caffeinewitchcraft:

owldork1998:

shevni:

rogha:

I hate in the MCU or anything when the aliens or whatever are attacking and everyone’s just ‘oh yeah we be chilling just cowering over here’ as if seventy percent of humanity isn’t really angry all the time like catch these hands motherfucker I’ve bitten people for trying to steal my chips you think you can just steal my whole fucking planet YEET HERE COME MY TEETH film people be using responses to natural disasters but I promise if human sized things came to throw down humanity would be ready to fuck them up like yeah you got laser guns I got this dope ass stick I just found let’s go you ugly fuck

silentwalrus1: #yeah bicht!!!!!!#gimme the battle of new york with fuckin chitauri comin down and the shift manager of the times sq H&M has finally had Enough#Tracie bout to kill this alien with a traffic cone#’ JUST PRETEND THEY’RE TOURISTS’ she screams choking out goddamn Lizard Lite with her lanyard#10 feet away a park slope mom is beating an alien to death with her four year old’s knockoff eco friendly razr scooter#every single retail employee gets ten years’ worth of therapy in one day#captain america’s kill count: 83 aliens#kathleen from accounting: 94 and also her boss

@nyodrite I need this like air but more

No one believes her after, but she swears to every deity out there that she went to high school with the guy who’s shooting the arrows. It was only for, like, a month and he was so angry (scared) so she didn’t really know him, but–

But she went to high school with the guy shooting the arrows.

She’s not brave, okay? She’s run from her fair share of muggers and held her thanks in her heart when another vigilante came to chase them away. She’s carried her car keys in her fist like daggers, cut strangers with the look in her eyes, kicked out at corners before turning them just in case.

She lives in New York, she knows how to keep her head down, keep a look out for debris, and run. She’s doing it too, dodging buses and cars and people as she scrambles away from the sound of alien technology and alien language. The panic response is strong, real, and she’s not ashamed of the way she screams as the street explodes under her feet.

Then she realizes that the guy who shoots the arrows went to her high school and the aliens don’t seem so alien. She went to high school with the guy shooting the arrows at the aliens and he’s hurting them. The look on his face says that he’s at the end of his line and she–

She realizes, crouched behind a burning car, that she is too.

New York explodes every day. Sometimes the sun is blocked out by aircrafts from other countries, other worlds. Her work practiced drills in case Doom sends robot spiders into the air ducts with nerve gas.  Again. Jeffrey down the hall slapped her ass on Thursday and, after, she wasn’t proud enough to turn down his offer to walk her to her car.  Again. 

Her eyes land on jagged, blue metal, the remnants of a mail box. The leg is just the right size for her to wrap her hand around it and she’s just far gone enough that she doesn’t care that it’s wet from lying in the gutter.

She hears that stupid fucking alien sound from behind her and, for once, she doesn’t think. She doesn’t think about how her hair is down (easy to grab) or how her heels are too high (hard to run in).

She swings her arm around, a snarl ripping from the remains of her throat, and bitch slaps that alien motherfucker right in the theoretical face. The thing flails, gun arm going wild, and stumbles back. She follows it , heels snapping against the concrete and raises her metal club over her head. She brings it down on the back of the thing’s neck and does it again even as it falls, stops screaming, and goes still.

“I, uh,” a man says from behind her, “think it’s dead.”

The voice is wrong for the situation–too calm, too dry, too amused. She turns, feeling alien blood dripping from her face, and leverages her weapon.

The guy who shoots the arrows takes a hasty step back. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Team human here. You need to get down to the subway, they’re basically bunkers–”

She tracks his gesturing hand and glances to the nearest entrance. People are streaming in, directed by police and fire and good Samaritans. She’s shocked that she doesn’t want to go over there. She’d much rather stay here.

She blows hair out of her face and says, “You went to my high school.” Another alien charges them, making some sort of clicking noise, and there’s an arrow sprouting from its throat between one blink and the next. It happens so fast that she can’t stop her lunge and swing in time. Her weapon connects with the side of the alien’s head instead of it’s chest with a sick thunk. It takes muscle to yank her club out of its skull, but she manages and the body falls back onto the asphalt.

They both stare at the dead alien for a long moment.

“Right” arrow guy says. He seems to have decided to let her do what she wants. He takes a deep breath and says, “No one’s going to believe I went to high school.” 

“But you did,” she says.

He starts jogging towards where the aliens are concentrated, arrow already in hand. “Yeah,” he says over his shoulder, “but they won’t believe it!”

“I–” she starts, but he’s too far away, fast as all hell.

She takes out her irritation on the next alien who makes that stupid scifi noise right next to her ear.