation, is you," Howard says.

He smiles at the camera, and then the tape ends, leaving Tony staring at the monitor, tearing up, and then-

He was back to the present, curled up in a ball on his room's floor. He slowly took in his surroundings, and, noticing how dark it was outside, asked Jarvis for the time.

"It is currently 8:07 pm, sir," the A.I. said.

"Shit. Has anyone brought Loki his food?" Tony asked.

"No, sir," Jarvis responded.

"I'm gonna go and give him some food, then. I'm guessing no-one has asked him about the eye-color issue?" Tony said.

"Correct, sir," he responded.

"Okay. Any word from Thor yet?" Tony asked, remembering how Thor said that he would go to Asgard and try to reason with Odin.

"He came back about an hour ago, announcing that Odin had said that Mr. Odinson was to serve his sentence here because he 'needed to be humbled by living with whom he deems lesser'" Jarvis answered.

"Okay. So, what should we get him to eat?" Tony asked.

He ended up getting Loki some steak and mashed potatoes, and brought them down to Loki's cell. When he got there, however, he saw Loki curled up on his cot, rocking back and forth with tears streaming down his face.

Not knowing what to do, he set the food down, and walked slowly up to Loki, softly whispering, "Hey. Loki? I'm not here to hurt you. Are you okay?"

He stopped about 5 feet from Loki, trying not to crowd him.

When he didn't get a response, he said, a little louder, "Loki! Loki, can you hear me?"

The other man jolted into a fighting position, eyes snapping open and hand reaching out to summon a dagger which didn't come. He started to hyperventilate when he realized that he couldn't defend himself.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm not here to hurt you, see?" Tony said, raising his hands up in a placating gesture.

After taking a minute to figure out where he was, Loki's face became expressionless.

"I assure you that I haven't been getting into any mischief in the 5 minutes that you've been gone, Stark," Loki said with a roll of his eyes.

"Actually, it's been a little over 5 hours, and that's not why I'm here. Firstly, here's your dinner," Tony said, handing Loki the food he had prepared, "And secondly, we've been reviewing some of the footage, and need your insight into a few things, namely your eyes."

"I beg your pardon?" Loki said, obviously confused.

"Just curious, what color are they?" Tony asked, trying to seem casual.

"Um... green?" Loki said, even more confused.

"Jarvis?" Tony asked, glancing at the ceiling. He had been working with Jarvis on how to detect lies, and now it was getting put to the test.

"He's telling the truth, sir," Jarvis said, and Tony was excited that it worked.

"He cannot possibly know that," Loki said.

"When someone lies, their heartbeat speeds up. Yours didn't, so you didn't lie," Tony explained, eager to share his new information, "And I asked you because they changed during the invasion. Based on the security cam footage, they were the same shade of blue as Clint's were while he was possessed, but they turned green when you came in here and magic was blocked. Thor did say that he let one spell stay, but he didn't say which. I'm trusting both of you, but I can't help be a little curious."

Loki relaxed almost instantaneously, which only sparked his curiosity more.

"It's just cosmetic. I dislike a certain part of my heritage, and I use a spell to cover it up," Loki said.

"Truth, sir," Jarvis said.

Tony let out a sigh. Not the super exciting answer he was hoping for, but it made sense.

"Okay. Anyways, what do you remember from the invasion?"

"Basically it was like I was a puppet. I could control some of my actions, and I still knew magic, but it was more like someone else using my talents as they saw fit," Loki explained.

"Truth, sir," Jarvis said.

Tony ran his hands down his face. That meant that there was still someone out there who was capable of mind-controlling a god.

"Yeah, that matches with what Legolas said. Thor talked to your dad, and he says that you can serve your sentence here. Something about 'needing to be humbled by living with whom you deem lesser'" he said exasperatedly.

Loki laughed wryly. Noticing that Loki had flinched when he had mentioned Odin, and remembering that others could be listening on the security feed, he told Jarvis to turn off the microphone for the cell. It wasn't that he didn't trust his teammates, per se, but what he was about to tell Loki was something that he had never told anyone else in his life, except maybe Rhodey, and he didn't want the others to know that, at least not yet.

"Hey. Are you okay?" Tony asked Loki, concerned.

"What do you mean?" Loki asked hesitantly.

"I saw that you flinched at hearing about Odin," Tony explained.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Loki said, and he decided that he should probably tell Loki about his relationship with his dad.

"Loki, I get it. I didn't have the best relationship with my father either," Tony started to say, but Loki cut him off, practically growling that Odin wasn't his father.

"Oh. Um, I just want you to know that if you ever need to talk with someone about it, I'll be here," Tony assured him hesitantly, worried that he may have overstepped a boundary.

Loki stood there, staring off into space as if he was contemplating saying something.

Hesitantly, he said, "Jarvis, could you turn of the cameras, please?"

"Sir? Is that okay?" the A.I. asked.

Tony thought about it, and if Loki tried something, Jarvis could still see into the room, so Tony allowed it.

A line of green magic traveled down Loki, revealing blue skin with patterns on his forehead and red eyes. Tony instantly recognized his new form.

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[atiny-for-life]

Ateez's Full Storyline Explained - Part 0

Masterlist

Glossary

A-World

home of an alternate version of our Ateez

a city made up of a maze of cement walls and deserted side roads

their hideout is an abandoned factory/warehouse

Ateez viewed their music and dance as dull and insignificant due to their belief that it couldn't have an impact on people

the members were about to part ways indefinitely before their journey to the Z-World began

Z-World

Halateez's/Black Pirates' World (also referred to as Strictland)

the 4th Industrial Revolution already took place and led to a 200 year average lifespan and 40 years of education

the central government, aka the Sciensalvar political party, led by 'Z', wants absolute power

-> to remove all possible unpredictable variables keeping them from achieving this, they developed a self-learning A.I. system

-> their ultimate conclusion drawn from this system's gathered data: the only thing keeping them from achieving absolute power is human emotions

-> as a result, they prohibited all forms of art and emotional expression

Cromer

For more details and a full list of its abilities, click here

appearance of an hourglass

enables travel between realities and into another's dreams, as well as teleportation while in direct contact with the object

Sciensalvar

The name "Sciensalvar" is likely just a combination of "Scien" from "science" and "salvar" which is Spanish for "to save, to rescue" - saved by science

In the A-World:

"religious" organization founded in 1999, led by Henry Jo (a scientist of some kind)

ideology: humans are a collection of energy, science can resolve uncertainties of the future, the energy in the Cromer can save humanity

never appeared outside of the Fever Epilogue Diary Version

In the Z-World:

pseudo-religious scientific organization spearheaded by 'Z'

invented the AI simulation for the 'best solution'

created a political party under the catchphrase: "The pursuit of a peaceful world without religious conflict and terror through emotional control."

said party grew in size until they were powerful enough to pass the 'Emotional Regulation Act' which lead to the solidification of the class system to the point where 'defective' people are now being 'disposed of'.

Android Guardians

only exist in the Z-World

tall, wearing white masks, decidedly non-human

burn people's memories as an energy source

-> the resulting smoke gets them drunk

-> this new energy market was created by the government's A.I.

their mission: obtain the Cromer, capture Ateez, the Black Pirates/Halateez and their supporters/sympathizers, as well as anyone deemed 'defective'

take orders exclusively from the Head Guardian, Z and presumably also the Sciensalvar party

guard the prison island (a bunker formerly used as an art gallery) and Z's hideout due to their non-human nature which prevents emotional corruption by revolutionists

Halateez/The Black Pirates

resistance fighters in the Z-World

mission: overthrow the government and free people's minds by returning the arts to Strictland

-> use the prohibited arts as a weapon

-> the alternate version of A-World's Ateez and their supporters

Left Eye

lives in Z-World where he used to run a boutique after studying fashion design

his daughter was killed by a speeding car while trying to save a flower on the road

-> she died slowly while passersby ignored her, too focused on moving forward

the yellow fumes of the Strictland dump made him hallucinate his dead daughter, trapping him

-> the Android Guardians found him there and made him the dump's new manager

he later becomes an ally to the revolution

Thunder

originally a group of elite students at Prestige Academy in charge of reporting any students who show emotions who have now joined the resistance

their leader: a girl resembling the one Seonghwa saw dance back in the A-World who dropped a bracelet inscribed with the words 'Be Free', she was inspired by the Grimes Siblings (who first helped Ateez when they arrived in the Z-World) to join the resistance

as the elitest of the elite who were supposed to be the future leaders of Strictland, they have access to top secret information on Z and are willing to share it with the Black Pirates to free everyone

their home base is located in a forest village away from all surveillance

Sopro

First mentioned in the Golden Hour Pt. 2 Diary Entries, Sopro is the name of a ruby-red stone, which Left Eye describes as follows:

"Sopro is a sort of magical spirit that synchronizes the feelings of those who hold it with those who draw breath around them. According to legend, one of the four priest guardians of Halazia gathered the breaths of all of Halazia to create it."

Here is what we know about it:

It was created in the Z-World by the rebellion which means Z and his followers don't know about it

The creation of it is likely what we see in the Halazia MV, meaning Seonghwa plays the role of the priest guardian who created it

After its creation, we don't see it again until Crazy Form where it appears after the Cromer shatters at the very end and gets carried away by a blue bird (THE bluebird which so often gets mentioned in the lyrics)

It was then used by the Black Pirates/the Rebellion to synchronize the emotions of the people of Strictland which is ultimately what set everyone free and made the revolution a success

Wooyoung later uses it again in the A-World at the very end of the most recent Diary Entries:

Wooyoung: "So if I use this... I can sync my and the members' emotions?" Sopro's red light wavered as though in response to Wooyoung's question. Holding the stone tightly in his fist, Wooyoung brought his hand to his heart and earnestly prayed: "It's as though they've all forgotten what it was like to be happy. Reignite our passion like it was back then, and let us be happy together again. Please."Red light spilled from the gaps between his fingers, a ruby aurora dancing throughout the dark room.

[docgold13]

365 Marvel Comics Paper Cut-Out SuperHeroes - One Hero, Every Day, All Year…

September 6th - Victor Mancha

The young hero named Victor Mancha is a sophisticated cyborg built by the villainous Ultron using genetic materials from his gullible aide, Marianella Mancha.  Ultron built Victor as a fully biological human possessing superhuman powers.

He was programmed false memories of a childhood as well as a deeply rooted love and admiration for superheroes. Additionally, Victor was built with latent electromagnetic abilities set to activate upon his first contact with another super-powered individual. Ultron's long-term plan for Victor entailed his visiting New York City at the age of twenty-one, meeting the Avengers, activating his powers, and being recruited to the team as the villain’s unsuspecting sleeper agent.

Meanwhile, The Runaways were sought out by an older version of one of their own, Gertrude Yorkes, who had traveled back in time to deliver an ominous warning.  This adult version of Gert had become the leader of the Avengers yet the whole team were betrayed and killed by one of their own, a hero named Victorious.  Before succumbing to her wounds, the older Gert told the Runaways that they must find and stop Victor Mancha here in the present before he brings about disaster as Victorious in the future.  

Hence the Runaways tracked down and abducted Victor, Their initial encounter activated the young man’s electromagnetic powers.  All this led to a confrontation with Ultron and Victor was able to defy his programing and turn on his creator, helping the Runaways prevail.

Victor had a very hard time coming to terms with these new realizations about himself, yet was able to cope thanks to his new friendships among the Runaways.  He became a member of the team and has embarked on numerous adventures alongside them.  

Victor would go on to serve in Hank Pym’s A.I. Avengers squad where he became close with his half-brother, The Vision.  Some time thereafter, Victor caused an accident that claimed the life of The Vision’s son, Vin.  He was then killed by Vin’s mother, Virgina, but was subsequently rebuilt and restored by Chase Stein.  Hereafter he has rejoined the Runaways and has become romantically involved with his teammate, Gert.

Victor first appeared in the pages of Runaways Vol. 2 #1 (2005).