𓂃 ࣪ ࣪⋆✩˚ ༘ [thee avengers]: The Concept of ‘Fucked’ in Different Contexts
— in which! you somehow found yourself in the middle of chaos in debris-filled NYC with no recollection of how you got there in the first place.
OR soulmates exist and you were the lucky egg tethered to the Earth's Mightiest Heroes (but here's the catch: you have zero fucking idea).
word count: 1.3k
content! cliché, very crackfic-adjacent, NO DEFINITE TIMELINE YET, idiots being idiots, reader's dealing with an existential crisis, reader judging alien's guts, maybe mildly improper use of research & mathematics terminologies (tho i'm pretty sure it's not, but just in case), SOULMATES AU!, questionably executed poly bcuz i'm greedy n i want them all to fall for you, not beta'ed we die like my will to live when my goat sacrificed himself, eng not my first lang, did i write this while high? feels like a fever dream
“WHAT IN THE EVER-LOVING FUCK..?” You whispered to yourself, mildly incoherent. Your head throbbed, and you could barely feel your damn body—it felt like the plug connecting your brain to your physicality was damn near severed, with the way that your body refused to cooperate. Abhorrently so.
All you could remember was falling, and the vague feeling of crashing into a nearby ten-story building. Which—in theory—is fucking impossible considering you were just rawdogging your solo thesis and overdosing on caffeine less than ten minutes ago. Fuck chatgpt, you have a fully functioning brain (that you intend to use to the full extent, even if it’s barely cooperating) and a spanish latte addiction—you can do everything.
Your eyes opened due to sheer willpower, because, apparently, nothing truly works until you put your whole mind into it. No, you don't think that's quite how the quote goes, but yes, you'll take what you can get.
And, well, if waking up to chaos, destruction, and friendly fire was what you’d get, you’d gladly demand a refund. Even if, hypothetically, you have social anxiety—you’d even do it with a smile. Because seriously, what the fuck?
“Cap, civilian on your six o’clock.”
“Impossible. There was no one there two minutes ago.”
“Yeah, well, check again. I can see her still as a statue.”
Now, you were about to resign to your poor, unfortunate fate. You saw something faintly reminiscent of an alien with a sword-thing bulldozing straight towards you, aiming for your untimely demise, and you thought oh! great, i wouldn’t have to embarrass myself in front of the panelists.
Well that would’ve been the plan, if not for a certain super-soldier-serum-infused captain sliding over to save your ass and a lone arrow whirling straight to the alien-thing’s brain—blowing it cleanly off with a loud baam!
You saw guts. Purpley, goey, guts.
Were those intestines?
Oh my god, why the fuck was it chunky?
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
“Do not ask me the color of anything.” You whispered, brain still too pretty to function, staring at the person carrying you into… safety? You don’t know anymore. At some point, you thought cyan and turquoise were the same thing—and you used to be very particular with colors. Like five minutes ago, when you hadn’t seen an alien’s flying guts in 4k resolution.
Then your eyes drifted to your—for lack of better terms—now-unmasked-carrier.
Damn, why does he look like that—in a good way, but like why?
He looked insanely familiar, too. Mhmn…
It wasn’t until a debris-filled road made him slightly trip, almost loosening his grasp on you—shaking your insides. Not the good kind. “Oh god, I think I’ll hurl my dinner.” Whispering, your grip involuntarily tightened on his neck, heart immediately dropping to your ass as it pounded heavily in your eardrums. Hey, at least you got your senses back. Barely. But a win is a win.
It was afternoon. 2:54 pm, to be exact.
Meanwhile Steve Rogers just thinks he (unfortunately) picked up a mildly pathetic chick. And he would’ve brushed it off, if not for his soul-mark—coincidentally placed below your frozen-in-fear hand—burning like a bitch. It’s the only reason why he tripped; after all, nothing could deter the captain when he’s saving lives. Not even a lone pebble deliberately placed to screw him over (the pebble did nothing, it was innocent).
“You’re safe, don’t worry.” Steve couldn’t help but reassure the stranger. His instincts automatically made his mouth spew the words without thinking of the consequences—if there were even consequences. It’s normal to comfort strangers, he thinks. More so if the stranger was his soulmate, he thi—no, he backtracks. “I got you.”
“I mean, I would hope so.” You replied without thinking, eyes trailing to stare ahead of you, blinking once, twice—then whimpered involuntarily when you caught a glimpse of a heinous-looking gigantic alien that looked exactly like it was pulled from your worst nightmares. “Okay, no matter what you do, do not look back. Please.”
Normally, he would’ve listened. Because Steve treats warnings with careful precaution—he’d learnt that from his military days. But he hadn’t been doing things as he normally would for the past ten minutes. You’re the anomaly. He’s actively choosing to blame you.
“What?” Steve momentarily stopped, confusion coating his features as he subtly tried to turn.
When he did, what he saw was an ugly fucking alien beelining straight to where he was currently standing—all towering and fucking ugly. “What the fuck.” He whispered, staring at the god-awful centipede-like creature. Well, if the centipede was 10x angry and 10000x bigger. Did he mention ugly?
Subtlety be damned, you still felt the light shift—and, swear to god—you felt him freeze. “Do not look ba—I told you not to look back!” You panicked. And panicked was an understatement as your painted nails dug into his soft flesh.
And then he’s sprinting. Oh god, he’s sprinting.
Not away, no. Oh no, you would’ve fallen for that handsome, bulky stranger if he was.
He was sprinting towards it. With the sole intention of killing it off with his well-painted shield and brute force.
You think he had forgotten the fact that he was still carrying you—the quote-unquote innocent civilian he was supposed to rescue. He didn’t. He very clearly whispered a hold on tight—I’ll make this quick, while shifting you securely in his hold. And then you thought you met god.
Not that god, the other god. The one who screams another! while breaking a mug-god. The one who preaches those who are worthy could lift the hammer-god. The one who—yeah, you get the gist. It’s damn Thor Odinson, the God of Thunder-god.
You were hammered, but not hammered enough to the point that you’d forgotten Chris Hemsworth gorgeously portrayed that handsome male specimen—that’s, well, currently standing in front of you, striking that god-awful fuck-ass creature-thing. “Are you alright?”
You would’ve swooned. Really, you would’ve. If only you weren’t—you know—creating impossible hypotheses you never thought would’ve been created, due to the sheer absurdity of ever thinking about it, like, at all.
Great, now you don’t even know what the absolute fuck you were thinking.
At least now you’re assured that you aren’t made by A.I. Because if you don’t even know what you’re thinking, what makes you think a chatbot would?
But to simplify:
The one carrying you + painted shield + reassuring phrases + very captivating plump ass = Captain-America-slash-Steve-Motherfucking-Rogers
The one who bitch-slapped a creature + gorgeous long blond locks + hammer god = God-of-Thunder-slash-Thor-choke-me-with-those-bulky-biceps-Odinson
(America’s Ass + Golden Retriever God) + Chaos n’ Destruction + n = The Avengers
Now this leads to three utterly substantial statements of the problem—with their mind-fucking, corresponding hypotheses. Let’s delve deeper, shall we?
01. You had gone clinically insane, hyper-realistically imagining impossible scenarios from ypur severe lack of sleep.
Ha₁: You don’t need to defend your research no more; you’re insane.
Ho₁: You’re more prone to being admitted to the mental asylum, saying goodbye to your family and the friends you’ve made along the way.
02. You had somehow been transported into a parallel-slash-alternate reality due to the sudden clockwise shifting of the Earth’s axis.
Ha₂: The professors who laughed at you for proposing this as your research title can now suck your juicy fuckin’ ass.
Ho₂: They literally can’t; you (accidentally) altered a timeline (or universe, rather) you weren’t supposed to be in.
03. You died, finally biting the dust after an umpteen number of all-nighters and caffeine-induced psychosis.
Ha₃: You died. In theory.
Ho₃: You died. In practice.
With those written (in your head) SoPs, you arrived at approximately three (3) conclusions. Either you’ve gone insane (unlikely), or Earth said fuck you in tagalog then spun in reverse (maybe likely), or you’ve died from caffeine-induced overdose (please don’t be likely).
Either way, one thing’s for certain: you’re fucked.
okay hear me out, in my defense, i got lazy editing my masterlist okay. making banners (although satisfying) sucks the soul outta me (like how i wish leon would). so then i started writing like a drabble, then the drabble became a story, then the story became a chapter, then i started making a banner, then the next thing i knew, this post was already drafted lololol. Leon will be making a comeback soon, i have like *checks notes* 10 wips of that guy he's not going ANYWHERE.
anywhoo, i truly do miss these guys so i thought, why not make a classic avengers polyfic? rbs & comments for kisses, as always, ily
alright I've got to do some quick math to explain attitudes towards AI to my boss.
we're looking to create an AI policy, and when we were talking about this, my boss (older millennial) was genuinely shocked to hear that younger people do not (seem) to view AI positively (a la the recent commencement speakers being booed)
please rb for larger sample size!
Question 1/3
What is your age, and do you feel AI is a net positive or net negative in our lives today?
“titch!” he says to you, arms thrust forward, offering you his cup.
“titch, papa!” he says then, unrelenting. sylus smirks, recognizing the firey look in his son’s eyes.
“but you like this flavor.”
“titch! titch!” he insists. so sylus takes his baby cup and replaces it with his tall one. lucian nods and returns back to his position beneath the awning.
sylus bends down to pinch his son’s cheek in pride, trying not to laugh at the disgusted look on his little face at his new drink.
(≖ࡇ ≖)
I could . not. put. this down for 48 hours - stayed up too late, had weird dreams about it, woke up early, and played it while I was supposed to be doing other things. the last several dozen items took a lot of googling, which I do not even begrudge it.
and then. My partner started it. And the SAME THING happened to him.
surprisingly compelling. start when you have free time. like, yanno, a snow day.
oh my god, if you are the kind of person who gets sucked into logic puzzles, do not click that link if you have to do anything/go to sleep in the next couple hours
I was disappointed there weren't more levels, so I made them! The creator's code was under CC Share Alike, so I moved a copy to my website, rustled up 40 new categories, and added buttons so you can generate smaller puzzles!
Do check this out people. I had manually switched all the gemini nonsense off months ago, but when I went and checked just now it was all switched back on.
“Brown eyes are so plain and ugly you can’t even compare them to gems like emerald and saph-”
Stop.
Carnelian
Cairngorm
Cassiterite
Smoky Quartz
Zircon (brown)
Citrine
Diaspore
Dravite
Enstatite
Hessonite
That’s not even all of GORGEOUS BROWN GEMS THAT EXIST IN THIS WORLD. Just like there are a lot of beautiful brown gems they’re a lot of BEAUTIFUL BROWN EYES. BROWN IS A GORGEOUS COLOR. Start treating it like one.
