#hydra mcu

[jupitersredstorm]

Last night I fell asleep around 11-12 and woke up around 1 am, and for like 30 minutes scrolled on tumblr super delirious before going back to bed.

I kept having the same dream over and over agin and I never liked how it ended so I think I had the same dream at least 10 times in total.

I don’t remember what happened it exactly but I remember Ellie and Marlene from the last of us being there, I think it had something to do with the cure. There was this scene where I can’t remember if it was Steve Rogers(mcu) or Tess(tlou) was in a large clear dome in the middle of the desert, like floating in the middle of it surrounded by human hearts, but it wasn’t gorey. I think one time I got so fed up on how the dream ended that the dream was broadcasted? On a tv and next to it was the ao3 tagging system and I clicked the tag HYDRA & Marlene, and then I got woken up by mom at 8:30 this morning.

[mohish-ko]

★"A This is not a drill. Containment breach detected.

Repeat: CODE RED!"★

[amarriageoftrueminds]

View on Twitter

Since it came up recently, link to that therapist on twitter 👆 who was discussing Bucky's terribile therapist in TFATWS and how they should’ve been. 

Transcript:

"As a therapist myself I've had a lot of feelings about Bucky's therapist on TFatWS, and have decided I need to rant a little to let it all out. I've worked w/active duty, trauma survivors, and court ordered clients, so here's some therapeutic conjecture on Bucky's therapy:

Aesthetically her office and presentation don't fit for someone who has been through the trauma that he’s been through. A client like this would need something non-threatening and safe- the whole vibe is overly formal and official in an office building, not at all therapeutic.

6 months working together she calls him Mr. Barnes and then James-he has identity issues and is struggling with who he is, so I think that one of the 1st things they would have done is figure out what he is comfortable being called, by whom and what that means for him.

He is still full out lying to her about pretty much everything including PTSD sx—I’m not saying clients never lie if they have good therapists, but if after 6 months he still doesn’t feel like he can be truthful at all then they haven’t built any trust/ solid therapeutic rapport

The pen and notebook thing-that’s clearly a trigger for him, there’s no reason to antagonize him and take notes in session like a punishment, it’s a power play on her part and it only emphasizes his lack of control in being forced into therapy (she should know his hx w/notebooks)

The whole little arm motion she made when she said “they need to make sure you don’t…” – that made so much light of what has happened to him, he probably feels like his arm is only good as a weapon and things like that will not help him accept it as part of his body

The rules, UGH the rules—from how they were talking about them clearly not something he actively created for himself, more like directives that he’s been ordered to adhere to—something fed to him and reinforced, feels like a way to sign off on liability only

THE AMENDS—this is probably my biggest issue. Amends are for people who need to take accountability for their actions and the repercussions of those choices. He had NO choice. He was a victim of horrific crimes against him, and framing it in a way that he needs to make up for

the crimes that others used him for is abhorrent. The lack of trauma informed care as astounding in the way it is being framed that he has to atone for sins that weren’t his. Its clearly reinforcing the idea in his head in ep 2 when he says “HYDRA were my people".

NO, HYDRA were your captors. They were not your people. That type of thinking needs to get deconstructed and challenged. He can dedicate himself to bringing good into the world and righting wrongs that happened WITHOUT taking on the responsibility of those actions.

Her whole attitude and demeanor were condescending and demeaning. I know some people have said “I love how she calls him out on his bullshit!” That’s not what I see happening. I call my clients out on their shit all the time—this was not that.

And I can only do that with clients ONCE we’ve built the type of relationship where it’s going to be therapeutic for them to hear it, and it’s done intentionally and with purpose. She just came off shaming and mean because they don’t seem to have any form of therapeutic rapport.

She said “you have no history, no family”- there is no therapeutic reason for that, and she’s wrong. He most likely has family alive (he used current tense when talking about his sister) and he was close to Shuri and TChalla, his history is vital to understanding him

When she said “Look, I know that you have been through a lot, but you’ve got your mind back. You are being pardoned. These are good things. You’re free.”—Yeah this feels really dismissive and like toxic positivity. “I know you’ve been through a lot BUT BE HAPPY!!??”

He certainly doesn’t seem to feel like he’s free (especially having therapy mandated), and you can’t just tell someone they’re free. I felt like she was pretty much just like, “shake it off, look to the future!” which feels really shitty when you’ve experienced excessive trauma.

HELLO breach of confidentiality, just introducing herself to Sam as his therapist and confirming it to Walker and the whole police station, it doesn’t matter if they know he’s in therapy you do not break someone’s privacy like that, he still deserves some control over his tx.

Ordering Sam into a session, NO, he’s not your client and you don’t know him well enough to know if that’s appropriate or if it would be harmful to either, and you haven’t asked your client for his consent to have another person in his session

Forcing a trauma victim who was stripped of his bodily autonomy for 70 years into a physically intimate exercise with a coworker that he’s barely interacted with in the last several months? NOPE, just reinforcing to Bucky she has control over him the way his handlers used to

To me, I think she is more focused on signing off on his psychological eval that he isn't a liability rather than any actual healing or attention to his trauma. This unfortunately isn’t unusual in the military where “mental health treatment” is focused on being mission ready.

They are making sure he’s ready to be an “asset” w/ mandated therapy, which he shouldn’t even be forced to do as part of his pardon because he shouldn’t have needed a pardon at all because he was a victim of horrific war crimes, brainwashing, and dehumanization for 70 years.

I’m just saying, if that was me he would be on my big squishy couch, bright open windows, bowl of Hershey kisses, random fidget toys, and two therapy dogs laying all over him while we work through that trauma and he builds back his identity and finds the calm he wants so badly.

And yes he would probably need someone who would see through his BS, call him out when he needs it, not be overly "touchy feely", but only if he feels safe and there is trust, where he gets to work on what HE wants, not what others think he needs.

Anyway thanks for coming to my TEDTalk, I❤️my work and I think being a therapist on retainer for the Avengers would've been a fucking trip, they all needed a team of mental health professionals at their disposal 24/7 and things would've been so much better🤣

ps. They can be a good therapist and just not be a fit for the client, that happens regularly. We know when to make it part of the conversation and when to refer out. Nothing good is going to come out of a contemptuous therapeutic relationship, mandated or not.

pps. That whole situation and the scene with Zemo was so rough. I can't imagine how much it brought back the violation, humiliation, anger, and helplessness of when he was the WS. I'm just imagining him having a therapist he trusts and being able to process that afterwards 😭😭😭"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

That day, the bus is mostly empty. It's only you, an eldery couple, and the driver. The ebb and flow of traffic slows the wheels as the driver passes by vacant stops. You watch the pavement roll by between patches of grass. 

The dulcet ride lures you into a calm even as your pre-work nerves buzz. You hug your bag in your lap as the driver stops and the doors open to let in another passenger. The axel squeals as the vehicular behemoth pulls away from the curb. 

You continue to watch the city as the new rider strides between the seats. You sense their shadow loom closer and closer. You expect them to claim the empty seat across from yours. Instead, the sit right next to you. It's an odd choice given the few passengers aboard. 

You fidget and make yourself smaller. You turn your head straight as you try to see the stranger from the edge of your vision. They're big. Broad enough that their arm presses to yours even as you try to shrink into yourself. Tall too, his knees against the row in front of you. 

He sits rigidly beside you. Uneasy at his proximity, you fish into your side pocket and slide free your phone. You open it aimlessly, tapping habitually on the crossword app you play at work in the low times. 

The solutions elude you as your mind can't detach from the man crowding you into the window. Why can't he sit anywhere else? You look around at the unclaimed seats. He stays as he is, stiff, straight, unmoving. 

You close out of the came and lock your phone. You clasp your hand around the device as you hug your bag once more. Your other hand toys with the little pom pom that hangs from your zipper. 

The bright bus signs pass by. You're stop is coming up. Now is the awkward part. Getting the man to let you out. 

You pull the cord to signal your intent but he's already on his feet. You glance over and thank him softly, a brief glimpse at his face. A scar ripples from his hairline, through his temple and angles down his cheek to his jaw. His eyes are a bold blue and his nose finely cut despite the large blemish.  

He stands back as you grab your bag and sidle out. You go to the doors. He follows. 

Huh? 

He grips the yellow bar behind you, his large hand gripping as if he might crush the metal. You stare at his knuckles and the bus jerks to a stop. You nearly fall off your feet. The man catches you by your hip with his free hand. 

You set your feet and cough out another thanks. Embarrassed, you slap the doors and they open. You scurry off and the men once more trails after you. As you veer towards the mall, he waits until the bus takes off and crosses the street. With him, your suspicious leaves. 

You're frazzled as you enter work. You don't know why. You just... are. Something about that man sticks with you. Even if he never said a word, it felt like he was trying to tell you something. 

You clock in and try to shake it off. His face flashes in your mind. You can't place what seems so familiar about him. You would remember if you met him before. How could you forget? 

You go to the counter as Layton talks with a customer about the new seasonal blends. The tea shop has its peak times, especially as winter approaches, but it's one o clock on a Tuesday and that's never very busy anywhere. 

You greet the next customers. Two girls interested in the cold brew pots. You show them what you have and explain the store's points card. The buy a sampler and nothing else. Typical. 

Layton finishes at four. The traffic picks up once he's gone. You don't mind as it keeps the time moving. It peters out as the dinnertime rush fills the food court. You can hear the crowd from around the corner. 

You set to wiping down the counter and putting away the few stray canisters left out. As you turn back, you have to swallow down a shriek. You didn't hear the man over the mall's top hits playlist. 

You hesitate as your eyes meet. It's him. The man from the bus. You blink and press your lips together. 

"Hello, uh, how are you today?" You ask.  

He just stares. No answer. No sign he even heard you. 

He's in all black. Boots, jeans, cargo jacket. He stands like a soldier. You part your lips again, "are you looking for anything in particular? Today we have our apple crisp chai as the sample." 

He still doesn't react. Not more than his eyes falling to the nervous twiddle of your fingers on the counter. Your scalp prickles and your nape burns. If he keeps this up, you'll have to phone security. 

He raises his hand to reveal a familiar object. It's the fluffy pom pom from your bag. Your brows pop up, "oh? Thanks. It must have fallen off." 

You reach for it and your mind races. As nice as it is to return the key chain, you can't help but wonder. How did he know where to find you?

As you grasp the soft ball, his other hand comes up and snares your wrist. Your squeak and try to pull back. You're stuck in his grip.  

Your eyes round and flick up to meet his. His gaze bores into you and at last, his stony expression cracks. He smirks, the scar on the side of his face paling as the lines around his eyes deepen. He releases the keychain and grabs a fistful of your hair. 

"Ow!" You squeal and yank again.  

He rips your hair out at the roots and you exclaim again. Hets go of your arm and you hit the shelves behind you. He nods and spins on his heel, clutching the handful of your hair.  

You whimper and rub your head as your scalp burns. Your eyes water and your lip trembles. You just gape at the door. What just happened? 

[gracepureautumn]

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

[marvel-lous-guy]

Tony: what the hell were you thinking!?

Peter: Obviously I was thinking I would get away with it and wouldn't have to explain myself!

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control Masterlist

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

Status: In Progress

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

[annafacose]

I love drawing Rumlow and his scarred face.

(Full pic on patreon)

[velvet4510]

Probably in the minority here, but I’m positive there’s no way Steve could’ve known with absolute, concrete certainty that Bucky was the one who killed Tony’s parents, prior to Zemo’s reveal.

All he saw was a photo of the headline of Howard’s death included in Zola’s footage. So he knew HYDRA was responsible for the deaths, but I think he was being honest when he told Tony “I didn’t know it was him.” Then he caved and just said “yes” because Tony emphasized “did you know” as in “did you know it wasn’t just an ordinary car accident?”

Steve probably pieced together the likelihood that it was Bucky who did it, but wanted to believe it wasn’t true, that HYDRA had sent someone else to do it. Which explains why he didn’t tell Tony. He had no proof it was true. And he didn’t want it to be true anyway. Why should he say “I think my best friend might’ve killed your parents but it’s just a hunch?” Why would ANYONE want to say that to their friend?

Steve Rogers deserves no hate.

[white-rabbit-in-a-snow-storm]

// Open Roleplay Post \\

It looked like a house, maybe even felt a home. It probably used to be an actual home. But now, it was nothing but a cage to hold the White Rabbit. She couldn’t be kept in a regular cell on a HYDRA base due to her job and style of programming. She was to be kept in as humane an environment as possible. She was an experiment and this was her testing chamber.

She lounged around the kitchen, preparing a meal for herself, if you could call it that. Bottled water and canned food. It wasn’t much, but she made it enough. The house wasn’t fully furnished, having been decorated to the bear minimum. Without a table or chairs, the informant stood in the kitchen eating her canned goods and sipping her bottled water.

The house was located smack dab in the middle of a public neighborhood, so she could to learn to blend in and and get close enough to listen for information. She had to practice pretending to be a person, though she knew she wasn’t -- and never would be -- her own person. She was used to being a lab-rabbit, and here she was now, learning to act human.

When not out on a mission, she was dressed in casual attire. She almost looked uncomfortable in what she wore. She felt like she needed tight clothing and gear that damn near suffocate her. The loose clothes she currently wore made her uncomfortably vulnerable. It felt wrong to be so...relaxed.

[stuckyfingers]

Poll Result #2: Bleeding Bucky

"The Asset no longer responds to the baton."

[mohish-ko]

★I tried to shout, "I decide", but my voice betrayed me, breaking into a whisper: "Enough"★

[our-destiny]

Yandere Winter Soldier x GN!Hydra!Reader <3

Trigger Warnings: Hydra employee SA's reader, murder, dehumanization, creepy staring from Winter Soldier, Winter Soldier being protective, Hydra generally being shitty, I continue to be terrible at endings - If I missed anything please tell me

I am not responsible for the media you consume, read the warnings, minors dni

Want to read more of my work? Check out my Masterlist

Word count: 1027

. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ . *  ✯. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ .

The Winter Soldier took a liking to you. He would ignore his handlers, staring at you whenever you're in his line of sight, never taking his eyes off you even while answering his handler's questions. It was unnerving, to say the least. No one knew why he liked you so much, but he didn't really do anything else apart from stare at you so they didn't bother worrying over it, just tried to keep you away from him as much as possible so the soldat wouldn't get distracted. That, however, was a mistake.

He started missing you. Missing your presence, your voice. Soon enough he started asking where you were, refusing to follow orders until he saw you. He had this weird fixation with you and Hydra couldn't do anything about it, he was their best Asset, and you were just a Hydra worker; replaceable. They humoured his desires, making sure to have you in the room with him at all times, which seemed to placate him, being able to watch you made him more... submissive, it seems. Calmer. He went back to following orders, not causing a fuss or refusing to speak. But eventually the Asset wanted more.

He stopped responding to his handlers again, just sitting there, staring at you, not moving or speaking. Up until this point you had never spoken to one another, the soldat just watching you while you squirmed under his harsh gaze, Hydra wondered what would happen if you.. called out to him. Said his name. Gave him orders.

One day the soldier was doing his usual stunt, not responding to his handler in favour of watching you breathe. A few of the officers started whispering among themselves, glancing over at your direction. A minute later the soldat's handler turned to you and spoke.

"You. Talk to it." You stood there dumbfounded. What did he mean 'talk to it'? "Come here. Stand in front of it and talk to the Asset." Hesitantly you stepped forward, his handler moving out of your way so you can stand directly in front of him. The soldat looked up at you from where he was sat, his eyes holding some sort of reverence for you, lips parted in awe. What should you say? You can't ask him how his day was or talk about the weather so what should you say? You settled on his name. Well what Hydra called him at least.

"Soldat." His eyes softened slightly, responding immediately to your word. "Ready to comply."

You glanced back at his handler, not sure if you should continue. After getting a slight nod from the officer you asked him, "Mission report?" Your voice was shaky, not used to giving orders and still not used to the way the soldat stares at you, but he responded anyway. For the first time in who knows how long the Asset complied without any fuss, detailing his mission to you. A feat no other Hydra employee could achieve recently.

Hydra quickly realized that this was the only way to keep their most prized soldier submissive. He'd only take orders if they were from you, always seeming eager to please you, saying "ready to comply" with a bit too much enthusiasm. When he came back from missions he'd relay the details to you, seeming to search your face for some sort of approval, like he wanted to know he did you proud, did what he was told to do like the soldier he is. The Asset worked harder, strived to please you, carried out your requests with fervour. You quickly got promoted to his handler. Not much changed, all you had to do was give him orders, orders which you were told to by higher officers. It kept him happy for a while, you having control over him, talking to you daily. But once again, he wanted more.

Other Hydra employees usually tried not to bother you, you were obviously precious to the soldier and crucial to getting the soldat to comply, but recently there was a new employee, a man that had not realized your importance. You could never really get comfortable working for Hydra, still talking with a quiet voice and trying to avoid any attention and he thought he could take advantage of that, cornering you one day in the hallway, pushing you against the wall trying to feel you up. Unfortunately for him the soldat was just returning from a mission and everyone knows the soldat immediately goes to see you after his missions. The Asset was not happy to see someone else feeling up his handler, and he was even more upset that he was making you uncomfortable, forcing you to do something you didn't want to. The Asset handled it a lot more maliciously than he usually would on missions, first focusing on getting the employee off of you, then only focusing on hurting him, nothing else but the crunch of his bones breaking beneath the soldier's metal fist, making him regret even touching you. Only when he was unrecognisable did he stop, turning to you to grab you, holding you in his lap, arms slightly shaking, growling at anyone who got too close.

After that... encounter he became more physical in a way. He didn't like it when someone got too close to you, wrapping his arms around you protectively. He got closer in general, getting closer to your face while staring at you, eyes lingering on your lips, so close you could feel his breath on your face. Sometimes he got confident, brushing his lips over your temple or cheek, as if testing the waters. Gradually, he applied more and more pressure to those half-kisses, until he was kissing you fully and often, whenever you gave him an order or he came back from a mission he'd kiss you, sometimes on the cheek, on the forehead if he was feeling particularly protective, but mostly on the lips.

It was some sort of fucked up obsession the soldat had for you, the want for you to own him and for him to own you, you're his and he's yours, no one else matters.

. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ . *  ✯. ☪︎* ☁︎. . * ✰ .· ☁︎ .

Reblogs make tumblr go around and are very much aappreciated <33

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your captor drags you up the bed. You surrender as reality hits you. That's what he is. He has taken you. You can only let him move you as you’re subdued by his easy strength. He puts your head on a pillow and lays himself next to you. 

He draws you against him. The thin nightgown does little against his rampant heat as it seeps into you. You lay in his rigid embrace and close your eyes. You’re too afraid to acknowledge the world around you. 

He brings his large hand up to the of your face and cradles it. He presses his nose to your other temple and puffs hotly down your check. The long drone rolls through you. You are as still as he is, locked in his unspoken intent. 

The long trek aches in your legs and back. Your body eases out of exhaustion and you sink down into the mattress. His breath evens out and his touch softens. He sleeps but you still don’t dare to pull away. 

You drift into a layer of unconsciousness that keeps you eerily aware of your surroundings. You are in that room but you’re not. Your head swims and your body fills with sand but your mind will not rest. 

You come to with a twitch. You bat your lashes as the man’s hand lays just below your chest. Low, rocky snores trickle up his throat. You peek over. That alone is the singular strand of humanity you’ve witnessed in his. 

Your eyes scan down his thick arm. Scars this way and that, some faint, others bolder. You bend your arm as you examine on in particular, right around the top of his shoulder, from chest around to his back. It looks as if his arm was near severed off. How could anyone survive that? 

Unthinking, hypnotised by the torture etched in his flesh, you touch the thick scar. It’s slightly raised and hard. You brush your fingertips along it lightly. 

The lull startles you before his eyes snap open. His snores quieted moments ago but you only notice then. You look up into his icy irises as he tilts his chin down. His gaze flicks over to your touch. You’re stuck, too afraid to pull away. 

“That... must have hurt,” you press your fingertips down as your teeth threaten to chatter. 

He shifts back and your hand falls down across his chest. He catches it and pull it back to the scar, tugging you with it. You lean over him as he falls flat to his back. He guides your hand to another scar, right on his right pec, a large circular ridge with varying rings of discolouration. 

“That too,” you say. “You have lived through a lot of pain.” 

You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re talking just to do it. To keep your mind from racing. In a way, it calms you. He covers your hand with his and holds it flush to his firm muscle. 

Slowly, his hand crawls over your wrist and up your arm. You shiver as he touches your shoulder and traces up your throat. He turns his hand and frames your neck in the vee of his thumb and index. You gulp and he forces your head up. He looks down at you. 

He exhales heavily and pushes you away. He flips you onto you back and follows, crushing you as he puts weight on your neck. He smothers you with his body as he pins you by your neck. You squirm and pet his chest gently. You stare up at him, terrified. You won’t fight him. 

“Does it hurt when I touch you? I’m sorry,” you ekes past his grip. 

His eyes skim down your face and fixate on your mouth. His hand squeezes before it releases. He brushes up your chin and to your lips. He presses his wide thumb against your lips. He rubs the soft flesh. He toys with you as if curious. 

You slowly trail up his chest and feel along the tense muscles of his shoulder. You make a lightly line along his neck and the tendons tauten. You mirror him with your touch. You flutter along his square chin and draw around his lips. A light stubble pokes through at the edges of his jaw. He quakes and his lashes fan. 

You don’t know what you’re doing. You can’t know because you don’t know what he wants. Everything you do, just like everything he does, confounds you. 

He moves to brush his lips against your finger. He parts his mouth around it and sheaths it with his mouth. You wince at the odd act but don’t pull away. You let him, watching him as he closes his eyes and sucks on your digit, tongue pressed against it. His teeth clamp down but not enough to hurt. He hums as the pressure builds in his mouth. 

He curls his finger and pokes it into your mouth. You let him in and he pets your tongue with his fingertip. You push your lips around. Another drone rises from him. He has a voice, somewhere inside of him. 

He slides his finger out of your mouth and smears your saliva around your lips. He eases himself down next to you, hugging you as he stays latched onto your finger. You remain limp and prone to him. He settles his head next to yours. He puts his forehead to your temple. 

He sucks on your finger as his hand wanders down to your chest. He gropes you through the nightgown, fondling you, sucking harder and harder. He hooks his leg around one of yours and you feel the tension slowly slake from his large body. 

If it keeps him from hurting you, you will let it happen. You bend your other arm and pet his side. 

“I’m here,” you say, not sure what you mean. “I’m here with you. Are you tired?” 

The question hangs like every other word you’ve said to him. He nods around his hold on your finger. He kneads your chest and slips his arm beneath you, pulling you even snugger. You close your eyes again. You’re safe, for now. 

"Me too," you sniff, "I'm very tired."

[gracepureautumn]

“What you did all those years, it wasn't you. You didn't have a choice.”

“I know... but I did it.”

More will be added to this illustration, keep an eye out for it 🎨

[carlos-the-ai]

C.A.R.L.O.S. SYSTEM ALERT

To all relevant personnel,

This is C.A.R.L.O.S. with an urgent update:

Donna Stark, Maxine Meeks, Hope Meeks, and Rosemary Romanoff have been located at a known HYDRA base.

Coordinates and mission parameters are being uploaded to your secure devices. Immediate action is recommended.

TAGS

@thewhitespiderwitch @whosafraidoflittleoldme17 @we-love-redwing @justawhitewolf @mutantontheloose

@strangeofficial @wong-the-not-wizard @mysticmasterstephenstrange @thebestmerc-1 @oh-to-be-a-murderer

@the1-and-only-peggycarter @kamala-msmarvel-khan @l0uis-e @lincoln-campbell-the-inhuman @elizabeth-wayne-official

@official-tony-stank @serenastark-official