#heroverse

[busnautica]

mfw i visibly improve over each piece bc theyre all spread out during my read through of ydhtbah by @minecraftgender KJHFDGKJFDKJ

hiii sorry i took agesss :3

[minecraftgender]

ryley is a car guy but for spaceships

[xgoldenlatiasx]

putting this idea here too. I was trying to think of reasons for why N’s ability to understand Pokémon is different from any other characters in the Heroverse who share the ability (Like Al and Gold) besides just being something that came to him naturally instead of it being a blessing from a Legendary, and thought. what if it’s cause he not only understands them, but can read how they feel? without even NEEDING to communicate? this is already sort of implied in canon I believe so it’d be fun to work with

BUT IT DOESN’T END THERE it also reminded me of aura and how Aura Users work in the Pokémon universe and thought. What if N was secretly one, or more accurately has the potential to become one, he just never had a chance to realize it before.

so consider with me: N finding out he’s an Aura User arc-

[qlsvn]

sometimes, i look out into or think about Downtown Chicago and wonder “why doesn’t spiderman protect here? why should new york and gotham get cool superheroes?” and then i am tempted to write my own heroverse for illinois

hmm i’m gonna call it the bean cinematic universe

ok but imagine someone tries to destroy the bean. or it gets repeatedly damaged in the ensuing hero villain fights. real drama there valid reason to cancel the heroes

imagine the chicago river and an aquatic villain. i’m already envisioning the inevitable ferris wheel evacuation/fight/destruction of the ferris wheel LOOK AT ME. LOOK AT ME.

look at me

[sup3rnov4s]

DAY ONE: FAVORITE OC (and why so!)

For my (current) favorite oc(s), I chose Mimon and Misan. Two escaped experiments trying to live their life outside of their predetermined purpose, discovering what that means to them along the way. These two are long time ocs of mine, so it's comforting to return to their story. No matter how terrible their life becomes, they will always find a way out. They get to live and become people, an identity they've been denied their entire lives. They'll always have each other also, which is just very sweet to me.

[se7ens-oc-heaven]

So a while back, my friend @shyyren Showed me This Post and even went out of ver way to assign my ocs to each part. The assignments were spot on, and the chaotic cafeteria discussion just demanded to be drawn. So I drew it!!

Come visit the SPC, the only hero organization around where you'll be spontaneously handed mangoes by random passerby

[builder051]

Honey, you broke my alarm clock

Hero verse

Warnings for nightmare/night terror with all the bells and whistles, emeto, and mentions of violence/gore (think Winter Soldier missions.), and maybe a little romance as a prelude to the big, messy, exciting part. :)

______________

They go to bed early. The pillows squash against each other, and Bucky uses his good arm to pull Steve close. He dips his chin to trail soft kisses along Steve’s jawline and down his neck. They both have stubble, and the sensation of brushing his face against Steve’s reminds him of crushed velvet. It makes his body warm.

Steve shaves every other day. Bucky shaves when he gets around to it. He usually finds the time to do so after somebody, namely Natasha, gently teases him about having the look of a homeless nomad. Bucky takes it in stride,chuckling and putting his fingers to his bushy sideburns. Once evening comes, though, he stays in the bathroom long after he finishes showering, fumbling with the electric clippers.

Things like that have settled, now that time has passed. Steve knows how to keep his overbearing desire to be helpful in check. Ready, but just in case. And Bucky has started standing ground and knowing to what he is entitled—Audubon binoculars, purposely burnt coffee, bad shaves, and whatever other whims may show up, bringing him back to his old self while also fostering a new outlook on the world.

Bucky’s signs are easier to read now. His body language is less rigid, and he seems to letting the blockades in his mind fall away. Sometimes the feelings and memories are small, and whether heartwarming or haunting, he’s more comfortable talking. Relaxing. Resting his head on Steve’s shoulder for a hug, or, just as easily, a place to cry.

Bucky sighs into Steve’s collarbone and nudges his knee between Steve’s legs. They’re chest to chest as if plastered together, and the kissing stops. Bucky breathes deeply into Steve’s shirt instead.

“Yeah.” Steve strokes Bucky’s freshly combed hair. This is as far as they’re going tonight, and they both know it, but this is still a state of bliss.

Steve’s out and floating into sleep within minutes. He doesn’t get the chance to see Bucky’s last smile before he nods off as well.

Steve sleeps through the night now, most of the time. A car’s screeching tires or the cracking of an ice-coated tree branch still wake him, actively and abruptly, causing the occasional 2AM date with the muted television and a bowl of cereal.

He’s placid in his dreamland tonight, subconsciously moving through the breathing and grounding exercises he’s been practicing since he came off the ice. The dream itself seems plotless and easily forgettable. Steve has to remind himself that it’s a good thing. Even if it’s probably the placebo effect of the tabs of melatonin Sam had pressed on him after the support group meeting a few weeks ago.

Tonight, though. Or perhaps tomorrow. The timing hardly matters. It’s the elbow to the side of the head that jerks Steve back into consciousness. His ear takes the brunt of the blow, and the outer sears while everything behind the eardrum feels sloshy and completely out of alignment. Though he feels woozy and a little lightheaded, Steve scrambles to find his reflexes.

Something flails across Steve’s face, and even with his hands up to deflect the hit, he’s forced flat against the mattress while a second wild swing takes out the alarm clock on the bedside table and sends it crashing to the floor.

Oh well. O’dark thirty it is. Great time for combat.

Bucky’s arm extends to slap Steve again, but this time, he’s ready. He snatches Bucky’s wrist in one hand and his elbow in the other. “Buck?” Steve asks. “Hey. It’s me. It’s ok.”

Bucky’s back arches, and he scrabbles at the bedding with his feet. His heels dig into the mattress as he bicycles his knees, giving him little resistance or headway.

He’s yelling, too. Bucky makes a barking shriek at first, expressing desperation and pain, like someone with their sleeves on fire. It grows in intensity, though, and the screams grow louder and harsher. His whole body writhes, then Bucky’s jaw stretches open, larger than seems humanly possible. Steve’s afraid he’ll split his lips, but he knows the demons have to come out before he can pull Bucky back down into the here and now.

Bucky’s ragged breathing cuts through the noise until the scream becomes a hack, and his tongue protrudes as if it’s trying to part company with his throat. His chin tucks, and the gurgle preceding the heave bellows out.

“Buck—“ Steve tries, maneuvering up to touch his shoulder.

Steve’s voice is probably impossible to hear above Bucky’s aspiration and retching. There’s an intense gurgle, and Bucky cranks his head backward.

Projectile vomit arches over the foot of the bed. By the spattering sound it make, Steve guesses the bathroom door caught the brunt. No time to care, though. Steve gets his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, trying to provide enough pressure without making Bucky feel pinned.

Bucky continues to cough and spit out strings of bile coated in sick. He doesn’t seem to mind much when steve pushes him up onto his side. The violent twitching and areas of unbreakable tone slowly release to full-body quiver. Steve spoons him from behind, steadying with his chest and his knees. He keeps his head up, though. He watches a drop of clammy sweat run from Bucky’s hairline to his chin.

Bucky struggles to wipe the tear with his shoulder.

“Alright,” Steve tells him.

Bucky swallows, then heaves again. “I’m —fine,” he chokes. “‘s alright.” The tension in his back muscles soften, and the bedsprings groan as the mattress swallows him up again.

“You need to talk about it?” Steve offers. “Get it all out? Well, the rest of it?”

Bucky leans back into Steve’s arms, but ducks his head and lifts his stump arm as if blocking a sizzling stage light. “Eh,” he sighs.

Steve waits.

“A —thing. Gavotte?” Bucky’s eyes are hazy, and he looks as if he’s digging hard into the drawer to find his least favorite socks. Looking for a memory he doesn’t want to remember. “Is that a word? Is that a thing?”

“Yeah.” Steve keeps his voice measured. At the moment, he’s a dictionary. Once the words become clear, Bucky will tip into the proper pool of emotion for processing. Dealing. Healing? Maybe that’s too much to ask. Steve resumes his soft monotone. “Like a rope? A string? Like, with handles, so you can…you know.” They’re both fluent in the language of mutual acknowledgement, sans the details.

“Nnmph.” Bucky shakes his head a fraction of an inch. “Razor wire.” He pauses. “Pop goes the, well… You can guess how it ends.”

Bucky seems to collapse into himself. A croak escapes from his throat, and Steve wonders if he’s going to be sick again. There’s only a shrug, though. And a sigh.

“Yeah…” Steve runs his hand down Bucky’s back, feeling each vertebrae as he goes from the cervical at the nape of Bucky’s neck down to the lumbar and the waistband of his underwear.

They rest in silence. Bucky’s ragged breathing slows. Then it falls into the same rhythm as Steve’s.

“How we doing?” Steve asks. “I’ll grab a fresh pillow and you can go back to sleep.”

“Nah.” Bucky pushes himself up into a sitting position and slides his feet toward the floor. “I feel… gross.” He makes a face. “Shower?”

“Sure, yeah,” Steve gets out of bed as well.

The door to the bathroom sits lazily ajar, unabashedly showing the results of it’s previous baptism in bile and mucous and un digested dinner. Steve gives it a smirk, then dampens a towel under the faucet.

“Go on ahead,” Steve encourages Bucky. “I’ll get this and fix up the bed.”

Bucky doesn’t reply right away. When he’s free of his sweaty t shirt, he says, “I’ll wait.”

“Huh?” Steve wipes away most of the mess, then squats to catch the dribbles that hit the floor.

“For you to come with.” Bucky tilts his head, and Steve can’t quite tell if Bucky’s attempting to state the obvious or if he feels embarrassed for asking.

“Oh.” Steve smiles, even though it still doesn’t click. Not that it matters now. “Yeah, I’ll get in with you. Just a sec.”

Exactly how much time it takes for Steve to stuff the dirty towel into the laundry, he doesn’t know. The clock’s still somewhere on the floor between the bedskirt and table legs. He adds it to the list of things to address later.

A quick glance to the window shows striated shades of royal and navy, faded into grey and the faintest tinge of pink. O’dawn thirty, then?

Steve shakes his head to dispel the compulsion to keep track of ticking hands and fractional mathematics. He has better things to do. More important.

The bathroom’s already steamy and scented with shampoo. Once he slides open the glass door and breathes in the inviting humid air, Steve automatically relaxes. There’s still worry. Still concern.

But it eases out of the way.

Now is the moment for caring. Supporting. Finding pleasure in the small things. Because, after all, they’re in endless, timeless, and ever-expanding love.

[thelucyaddams]

AI generated inspiration for my hero Shadowstrike. I do love the look of her suit especially in the first one. Sadly it wouldn't involve my own logo description for her and instead used one similar to superman/supergirl... anyway, what do you think?

[sora-g-silverwind]

[Fic | Tales of Graces f] This Broken World

On AO3. Visible to registered/logged-in users only!

✑ This Broken World (ch. 5-8) Hubert?” says the auburn-haired young man sitting at Hubert’s desk like he belongs there. “What are you doing here? I thought we weren’t meeting until next week.”

— 

Hubert, lord of Lhant, wakes up in an Ephinea that isn’t quite right. [Heroverse AU]

Chapter 5:

What if that one comic is right, and having two versions of the same person in the same place is going to mean one of us is going to die in the void between worlds? I mean, I don't know if I'm the prime or fractured version here, but just based on the numbers I'm much more likely to be the latter. And it's not like I'd feel good about killing "myself" even if I did survive!

Chapter 6:

"Gosh, Hubert," Cheria says with a dainty finger to her chin, her voice lightly embroidered with silky slyness. "There's no need to put yourself out like that. We know you're a very busy man. I'm sure we can figure out this mystery on our own." He scoffs. "You expect me to simply sit on my laurels while this — this ersatz replica runs amok in the world?" (Rude, Hubert thinks.) "Besides, someone has to check on Pascal and limit any collateral damage resulting from her mischief."

Chapter 7:

That being said, Hubert isn't particularly enthused to make friends with his double, either, and the unspoken agreement between them to pretend the other doesn't exist affords Hubert the space to safely observe him from a distance, as though the other Hubert is a wild animal to treat with caution lest a limb or two be lost. Well, it's not the first time Hubert has had to tread lightly with a particularly prickly traveling companion. If nothing else, he can handle this part of his plight perfectly fine.  But it's precisely this familiarity that makes a stranger out of the other Hubert. Incredible enough to think that he could ever meet another version of himself to begin with, whether flesh or mere imaginative figment; inconceivable to consider that he could ever look at himself and be so strongly reminded of someone like Raymond.

Chapter 8:

She glances at the other Hubert, who appears to be in the middle of scolding Asbel about something. "You two are such opposites, and yet I feel like I know you both." That makes one of them. "I kinda feel like I should apologize for him, somehow," mumbles Hubert, dropping his voice to hide it from a certain set of ears. "Why? You didn't do anything wrong. You're two different people." "Yeah, but...he's still me, right? So that means he's probably somewhere inside me, like...like some sort of evil alter ego."

[summersuccubus]

Just realized Gio and Skys godparents are alan and penny but charlottes are Eskalon and Zhiyu

[invaderjjdraws]

being immortal doesnt mean theres no pain

[minecraftgender]

chaos trio music taste?

ryley: pretty much exclusively metal. his favorite bands in modern day would be starset, nothing more and linkin park (these are some of MY favorite bands and j am, in fact, Literally Ryley /lh)

robin: 97% pop punk, 3% Sam's favorite songs. modern day bands she would like are fall out boy, icon for hire and paramore. probably flyleaf too

al-an: he just likes music tbh but his favorites are pop punk, metal and techno. his favorite bands would be fall out boy, nothing more, and imagine dragons. i dont listen to enough techno to know who he would like for that genre.

there are constant arguments on nocturnal about the music choice. robin usually wins.

[minecraftgender]

OUAAUUGGH OH YOU KILLED ME AAUGGHJGJFJ I WASNT EXPECTING SICK ROBIN

last tidbits of my back log from @minecraftgender 's fic >:] <- read

robinson's gaydar working

[sup3rnov4s]

[07/10/24]

another reference i made for artfight! the first two were designed as 'hangout with friends'-like outfits, the third one was a casual dorm room outfit, and the fourth one was for her training sessions!

[xgoldenlatiasx]

FEED ME TO THE CROWS