#marvel ultimate forms

[thelifeofjord]

Avengers in Ultimate Cyborg Forms | What If?

[jor-elthatendswell]

It's a well worn topic at this point but the imminent release of The Marvels has me thinking about how militaristic the Marvel Cinematic Universe is, with Monica Rambeau aka Photon, a habour patrol member in the comics, reimagined as a captain in the US Air Force.

She follows Hawkeye, who was changed from an argumentative former circus performer with a heart of gold (a character so staunchly against lethal force he once revoked his own wife's Avengers membership because she sort of, maybe, subconsciously allowed a villain to fall to his death) into a hard-nosed black ops assassin.

Sam Wilson/ Falcon made his celluloid debut as an army man with twin submachine guns attached to his wrists. It’s a far cry from his print counterpart’s introduction as a social worker by day who uses his skill at falconry to protect his neighbourhood.

If we allow the argument that modern cinema goers are accustomed to a sprinkling of realism to make their superheroes palatable (and it’s a strange argument really- why should realism be a desirable quality in summer blockbuster escapism?) then what actually constitutes “realism”.

Sure, a man who learnt uncanny skill with a bow and arrow growing up with a travelling show couldn’t possibly hold his own alongside Hulk or Thor in the real world (and, yes, there isn’t a Hulk or Thor in the real world; as I say, this is a strange argument), but if he learned those exact same skills in some kind of military context then that somehow passes the bar for realism? The sinister upshot is that these children’s heroes become more warlike just as, globally, they reach more children than ever before.

Increasing the realism of superhero stories only serves to make them problematic. DC Comics' Batman, who is the frequently subjected to “realistic” treatments, is the prime example. If, in real life, a billionaire tooled himself up with the best weapons and body armour money can buy and began dispensing violent “justice” with no accountability, then of course that wouldn’t be a good thing. If they wore a costume with pointy ears and started calling themselves “Batman” then of course we would question their sanity. But Batman isn’t real; it’s a story. Nobody thinks The Muppet Show advocates animal cruelty. Quite the opposite, if anything. ("Not unless they're watching it", as Waldolf once heckled) Yet if a filmmaker decides they’re going to make a “grounded and realistic” remake where Fozzy is played by a real live bear wearing a pork pie hat and spotty necktie, then that's a whole other story. Suspend your disbelief and superheroes are less like the police or army and more akin to volunteers and activists, doing what they can with what they have to improve the lives of those around them. Their actions take the form of crime fighting only because that’s what makes for exciting colourful adventure stories for children.

In the MCU, even Marvel’s poster boy, Spider-Man (another champion of non-lethal solutions, known for his compassion even to his enemies and who possesses an enduring appeal to young children) is given a literal sheen of the military-industrial complex in the form of “Stark Tech” armour, replete with military grade strike drones. Tony Stark even thought to equip his 15 year old protégé-cum-child soldier with an “Instant Kill Mode”. In a moment played for laughs in Spider-Man: Homecoming, Spider-Man rejects his on-board AI's attempt to activate this feature but seems untroubled that such an option exists and, indeed, come Avengers: Infinity War, he voluntarily deploys it. It’s not clear if Spidey actually does kill any of his alien adversaries, but it seems reasonable to assume that one doesn’t say “Activate Instant Kill Mode” without the intention of ending lives. Fans are expected to smile or applaud as Spider-Man says these words, recognising the call-back to Homecoming, rather than find it a gross misrepresentation of Marvel’s most beloved character or an alarming depiction of a children’s favourite.

The MCU Avengers as a whole are a US government “initiative “. The reluctant superheroes need to be cajoled into putting their differences aside for the greater good by army top brass Nick Fury. In a tweak from the source material, the ‘H' in Fury's organisation, SHIELD, stands for ‘Homeland’, making SHIELD as explicitly American venture as opposed to it being ostensibly intergovernmental in the comics.

There is a comic book precedent for this military take on Earth's Mightiest Heroes in the form of The Ultimates, a 2002 series by the British team of writer Mark Millar and artist Bryan Hitch. The Ultimates ,however, was satire. Millar was an unreformed lefty of the old school – someone who has boasted of voting Brexit for left-wing reasons, someone who once appeared on Russia Today as a guest of George Galloway. The Ultimates took swings at the gung ho jingoism of post 9/11 America. Captain America's “Surrender!!?? You think this letter on my head stands for France?“ is not supposed to be a badass one-liner, but rather a parody of the kind of things US media outlets were saying as Jacques Chirac proved less keen than Tony Blair to follow George Bush in bringing gunboat diplomacy to the Middle East. As Millar commentated at the time:

“The Ultimates is completely different because it's a character-driven piece and (something only a few people have noticed) my attempt as a left-wing writer to tell stories about an essentially right-wing concept and cast. It's very much the Anti-Authority, if you will. Captain America and so on are fully-paid members of the US military machine and this means a very different book and approach from a gang of slightly arrogrant, left-wing, superhuman utopians like The Authority ".

Wildstorm Comics' The Authority, which both Millar and Hitch worked on (although not together), was a precursor to Ultimates, featuring a team of similarly “any means necessary” heroes, albeit with a left-wing bent. The Ultimates does have something of The Authority’s utopian streak; Nick Fury and Tony Stark genuinely want to make the world a better place for everyone. It’s very idealistic – what if the head of the military and the biggest tech billionaire actually had the people’s best interests at heart? – and arguably closer to true superhero ethos (basically “with great power there must also come great responsibility “) than those characters more pragmatic MCU equivalents.

Yet, as Millar's one time writing partner Grant Morrison (who actually ghost-wrote at least one issue of The Authority under Miller’s name) observed in Morrison’s major nonfiction work, Supergods, the likes of The Authority, The Ultimates and, by extension, the MCU represent a “capitulation” to the view “that it was really only force and violence that got things done and not patient diplomacy, and that only soldiers and very rich people had the world figured out”. If the MCU is realistic, then it’s a sad indictment of the real world where the heroes are the ones with the best tech, the best guns and no compunction about using them.

Regardless of intent, The Ultimates left a door at Marvel’s “House of Ideas” just enough ajar to allow a malign notion to creep in: “These soldier superheroes are pretty cool. What If they were like that all the time? Wouldn’t they be more popular then”?

Certainly the navy SEAL aesthetic Bryan Hitch brought to the costumes (replacing the colourful tights and capes with pouches, straps and body armour) was soon adopted by superhero tv and film productions even pre-MCU. In fact, Hawkeye's journey from carny to commando mirrors the changes in superhero attire. Most famously, Superman's appearance with the red “overpants” derives from that of circus strongmen, but seeing any photography of early to mid 20th century carnival and circus performers makes it clear the early superhero creators had them in mind when they first put pencil to paper.

In an interview (found in Marvel Spotlight: Captain America, published in 2009) Hitch related how he showed an initial Ultimates drawing of Captain America with a machine gun to Grant Morrison, which Morrison then “described as the most obscene Captain America image [they’d] ever seen”. (NB: Morrison has since adopted gender neutral pronouns). Perhaps Morrison said this with glee, in on the joke with their friends, but in the years since, Cap with a gun became a common sight, even in family-friendly movies (where it was divorced from the irony of The Ultimates).

By a 2015 interview, Morrison lamented the fact that “the Avengers work for the government, and it's been like that since Mark [Millar] did The Ultimates” and said they were “bored with the idea that the best superheroes can represent is some aggressive version of the military. [...] They're supposed to be champions of the oppressed, they help ordinary people, they make things better for people. They don't prop up our grotesque, doddering culture of war and aggression”.

That same year Morrison introduced a new comic book superteam in the pages of The Multiversity. Pointedly the text likens this group, named “Justice Incarnate”, to a “cosmic neighbourhood watch” rather than any formal military or law-enforcement institution.

Millar himself reunited with his Authority collaborator Frank Quitely to create the comic Jupiter’s Legacy, which comes across in part as an apology for The Ultimates and all it begat. It concludes with the protagonists, Chloe Sampson and Eddie "Hutch" Hutchence taking up superhero mantles and promising not to make the moral compromises of their predecessors:

“No more bowing to authority and insitutions. No more deference to people in power”.

“There's a dignity in public service we mistook for old-fashioned, and a humility in having a secret identity, living among the people we protect.“

The Avengers, Marvel’s breakthrough billion dollar box office 2012 movie, by contrast, concludes with Iron Man dropping a nuclear bomb on the “Chitari”, an invading alien army and it seems likely this influenced Morrison’s comments on modern superhero stories.

In Supergods, Morrison

describes their childhood dread of nuclear weapons. The child of “ban the bomb” activists, the “gruesome hand-drawn images of how the world might look after a spirited thermonuclear missile exchange” which illustrated their parents anti-nuclear literature struck terror into the young Morrison. Therefore they seized upon superheroes as being an idea powerful enough to counteract – and overcome – the idea of the bomb.

“It’s not that I needed Superman to be “real,” I just needed him to be more real than the Idea of the Bomb that ravaged my dreams”.

Within the narrative of the movie, Iron Man takes the only option available to him to save New York. Destroying thousands of alien lives to save thousands of human ones. But The Avengers isn’t a documentary; the scriptwriters could have written a satisfying denouement which didn’t involve mass murder. They could at least have included some words of regret by the heroes over what it took to win, acknowledging that killing is not the ideal solution. Instead the Avengers trade banter and eat shawarma, collective conscious clear.

There is a moment in another Grant Morrison work, Final Crisis, which always brings the MCU to mind. In Final Crisis #3, drawn by JG Jones, (published in 2008, the same year the MCU began) “evil gods” from a higher plain of existence have been reincarnated on Earth. In order for the Justice League to counter this threat, a “draft for Superheroes” is implemented. Green Arrow (a Batman-a-like character who was subsequently reinvented to embody the countercultural sentiment of the late 1960s and has since served as the social conscious of the superhero set) responds to receiving his draft notice thusly:

“If anybody falls for this authoritarian, militaristic crap, it’ll prove I’m absolutely right about absolutely everything!... “

Cue the next page, where the drafted heroes have gathered en mass (including Green Arrow, impotently shaking his fist.)

Such an assemblage of characters in usually a triumphant moment in a summer "event" story, but here is framed as a sign that evil already has it’s hooks into reality. This world has fallen to the darkness and the superheroes who inhabit it are too morally compromised to realise it.

[magpigment]

gillion tidestrider and papyrus undertale would be friends. hit post

[uncharted-constellations]

If 616 marvel canon were to bring back Ultimate Jessica Drew (Peter Parker’s female clone from 1610) how do you think they should do it? Because Jess herself was assumedly wiped out during the incursion, and while its possible she escaped doing spider-verse shenanigans or came back when that universe rebooted, theres been no indication of her existence in like 8 years outside of ATSV concept art.

Option 1 is that she’s just been traveling the spider-verse, and upon finding her reality rebooted tracks down Miles. Problem with this one is that Miles doesn’t seem to Remember that he’s from another dimension for the most part other than a few flashbacks, but that could be a fun arc on its own, considering they haven’t really brought it up much yet and that could be a way to continue it. Might be a bit bogged down for newer readers who haven’t read ultimate verse however, but you get to keep character development this way.

Option 2 is getting cloned anew, potentially by Doc Ock experimenting with creating another superior body for himself so you can keep that original origin. This gives her a more clean background that doesn’t require reading back into ultimates and you could maybe play around with her having some of Docs memories. Unsure of if she would have any of Peter’s memories or not, or exactly how much she’d have. Obviously Ben and Kaine only currently have limited memories up to Peter’s early college years but Doc had access to many more of his memories.

Option 3 which is more of a nod to, but have her instead be a female clone of Miles, either made by the Assessor like his other clones or by Roxxon after one of their many scuffles with the Champions. It would be more of reference to the old character and her mentor-mentee relationship with miles, but you could flip it around a bit and have it be something new. They could also take some design aspects of the currently popular ATSV Jess, like the bike, the jacket, the glasses. (It sounds weird but they did retcon in the SLJ Nick Fury by making him the old Nick Fury’s secret son so like, i could see them doing it)

[shokuto]

Talking about Ultimate marvel online makes me feel like the Riddler because everyone defines it by Ultimatum, five of its worst issues, and uses it to read everything else in it in bad faith

[sneakymystique]

Mystique having a disagreement with Charles Xavier.

From Ultimate X-Men Annual

[magical-girl-hell]

well, Immortal Thor looks good at least.

[anantaru]

two new characters of hsr were confirmed. Aventurine and Gallagher one-night stand?? LIKE??

including. aventurine, gallagher

synopsis. having a one-night stand

cw. [ex]plicit, reader wears a dress, strangers to lovers, semi public (outside the bar, gallagher's part), fingering, car syx, dirty talk, gallagher smells like alcohol but he is not drunk okay he just smells like it HAHA, fem! reader

— ꒰ AVENTURINE ꒱ + one night stand in the car

hot exhales of air hit your glossed lips, and those erratic movements of your hips, all adjoined to your skimpy dress sticking to your body— you do not think, do not form any thoughts, you only leave it to the lust to guide your figure as you straddle the hips of a stranger.

your lips bruised, thoroughly bitten when aventurine captures them with his heated tongue��� he laps across it while grabbing a fistful of your ass to rub you against his erection, practically dragging the moans off the tip of your tongue.

his name, you've never really heard it before yet when you two coincidentally met, it's like he knew exactly what to say in order to have you wrapped around his finger.

and before you knew it, you ended up in the back of his car, driven by desire to taste the handsome stranger with everything you've got. "kinda crowded in here, ugh... whatever, come here," he smirks at you, devilishly, as his hands hold your hips dear and push you closer. you're too aroused to even function properly anymore, both loving and hating the anticipation of almost reaching your climax as the candid scent of his cologne made your mouth water. you grip at his shoulders as his fast rhythm sets in, your heart beat rising when he bottoms out to fuck your cunt faster.

"oh, fuck…" he grits his teeth when you shudder tight on top of him now, rutting your swollen pussy into his cock as moan a slides up through your throat, "i need to keep you just like that," he boldly rasps into your ear, low and urgent with a smirk almost too candid, almost too pure, contradicting his hungry movements, "keep you like this, yeah? hot and desperate and gorgeous until, until… until…"

it's the perfect amount of speed, pressure and thickness, aventurine fucks you like he's known you for years, and his lips taste so poetic, softly licking at them just wasn't doing it. he personally got fond of the joyful lightness that's in your eyes, or the slightest tingling from the exhales of your moans hitting his eardrums as he finds himself becoming addicted to a stranger.

his eyelashes flutter at your heavenly tunes as he looks down between the mess you've made— your arousal melting into shaft as the air gets filled with that of sinful scents, immediately sending sparks of deep enchant through the entirety of your spine.

— ꒰ GALLAGHER ꒱ + one night stand outside the bar

there's no one else on this side of the alley, and the only clatters and chit-chats you could notice were shrill, outside yells and slurred talks coming from drunk people standing outside the bar— yet again, from this particular place, you were alone in the cold night with the pulse of your heightened heartbeat washing over you.

gallagher, the name of the stranger who weirdly enough, took his time to discover your secret places and memorize your curves. the man couldn't possibly stop sliding his warm palms over your skin before covering your chest, it's futile, tickling your collarbones, watching you whine, then trailing his fingers along your neck, looking at how you're swallowing down the budding saliva on your tongue.

he exhales through his parted mouth as you take in the scent of cheap alcohol, wanting nothing more than his big, strong hands to keep touching you like that all night long.

he continues to stroke the planes of your face, marvelling in the gentleness of your features, before ultimately rounding up his inspection to your arms— yes, indeed, he's certain he memorized you entirely, giving you a little hum of appreciation as your arms wrap around his neck, holding him close.

gallagher captures your lips in a melting heat of passion as you lean back against the cold wall, closing your eyes to be carried along by the sensual moments of his traces guiding you.

his large hands on your hips made you shiver— you do not know the man yet they feel so good, they promise yet conceal so much. the loudness of people outside too— or the penetrating talks as you've been hidden behind a wall of golden lust, concealed by an even bigger body towering over you.

it made this situation so much more filthier, hotter and send waves of pleasure to overwhelm you.

the coldness of the wall left an impression on you, a cold hug that was ultimately cancelled by gallagher's warm hands messily pushing your dress up to find your soaked panties.

he doesn't waste more time before he presses two fingers against your clothed folds, slowly getting there. you're moving as one, and the laps of his tongue on your lips were thick like molasses, always licking his pink muscle over your own before reaching down to pull the drenched panties aside, his raw digits now hovering over your hole.

by no means was this something you'd normally do, just hook up with a random stranger— it was altogether too quick, to unpersonal yet somehow this particular night, it was stronger in its pleasure and heat than you've ever known it before.

you open your legs a little to invite him as the muscles in his arms bunch under his skin when he fingers you with two thick digits curled deep inside— although shockingly enough, he's tender and gentle with you, which came as a surprise, testing the waters on your pussy as he scissors your hole and teases your walls with his fingertips.

"that feels good?" gallagher questions whilst watching in awe how you ride his hand for him, the rough pads of his digits pulling the breath out of you as your body tingles and arches into his chest, "yeah.. that's s-so good," you close your eyes, both breathing hard— yet in truth, it was already easy for you to discern a big smile on his face, one of being greatly pleased by your answer while the man was marveling at the smoothness and the lovely muscles of your hole twitching around him.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[artbyblastweave]

🔥 government-sanctioned superheroes

So for a long time, in many spaces in which I was in, the reflexive intellectual contrarian position on superheroes as a broad concept- often framed in liberal terms, liberal in an American context, because this was frequently regarding the Superhuman Registration Act from Marvel specifically- was that superheroes are unaccountable, and if they were real the correct, or at least inevitable thing would be some form of nationalization or licensing system. After all, these people are untrained irregulars, appointed by no one and answerable to no one except whoever's powerful enough to bring them down in a fight- would we really want them running around with no oversight from our good friend The Government? Who watches the Watchmen?

And, you know, a lot of these premises are basically correct. But about four years ago, as a very ancillary point to, uh, everything else going on at the time, it was quietly cemented for me that there had always been a version of this argument being made from a position of ridiculously unwarranted faith in proceduralism, in the goodwill of the government and law enforcement in particular. Versions of this argument being made by people who've never had a bad encounter with the cops. Maybe it's not the worst thing in the world that Spider-Man usually isn't on speaking terms with the NYPD, actually! Maybe you very much don't want him to be!

That said, I think there are certainly risks of swinging too far in the other direction here, beetlejuicing into the conversation a particularly annoying kind of cape fan who treats superheroes as leftist, anarchist or at least antiauthoritarian by default- they aren't, you have to work to characterize them that way, and it's often extremely visible that you're doing that work. As you may have been able to tell from some of my recent bitter doomposting, my own stance has ultimately settled at a glum median "I hope they bite each other's dicks off" kind of position. I think it's possible to do a cape thing that's meaningfully anti-state or anti-police in the way people badly want them to be, but as always you're now left holding the bag of trying to explain how your grassroots outside-the-system vigilante culture isn't going to degenerate into cops 2, the sequel to cops. It requires actual thought! It's likely on some level what that story would be about.

[merakiui]

it’s my first time ordering for lunar love hotel 🥺🥺🥺 i’m not sure if i’m doing it right but i’d like to order a flower bouquet with chamomile tea and lemon squares from the midnight menu and a fruit smoothie from the morning menu for ceo azul and afab reader (maybe either his secretary or just an employee working under him, whichever you prefer!)

thank u so much! 🥰

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, dub-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, obsession, power imbalance, abuse of authority, mention of pregnancy, implied alcohol use/inebriation, ceo!azul, secretary!reader note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

You wake to a dull pressure between your legs, roused from dead, dreamless slumber like a reanimated corpse. Groggily, you blink bleariness away and search through the dimming light for the body propped up above you. Your fingers, clumsy and numb, brush against his chest, climbing up to drag across his collarbone and, ultimately, reaching his face. He’s without his glasses; twin pools of the deepest sapphire flick over your form, assessing the state of your sentience.

“Mmh… Mr. A-Ashengrotto?” you mumble, still so out of it. His hips stutter to a halt. Your eyes shut once more, and this time he takes care to move slower. Softer. You arch up into his touch, breathing heavy. “Ooh…”

What happened? How did you get here? If your spotty memory is to be trusted, you arrived late to the company party, got into a drinking competition with Floyd Leech, and stumbled out into the chilly night, hanging onto the arm of the one and only CEO of Mostro. Your benevolent boss—Azul Ashengrotto.

And now here you are, lying beneath him on a plush bed, your legs wrapped limply around his waist while he rocks into you with a gentleness rivaling that of the smoothest sea. Just beyond the rain-spattered windows, a gloomy cityscape sprawls. You’re not sure where you are or what floor you’re on. Exhausted, your mind a muddled wreck, you force your eyes open.

“Mr. Ashengrotto, what are you…” You swallow dryly. Hangover sticks to you like wet socks on soles. “What’re you doing?”

The hand that had been previously rubbing circles into your hip slides away to grasp at your breast. He rolls your perky nipple between two fingers, marveling at the way it sinks in when he presses down. It springs back with ease, still just as pebbled as before.

“You should know—” he starts, only to break off with a low moan— “that it’s impossible to out-drink Floyd.”

“No… No, that’s not—” You suck in a shaky breath through your teeth. His cock curves up inside you, hitting all the right places. “Can’t… We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why not?”

“Not right and—it’s wrong… You’re my boss and it’s not…gonna look good.”

“My dear, is that all you ever think of? Even now, your mind is on work. Won’t you relax?”

“Because…” You squirm beneath him, deeply unsettled and yet unable to phrase your protests in sharper terms. “Mr. Ashengrotto—”

“Azul,” he murmurs, running his knuckles over your cheek. Sickeningly fond, he has the gall to smile at you like an angel. “It would make me happy if you called me that in private.”

You try to shake your head. “I can’t—”

“We offer paid maternity leave,” he reminds you, punctuating that point with a sharp, sudden thrust. Your legs tighten around him out of some bodily instinct.

“Don’t want that,” you babble, grabbing at his shoulders. “Don’t want a baby. I can’t—need money to live. It’s expensive… Please, Mr. Ashengrotto…”

He tuts, a frown flickering on his handsome face. “You look so tired. Rest, my dear. I’m here for you.”

Azul lifts you from the bed, angling his hips down to ensure his seed will find its rightful home in snug, gummy depths. He’s borderlining the edge of the end, teetering on a pleasurable precipice. You feel yourself falling. In spite of everything—the situation and the intention in every thrust—it feels good. Mindless. Intrinsic. Strangely meant to be.

“You work so hard on my behalf. Such a diligent secretary, always knowing just what I want when I need it.” Azul takes your hand in his, squeezing reassuringly. You shiver at the contact—whether in revulsion or reverence, he can’t say. “Ah, but your eating habits are abysmal. You work late and arrive early. You come into the office on the verge of death, and then you lie to my face when I ask if all is well.” He peers down at you, eyes shimmering with an odd emotion. “Why do you run from me, my dear?”

“A-Azu—ooh… Azul…”

“Was that so difficult? My name isn’t a mouthful. If you say it enough, it may stick permanently. Mrs. (Name) Ashengrotto—what a precious title. So musical.”

You follow his hand as it moves to press down against your stomach. You can’t be with him. He’s your boss and you’re his secretary. It wouldn’t look right. The rumors that would spread… You couldn’t handle that sort of pressure—of having all eyes glued to your figure whenever you walk into a room.

“I wanna go home…”

“You are home.”

“My home.”

His expression sours. “I wouldn’t call that hovel a home.”

Your head falls back against the pillows. What’s the point in debating? Sleep claws at you, dragging you back with greedy fingers. Bile rises in your throat, so you swallow it down. You have to say something. You can’t let him have his way. You can’t be a mother. Not now. You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

But it’s so easy to float along and succumb. It’s so easy to be lazy. It’s so easy to agree. It’s what your boss wants. As his dutiful secretary, you must listen and do just as he asks.

“Get some sleep. You need it. I’ll be here when you wake.”

You don’t intend to, but your eyes fall shut. His voice is soothing like the sweetest song. With your consciousness now waning, you slip away just as he bottoms out and releases with a groan. Your insides are flooded with cum, but that’s the last thing you concern yourself with. It’s what he says next that follows you into your dreams. An ominous omen. A confession.

“I love you, (Name)… And soon—quite soon—you’ll love me, too.”

[amethystarachnid]

hi! i hope im not too late but can i request lost holiday spirit for loki x female reader?

maybe it could go something like loki and (avenger) reader both live at the tower and aren’t that close but reader hears about lokis lost holiday spirit and tries to get him to celebrate christmas in really cute ways and they end up together at the end? maybe due to some mistletoe and loki ends up celebrating christmas with the rest of the avengers. thank you!!

MR. GRINCH - part I

⤷ LOKI LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 3.8k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ Part II

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The Avengers Tower sparkles like a snow globe come to life. Twinkling lights are draped over every railing and banister, a giant Christmas tree dominates the common room, and stockings hang above the roaring fireplace, despite its purely decorative function. You flit around like a sugar-fueled elf, adjusting ornaments, humming along to Mariah Carey, and basking in the glow of your favorite time of year.

Your enthusiasm is infectious to most. Tony grumbles about the electricity bill but still orders another dozen boxes of lights. Steve pretends to roll his eyes but secretly joins you for late-night cocoa sessions by the tree. Even Natasha doesn’t protest when you drape a little tinsel around her chair.

Loki, however, is a different story.

The resident God of Mischief is an enigma at the best of times. His presence at the Tower is still a relatively new and tentative arrangement, a diplomatic olive branch between Asgard and Earth. You’re not sure if he’s here to redeem himself, learn from Thor, or just avoid Odin’s wrath. Either way, he’s the ultimate Grinch in your holiday wonderland.

You first notice it when he steps into the kitchen one frosty morning. You’re perched on a stool, munching on gingerbread cookies and debating whether the kitchen needs a wreath (it does). Loki glides in, all dark robes and haughty demeanor, and pauses mid-stride when he spots the garlands you hung around the cabinets.

“What is this excessive display?” he asks, his voice dripping with disdain.

You blink. “Christmas decorations.”

He narrows his eyes as if you’ve just declared your allegiance to an enemy kingdom. “Why?”

“Why?” You repeat, incredulous. “Because it’s Christmas! It’s festive and joyful and magical. Why wouldn’t you want decorations?”

“Because,” he says slowly, as if explaining to a child, “it is frivolous and nonsensical. A mortal invention to distract from the bleakness of winter.”

You gasp, clutching a cookie to your chest as though he’s just insulted your firstborn. “You don’t like Christmas?”

“I don’t dislike it,” he replies coolly. “I am indifferent.”

Indifferent. To Christmas. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. It’s not just an opinion—it’s an affront to everything you hold dear.

“Loki,” you say, your tone turning serious. “You can’t live here, surrounded by all this cheer, and not feel even a tiny bit of joy. I won’t allow it.”

He raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “I was unaware my emotional state required your approval.”

“It does now,” you announce. “Because I’ve just decided that you’re my new project.”

His lips twitch, almost forming a smirk. “A project?”

“Yes. I’m going to make you fall in love with Christmas.”

“And how, pray tell, do you intend to accomplish such a feat?” His voice drips with sarcasm, but you detect a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

You grin, undeterred. “Oh, you’ll see.”

Day One

The next morning, Loki walks into the living room to find you perched by the stereo, scrolling through your phone. He doesn’t need to ask what you’re doing—Bing Crosby croons “White Christmas” as your grin widens.

“Ah, perfect timing,” you chirp. “I’ve made a Christmas playlist for the Tower, and I’m sure you’re going to love it.”

“Highly unlikely.”

Ignoring him, you press play, and the room fills with the unmistakable harmonies of Wham!’s Last Christmas. Loki sighs loudly, but you’re already dancing around him, singing off-key and attempting to get him to join in.

“You might as well embrace it,” you say. “There’s no escaping Christmas music in December. Resistance is futile.”

“I am not ‘resisting.’” He makes air quotes that somehow look aristocratic. “I simply fail to see the appeal.”

“Come on,” you coax. “Even you must have some fondness for a holiday that inspires such happy tunes.”

Loki regards you as if you’ve sprouted antlers. “My ‘fondness,’ if it exists, is reserved for silence.”

You pout dramatically. “Not even a little head bop?”

He ignores you, sweeping past toward the library. But later, when you catch him humming faintly under his breath—whether to mock you or not—you count it as a small victory.

Day Two

Your next strategy involves decorating the massive tree in the common room. Everyone else is busy, so you commandeer Loki, much to his chagrin.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters, holding a string of lights like it’s a venomous snake.

“You’re tall,” you counter. “And I need help with the top branches.”

With great reluctance, he levitates to reach the higher sections. His magic comes in handy, and despite his complaints, you catch him inspecting the ornaments with genuine curiosity.

“What is the purpose of these trinkets?” he asks, turning a glittery bauble over in his hands.

“They’re not trinkets—they’re memories,” you explain. “See this one?” You point to a slightly crooked star. “Steve made it during his first Christmas in the Tower.”

Loki snorts softly. “It’s hideous.”

“Hey! It has character.”

You work side by side for an hour, and though he pretends to hate every moment, you catch him smirking when you struggle to untangle a particularly stubborn string of lights. By the time the tree is finished, it’s a masterpiece of shimmering ornaments and warm golden lights.

“You did good, Mischief,” you say, nudging his arm. “Admit it—you had fun.”

“I did no such thing,” he replies, but his tone lacks its usual venom.

Day Three

You escalate your efforts with a Christmas movie marathon, complete with a platter of cookies and the richest hot cocoa you can muster. Loki takes one sip and eyes you suspiciously.

“What is this concoction?”

“Hot chocolate,” you say, waving a candy cane for emphasis. “A Christmas essential.”

He takes another cautious sip. Then another. When the cup is empty, you wordlessly slide him a second.

You spend the evening watching Home Alone and Elf. Loki scoffs at the absurdity but doesn’t leave the room. You can’t tell if it’s the cocoa or the ridiculous antics of Will Ferrell that keep him seated, but you’ll take it.

By the time December 5th rolls around, you’re cautiously optimistic. Sure, Loki still rolls his eyes at your caroling and glares at mistletoe like it’s cursed, but there’s a softness in his demeanor. A flicker of something you can’t quite place.

And if he lingers a little longer by the tree at night, bathed in its golden glow, you don’t mention it. Not yet, anyway.

Day Four

You’ve discovered Loki’s Achilles’ heel, and it’s not his ego or his penchant for dramatics. It’s hot cocoa. Rich, creamy, decadent hot cocoa. Since the movie night, he’s been making increasingly frequent appearances in the kitchen whenever you’re whipping up a batch.

Today, you’re prepared.

You’ve set up a veritable hot cocoa bar: steaming milk, bowls of chocolate shavings, marshmallows, whipped cream, and even a jar of crushed peppermint. When Loki strolls in, feigning nonchalance, his gaze lands on the spread and narrows suspiciously.

“What is this?” he asks, though his tone betrays faint curiosity.

“It’s called variety,” you reply, grinning. “I figured if you’re going to keep stealing my cocoa, you might as well have options.”

“Stealing is an exaggeration,” he counters, but he steps closer, eyeing the setup. “What is the purpose of… these?” He gestures at the candy canes like they might attack him.

“Toppings! You can customize your drink.”

You demonstrate by ladling hot cocoa into a mug, adding a mountain of whipped cream, and delicately balancing a candy cane on the rim. Loki watches, his expression unreadable, before taking the ladle himself. He prepares a cup with precise movements, eschewing the whipped cream and opting instead for a sprinkling of chocolate shavings.

He takes a cautious sip. His expression remains stoic, but the way his eyes briefly close in satisfaction doesn’t escape your notice.

“Good, right?” you prod.

He nods minutely, still cradling the mug. You bite back a triumphant grin and lean against the counter, watching him sip the drink like it’s an elixir of the gods. Which, to be fair, it might as well be.

“You know,” you say casually, “you’re starting to get the hang of this Christmas thing.”

He snorts. “Do not mistake my tolerance for enthusiasm.”

But there’s no bite in his words, and you’re certain you’ve won another tiny battle.

Day Five

You decide to escalate your plan with a baking session. After all, what’s Christmas without cookies? Loki is less than thrilled when you inform him of this.

“You expect me to assist you with… baking?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yes,” you reply cheerfully, tossing him an apron. “Think of it as alchemy. But delicious.”

He glares at the apron like it’s made of nettles. “This is beneath me.”

“Oh, come on,” you cajole. “You’ve got magic. Surely you can handle a little dough.”

He grumbles but ties the apron on with a dramatic flourish. The sight of Loki, Prince of Asgard and God of Mischief, wearing a plaid apron that reads “Santa’s Favorite Helper” is almost enough to make you collapse in laughter, but you wisely keep it to yourself.

The baking session is… an adventure. Loki’s “assistance” involves levitating ingredients and conjuring unnecessary bursts of green light for dramatic effect. At one point, he grows bored and attempts to enchant the cookie dough, resulting in a sentient lump that tries to crawl off the counter.

“Loki!” you shriek, swatting at the rogue dough with a spatula. “This is not what I meant by teamwork!”

He smirks, watching your struggle with barely concealed amusement. “You did say I should use my talents.”

By some miracle, you manage to wrangle the dough back into submission. When the cookies finally emerge from the oven, golden and fragrant, you plop one onto a plate and shove it toward Loki.

“Taste it,” you demand.

He takes a cautious bite, his expression neutral. Then he takes another, slower bite.

“Well?” you press, bouncing on your heels.

“Adequate,” he says, but the way he reaches for a second cookie says otherwise.

Day Seven

It snows overnight, blanketing the city in a layer of white. The morning brings a rare moment of quiet in the Tower. You’re staring out the window, a steaming mug of cocoa in hand, when Loki appears beside you.

“Do you often waste time staring at frozen precipitation?” he asks, though his tone lacks its usual bite.

“It’s beautiful,” you say simply. “Have you ever played in the snow?”

He looks at you like you’ve suggested he jump into the Hudson River. “Play?”

“Yeah. You know, snow angels, snowball fights, building a snowman?”

“You forget that I hail from Jotunheim,” he says dryly. “I am quite familiar with snow.”

“Great,” you say, grabbing his arm and tugging him toward the door. “Then you’re already a pro.”

Despite his protests, you manage to drag him outside. The courtyard is pristine, untouched by footsteps, and you can’t resist flopping down to make a snow angel. Loki stands over you, his arms crossed, looking deeply unimpressed.

“You’re missing out,” you tell him, brushing snow off your gloves.

“Am I?”

You decide to take matters into your own hands—literally. Scooping up a handful of snow, you pack it into a ball and lob it at him. It hits him square in the chest.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then he looks down at the snow on his robes, then back at you, his expression unreadable.

“You dare?” he says softly.

“I dare,” you reply, grinning.

What follows is an all-out snowball war. Loki cheats, of course, conjuring multiple snowballs at once and launching them with precision. You counter with a combination of speed and sheer determination, laughing so hard your sides ache.

By the time you call a truce, you’re both soaked and breathless. Loki’s hair is damp, and there’s snow clinging to his robes, but his eyes are bright, his lips curved into a genuine smile.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him look truly happy.

Day Ten

You’re sitting by the fire, sipping yet another mug of cocoa, when Loki joins you unprompted. He’s carrying his own mug, which you’re fairly certain he made himself—a small but significant victory.

“You’ve been unusually persistent,” he says, settling into the chair beside you.

“It’s called holiday spirit,” you reply with a grin. “And I’m rubbing off on you. Admit it.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he gazes at the twinkling lights on the tree, his expression thoughtful.

“I will admit,” he says slowly, “that there is… a certain charm to this season. Though your methods are insufferable.”

You laugh, raising your mug in a mock toast. “I’ll take it.”

For the first time since you started this endeavor, you feel like you’ve genuinely reached him. And as you sit there, sharing the quiet warmth of the fire, you realize that maybe—just maybe—Loki is starting to believe in the magic of Christmas after all.

Day Eleven

The fireplace mantel remains unfinished—a glaring imperfection in your otherwise flawless Christmas wonderland. You’ve been putting it off, unsure of how to best arrange the garlands, candles, and lights. This morning, however, you find Loki standing in front of it, arms crossed, a contemplative look on his face.

“Are you admiring my handiwork?” you tease, stepping up beside him.

“I’m considering how to fix it,” he replies. “It’s… lopsided.”

You tilt your head, squinting at the decorations. “It’s supposed to look whimsical.”

“It looks haphazard,” he counters, glancing down at you with a faint smirk.

“Fine, Mr. Perfect. Show me how you’d do it.”

What starts as a playful challenge turns into a surprisingly intimate collaboration. Loki’s hands brush against yours as he passes you a strand of lights, his touch sending an unexpected warmth up your arm. He leans close to adjust a garland, his voice low as he critiques your “questionable” taste in ribbon colors.

By the time the mantel is complete, the room feels cozier—not just from the flickering candlelight but from the unspoken connection simmering between you.

“Admit it,” you say softly. “This was fun.”

Loki’s gaze lingers on you for a beat longer than necessary. “Moderately enjoyable,” he murmurs, the corners of his lips twitching upward.

Day Thirteen

You’re perched on a ladder in the common room, attempting to hang a sprig of mistletoe from the ceiling beam. The ladder wobbles precariously, and just as you’re about to lose your balance, strong hands grip your waist, steadying you.

“Careful,” Loki chides, his voice unusually gentle.

You glance down at him, your heart racing—not just from the near fall. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t let go immediately, his hands lingering as he helps you down from the ladder. When your feet touch the ground, you realize just how close you are. The mistletoe dangles above you, unnoticed, as you find yourself caught in his intense gaze.

“Traditionally,” Loki says, his voice dropping to a velvet whisper, “there’s a custom associated with this particular plant.”

You swallow hard, your cheeks heating. “Oh, yeah? I hadn’t noticed.”

His lips curve into a sly smile, but he steps back, breaking the moment. “Perhaps next time,” he says, and you can’t tell if he’s teasing or serious.

Your pulse remains uneven long after he’s gone.

Day Fifteen

You can’t sleep. The glow of the Christmas tree calls to you, and you find yourself padding into the common room, wrapped in a blanket. To your surprise, Loki is already there, seated on the couch with a book in hand.

“Can’t sleep either?” you ask, settling into the armchair across from him.

He closes the book, regarding you with a softness you’ve come to recognize in these quiet moments. “I find the stillness… agreeable.”

The conversation flows easily, shifting from light banter to deeper topics. He talks about Asgardian winters, and you share memories of childhood Christmases. There’s an openness to him tonight, a vulnerability that makes your chest ache.

At one point, you notice him watching you intently, his gaze tracing your features as if committing them to memory. “What is it?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re unlike anyone I’ve met,” he says, the honesty in his tone catching you off guard. “Your insistence on joy, your… stubborn optimism. It’s infuriating. And yet…”

“And yet?” you prompt, your heart pounding.

He leans forward slightly, the space between you charged with unspoken possibilities. “And yet, I find myself drawn to it. To you.”

The admission leaves you breathless. You don’t know what to say, so you settle for a soft smile, hoping it conveys everything you’re feeling.

Day Seventeen

A freak snowstorm traps everyone inside the Tower. While most of the team grumbles about canceled plans, you can’t help but see it as an opportunity. You organize a board game marathon, but when Loki declines to participate, you seek him out in his room.

“Too good for Monopoly?” you tease, leaning against the doorframe.

“I prefer my games to involve a certain level of sophistication,” he replies, though there’s no malice in his tone.

“Come on,” you coax. “It’ll be fun.” But when you understand the won't give in you try another tactic, just sto spend time with him. "Teach me chess instead,” you say, pulling a dusty board from a shelf.

The two of you spend hours by the fire, the snowstorm raging outside, as he teaches you the intricacies of the game. His patience surprises you, as does the way he occasionally lets you win, though he denies it every time.

At some point, you realize you’re no longer focused on the game. Instead, you’re studying the way his hair falls over his shoulders, the way his lips curve when he’s explaining a strategy.

“You’re not paying attention,” he accuses, though his tone is amused.

“Sorry,” you murmur, feeling your cheeks heat.

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Perhaps I’m more distracting than the game.”

You don’t deny it.

Day Twenty

The Tower is quiet after dinner, most of the team having retreated to their rooms. You and Loki are the last ones in the common room, the tree lights casting soft shadows across his features.

“You’ve done well,” he says, nodding toward the decorations. “This place feels… alive.”

“Thanks to you,” you reply, nudging his shoulder. “You helped more than you’d like to admit.”

“I admit nothing,” he says, though there’s a glimmer of warmth in his eyes.

You fall into a comfortable silence, the air between you heavy with unspoken tension. When he reaches out to brush a stray hair from your face, your breath catches. His fingers linger, his gaze dropping to your lips.

For a moment, time seems to stop. You’re certain he’s going to kiss you, and you lean in ever so slightly, your heart pounding. But then—

“Y/N!” Tony’s voice booms from the hallway, shattering the moment.

You both pull back, flustered, as Tony strides into the room, oblivious to what he’s interrupted.

“I swear he has the worst timing,” you mutter after Tony leaves.

Loki smirks, but there’s a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “Indeed.”

Day Twenty-Four

The Tower hums with a warm energy on Christmas Eve. The team is gathered around the massive tree in the common room, the scent of pine mingling with the aroma of spiced cider and freshly baked cookies. You sit cross-legged on the floor beside Loki, the two of you half-listening as Thor attempts to recount a boisterous Asgardian holiday tradition.

Despite the chaos around you—Steve trying to untangle fairy lights, Clint stealing cookies from the tray, and Tony programming a robotic Santa to distribute presents—you feel grounded. Loki’s presence beside you has a magnetic pull, and you find yourself sneaking glances at him every few moments.

He looks relaxed, a rarity for the God of Mischief. His usual sharp edges seem softer tonight, the flickering glow of the fireplace highlighting his high cheekbones and the glint in his emerald eyes.

“Enjoying yourself?” you ask quietly, leaning slightly toward him.

His lips curve into a faint smirk. “More than I expected.”

The gift exchange begins, the room filling with laughter and playful banter as everyone tears into their wrapping paper. You watch with amusement as Natasha tries not to laugh at the gaudy scarf Clint has given her, and Bruce chuckles at the chemistry-themed mug he receives.

Loki remains apart from the main commotion, though his eyes sparkle with quiet amusement. As the night winds down, the others begin to retreat to their rooms, leaving the two of you alone by the tree.

“You didn’t join the exchange,” you say, turning to him.

“I prefer to give gifts with intention,” he replies, reaching into his pocket.

He produces a small, elegantly wrapped box and hands it to you. “For you.”

Your heart stutters as you carefully undo the ribbon and lift the lid. Inside lies a delicate silver charm bracelet, each charm meticulously chosen: a snowflake, a steaming mug of cocoa, a tiny chess piece, and a star. You recognize each one as a symbol of a moment you’ve shared this month.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, your fingers trembling slightly as you lift it from the box.

“I thought you might appreciate a memento of your… relentless holiday enthusiasm,” Loki says, though his tone is soft, almost vulnerable.

“I love it,” you say, looking up at him with a wide smile. “Thank you.”

You hesitate for a moment, then reach for the small gift bag you’d hidden earlier. “I, uh, got you something too.”

He raises an eyebrow but accepts the bag, pulling out the contents with a curious expression. Inside is a beautifully bound leather journal, embossed with intricate patterns that remind you of Asgardian designs.

“For your thoughts,” you explain, suddenly shy. “Or plans, or whatever it is you write about. I thought you might like it.”

His fingers brush over the cover reverently. “It’s… thoughtful,” he says, his voice unusually gentle.

Before you can reply, a movement above catches your eye. You tilt your head back and groan. “Oh no.”

Loki follows your gaze, his expression shifting into one of amusement as he spots the sprig of mistletoe hanging directly above you.

“Ah,” he murmurs, his smirk returning. “The infamous custom.”

You open your mouth to say something witty, but the words evaporate as Loki steps closer, his gaze fixed on yours. The air between you feels charged, and your heart hammers in your chest.

“Wouldn’t want to break tradition,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, though there’s a glimmer of something deeper in his eyes.

Before you can second-guess yourself, his lips are on yours. The kiss is soft, unhurried, and yet it sends a spark through your entire body. His hand finds your cheek, his touch warm against your skin, and you melt into him, forgetting everything else in the world.

When you finally pull back, you’re both breathless. Loki’s hand lingers on your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone.

“Mistletoe,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Convenient,” he replies, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile.

The two of you stand there for a moment, the world around you quiet and still. You glance down at the bracelet on your wrist, then back up at Loki, and you can’t help but think that this is the best Christmas Eve you’ve ever had.

[heavywithourbabies]

First off, I'm a guy. So there's that.....

Ok, making one of those little intro pieces so you can get to know a little about me. This tumblr page is nothing more than the ravings of an obsessed lunatic hiding away from the world. My only real kinks are Breeding, Lactation, and the biggest pregnancy fetish you can imagine. (Please take note, I am not sexually into Birth. I am all for fucking so hard your water breaks, sucking on your nipples, rubbing the belly and giving gentle head during contractions, etc. As soon as the baby is in the birth canal, I'm going full on daddy mode. Horny time is over. Anyone else feel the same?)

I am a 40 year old man and I am very attracted to women. In particular, I am aroused by thick, extra curvy, big ass having women. I am feral for HEAVILY pregnant women. I have tons of reasons why but at it's core, I believe it is the ultimate form of femininity. There's nothing more womanly than having a gravid belly heavy with child. Even the phrase "heavy with child" weirdly turns me on.

I'm also very very much turned on by all the side effects of pregnancy including big dark engorged nipples, stretch marks everywhere, not just the belly, the little treasure trail some women get, the bigger hips, your face getting chubby, and a very swollen vagina. That all said, I'm not into Morning Sickness. wakka wakka.

I fully support the LGTBTQ community. I just can't keep track of all the new names and terms. I blame my shitty memoir on wasting my twenties drinking. But I totally support it. be who you want to be and love who you want to love. This life is rough enough without people being shitty to you for your basic human needs.

I am utter devotee to horror movies, and I live for the month of October. Halloween is the greatest day of the year. If you don't like Halloween...... honestly, who are you? Who the fuck hates Halloween? I love the art form of sequential art (comic books) and my favorite Character is Venom from Marvel Comics. I would literally kill to get a chance to write for Venom. Marvel will NOT return my phone calls.

I still write stuff (a lot of half started scripts and abandoned graphic novel ideas mostly) and I will and often shamelessly promote myself and the written erotic stuff I create on here. Enjoy my sexually frustrated ramblings and badly edited prose. Remember kids, it's free.

I am a lonely werewolf hopelessly howling at the moon.

I say love who you gotta love. Do what you need to do. Try to have fun and just don't hurt other people.

I was born in Canada and raised in the States. Toronto is the old country and Denver was home base. Currently in the windy city.

NO MINORS. Seriously, get the hell out of my joint! THIS BLOG IN NO WAY ENDORSES, PROMOTES, OR ENCOURAGES ANY HEINOUS USE OF MINORS. I honestly struggle talking to people under the age of twenty five. I hope I don't have to repeat any of that.

Any Trump supporters who follow my page, I would also ask you to leave. There's nothing here for you at this establishment.

Need to know anything else? Feel free to ask.

-The ghost host with the most, the ghoul that'll make your lady parts drool, and every other terrible joke I can think of.

[sparklemaia]

Heyyy!!

So I've recently read a lot of your comics about top surgery, and I really resonate with your experience (I haven't had it myself but I'd like to). I've recently been exploring my own gender and realising I might be non binary, but I guess I feel sort of an imposter in that I want to keep my name and pronouns (afab), despite feeling like I never got the memo about what a "woman" is, which I know is fine, but I guess I was wondering how the shift from your agab into realising you were nb felt?

Like, you seem to describe your gender as sort of unknowable and indefinable, and I guess that's sort of how I feel? I just want to be... More me. I guess what I'm really asking is, how would you define/feel about that shift into realising you were nonbinary, do you still feel connected to your agab, how do you reconcile the two?

Sorry for the long ask!

Hi, this is such a good question! I actually DO still feel pretty connected to my agab. I feel like I am a girl but also more than a girl but also not enough of a girl, simultaneously. (Weirdly, I never ever feel like a woman, and definitely not a man, but I do feel like an adult at least some of the time.) Top surgery was 100% the right decision for me; my body feels so much more correct and I am grateful every single day this procedure was accessible to me. (I was on a low dose of T for a year and a half too, and I basically just got biceps and a sliiiightly lower voice out of it. We stan.) I simply don't have strong feelings about how these things do or do not map onto gender identity or other people's perceptions of my gender. I am generally perceived as female, and that's fine! Like, close enough! I often feel somewhere BETWEEN cis and trans, or even between cis and nonbinary, and sometimes I joke that I'm just "nonbinary for insurance purposes." I mostly use she/her pronouns, although won't object to they/them. I like my "feminine" name -- I chose it myself years ago for reasons unrelated to gender and I have no plans to change it again. In terms of gender presentation I'm usually somewhere in the "tomboy femme" zone. Basically, I've been through a medical transition but not a social transition. Which is not very common, or at least I haven't seen much representation of it! (Be the bad trans representation you want to see in the world, i guess??)

Even though the words are often used interchangeably, I feel more alliance to genderqueer as a label than nonbinary, because nonbinary feels too clinical and "third checkbox"y to me, whereas genderqueer feels more expansive and undefinable and dynamic, with space for the ways in which I both am and am not performing girlhood correctly. When pressed to pick a gender word for myself, that one feels the closest. But if I'm filling out a government form or whatever? Yeah sure F is fine.

A lot of where I land with this stuff, though, is just kind of relaxing my grip on language. Top surgery was a relief, it helped me feel present in and connected to my body. Ultimately it doesn't matter much to me how much of that was *gender* dysphoria and how much of it was just... something I wanted, a way to make my body feel more like mine, to align my mental image of myself with the thing I had to stuff into clothes and walk around the city every day. I believe very strongly in bodily autonomy, and in making our lives as easy and comfortable and joyful as we can for ourselves, without needing to have a clean and tidy explanation for our choices. It is very possible to know with reasonable certainty that you want something, that it will be a net positive for your life, without being able to articulate, even to yourself, WHY you want it. It doesn't need to have a bigger meaning than ahh yes, this feels right. At this point in my life, I'm more invested in marveling at the sheer improbability of my own existence than in wedging myself into the taxonomy of known and acceptable gender narratives. I'm just a person, here for the merest twinkle of a moment in cosmic history, making soup and knitting baby hats and admiring bugs and singing off-key and cutting my own hair and doing my gosh darn best to light my tiny patch of night sky with stories so that you (and you, and you) feel less alone on your own journey through the unfurling dark. Gender is just such an inconsequential detail in the narrative of my life, and pretty open to reader interpretation anyway.

Not having to wear bras is pretty great though ngl

[suzyandthefox]

Reasons I like "The Eaten alive" trope (or sfw vore)

(literally just yapping)

It's an interesting trope that can go in a million different direction all of them very interesting too

It's a metaphor for A million thing, Love,hatred, possession,death, addiction, submission,dominance,trust, fear

To eat is one of the bases of being a living being, to be eaten is the end state of many beings, it's fundamentally built in life since the beginning of existence, it happens even in the tiniest organisms.

Being eaten alive would be an experience unmatched, being completely surrounded by a living space that breathes and acknowledges you? A space that either hungers for you, is repulsed by you, or none? To be one with something yet remain your own self? Be humbled by their great innards and Marvel at how complex and vast their system is? The endless sea that is their blood and organs?

To eat someone alive is an experience too, to have a soul within your own, a part of you that has it's mind and it's identity, you could be home, shelter, family to them, even to the point of holding them how a mother holds her child. Or you hate them and their invasion to your body, you wish to end them right then and their

To witness a pred go against instincts for the sake of those they care about, to witness a prey go against instincts for the sake of those they care about, to cast aside all fears and put faith and trust.

Anatomy is a great, wonderful thing. Living beings are intricate, beautiful, they have so much within them, and no better way to explore that than to go inside them of course.

Is it not the most ultimate form of love to be one with the one you love the most?

It happens IRL with a lot of animals, Like crocodiles, like frogs, like fish, it's a very unique phenomenon.

Tumby soft world cruel :(

Widdle lil friend needs protecc, now I can protecc :D

It's literally just neat

I can like things without a reason to

[writers-potion]

Got anything for dialogue

Writing Dialogue 101

Dialogue is conversation, nothing more, nothing less. The catch is: diagloue is EDITED conversation. It must be more concise, purposeful and witty than the everyday sentences we speak, while sounding natural.

The Purpose of Dialogue

Diaglue is definitely a fiction elements that pops everything up and out. Thus, dialogue is going to have more impact than your normal paragraphs, in order to:

Characterizes/reveals motives

Sets the mood in the story

Intensifies the story conflict

Creates tension and suspense

Speeds up your scenes

Add bits of setting/backgronud

Communicates the theme

Matching the Dialogue to the Genre

The dialogue in a book should speak the reader's language. There is a type of voice that suits each genre/category of fiction, and we must understand what matches the reader expectations and rhythm of the plot we are writing.

Magical Dialogue

"Do not kill him even now. For he has not hurt me. And in any case I do not wish him to be slain in this evil mood. He was great once, of a nobel kind that we should not dare to raise our hands against." - The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkein

"As much as I want you and want to be with you and part of you, I can't rear myself away from the realness of my responsiblities." - The Bridges of Madison County, Robert James Waller

This is the language of The Hobbit, Star Wars, The Lord of the Rings, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

When writing literary and mainstream fiction (that is targeted at the general public rather than a target audience), we need to go with what sounds real, even with a magical setting

Science fiction and fantasy can be more unreal, i.e. things like "May the Force Be With You."

In romance, magical dialogue takes on a differen form. It's magical in that it transcends the way we talk to each other in normal society. Magical in that all of it makes perfect sense and is said in such eloquent langauge that we marvel at it while at the same time knowing that if we are left to ourselves, we would say something absolutely banal.

Cryptic Dialogue

"You know, the condom is the glass slipper of our generation. You slip it on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night, then you throw it away. The condom, I mean. Not the stranger." - Fight Club, Chuck Palahniuk

This is the dialogue in literary and religious stories that dealw ith abstract ideas and vague concepts and has double meanings. Readers aren't meant to understand theses right away.

These bits of dialogue plant sublimnal messages in the reader's mind that help communicate the theme later on, ultimately making sense.

Cryptic dialogue is difficult to do well. If we're not careful, we'll end up sounding preachy, moralistic and dogmatic.

You need to be able to view the world in different perspectives.

Descriptive Dialogue

The literary, fantasy and historical story often relies on dialogue for worldbuilding (expplaining history, magic rules, etc.)

The author's goal in descriptive dialogue is to provide the reader with information. However, the character's goal cannot be sacrificed for the author's. Dialogue can still have tension and suspense and can be inserted into a scene of action so the story doesn't bog down while the readers get some info.

Shadowy Dialogue

In shadowy dialogue, the character's job is to keep the reader suspended in a state of terror/suspense. Then you periodically tighten and loosen the tension.

The key here is uncertainty. The reader cannot trust the speaker, so we're always questioning him, wondering whether he's speaking truthfully or is presenting the full picture.

Keep the tone as dark of possible, using action and background as supporting tools.

Make it cryptic, or even better, offering an omnious threat of what is to come.

Provocative Dialogue

This is the type of dialogue that conveys the theme, talking about the "universla truth" your book is trying to convey.

Readers like to be challenged in their thinking, provoked to consider other ways of thinking, and shaken up in their belief systems with a fresh perspective about the world.

Consider this example from To Kill A Mockingbird:

"...but there is one way in this country in which all men are created equal - there is one humna institution that makes a pauper the equal of a Rockfeller, the stupid man the equal of an Einstein, and the ignornant man the equal of any college president."

There is no way we can read this and not think about something that is bigger than our daily lives.

Make your readers squirm, and shock them out of their comfort zones.

Uncencored Dialogue

Uncencored dialogue in YA stories are of young people, but that doesn't mean it's filled with hip-hop words and slag.

While adults cencor themselves when they speak, teenagers haven't yet learned that skill so their dialogue is more raw, edgy and honest.

Readers of YA novels expect realism, so make it as authentic as possible. The last thing we want to is for our characters to be brash and honest, but NOT sound like they've just stepped out of Planet Way Cool.

For example:

"What if he doesn't like me back?" "You are too much of a chicken to do anything aboutit but mope."

As an adult, how often do you admit fear of rejection out loud to another, or call out your friend to her face? In YA-type of dialogue though, we can just write what comes into these characters' minds.

So that sums up the different types of dialogue. Consider the nature of your plot, what your readers and the genre of the story you are writing to choose an appropriate way for your characters to speak!

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[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#51: The Mr. & Mrs. Grimes (1.05)

gif cred: @ricksmarlene

The utter perfection of this scene continues as Rick's beautiful words are met with a beautiful response from Mrs. Grimes. 🥲

I adore that after both staying so loyally in love with each other, Michonne and Rick get to now look into each other's eyes and express that all these years, it was always only you 🥹...

One of the many reasons that Richonne resonates with me so much is because this TWD world could easily have been strictly bleak, dark, and dreary, and yet Richonne’s love bursts in with this bright light that refuses to dim no matter the state of their broken world.

Richonne is this inspiring reminder that love prevails even in the hardest circumstances. And Richonne's enduring love shines so brightly in this proposal scene.

So yeah, the happy dancing will never be out of my system over every second of this moment. 😇💍 Because one thing that always comes with the territory of being a Richonne fan...

As Rick holds up a ring while on one knee looking up at the love of his life, Michonne has such a precious heartfelt reaction to this. 🥰

I paused it for a sec and my extra self literally just had to stop and marvel for a moment that I’m really looking at a scene of Michonne smiling down at Rick as he holds up a ring. 🫠

After years of saying one of my biggest wants was for Richonne to exchange rings (because I really felt it was something those two characters would do), it just feels so rewarding to see that we finally made it here. When I tell you I was elated for them like it was my close family member getting proposed to lol. This joyous scene makes me so happy. 

gif cred: @nat111love

Michonne smiles at Rick, again with so much love in her expression. You can just see that she’s so happy to have her Rick back. All those years without him and now here he is alive, at his finest, and wanting to show her that he’s with her for the rest of his life. 😊

Michonne says, “I could have never imagined this.” And then she smiles and so sweetly says, “But it could only ever have been you.” Once again, PERFECTION. 🙌🏽🥲

gif cred: @nat111love

I'm loving the use of ‘only’ in this scene. Michonne and Rick both know they are the only one for each other. And it’s just so beyond heartwarming to hear Michonne know Rick is it for her. The only man she’d ever want to be her husband.

Pre-ZA, Michonne might have never been able to imagine that her soulmate would take form in Rick Grimes. Even when their paths first joined in season 3 she might have never expected that this man who constantly eyes her down would be the man she calls husband and the father of her children one day. But now there’s no denying that in any world Rick is the one for her. The ultimate soulmates. 🥰

gif cred: @nat111love

And Michonne has known this for so long. She's long been aware that she only ever wanted it to be Rick for her. I think about that beautiful 7.08 scene between Richonne in the cell where Michonne pours her heart out to Rick. There, she let him know he was the only one that she wanted by her side to take on everything in life with. And it's stayed that way for her all these years later. 🥲

I like to think that when Michonne expresses that it could only ever have been Rick who has her heart, she thinks back on their journey and reflects on the way Rick took her in at the prison instead of just taking the formula.

The way he entrusted her with his son time and time again, even very early in their relationship. The way she and Rick bonded over having similarities that most others wouldn’t understand.

The way she saw over and over that Rick will do anything for his family.

And that Rick will do anything for her.

The way Rick is a fighter who never gives up and also a lover who never holds back.

The way he resiliently overcame the battles in his life, both external and internal. The way he genuinely saw and valued both Michonne's heroism and her humanness. And as she’s said before - the way Rick makes her feel loved, respected, and safe like no other.

It could only ever have been this excellent one-of-a-kind man for her. Another scientific fact. 💯

So then, y'all, you already know what's next - Michonne does the most heartfelt thing ever. She smiles, takes Rick's hand, and then gets down on her knees so that they are on the same level. 😭

Then she puts Rick's hand to her heart and so sincerely tells him, “I’m Yours.” 🥹

gif cred: @nat111love

And go ahead and take me out to pasture because my heart has officially ascended from this solid gold scene. 🫠 I love it so much. 😭😭😭

I don't know whether to burst into tears or to happy dance right now, so imma just do both...

First; just the visual of the two on their knees is so perfectly symbolic to Richonne and the way they are equals in every way. They always meet each other where they’re at and match each other's love, energy, and fidelity.

I love that the moment with Rick on his knees gets its time to breathe and just depict the way he reveres her, and then Michonne gets to also show how much she loves and respects him when she joins him on her knees and lets Rick know that just like he’s hers, she’s his.

I adore the reciprocity of Richonne's love and loyalty. They’re so wholly devoted themselves and they finally get to experience someone being wholly devoted back.

And on top of elating me to no end, hearing them both say, “I’m Yours” also just affirmed to me why I think Richonne is such an excellent portrayal of a healthy couple. Because I think a lot of couples tend to have more of a “You’re mine” mentality that can be a bit more possessive and concerned with the other belonging to them.

But Rick and Michonne both put so much more emphasis on an “I’m Yours” mentality, actively being loyal, thoughtful, and dedicated to each other. They don't demand ‘You belong to me’ but rather happily demonstrate ‘I belong to you’ with every loving action and word they express. And that manifests as this equal outpouring of the deepest love. 👌🏽

gif cred: @perryabbott

And my favorite part about Rick and Michonne telling each other ‘I’m yours’ is how much they have already truly lived out those words.

Like this isn’t just flowery talk. Both when they were together in TWD and then when they were apart for over eight years, they genuinely lived out every day of their life like they were fully each others.

I remember that was one of the things I most noted about Michonne in the post-Rick era of TWD, she was still so actively in love with Rick. Like truly no other man could have come along because her love for Rick was still so alive.

I mean even when Ezekiel kissed her, all she wanted to do after was tearfully reminisce on the man she was still in love with and recount the exact amount of years it'd been since Rick last kissed her.

gif cred: @michonnegrimes

Michonne knew Rick Grimes still had her heart and even with all the years that passed and having every reason to think she’d never see him again, she lived life like she was still his.

So when Michonne tells Rick 'I’m yours,' she’s already lived that out and proven it ten times over.

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

And when taken, Rick fought as hard as he could and put his mind and body through the unimaginable to get back to her and he never once moved on from Michonne, even when he chose to die.

He routinely dreamt of falling in love with her, continuously poured his heart out to her in letters, and commissioned several drawings of her. Then when he decided to 'die' because he refused to live without her, the dead version of him still made every choice out of his everlasting love for Michonne.

So when Rick tells Michonne Grimes, 'Til my last breath, I'm yours,' he’s already more than proven it in every way too.

They now know what it is to be without the other for an extended period and they still conducted themselves like 'I am 100% yours always.' 🥹 The greatest love.

Also, I love that this proposal moment takes place in the middle of the woods. So much of Richonne’s roots were established in settings like this. They’ve had a lot of notable woods moments, especially when traveling with Carl, and so this just feels like them taking it back to where it all started for this milestone moment.

One of the woods moments that comes to mind for me right now is in season 3 when Michonne is aiming her sword at Merle and Rick is constantly staring her down and keeping his attention almost solely on her despite so much commotion going on from everyone.

Imo, Rick stares at Michonne a little too much and a little too long for it to just be written off as casual or merely trying to diffuse the situation.

(Side note: I love that Danai and Andy said this is one of the earliest moments that they knew they had a special chemistry as actors. They really did make a scene surrounded by other characters feel like it was just the two of them. ☺️)

To me, it seriously feels like each time Rick looks at Michonne in this scene (and in many season 3 scenes really) he feels something he’s ‘not supposed to’ feel and sees something he wasn’t expecting to see - because, without being cognizant of it yet, he sees his future. He sees himself. He sees someone his heart wants and desires in this intriguing, intoxicating, and soul-filling way.

And so it’s almost like in those early days Rick kept staring at this captivating woman partly confused because he’s supposed to just look at her and see a suspicious stranger, but instead somewhere deep within him what he really sees is his other half, someone he’s meant for and whose meant for him, someone capable of getting him to get down on one knee in the woods and profess his undying love for one day. 🥲

Like he's trying to look intimidating in this s3 scene with Michonne but then Rick always has this shift in his expression like he’s more genuinely dazed from the fact that looking at Michonne for some reason is like looking in a mirror. Looking at her, little did he know he was seeing his universe all in one person.🥹

And as for Michonne, I adore that she has known for so long that she's with Rick no matter what. From "I'm still with you" pre-canon to "I'm yours" post-canon. It's always him for her. 🥹

Also, I just have to note the way Rick looks at her when Michonne makes her way down to her knees is always so swoon-worthy to me. 😊 It's been such a great journey watching Richonne's stares soften over each season to the point that now they look into each other's eyes so utterly in love.

gif cred: @nat111love

So after Michonne says she's his, they share another ten out of ten kiss and it’s just the perfect way to close out the scene. 👏🏽😭

I love how Michonne is smiling through the first kiss, and the way Rick's holding her, and the fact that of course the passion only continues to ramp up between them as they wrap their arms around each other.

gif cred: @nat111love

I think about how in TOWL ep 3, Rick and Michonne were on their knees in CRM uniforms kissing in the woods but not yet on the same page.

And now they’re back to their more usual attire and on their knees kissing but fully in sync again and ready to both handle the CRM and go home. Mr. & Mrs. Grimes are 100% back. 😌

gif cred: @nat111love

And I love how it's the masterpiece Episode 4 that got Richonne from point A in ep 3, on their knees in the woods unsure of how to escape with much to reconcile, to point B in ep 5, on their knees in the woods, reaffirming 'I’m yours,' and fully on one accord again.

So then, after this solid gold scene, they cut to Father Gabriel waiting on a log but Jadis isn’t going to be showing up this time around. What Father G doesn't know is Jadis was attempting to threaten Richonne and ASZ and so after just a day of aiming to kill them, Rick and Michonne had to go ahead and send her to the underworld same-day delivery. 📦👌🏽

But Rick and Michonne also have very good hearts and so it seems they left a burial site for her, marked with an 'A' stone.

That 'A' has some layers to it because one; it’s like Rick and Michonne are allowing her to die as Anne the Artist rather than Jadis the Snake, with Anne seeming to have been her better and more human persona.

And two; seeing the 'A' to me always feels reminiscent of how Jadis would spray paint As on the holding containers in the trash heap. It was very kind of Richonne to give her a burial and to put an ‘A’ for Anne instead of an “S” for Snake/Serpent/Scam Artist. 

gif cred: @perryabbott

A helicopter flies above the burial site and, even tho we don't get to see Richonne inside, I love we get to at least know that Michonne got to see her man fly a helicopter.

If Michonne and I are really on the same wavelength like I think we are, I know she thought Rick piloting the helicopter was sexy. 😊 Probably sitting in that helicopter and watching him like...

And as their helicopter flies off into the sky, that concludes episode 5, with Richonne and us now soaring into the TOWL finale. 👌🏽

Honestly, on rewatch I do like episode 5 better than I thought. It’s still not as high as 1-4 but the Richonne content is just so great in this ep that I still very much enjoy it. 😌 And that's how you know your ship is an abundance of riches when even the lower-rated ep still has some solid gold scenes and a top 10 all-time scene. 👑

gif cred: @lousolversons

Before I even wrote a single word of this breakdown, I knew this specific scene's revelings would be a long two-parter - because I mean, for longtime Richonne fans this proposal scene is just better than a dream. So I had to do my best to go as all out as I could when gushing over every detail. 😋

I adore that after years of Rick dreaming of having this proposal with Michonne, the two of them finally got to share this moment. And it was as beautiful as can be.

gif cred: @nerd4music

Rick and Michonne both are just so aware that they’ve found a true treasure in finding each other, and I love that this scene so perfectly captured their stunning love and their commitment to belong to each other forever and always.

It was a joy to see Richonne so clearly establish that they are Mr. and Mrs. Grimes, until the end of time. 🥳💍🙌🏽🎉🥂🎊