#but he would keep the fight going until one of them died

[ladycremecaramel]

So this was my ask from a long time ago, and I had thoughts of mgit (modern girl in thedas) story for this, but it never came to fruition. What I did do, though, was write a drabble from the Inquistor's POV. I thought it was long gone, but I stumbled upon it through my Google docs. After reading it, I thought I would post it here.

For context, the woman's name is Nora, and she is married and has a kid. There was an accident of some sort where the husband and child didn't survive, but she did and wound up in Thedas with the mark on her hand. She didn't want anything to do with the Inquisition as her spouse and child were her whole world and was grieving. She didn't care if she lived or died, but her moral compass of wanting to help those in need prevented her from outright killing herself.

Over time, the grief becomes...less in a way. After the fall of Haven and becoming the Inquisitor, her depression ramps up again but also has conflicting feelings about Cullen.

Then she becomes kidnapped red templars and...I forgot what they called the evil mages that worked for Corypheus were called. The ones that went crazy or were they called blood mages? Anyway, their plan was to 'kill' the Inquisitor and then use necromancy on her dead body to have control of the mark. Obviously, that doesn't happen cuz the Inquisition comes to the rescue juuuust in time.

So here it is. Below this is a TW of depression, blood, thoughts of suicide, and mentions of rape

Whack.

She yelped in pain as he punched the side of her face again. Another swollen bruise to add the collection on her body and face. She tried to wrench her wrists free of her binds, but the rope held tight was starting to cut into her skin. “Why am I fighting this? Don’t I want to die?” She thought to herself as her body struggled against her captors. 

She wasn’t sure, but her thoughts were stilled when a rough hand grabbed her by the throat. The red templar forced her to look up at him as he tightened his grip. Staring into the glowing crimson eyes, he snarled. “Should I let them rape you, mage? If you keep fighting, I won’t let you have any dignity left.” 

Nora froze upon hearing those words. To be raped and let whatever was to be become of her? His grip was tightening as she went limp with fear. If she were to die anyway, she wanted to at least have the choice to stay intact. The man stilled his tightening grip and slowly loosened his hold to see if she would struggle again. She didn’t move. Taking as a sign of surrender, he ordered the other men to bind her legs quickly. 

Everything moved quickly in a blur for her after that as she was carried to the open wooden box and placed inside. Her eyes began to sting with tears while her captors placed the lid on top and hammered it down with nails. She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear their voices. 

Soon she heard what sounded like chanting. It sounded low and in another language. What was going on out there? Did it matter? She watched interior of the box glow at the seams with a dark purple energy. It glowed brighter and brighter what felt like the longest time before it faded away, plunging her back into darkness. 

The next thing she knew was that box was being lifted and then lowered back down. She rocked back and forth with the casket, but it soon lurched with a soft thump. Nora fidgeted around with her hands tied in front of her until she heard the sound dirt being poured on top of the box she was in. Her eyes grew wide, and she sobbed. “This is it. This is how I die.” She thought as she tried to calm herself and accept her fate as she was being buried alive. 

“It shouldn’t be painful. I’ll fall unconscious as I lose oxygen. I’ll get to see my boys again soon. Just like I always wanted. I would have already offed myself if I didn’t have this fucking curse on my hand. They wanted their world saved though. My stupid guilty, noble do-the-right-thing just HAD to win out…” 

She thought like this as the sound of the dirt grew fainter. She assumed it was because her grave was almost filled up. She wondered how much time she actually had. It could be a few minutes to possibly a few hours or so she was told by Google. Looks like she was going to test that theory. 

Nora let her mind sift through all her memories. From her childhood to her adolescent days to adulthood. Then it went to more recent memories of losing her husband and child in a flash of green and then winding up in Thedas. Going through the story of the game or most of it anyway. She thought about the companions she met and actually becoming friends with them. She even thought about him. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him still but he definitely made her heart race. 

She wasn’t sure how much time has passed but the sound of the dirt stopped and she heard muffled shouts and what sounded like metal clashing. She strained her ears as best as she could. She couldn’t tell how deep she was buried but it didn’t sound like she was buried too deep or she wouldn’t have likely heard anything. 

She was starting to feel tired. When she heard a muffled angry voice that sounded like...

“Cassandra?”

They came all this way for me?

--------------

Aaaaannnnd end. That's it. Then my ask picks up from there.

You don't have to do this one. DAi: LI's only. After locating the Inky's they find that their leader is nowhere in sight. After some fruitless interrogating, they hear a faint THUMP THUMP THUMP and muffled screaming. They search for the source and find a half filled grave and the sound of their leader under the dirt. Their reaction: Discovering their Inky was buried alive.

Cassandra: Her heart drops, and the panic doesn’t even have time to settle before she is loudly barking orders and trying to steady her breathing. The second she gets the Inquisitor out of his shallow grave; she grabs him in a big hug and refuses to let go. The seeker is far from a merciful person, any may Andraste protect whoever dared do this to the person she loves. For a second she looks up at the man she loves, dirty and bruised with a mixture of panic and fear in his eyes. She doesn’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if they hadn’t gotten there sooner. 

Solas: Bring along the fury of a wolf and you will end up being ripped apart by the pack, this is very much apparent with Solas. The apostate is quick on his feet, helping his vhenan out of the grave and staring at the people responsible whom they just questioned; he has murder in his gaze. The only thing stopping him from acting then and there is the soft touch from his lover, her shaking body quickly moving closer to him for comfort. He would never forgive the people who did this and the ones who survived his visit later that night were the unlucky ones.

Dorian: At first he is rather unsettling, extremely calm and soft-spoken, only to lash out when someone makes a rather poor comment as the Inquisitor is helped out of his grave. Dorian feels utterly helpless and furious when he sees his Amatus like that, the man has bruises around his wrists showing he was tied; a busted lip and a tired gaze. he knows that if they had been slower the man he loved would’ve been underneath them all along but lacking the consciousness to ever speak up about where he was. One wrong clue or details lost could’ve led to being one minute too late. And that terrifies him.

Sera: May whatever god these people look up to be a just and forgiving one; because Sera sure as hell isn’t. As soon as Inky is out of that grave, an arrow is lodged into the leg of the nearest guilty person; and she has to be held back from jumping the man. She has no mercy for these people, and absolutely no pity for them as their screams reach her ears. Sera is scarily silent as she calms down, quickly finding her girlfriend and latching onto her- a shaky breath escaping her as she promises that she won’t ever let this happen again.

Blackwall: Honestly; it would surprise noone if Thom admitted to having done this himself, seeing as how calm he was when he was met with the issue itself; quick and steady hands knowing what to do right away. He doesn’t speak much when the Inquisitor stumbles out of the grave, clinging onto him and gasping for air and shaking. The tears in her eyes is enough to send his very being into a angry rampage; but he simply stays silent. Comforting his lover as he leads her away from the site, the others can deal with the vermin.

Iron Bull: May whoever did this rest in peace, because honestly they messed up the second they dared to mess with anyone who had contacts within the chargers. Bull is extremely gentle and careful with his lover; the poor thing shaking and it breaks his heart the second he sees the bruises on their face. Being buried alive is not fun, he would know. He is more aware than anyone else how lucky they were; because you loose oxygen fast in a casket. He lets out a shaky breath before kissing their face, muttering an apology for taking so long.

Josephine: When she had heard the word of what happened, she couldn’t help but close herself inside the office and just cry. Leliana had made sure she got time to let out all the worry and stress as she awaited for her lover to return. When they did? They were met by Josephine, puffy eyes and a lip that she had clearly chewed on more than enough to draw blood. And she only started crying again when she saw their bruised face, just about starting to heal from traveling back. She hated that she had to let them go on these trips; but she knew stopping them would only make things worse. With a tired sigh she grabs their hand, they needed a few hours. Just to be.

Cullen: He was the one leading the rescue operation, and he thought he had the ability to act cool. But when the Inquisitor is helped up from the casket and is finally able to see in the much brighter area; she sees him acting extremely out of character. The man on the ground is bleeding heavily from his face as Cassandra pulls the commander away from him. Cullen had been scared, he had felt so lonely when he found out that his rage blinded him and for a split second he wanted nothing else but to kill the person responsible. He feels his anger melt when the hand of his loved one is carefully placed on his cheek, as she whispers for him to calm down. She is bruised, tired and was probably on her last breaths. He would never forgive himself for allowing this to happen to begin with, but may the maker have mercy on the people responsible. They would face the wrath of Cullen Rutherford.

[harpersdragons]

New Fic! (again)

It's Fine if We Know We Won't Change

Words: 2,033

Description: Jason realizes just how rough it was for Tim when he was training to be Robin

not canon-compliant, idk enough about canon for it to be.

Jason spins, dodging the incoming strike. He ducks under and slashes with the wooden sword. Tim blocks, ducking low and trying to sweep Jason’s leg.

“C’mon, pretender, that all you got?” Jason taunts, jumping over Tim’s leg.

They trade blows for a long time, dancing back and forth with each other. Eventually, Jason disarms Tim and tosses the bo staff across the cave. Tim jumps out of the way of his next strike, setting his jaw and considering Jason’s stance. Jason lets him take his time, tossing his sword in the same direction as Tim’s staff. In a real battle, Tim would need to be prepared to be unarmed and facing a weapon, but this isn’t a real fight. Besides, not many criminals on the streets are fighting with swords.

Tim smirks as he launches himself at Jason again. Jason dodges again, knocking Tim’s arm out of the way, then spinning around and sweeping his legs. He locks Tim into an arm bar.

Tim groans and thrashes his legs, trying to loosen the tension on his arm and shoulder, but Jason’s grip is iron. One leg is keeping Tim’s body pinned to the floor, the other bracing his arm as Jason bends it back. His thigh digs into Tim’s bicep, Tim’s breath is coming in short pants.

“You gonna yield anytime soon?” Jason questions, increasing the tension. The rule is generally to keep increasing tension until they tap out, but he might have to call it soon if Tim doesn’t tap out himself.

Tim just groans in response and struggles more. His upper body twists, and a sickening snap sounds through the cave. Tim yelps, and Jason releases him immediately, scrambling back. Tim rolls over, cradling the injured arm against his torso.

“The fuck? Why didn’t you yield?”

“I knew how to get out, I just needed a few more minutes.” Tim pants, pushing himself up slowly.

“Jesus christ, tap out if you need to. This isn’t a real fight.”

“If it was, I could have died. I need to know how to get out of that.”

“Yes, but this is training. We’re going on patrol in a bit, this wasn’t meant to be that serious.” Jason stares in shock as Tim walks to the back wall. “Where are you going? The medbay’s the other way. We need to call Alfred.”

“Calm down, will you? I can set it myself, it’s just a dislocated shoulder.” Tim doesn’t look at him, sets his back against the wall and bunches up his shirt, then tucks the end into his mouth. He grabs the wrist of his injured shoulder and guides it out in front of him.

Jason jumps into motion before he can do anything else. He gently stops Tim from popping his own shoulder back into place, and guides Tim back to the medbay.

“Sit.” He points at the cot, then moves around and gathers lidocaine, syringes, and a sling.

“You don’t need to do all that. If you insist on helping, give me something to bite down on and do it. I don’t want to go on patrol with a numb shoulder.”

That stops Jason in his tracks. “You’re not patrolling tonight.” He doesn’t glance at TIm, he just goes back to gathering his supplies. “Either I’m doing this, or Alfred or Bruce is. Your choice.” He sets the supplies on the cot next to Tim and then gently starts feeling around his shoulder. Tim’s scoff turns into a groan and he grits his teeth.

“Please, Bruce isn’t going to take care of my injuries. I doubt he’d let Alfred do it, either. So get it over with, or I’m going back to doing it myself. And I am patrolling tonight, so no local.”

Jason stares at him, taking in the way he’s braced for it, jaw set and staring straight ahead at the wall in across from them. He sighs, “Look, if you really don’t want the local, I won’t do it without your consent. But if your only reason for not wanting it is because you have some deluded idea about going on patrol an hour after dislocating your shoulder, I can promise you Bruce isn’t letting you out of this house tonight.”

Tim finally looks at him, an exasperated look on his face. “Bruce has never once stopped from going on patrol after being injured. Just get this over with before it swells too much.”

Jason huffs, then presses the call button on the cot. “The fuck you mean Bruce never stopped you from going on patrol injured?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. I’d get injured in sparring, we’d go patrol that same night. I’ve never been benched for an injury.”

The way he says it, so deadpan, like it’s expected and normal for Bruce to not go full mother hen when one of them is injured.

“How is that even possible? You’ve seen how he gets when one of us is injured.” Jason takes a step back, so he and Tim can be face to face for this.

“That’s different.” Tim shrugs, then winces when it reminds him of his shoulder. “You’re his kids. I’m just some random kid who forced his way in.”

“Tim—” The word sounds punched out of Bruce. “What? You really think that?”

Jason glances over, to see Bruce entering the med bay with Alfred right behind him.

Tim scoffs, pushing himself off the cot. “It’s always been true, hasn’t it?” He stalks past them, going back to the wall. Bruce gently grabs his good arm to stop him from leaving.

“It seems I’ve messed up with you. Let me start fixing it?” Bruce stares down at Tim, waiting while Tim considers it.

“Don’t worry, B, I’ll be fine by patrol. Just gotta deal with this.” Tim tries to pull out of Bruce’s grip.

“That’s not what I asked. I’m not worried about patrol, I’m worried about why you think I want you to patrol after being injured. Go sit down, and please let Alfred or I take care of you this time.”

“I don’t need the help! I’ve been patching myself up since I started this vigilante business, I’m fine!”

Jason frowns, if he or Dick refused medical help like this, or even Damian, Bruce would force them into the medbay and keep them there until someone else has seen to their injuries. Jason used to hate it, but he’s come to realize it’s one way how Bruce shows he cares. But Bruce doesn’t push. He doesn’t scoop Tim up and place him on the cot. He just…waits. He waits while Tim glares up at him, body stiff and unyielding. He waits as the younger man considers what he’s saying, considers his options, and then ultimately decides to go back to the cot.

Bruce follows, making sure TIm is comfortable where he’s sitting as Alfred checks Tim’s shoulder.

“Jason?” Bruce calls over his shoulder. “What happened.” It’s not a question, not even a statement. It’s an order.

Jason winces, Bruce is already pissed and he doesn’t even know what happened yet. Jason doubts that’s going to get better when he finds out Jason’s part in this.

“We were sparring, he didn’t tap out.”

“Why didn’t you stop before this happened?” Bruce’s voice is barely more than a growl, more reminiscent of Batman’s voice than Bruce’s.

“How was I supposed to know he was that close to being hurt! He didn’t tap out!”

“Use your intuition. We don’t take sparring that far.”

“Clearly you did, if the kid has that much of an aversion to tapping out. Where do you think he learned it?”

Bruce turns, getting in Jason’s space. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea.” Jason crosses his arms, drawing himself up to his full height. Bruce is slightly taller, but they have pretty much the same build.

“Guys, stop.” Tim calls out. Bruce visibly deflates immediately, stepping back to Tim’s side.

“Why the fuck does Tim think he can’t tap out?” Jason scoffs.

“Knock it off, Jason, it’s not a big deal.” Tim winces as Alfred finally guides his shoulder back into place.

“Bullshit!” Jason snaps, “Sparring isn’t that serious. Injuries are supposed to be bruises! Not fuckin’ dislocated shoulders!”

“Drop it! You don’t know what it was like after you died! I had to fight every second to prove I deserved to be here. Bruce didn’t want me, if I missed a patrol, someone could die. I was weighing someone’s life against my own injuries every goddamn night. If I tapped out, I was admitting defeat. I didn’t tap out. I learned to escape, or suffer the consequences.” Tim is glaring now, he’s hopped off the cot and stalked close to Jason. “You think when I was searching for Bruce I was allowed to ‘tap out’ of a fight? You think I had someone patch up my injuries? It’s great, that Bruce cares enough about you guys to be worried about you, or keep you from making your injuries worse. But you don’t get it. Bruce changed. You had him before. You have him now, when he’s slightly more well adjusted. When he’s trying. I had him when he was broken. When I had to stop him from drowning himself in alcohol, or crossing a line he can’t come back from.”

Jason stares, speechless, at his little brother. Tim doesn’t talk much about what’s going on in his head, or what he’s been through. And honestly, Jason didn’t think Bruce was that affected when he died. He knows now that Bruce loves him, and it’s been a long ass road to get here, but he didn’t think Bruce had gotten to that point after he’d died.

Bruce looks heartbroken, and he steps forward, reaching for Tim, but Tim sidesteps and turns to leave.

“Tim, wait—” Bruce calls.

“It’s fine, B, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Before Tim can take another step, Bruce grabs his good arm again. “Tim, can we talk before you leave, please?”

“Why bother? I know where I stand, Bruce. I’m not your son, I never have been. Don’t sweat it.” Tim doesn’t even seem bothered by the words coming out of his mouth. Like it’s just common sense.

“No, see, that’s why we have to talk. You are my son.” Bruce speaks in a rush, as if he’s trying to get all the words out before Tim leaves. Maybe he is, maybe if Tim leaves after this, he won’t come back. “I didn’t see you that way at first, I’m not going to lie to either of us by saying that. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize it. But you are my son, Tim, and I will do everything in my power to help you see that.”

“Why now?” Tim’s voice is rough, his head tilted downwards, as if to hide how close to tears he is.

“Because I only just realized you didn’t see it. I was stupid to believe you’d just know how I felt. That’s on me, son, and I’m so incredibly sorry.”

Tim sobs, and Bruce tugs him into a hug.

“I know it won’t change overnight. I know there will be good days and bad. But please, give me a chance to fix this.”

Tim grips at Bruce’s shirt, nodding slightly against his chest. Jason winces as he sees Tim’s injured arm pinned awkwardly, that has to hurt.

“I’m gonna—” Jason points at the door and starts to head out, before Bruce grabs him.

“We’re going to talk about you not realizing how much pressure you were putting on his arm.” Bruce narrows his eyes over Jason’s head.

“Yeah, yeah. Hug your kid, B, I’m gonna go patrol.” He tugs his arm out of Bruce’s grasp, and makes his way quickly to his gear.

He can hear murmuring in the med bay, probably Bruce and Tim talking more, but that’s not his problem now. They’ll work it out. It won’t be easy, but they will.

After all, if Bruce could convince Jason to come back home, that he loved him, that he is , then he can convince Tim.

[spaceyjessa]

Clone x OC Week Day 1 : Introduction

Pairings: Solé x Crosshair Rating: G / SFW Words: 1,092 Warnings: Order 66 Mention, brief mentions of grief, absolute second hand embarrassment (please my girl is a disaster I love her)

Synopsis: Solé is doing her best to adjust to life on Pabu, but after her life was turned upside down by Order 66, all she finds herself wanting is to go home to Naboo. Until she meets someone who might be even more out of place than she is.

@clonexocweek Thank you for hosting this event!

Pabu was few little pieces of the familiar wrapped up in a galaxy of unknowns. She had tried to adapt. Adaption was key. With enough work to keep her busy and on the verge of exhaustion she had found a way to accept the life happening around her. For better or worse. But she couldn’t shake the sense that it still wasn’t home. It wasn’t Naboo.

With foods she understood and soil that didn’t fight her every time she tried to grow a plant. Every simple thing she had taken for granted, every smell and sound and taste, was left behind on a world she didn’t recognize while she tried to pick up the pieces of her life. Solé shook the thoughts away as she strode into the marketplace. No, here is where I am. And that’s all there was too it. The marketplace was just as unfamiliar as the rest of Pabu, a breath of Naboo whispered by in the sunshine that fell along the stalls but the wares in them, the foods and trinkets, all refugees of another world left her feeling hollow. Her appetite had been growing thinner by the day and as someone who studied nutrition and food for a living she knew she would have to put her anxieties away and at least try to eat something.

She had been on Pabu for a few weeks, thrown by earthquakes, threatened by the Empire she was trying to escape, and finally a relative peace had settled. Solé wished her shaking hands and anxious heart would see it the same way. There were more refugees now. Like her, but not like her. Clones who had been betrayed by their leaders. By their own bodies. Shep had explained it all to her when she wasn’t able to face them, clued her into the truth of what had happened when he had brought some of them to her as patients.

Soldiers, battle weary and heavy, they seemed to adapt faster than her to the light buoyant atmosphere of the island or they would shuttle off to help the cause. The cause was something so vast that Solé had trouble really imagining it. A part of her ached for it. Ached for answers to what had happened. Esteemed senator dead, chancellor so different than he appeared, and the Jedi…her heart clenched and she thought of the brother she had known as a child. Such a bright eyed boy. The galaxy was a vacuum now sucking away anything familiar and leaving her…here.

It was silly really, but Solé could almost feel it was the Force that made her look up towards that one particular stall. A slender man was standing very still in front of the stall that was selling some sort of fruit that looked deceptively familiar to her homesick heart. The man was standing with stiff shoulders, scarring on one side of his head, and though he wasn’t as sturdily built as the others she could guess right away from his military bearing that he was a clone. He was looking between the fruits, a scowl deepening the lines around his mouth and brows knit together. He picked one up with his left hand, examined it, put it back.

He looked as out of his depth as she felt on that particular afternoon. “Do you need a hand?” Solé approached on instinct, it wasn’t her way not to help someone especially if it had anything to do with food. He didn’t respond at first until Solé sidled up next to him, repeating her question.

The man turned to face her fully and a fierce blush colored her fair skin.

Hand.

He only had one. Her earlier words ricocheted around in her head like a stampeding Shaak. One eyebrow raised and his brown eyes were full of caution, if not down right irritation. Solé did what she always did during confrontation or embarrassment. She made it worse.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean a hand in that sense—I meant do you need any help? Not that I don’t believe that you’re capable of helping yourself because of your disability—“ She was willing herself to just stop talking, she really was. Whatever other gibberish passed out of her mouth was put to a mercifully abrupt stop.

“Crosshair! Did you get everything?” A young blonde girl, bounded up to him and when his attention turned Solé took it as the opportunity that it was.

She wouldn’t necessarily say she ran from the situation, but she was at her little base — she couldn’t call it home — with her back firmly pressed against the closed front door, cheeks still burning from embarrassment before the pair had been able to turn back to her. Angry tears stung the corner of her eyes and she rested her closed fist against her forehead before running the thin braid she kept in her hair between her fingers. She tried to summon up some Jedi saying, something her mother had always whispered to her in times of distress to remind her of her brother, and came up short. All she could do was resign herself to a dinner of leftovers from the conservator and try to forget today had ever happened.

By the time Solé woke up the next morning the sting of embarrassment had lessened, at least partially. She had repeated the scene in her mind enough times, assured herself that it was a perfectly understandable accident and vowed never to make eye contact with that man again. Everything was fine.

After brewing a pot of caf, pouring the hot water from her kettle slowly over the ground beans and admiring the rich scent that reminded her of a thousand late nights and early mornings, she went outside. The sun was bright and she vaguely wondered if she had overslept again when her foot hit something on her tiny garden path.

A bag.

A bag full to the brim of yellow fruits with dimpled skin. Solé stooped and spied a note tucked into one side. She drew out the piece of flimsi and unfolded it as best she could with one hand as she took a sip of the still too hot caf.

‘Looks like you were the one who needed a hand. Ironic.’ Solé’s face burned even redder than it had the day before, but this time there was a smile too.

Author's Note: I'm so excited to be posting things for Solé finally! I've been developing her as a character since November and getting to share her is so exciting! Hope you enjoyed reading their first meeting <3

[darthkvznblogs]

What did Thanos think of Vilgax's rise to power?

I think he simply watched carefully from afar, gauging just how much of a threat he really would be. They never actually clashed, so it's hard to say just how much damage Vilgax could've done (but he certainly wouldn't have won without the support he was trying to subjugate to his side), but I think Thanos respected the attempt, at least.

By the time Vilgax became the Conqueror we know and love, Thanos was far from the irate warlord he'd faced on Vilgaxia. He'd...matured, so to speak, grown to accept his quest as a tragic but necessary evil. I think Thanos respects, on a very basic level, the sheer determination it takes for someone to directly oppose him, even if they have little chance of stopping a Decimation. He feels sad, because they can't see the "gift" he's giving them for what it is, but he "understands" that it's not a "boon" you can understand until after it's given. Thanos sees himself as a father figure doing something undesirable to the "children" of the Milky Way that they will someday come to understand and appreciate.

[hurtspideyparker]

ur so right bestie, doing the good work 🙏

mirrorball for Tony Stark means you actually understand his character yesss. Like he acts arrogant because he's the most insecure man in Marvel! He secretly tries so hard to be liked and it never works so he just hides bc he'd rather they hate someone he isn't than someone he is. All he does is TRY TRY TRY. The fact that his death was not only foreshadowed from the first Avengers movie but constantly alluded to. How the worst part about the vision Wanda gave him in AOU wasn't that his friends died, it was that he didn't die with them? He's never enough, my pookie 😭

right where you left me for Strange. I'm not a huge Strange fan but now you got me feeling sad, it's such a perfect song choice. Like damn maybe I do feel bad about him and Christine 😞. Plus the fact that his whole life stopped when he lost control of his hands, meanwhile everyone else's kept going. Everything he cared about was tied to being a surgeon

HOW DARE U! The Prophecy is so near and dear to me I can't believe you'd place this burden on Clinton. He really just could not have it all no matter what. He tried to change his fate but his grip was too weak. "no sign of soulmates" AND NAT IS THE SOUL STONE. thanks now I'll cry everytime I hear that line ✌️

I see what you've done for Bucky Barnes. I see it, and it's too perfect. "Fighting in only your army" when all he does is go to war to fight beside a man who leaves him. "Always rising from the ashes" the way he LITERALLY falls as well as metaphorically before being forced to rise again and again. My man needs to rest. They are constantly torn apart and pulled back together, Bucky is barely a full person anymore.

Natasha as Peace spending her existence fighting for her life, and then trying to scrub herself clean of all the life she took. She joins all these great honourable heroes to try to live up to something good for a change but all she sees in herself is her past. Feeling like she's tainting them by associating with them. Feeling as if she's never done enough good to make up for it. I could never give you peace—to Clint, to her family, to the world that believes in her. She'll die trying, burn out her flame to keep you warm. "Your integrity makes me seem small, you paint dreamscapes on the walls" Steve and Tony. The believer and the futurist. "All these people think love's for show, but I would die for you in secret" and she did. she loved Clint so much, he gave her the peace she wasn't able to return until the end

loml for Peter Parker is easy pickings I won't even entertain this. In every universe man. EVERY UNIVERSE Peter Parker loses Gwen Stacy. He knew he wasn't supposed to go near her, and yet 😞

Long Live for my precious baby boy 😭💖 I fear I've never thought of this and now I'm jealous of ur brain. I really needed this. He is the golden boy and so many people were rooting for him. Tony, May, MJ, Ned, Happy... the way he used to be filled with such light and eagerness. He glows in my eyes

My girl Yelena deserves this song so bad. Would've Could've Should've is one of the most scathing and despairing songs a girl could relate to. And obviously it fits Dreykov, that freak, but also Alexei. The way he handed that 6 year old over when all she knew was safety and love under him. They took everything from her and now all she can think about are the years without free will forever haunting her because grown men thought she made a good commodity

I've never thought of a song for Pepper but Cornelia Street is a beautiful selection. Tony was such a rocky choice for her but it was the right choice, and she never knew when it would be his last time putting on that suit. The city screams his name, her work her life her daughter her everything. It was all his once too.

Loki How Did It End is so not cool. He wasn't supposed to have an end, and yet here he is. Genuinely gone this time. "A touch that was my birthright became foreign" that hurts so much knowing that his entire life seemed to be a lie to him. He would never get the throne, or their love, or out of Thor's shadow because it was never his to be in the first place. How did he get here, willing to die for Thor? To not have a way out this time? Come one come all is happening again. But he still doesn't know how it was really the end this time.

My tears ricochet is really just the icing on the cake huh. "We gather stones... you know I didn't want to have to haunt you" when they pair that with the time travel scenes and then Natasha's. Gutted. "I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want just not home" and the home is 2012-2015 domestic Avengers 😭😭😭 noooo. The way so many relationships were broken and they all had to come together in the end because the trust never fully went away.

Here's some of my personal Taylor Swift marvel comparisons:

Fresh Out The Slammer as a Bucky anthem. "Bitter, he was with her in dreams" Endgame Steve when I catch you 😠👊 "I'm the girl of his American dreams" Steve the American icon and his great sidekick Bucky! "where we used to sit on children's swings" nuff said... "but it's gonna be alright, I did my time". Bucky's been a prisoner for decades. Now that he's free he can finally live a normal life with Steve right? right???

Tolerate it as Homecoming Peter Parker (irondad). Peter as NWH Peter Parker (lol). But it's sooo Spideychelle coded "said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me"

My Boy Only Breaks His Favourite Toys as Steve Rogers. EVERYONE HE LOVES HE HURTS. Bucky Tony Natasha Peggy. All his closest friends and/or lovers. He stays till they get all smashed up then picks up the next shiny thing (I love Steve but it's true)

For a little fun and whimsy: I Did Something Bad for Loki. Plus "they're burning all the witches even if you aren't one" how he's always teased and blamed growing up. Then growing to embrace the mischief and deciding to truly be at the center of all the problems, even when they weren't his to begin with. "They say I did something bad but why's it feel so good ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ mortals 🙄"

Thor as Castles Crumbling. Everyone believed he was the next great king, including, most importantly, himself. Then seeing him slowly abandoning Asgard for Earth, then losing it to Hela, and finally having Thanos tear it to pieces. He completely gave up being king and passed it off to Valkyrie. "They used to cheer when they saw my face now I fear I have fallen from grace" "I will just let you down you don't wanna know me now" "I held that grudge til' it tore me apart" "my foes and friends watch my rein end" still mad about how they made Thor's depression and weight gain into a comedy bit.

Wanda as mad woman. Girl is literally the witch on the stake every movie 😭 first the Stark bomb drives her mad, Ultron torments her, then it's the media terrified of her because she couldn't control the bomb someone else set off, the loss of Vision due to Thanos, the entire Westview incident and her children... she does bad things but every single time it's because she was hurt so deeply first. she's just crashing out !!! "what a shame she went mad, you made her like that"

marvel characters as taylor swift songs but i take no critiques

tony stark:

stephen strange:

clint barton:

bucky barnes:

natasha romanoff:

peter parker (andrew)

peter parker (tom)

yelena belova:

pepper potts:

loki:

[spideyladman]

Thinking about the disturbing implications of Cain's story and destiny from the Bible rn

[sunnami]

the 5 times you did (not) love each other and the 1 time you did.

summary. as the title suggests. this one was a request! i hope you enjoyed my version of this anon.

pairing/s. poly!marauders + lily / reader.

wc. 4.1k

tags. hurt/comfort, angst, peter pettigrew mention, not proofread, like seriously, fluff, happy ending.

cws: brief mention of violence and blood.

note: i am alive?? crazy. i began this fic, whilst sick, around august, nursing the worst headache ever. i wrote the middle of this fic, sick. and i think it's only fitting that i finished this fic. sick... honestly, i did not proofread any of this, i just know i lowkey love it. after the first one-thousand words, i just spiral and become delirious, so i don't even know what happened here. my first request finished! yippee! and thank you all for 2k :< i love you all so much.

i. 

SIRIUS BLACK did not love you—not even close, not even a little bit. Not even at all.

After Peter Pettigrew’s slight against his family, Sirius would never hold warmth or pity for the skittish mouse ever again. He was played for a fool. And, he did not know which betrayal had hurt more. Peter’s—or yours. (Had you known all along of your adoptive brother’s plans? Did you not think for one second that Sirius would, without a sliver of hesitation, put himself in the way of a killing curse to keep you safe? He’d have died before ever letting the fire in your eyes wither to ashes. Clearly, you did not share the same sentiment.) 

He wanted nothing to do with you. Ever. And if the rat-bastard dared to show his face, not even Death would know where to put Peter’s body to rest. Sirius would keep him alive until he begged for death—until the idea of living frightened him more than dying. And for you—beholder of his heart, captor of his soul, and co-possessor of his mind—he could only hope that you stayed far away. You had wrecked him—all of them. 

He wanted—

He did not know what he wanted. 

For when it came to you, Sirius Black was reduced to a man wandering the deserts—mistaking clouds for water, and the sands for grass blades. You had ravaged every fiber of his being; consumed his every thought and word. The most ironic part of all was that if you had been the one standing there—Sirius would have let you Avada him. Dumbledore could scold him in the afterlife—Sirius could care less. He’d have snapped his wand in half and asked someone else to fight you because Sirius had vowed from the moment he met you that he would never harm a hair on your head. He would never be the reason that tears stained your pretty cheeks. 

Well, apparently, trust and promises were not worth a damn thing nowadays. 

No, he did not love you—even as you stood on the steps of Grimmauld, your hair ruined by the downpour of rain. Your lips bruised and bitten from a nervous habit Sirius had yet to break out of you. 

“I didn’t know, Sirius,” you whispered—your voice the only sound falling on his ears amidst all the thunder and lightning. He only saw you. “Y-You have to believe me. If I knew—Gods, I would have told Dumbledore in a heartbeat. Fuck. I thought you knew me better than that.” 

He thought so, too. 

“Did you know?” Sirius began, taking a step forward and into the storm, a demeaning sneer on his lips. “That when Voldemort stood in our home, your portrait was right behind him? That was all I could look at. If I had died—you would have been the last thing I saw.” 

You had not replied. 

Sirius grit his teeth. “Go,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“Go!” he yelled, grateful for the rain as it masked his own tears as you flinched from the sound of his voice. Not the thunderclap, the lightning strike—but it was him who scared you. 

(But you had done so first.) 

When you apparated away, Sirius crumbled to the ground and pounded his fists against the asphalts where you were moments ago, screaming and cursing until he saw blood flowing with the rainwater.

It was laughable, really. The way he did not love you. 

It was not love that drove him to madness, pummeling Gideon Prewett into a bloody pulp for mentioning your name during a meeting with the Order. He had presumed you to be a Death Eater alongside your brother—Sirius instantly saw nothing but red. (He condemned Bellatrix, his own cousin, for becoming a madwoman. Yet, here he was, unraveled by the very thought of you. The very whisper of your name.) 

But whatever it was that had turned him into a fool and a hypocrite all at once, it was not love. 

ii. 

JAMES POTTER had no love for you—make no mistake about that. He loved love, and he did so fiercely and truthfully. But you and Peter had broken his trust—defiled his loyalty from the moment your brother had brought Voldemort to his doorstep. (Did you know that as he begged and screamed for Lily to hide with their son, Harry—he thought of you? For a fleeting moment, he saw your face, marked by fear and tear-rimmed eyes. And James knew straight away that he would spit on Tom Riddle’s bare feet if only to keep his family safe. If only to see you once more. Alive and well. But, you must not have thought the same—if you had conspired with Peter to sell him and Lily out to the Devil reborn.) 

The thought of you breathing was enough to keep James alive. 

But, that was not love. It was a mockery of it. 

No, he did not feel so much as a twinge of emotion for you. Not even as Mad-Eye Moody brought your limp body back to Grimmauld. It was not love that threatened the magic in his being—that simmered in his blood until the painted walls saw an indent of his fist. (“Poor thing,” McGonagall cooed as she pressed her palm over your forehead. Despite some of the members’ growing distrust for you, you still took an Unforgivable in their stead. “We can only wait. . . Four Cruciatus curses. . .”) 

What more did James need to want to rip Peter apart limb by limb? 

It was not love that rooted his feet by your side. Sitting hunched on a chair too small for his height, bags beneath his eyes, and the pale of his lips becoming noticeable to everyone who spoke to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you lovelessly—hands desperately clutching your own. Sirius stood across the room, arms crossed over his chest, dagger-like eyes waiting for so much as a twitch of your finger. “I’m sorry.”

It was a plea this time.

He only hoped you did not ask him to love you. For James could give you the world, hand-pick the stars, and burrow his body deep beneath the ground if you had asked for it—but he could not love you. 

Everyone had told him not to hope that you would wake up. That your pretty eyes would not flutter open, and you would no longer look at him as you had before. But James was stubborn. He was selfish as he was stubborn. He did not love you—but he needed to hear the sound of your voice. And James would take it any way that he could. The soft cadence of a whisper, or a rough utterance of a single word. Molly Weasley told him to accept reality for what it was. (“You need sleep, dear,” the matriarch fussed. “There’s nothing we can do. Look at the Longbottoms. . . We can do no more for this one as we had done for them.”) 

In the still of the night, he left his reveries on the cold of your skin. “Wake up,” he demanded. 

“Wake up or else you’re the traitor everyone thinks you are,” James hissed. 

But his words held no heat—and his heart held no love for you. 

Make no mistake about that.

Then, when you finally woke up, disoriented and throat parched—a hazy recollection of the weeks before—James made sure that no more than four people could enter the room. He did not care if a hurricane, or if Voldemort himself—James had faced him once already, after all—threatened to break the door down. You were theirs to protect.

 (But not to love.) 

“We need to begin the questioning, James, you know that,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, almost exasperatedly; weary lines written across his face. James would not allow even a toe beyond the doorway. An interrogation meant you had something to do with the attempted murder of James and his family. Whether or not you were innocent, James did not care—he just wanted you safe. 

(And a small part of him already knew that you were not your brother’s keeper. Just as they had absolved Sirius of his family’s sins. It would be unfair to not show you the same grace. But before his mind knew that, James’s heart and soul had known the truth all along.) 

He found Sirius gently tending to your every need, and already James knew that was Padfoot’s way of begging for forgiveness. The ebony-haired man hung onto your every word. He winced when you flinched, and pressed his apologies to your forehead, rasping for a kindness he did not deserve. Not after what he did. How he turned you away and cursed your name. How they betrayed you. 

James did not love you. 

But what else could he call the manacles that bound his hands and forced him to his knees when it came to you? 

Not. Love. 

iii. 

REMUS LUPIN could not bring himself to love you. But, he could not love Sirius, Lily, and James either. He was undeserving of such a privilege. But he was not allowed to love you; Remus could only hope that you saw even a shred of worth in him—to wrest each word from his lips and every breath from his lungs. But, he did not love you. No. 

Because loving you meant he was to tell you of your brother’s crimes. And Remus could not hurt you like that. 

“P-Peter?” you had asked, wearing the eyes of a fretful sibling. Remus lifted his hand to tuck a strand of hair gone astray behind your ear. Bellatrix had done a number on you—just as she had done to Alice and Frank. Remus was fairly certain that Sirius was off on a hunt for his cousin, his mind toyed with by the barbarity of war. What they could not do for the Longbottoms, they’d wring themselves dry to do for you. After the Lestranges’ attack, you suffered damage to your throat and memories. Remus could not bear to see you in such pain. 

He could not give you love, but Remus would offer up to you his every limb, and the weary skin upon his bones. 

“They. . .” Remus grimaced. How could he act as the bearer of bad news? He’d rather dive headfirst into shark-infested waters. Be anywhere else but here. In fact, Remus would rather snatch you away from the funereal walls, and hold you in his arms in the quietude of dawn, than be the one to bring anguish to your eyes. “They’re looking for him at the moment, love.” 

One question lingered in your eyes: Why? 

Luckily, Sirius was always the better one at sharpening a blunt knife. “He was a traitor,” he spat like acid. “A traitor to the Order. A traitor to us. He’s no friend of ours. Not anymore.” 

But Sirius knew—better than anyone else—how difficult it can be to truly hate little brothers, especially once they’ve gone. 

“No. . .” You trembled, almost retching as you sobbed into your palms. 

Remus held you then, the front of his shirt soaked in your tears, eyes firmly shut as you trembled and heaved in his arms. The sound of your guttural screams bounced off the four walls, and Remus had to bury his nose in your hair. You were alive. Safe. Breathing. But you felt cold as ice; an empty husk stripped bare for grief to take over. And Remus could do nothing but hold you. (He just hoped that wherever Peter Pettigrew was, Remus would not be the first one to find him. Otherwise, they would not be able to recover even a fingernail from his remains.)

“Hush, love,” Remus whispered into your ear as you cried yourself sick. Mourning the loss of your brother, reeling from the betrayal of a bond that was supposed to be stronger than blood. Remus would make him pay, he vowed as much to you. No, Remus and the wolf in him did not know how to love. But he knew how to hurt. And, that, he’d gladly do for you. His body was for you to use as a shield, his soul for you to strip bare, and his heart for you to thieve and never return. 

“Don’t cry,” said James, a shadow cast over his frames. “Not for Peter. Never. Fucking bastard will get what’s coming to him.” He laid on the vacant space of the bed, gently untangling your hands that were pressed over your heart. “I’ll make sure of it.”

They all would.

But not because they loved you. 

It was not out of love, Remus had to remind himself in the coming days, when he stayed diligently by your side as you recovered. Daily sessions with the best healer St. Mungo’s could offer—as if James would allow anything else. There were days your eyes would glaze over, your words rough and sluggish, and Remus would try his damndest to make you smile. 

It was the least he could do. 

For failing to protect you. 

But that was not love. 

(It was hope. Wretched, disastrous hope as he fell to his knees, and your name in between his teeth.)

iv. 

LILY EVANS was a fighter in all the ways that mattered. 

And from the very first moment she held Harry in her arms, eyes raking over his wrinkly, bloodied skin; all ten fingers and toes, her soft cries over his loud screaming—Lily knew she would trade her life for his in a heartbeat. Little, lovely eyes that would soon see the world in his own time. Lily adored him. Cherished every tear, snore, and giggle. She knew then, that a mother’s love was entirely different from any emotion she’d ever felt before. 

This was proven the first time Harry had gotten seriously ill. A few weeks after the attempted murder on the Potters, Harry was ceaselessly crying—screaming, even, every night—red-faced as he fussed every breakfast and dinner. Lily found herself at wit’s end. Her protectiveness had gone up a hundred measures; wouldn’t let anyone besides family or Madam Pomfrey see Harry. Yet, even with all the draughts and silly-flavoured syrups, Harry wasn’t getting better. 

“Lily dear, you cannot actually be thinking about this,” worried Molly Weasley as Lily stood in front of your door, holed away in the room where you had been recovering for the last few days. It would be the first time she saw you since the incident. More than anything she was afraid. Frightened that you would look at her differently. Whether or not that fear stemmed from love, Lily was not concerned. “We can call for another Healer from Mungo’s to have a look at Harry. . . Who knows what might. . .” 

Lily held Harry closer to her, lips firmly pressed, attempting to ignore the way his temperature was unnaturally high. “Might what, Mrs. Weasley?” She knew Molly was only talking out of concern, from a mother’s perspective at least. But she knew you better than anyone else. You would never hurt her, or Harry, that much she was certain of. And if you were the traitor everyone else was afraid of accusing you of, a sentence delivered by association to Peter—then let the guillotine fall, Lily would carry your crimes for you. 

She remembered ever-so clearly in her sixth-year, you with dreams glistening in your eyes. (“I’m going to be a Healer, Lils! Minnie said I’d be a great one. . . I want to protect those I love. . . I know I can do it. . . Oh, I can’t wait to tell Peter that I’ve gotten recommendations already to work at Mungo’s after graduation.”) 

And Lily recalled at that moment, she had felt a different kind of emotion that she had never experienced before. It was not love, of course. Tuney said she was too young and too stupid to know what real love was. But, at sixteen, what else could describe the way her heart fluttered and the way her lips threatened to break out into a smile whenever you lit up talking about your future? (It was just a crush, young Lily told herself.)

Only to be crushed and cast aside in the face of the war, where fighters took their place at the forefront of the lines, mothers and children hid; healers stretching themselves thin to be here, there, everywhere; where traitors walked in plain sight. 

“There is no one else I trust more with my life,” replied Lily. 

And that was that. 

Lily skirted around Molly and opened the door to your room, where Sirius, James, and Remus all stood at attention at the sight of her and Harry. She ignored them, and headed straight to your side. 

“Hello, love,” she greeted with all the gentleness she was made of, a smile creeping up to her eyes as Lily watched you turn your head at the sound of her voice. Truth be told, she did not know what her end-goal was in coming here. But being by your side had always made life a little more bearable, like all the illnesses in the world could not bring her down. And so, her magic had instinctively summoned her person to you. She, at least, was relieved to see colour returning to your cheeks, though the red in your eyes had dulled the hues she adored so much. 

“Is that. . .?” you croaked. 

Lily nodded. “Harry, meet—” 

One of the loves of my life, the most loyal and pure witch anyone ever has the privilege of meeting, someone I want to stay in my life forever. 

Lily’s smile wilted. “A friend.” 

Later, she would place Harry in your arms—her little hope embraced by her dream—and Lily would wonder if it was by pure magic that Harry calmed in your presence. 

For if love could hurt and destroy, could it mend and heal the broken as well?

But what a shame, for not one in that room carried an ounce of love for you.

(She would die for Harry, yes—but she would live for you.)

v. 

YOU did not love them, either. 

The very idea, thought—insinuation—was absurd. (Why, they deserved much better than you, after all.) With hands that failed to protect them, were you even allowed to hold them anymore? Did your heart have the right to breathe for them? You had failed as a sister and a friend—how much more would you have failed as their lover? Well, you’d never know. 

Because you did not love them. 

Merely wished them happiness and for the world to extend them kindness. For the sun to look brightly down on them, and for time to heal their scars and wounds. For if they were in pain, the earth would stop spinning. But such a request was not borne from love. 

Surely not. 

Because, then, that would have meant that it was love that teared you apart when Sirius cursed your name, when James turned you away, when Remus could not look you in the eyes, or when Lily—for all your history together—called you a friend. 

The whole of you was made by the parts of them. Each memory welded into the crevices of your soul. From the moment you had all found each other in the same train compartment, same common room—there was a shift in the fates that bound all five of you together. (The ties were red, but the thread was not of love.) You did not believe in Professor Trelawney’s talks of providence and destiny. 

Because if you did, then why was the universe so cruel? 

Falling—not in love—for four people who could very much do without you in their lives. Lacking severely as a sister to the point you had not noticed your brother fading and fading away into the shadows. 

Was love that unkind? That merciless? 

Then, you did not want to love at all. 

Oh, but magic or not, every creature on this earth selfish. 

You were no different. 

You wanted. 

Oh, how you yearned. 

“I LOVE YOU.” 

You barely had enough time to react before Sirius pressed his lips to the side of your head, arm covertly sneaking around your waist. The sound of the train whistling as parents yelled their goodbyes filled the station. You stood in the midst of the crowd, eyes never leaving one window in particular as you waved at Harry, now eleven-years-old and now off to Hogwarts. 

“Quite a random thing to say, husband,” you murmured, leaning into his warmth. “What for?” 

“Just because,” he replied in turn with a fiendish grin. “Well, perhaps for choosing us, for choosing me despite all my fuck-ups. For existing. For being the beautiful, wonderful, kind, precious you. I could keep on going, my darling. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” 

You wrinkled your nose, eyes rolling from fondness. “I love you too, quite unfortunately.” 

He only laughed and pulled you closer to him. “Let’s go home.” 

–

“I love you.” 

In the house built by new memories, warded by stronger protection charms, and filled with warmth and love—James said this to you each morning before he left for the Ministry, promoted after the war as Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Not one foot out of the door until he had showered you in kisses and the symphonies of his heart. James had always been loud, even in his time at Hogwarts. The war had not taken this part of him, and you figured James was too loud to let it be taken from him. He was unapologetically and unabashedly him. 

And you had loved him fiercely for that. 

“I’ll be home early tonight,” he said, a quiet intimacy washing over the both of you. The early birds of the cottage. “Wait for me?”

“Of course,” you answered without an ounce of hesitation, delicately chasing after his lips. “I love you. Be safe.” 

-

“I love you.” 

“Are you saying that to me or are you reading from the book?” you teased from where you laid on Remus’s chest, hours after James left for work, the afternoon bringing you two together in the living room. Lily was in the gardens, and Sirius was in the shed working on his motorbike. It was perfect. You felt the rise and fall of Remus’s chest beneath you, his heartbeat close to your ear. He was perfect. It was a miracle you had not fallen asleep to the tender lull of his voice. 

“Both,” he responded, hand coming up to trace the bare of your skin—a miracle you did not crumble or burn instantly from his touch. 

You hummed. “Then, I love you, too.” Then, you grinned, lifting your head to stare up at him. “You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.” 

And, oh, how photographs could not capture the beauty in Remus’s smile as his eyes regarded you with such fire.

“My heart, my light, my desire,” Remus began, one finger ever-so softly tracing the curve of your cheek. “In vain I have struggled, it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” 

–

“I love you.” 

Said Lily as she lied in your shared bed, red-nosed and her cheeks pale, sluggish. The Christmas holiday was generous enough to gift her with an unfortunate cold that had been going around the wizarding world. “But, please, go,” she commanded weakly, gesturing for you to join Harry who was stood by the door. “It’s a lovely day outside for making snowmen with carrots as noses and snow angels. Not for taking care of poor old me.” 

You rolled your eyes as you sat by her side, swiftly pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And I love you, which is why I would rather much be here, taking care of the prettiest snow angel to ever exist,” you countered, bringing a spoonful of broth to her lips. “Besides, Harry here has something to tell you. He’s made friends at school. One of them is Molly’s little one.” 

“Oh, you did?” Lily cooed, before sniffling weakly. “That’s lovely, darling. Tell me all about them.” 

“That’s not all, Lily mine,” you began mischievously as Harry’s eyes narrowed at you through his glasses. “This friendship apparently formed after fighting a troll.” 

“You what?” Lily croaked, emerald eyes shimmering with concern and near-dread. 

“Did you really, Harry?” James popped his head in the doorway, clapping his son on the shoulder before ushering him inside the room. A spitting image side-by-side as they took the empty space by the foot of the bed. “Good boy. Father approves.” 

“Of course you would,” Lily shot at him weakly, melting when Sirius then entered the room and greeted her with a kiss to her cheek. “And where are you all coming from?”

“Outside,” announced Remus, tugging his tie from his neck. “Sirius and I took a quick trip to Diagon Alley to get some things that’ll make you feel better, Lily love.” 

And as the snow fell outside, lazy winds against the window, your little family gathered in one room, there was one thing you knew for certain.

You loved them. 

And they loved you. 

a/n: i wrote all 4k words while sick. crazy. but anyway, i wanted to believe in love again so here i am. thank you all so much for being patient with me. i promise to do even better in the next fics!

[helaintoloki]

Hey I want to request something since I saw your request was open. So can you do a fic where five and y/n ( they are already married) end up in the deli with the other fives.

Basically there are only few fives that have a y/n but she's died in their timeline. So basically it's just the other fives wanting to know more about her abd the fives telling their stories of their y/n

Y/n absolutely loves the attention she almost sequeled when she saw the other fives lol.

a/n: so this actually ended up turning into a more depressing piece than i planned LOL but the original intention is there

warnings: language, angst, mentions of death, light amount of fluff

summary: your search for answers leads you to a deli with multiple versions of your husband inside

As the danger of the impending apocalypse finally begins to sink in for Five, he realizes he needs to get you somewhere safe until he figures out a way to stop the world from ending. Thus, while his siblings continued to fight off the monstrous cleanse that was Ben and Jennifer, Five quickly grabbed hold of you and jumped you both to the only place he could think of.

You stumble over your own feet as your body adjusts to being dropped into a new setting, your hand quickly raising to shield your eyes from the bright neons that hang above you as you take in your surroundings. A subway car comes to a screeching halt in front you, and before you can protest Five is quickly ushering you inside.

“Five, where are we?” You demand, completely disoriented from having been transported away from the fight without warning and preoccupied with worry at the thought of your family fighting against the Cleanse without you both present. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you somewhere safe where you can stay until I figure out how to undo this mess,” he instructs you hastily, his lips pulling back into an exasperated frown at your resistance to enter the subway car. He doesn’t have time for you to fight him on this, his siblings need him, and he needs you away from the fight. Though you’re skilled at combat and wickedly smart, you don’t have powers, and Five can’t risk something happening to you while he’s preoccupied with saving the world.

“You’re leaving me?!” You exclaim in distress as panic immediately begins to take over your rational mind. You push against him harder to move away from the train, but despite all your efforts the boy doesn’t budge.

“It’s only temporary, I promise you,” he assures you, and when you shove him hard in the chest once more he tightly takes hold of your hands and brings them to his lips to comfort you. “I’ll take you somewhere nice, somewhere with a beautiful house and a garden full of strawberry bushes. I found it while exploring other timelines in search of clues on how to prevent the apocalypse, I know it’s safe because I went there alone. You can stay in the house until this is all over and I’ll come back for you.”

“Five, what if…” you swallow harshly as tears begin to well in your eyes, your emotions overtaking you at the thought of this being goodbye, “…what if you don’t come back?”

Five refuses to meet your gaze when the question leaves your lips. He’d never lie to you, and he knows he can’t guarantee he’ll live long enough to join you in the peaceful timeline he’d found, but he doesn’t have the heart to voice this to you. How can he look you in your tear filled eyes and tell you that this might be the last time you’ll be together as husband and wife?

Sighing, he releases your hands in exchange for cupping your face so that he may brush away the tears that slide down your warm cheeks. He hopes that one day you’ll be able to understand that every moment leading up to this has been for you, and he would happily die a hundred times over if it meant keeping you safe. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

You open your mouth to argue only to snap it shut when your gaze falls over his shoulder and lands on another figure in the subway. You blink away your tears to get a better view and are left speechless when you realize you’re staring back at the face of your husband.

But how can that be when he’s standing right in front of you?

Noticing your change in demeanor, Five follows your gaze and spots the lookalike that stands across the way from you both. His features contort into confusion as you both watch the second Five offer you a wave in greeting before disappearing down the stairs. Exchanging looks of uncertainty, Five and yourself immediately rush after the doppelgänger to figure out just what exactly is going on.

Your quick chase leads you both to the front doors of a deli, the dazzling sign above welcoming you warmly as you cautiously open the doors and set foot into Max’s despite Five’s protests to wait. If this other Five has the answers you need to return home safely together, then you’ll stop at nothing to get them.

Your originally confident demeanor quickly dwindles when the restaurant becomes deathly silent upon your entry. While you only expected to see one Five, you now find about twenty of them staring intently at you as you slowly walk towards the lookalike from the subway that waves you over to his table. Five is quick to rush after you and place a protective arm around your waist; you’re not the only one unsettled by their stares, and he feels uncharacteristically territorial in the presence of himself.

“Have a seat,” the subway lookalike offers with a gesture towards the empty space across from him, and you’re both quick to slide into the cushions at his command. “I’m glad you found me.”

“What is this place?” Your husband demands impatiently as another Five dressed in a waiter’s uniform approaches your table with three cups of coffee in hand.

“This is where all the Fives come after they decide to give up on figuring out a way to stop the apocalypse.”

As he speaks, a plate of pie is suddenly placed in front of you, and before you can even open your mouth to question it, the waiter offers you wink and assures you, “It’s on the house.”

Picking up the fork, your eyes widen in surprise as you realize what specific dessert has been given to you. Looking up at the Five across from you, you ask, “How did he know that-“

“Pumpkin pie is your favorite?” The lookalike finishes for you with an amused smile before leaning back to take a drink of his coffee. “We all know that, because we all know you.”

“Me?” You repeat quietly, brows drawn together in confusion as you look to your husband who seems rather displeased with all of the attention you’re getting. He never once thought to think of himself as potential competition over you, but it figures. Who better than himself to sweep you off your feet?

“Mind telling me why you all seem to have such a great interest in my wife?” Five demands with a wry smile, eyes blazing with annoyance and a subtle hint of jealousy.

“‘Your’ wife?” The Five behind the deli counter scoffs in amusement. “Take a number, pal.”

“What deli Five means to say is that each and every one of us has our own y/n in our own perspective timelines,” the boy across from you clarifies before gesturing to the the back of the shop. Your eyes widen in shock as you take in all the various pictures of yourself that line the wall from top to bottom, and it takes you a moment to process the fact that various versions of you have existed throughout time unbeknownst to you.

“My y/n was a trained assassin,” the Five at the table next to you describes with a dreamy smile before biting into his sandwich.

“Mine was sent alongside Hazel and Cha Cha to kill me,” another voices while pulling down the collar of his shirt to showcase the ghastly scar on his chest. “She gave me this along with three beautiful kids before I screwed it all up with this end of the world bullshit.”

“If you all care so much about her then why did you give up trying to save the world?” Your husband protests in agitation. Your search for answers is going absolutely nowhere, and you’re both left with more questions than solutions. If these doppelgängers were really meant to be him from different timelines, then why did they quit so easily? His sole purpose, his entire being, was doing everything in his power to ensure the safety of his family. Come hell or high water, Five would always be willing to get his hands dirty if it meant you and his siblings lived to see another day. So why weren’t they doing the same? “Why come here instead of preventing the apocalypse so she has the chance to live a safe and happy life even if it means you can’t be in it?”

A forlorn silence fills the deli at his question, and now none of the Fives can find it in themselves to look at you. Their features are almost shameful, their eyes full of guilt and their shoulders full of tension as no one dares to answer.

“When us Fives find a way to save the world, y/n is the one that pays the price,” the boy across from you discloses somberly before tilting his head to meet your gaze. Looking at you is like looking at a ghost, and he has to stop himself from reaching out to you as if you are his own. “The Handler killed my y/n after discovering my betrayal of the Commission.”

Another Five raises a woeful hand before announcing, “Viktor killed my y/n on accident with his bow after he discovered his powers.”

“My wife took a bullet for me because she thought my life was worth more than her own.”

“Dad had y/n disposed of in my timeline because he saw her as a distraction to me and my siblings.”

“Cha Cha tracked us down, found our home, and burned it to the ground with y/n still in it while I was away trying to save the world.”

You swallow harshly and ignore the knots in your stomach at hearing all the violent ways in which other versions of you had met their end. Your heart aches at learning what these men have been through and how much they’ve lost, but it also makes you begin to wonder if your fate will be worse than any story they can come up with. Sensing your discomfort, Five wraps a comforting arm around your figure and pulls you closer into his side.

“No matter how many times I traveled back to make it right, the result was the same,” the boy across from you relents in a desolate tone. “If I couldn’t even keep the most important woman in my life safe then how could I expect myself to save the world?”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you murmur softly, taking it upon yourself to reach across for his hand and offer your comfort. “I’m sorry for all of your losses. But as a y/n myself, I don’t think she would have wanted you to give up. She would have wanted you to keep going in spite of her death because that’s what she loved about you- your strength and your resilience when it comes to saving the people you care about.”

“God, you sound just like her,” he comments with a doleful laugh before shaking his head and pulling his hand away. “Believe me, I did everything I could. But no matter what we do, there’s no escaping the apocalypse.”

“So that’s it? There’s nothing we can do?” Five retorts in disbelief. This was all a complete waste of his time. He’s nowhere near close to preventing the Cleanse, and you’re still not somewhere safe away from the impending apocalypse.

“You can enjoy the time you have left with your y/n,” the lookalike instructs firmly, the other Fives in the deli nodding along. “You got lucky, you still have your wife, so why don’t you do us all a favor and take her somewhere nice?”

“I’m not giving up on this,” your husband argues before hastily rising from his seat in the booth. “There has to be a way to save the world, and I won’t stop until I figure it out myself.”

You watch him stalk out of the deli with purpose as he slams the door open and begins to formulate his next move. The room is silent other than the bell that jingles above the door, and you take this as your cue to leave.

“I should probably go after him,” you admit with a meek smile before scooting your way out of the booth. The Five from the subway rises to meet you, and he can’t help but to carefully cup your face in his hands and admire your features for just a moment. This might be the last time he’ll ever get to see you in person, and he’d like to commit every detail of you to memory from the reflection of the light in your eye to the smell of your perfume.

“If he ever gives you any trouble, you know where to find us,” he instructs you firmly before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and releasing you from his hold. Smiling faintly, you return the gesture by chastely pressing your lips to his cheek before rushing off after your husband.

Who would have guessed that in every timeline, in every possible version of himself to exist, Five’s love for you knows no bounds.

[izadi234]

Forget me not

-Warning: Contain yandere themes, neglected! gn!reader, mention of low self-esteem, the writer's first language isn't English. Yan! Batfamily x gn! reader Chapters Chapter 1 (You're here) Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Chapter 1

You can't remember a time when you didn't live under the roof of Wayne Manor. Those hallways that for a 4-year-old child seemed chilling and eternal, today you consider a prison. And no, they don't keep you locked up or anything like that, in fact they give you a lot of freedom within this house, but you can consider that so-called 'freedom' as negligence.

Yes, negligence. Of course you had clothes to wear, a bed to sleep in, a roof to shelter in, but what about love? If they could ask you if you have ever felt loved in your home, the answer would be simple.

No not once

Bruce Wayne, your father, may be one of the biggest billionaires in this world but it seems his love and attention was limited towards you. But, with your brothers? It seemed to be an endless well of love and patience that he gave them.

Unconditional love, something you always looked for.

Or maybe he was busy owning one of the most successful companies in the world or cosplaying a vampire to help the city.

Yes… in short, Bruce no longer knew what excuse to give himself for not spending time with you.

And your brothers? They weren't much better. Richard "Dick" Grayson may be very loving and charming but with you? You were just a zero on the left. He didn't think you needed attention as much as his traumatized brothers and sisters. You, being a normal civilian, knew that you were safe from anything, so he only limited himself to greeting you with that little smile that at first seemed warm to you, but now it just cracks your teeth to see it.

As if he were the perfect brother.

Jason Todd was everything to you until it became nothing. You met him in his days as Robin and the truth is he was nice to you and you had a good relationship with him (they are only three years apart). When Dick wasn't at the mansion he would play with you and let you watch him train. He was your greatest confidant, your best friend… Until the Joker killed him. When he came back to life you couldn't recognize him, was he really your brother? A being full of hate and revenge? So much so that even though he saw you once after years, he just turned around.

And although he already has a better relationship with his family, it seems that your loving relationship as brothers ended that day he died. He didn't even look at you, much less talk to you.

What a hypocrite.

You can't say anything about Timothy Drake.  Seriously, and it's not because he's a great brother, it's because you've literally never talked to him.  You only know of his existence because of the times Dick shouted his name in excitement at him every time he came to the mansion and because you found out that Todd wanted to kill him.  Furthermore, your room and his are in the same hallway with the slight difference that your room was at the end.

Spoiled child...

Damian Wayne was a totally unique case.  He was violent and explosive but apparently your father preferred him over you.  Damian considered you a zero on the left.  He never found value in you, neither in your physique (you didn't fight), nor in your mind (you're not outstanding) so he didn't waste even a second insulting you or degrading you.

According to him, you were just a nuisance to the Wayne family and a disappointment to the Batfamily. And it didn't matter if you were going to complain to Bruce about Damian's behavior, he always made excuses for it.

Is this how unconditional love looks like?

Cassandra Cain was another ghost like you inside the mansion... With the only difference that she did pay attention to her even though she didn't talk much.  She was never interested in interacting with you even though you tried several times.

Even a mute could attract more attention than you...

Stephanie Brown.  An extroverted girl who wasn't afraid to give her opinion, but apparently she didn't have any opinion about you.  She always gets excited to see others and she was quick to look for things to do with them.  But, if she saw you, she would just give you a slightly awkward smile and she would get out of there quickly.

She runs away from you like you have the plague.

Barbara Gordon is seen by most of the family as an older sister, however you see her as a grumpy secretary.  You could be the most respectful person in the world towards her but just seeing you next to her asking what she was doing made her look at you as if you were a villain she is looking for.

I'm sure she hasn't seen a villain with the irritation she sees you with.

Duke Thomas is the new addition to the Wayne Family.  You have nothing against him, he is a kind and smiling boy. Who you could even consider to be the kindest to you of all your brothers.

When he first came to Wayne Manor, despite you being a nobody in that family, he took an interest in you. At first you thought he did it out of pity, but when one day you heard him asking Alfred where you were because he wanted to show you something, that's when you realized he wasn't doing it out of pity. And that made you feel special, being the sibling Duke turned to.

But you couldn't help but hate how easily he integrated into the family. How easily they accepted him.

And last but not least, Alfred Pennyworth.  He tried to be there for you and he encouraged you to keep trying to get your family's attention. But even with the butler's attention you couldn't help but long for the affection of your father and brothers.

You are more sure that without him you would have gone crazy in that big mansion. 

For that reason, the only ones you would miss once you left that place would be Alfred and Duke.

"Would you be mad at me if I decided to leave the mansion?”

What a bad way to start a conversation.

You were sitting at the kitchen counter. As was custom you watched Alfred make breakfast, occasionally helping him. The butler, upon hearing your question, momentarily stopped what he was doing. Thanks to his poker face, Alfred didn't show any surprise but you knew well that he wasn't expecting that question.

"Pardon me, master (name)?”

"Would you forget about me if I left the mansion?" you asked

"Of course not!" Alfred quickly answered, his tone of voice a little high. However, upon noticing the change in his tone of voice he composed his posture again.

“I mean, of course I would never forget you, master (name). Why do you ask me those questions?”

"You know why Alfie" you sighed.

Alfred likewise sighed and turned off the stove where he was cooking. He walked over to you and sat down in front of you.

"Master (name)…" he was saying but you interrupted him.

"No Alfred… Could you let me talk… please..?" you asked gently but firmly

"Since I came to this place fifteen years ago I have always been part of the ghosts of this mansion and- and I got tired of being that. For a long time I have been thinking about moving somewhere else, away from this mansion, away from them…” You said that last sentence angrier but you controlled your temper.

"But… I can't leave knowing that you don't agree with my decision. I can't stand the thought of you being angry with me.”

You couldn't even imagine a world where he, Alfred Pennyworth, the man who decided to take your father's tablecloth, was angry with you. But even if he gets angry at your decision, you are going to follow your plan to leave the city.

Alfred smiled slightly and took your hand.

"You know very well that I would support you in whatever my little one does. Unless that decision put your life in danger of course" they both laughed at that comment.

"So that's a yes?" you asked with hope in your eyes and voice

"Yes" he nodded "Just take care of yourself"

You could see in his eyes that there was a bit of fear in his eyes as well as something else that you didn't know what it was and you didn't pay attention to it at that moment.

You should have paid more attention to him in that moment.

"Thanks Alfie" you hugged him regardless of the fact that the table was between the two of you. The butler hugged you anyway, his hug felt warm and safe.

"You don't have to thank me, Master (name)"

Then you broke away from the hug and ran to your room with a big smile on your face. You were finally going to be able to live the way you wanted, without living in the shadow of everyone. Finally free.

Once in your room you started making some calls and organizing your things quietly (not that the inhabitants of this mansion cared much about what you did) so as not to attract attention. In a week, this place will only be a bad dream and you will be able to move from this nightmare to a dream with a happy ending.

Or not?

Hellooo! I hope you liked the start of this story! To be honest, this has been something I have wanted to do for a long time. And Let me remind you that English isn't my first language so if you find some mistakes I would appreciate fo you to tell me in a good way.

Anyway, if you liked it I'll appreciate for you leave a heart.

See you in the next one!!

-Izadi <3

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Outlier

You're the exception to everything Jason Todd knows about himself. He'll deal with that later. ~1.2k words

Jason Todd doesn't smile a lot. But with you it comes easy. It wasn't anything big that drew his awareness to the fact. You were just folding laundry with him while your favorite show played in the background.

It wasn't grand. It wasn't life changing. But he's grinning with all of his teeth, and he can't seem to wipe the expression off his face.

It's stupid, really, because all you did was offer to fold the sheets so he didn't have to. And now he's giddy. He'd be embarrassed, but he's too distracted by the melody you're humming softly.

He decides to be embarrassed about it later.

Jason doesn't talk a lot about himself. He talks to people, sure, talks a lot about cases and crime, and Gotham and the mission. But the deep and dirty personal stuff? He shies away from it.

Well, that's not completely true. Not with you.

He's talking about himself now, your head on his shoulder as you stare out at the city from the rooftop. He's not patrolling tonight, and you insisted on a picnic dinner to enjoy what's left of summer.

It's peaceful, and he hooks an arm around your back when you tug his hoodie tighter around yourself, staving off the slight chill in the air. He rambles a little more, he can't help it, he always wants to talk with you, listen to you.

He'd be insecure if you weren't so obviously engaged, prompting him to keep talking and sharing your own thoughts.

He decides to second guess himself later, and enjoy the shining lights of Gotham for now.

Jason doesn't hug a lot, but you're his exception. A hug hello, a hug goodbye, a thank you hug, a 'I'm glad you're okay' hug.

He cherishes them, wraps you up against him, and doesn't let go until he starts to worry he's making you uncomfortable. He'd probably never let go if he wasn't so scared of seeming desperate to hold you.

It's not– he doesn't mean anything by it, really. There's not anything more to it.

You're just warm, soft, and you smell like you. And Jason doesn't know anything more calming and soothing than you. So, if he craves the hugs you so freely give, isn't that okay? Wouldn't anyone feel the same?

He decides to wallow in his worries later, and focuses on the way you let him bury his face against your shoulder.

Jason knows a lot of things. Things about the world, life, people, space. Things anyone else would never even be the slightest bit curious about. But, sometimes, he just doesn't know what to do with you.

It's infuriating, the way you seem to care more about others' safety than your own.

There was no reason for you to go back into fire to try and help people out. There was no reason to put yourself in danger when he was right there to take care of it.

He has no idea what was going through your head when he hauled you out of the burning building. He would have dragged you by the back of your neck if it meant you just listened to him. If, for just a second, you considered that you could have died.

The thought makes him sick. The churning of his stomach isn't enough to distract from the angry look on your face. He wonders if he was too rough with you. He can't bring himself to regret it if he was when you start coughing from the smoke.

He knows he's too rough, this time, when he pushes you towards the paramedics and heads back to the fire.

He can break down later, throw his lunch up into the toilet later, because he's always too rough. But right now? He has a job to do.

Jason fights a lot. Breaks the bones of criminals, beats bruises onto thugs, shoots bullet holes into goons. But, he doesn't really fight with you. Tonight's different.

He doesn't think you should be so angry at him. He pulled you out of a raging inferno, after all. If anything, you should be giving him one of your hugs.

You're not doing that, though. Your face is scrunched up, and you're livid, and he can practically feel the tension between you two like a physical wall. He wishes he knew the right words to say that will make you see his side.

You accuse him of thinking you can't take care of yourself. (He's fully aware you can) You tell him he was reckless to go back into the fire. (You did it first!)

You snap that he was more preoccupied with pulling you out when there were other people in danger. (Duh. You're his priority. You could have had both feet out the door, and he still would have carried you out before anyone else)

You look completely fed up by the time you're done with your rant, and he's pretty sure he's only making the situation worse because he hasn't given you an answer.

It's not that he doesn't want to, it's just he doesn't have anything to say.

He wouldn't change what he did. He's sorry he upset you. But he's never been good with words or apologies, not even with you.

So he doesn't say a thing, just stares at you with clenched fists while he waits for the inevitable order for him to leave.

And he really is prepared to leave. He's surprised it hasn't happened sooner. He'll hate it. He'll probably even do something stupid over it. But he wouldn't force the weight that is his company on you.

He'll accept that this is what changes what he is to you. At least, he'll try. Later. Right now, he's focused on not crying as the silence drones on.

Your voice calling his name cuts through his thoughts, and his gaze snaps back up to yours. He hadn't even realized he'd dropped it. You step forward, and he braces himself for what's to come. The end of this. You and him.

But the end doesn't come. You cup his face– cradle his face and ask him why he looks so miserable.

Jason's good at running. Good at burying his emotions. He has to be. But you don't look angry anymore. You look concerned. You looked more worried than you did when he was last bleeding out onto your couch. So he spills his guts.

He stumbles out how he's too rough and too wrong and he knew you'd want him gone eventually but he's not ready to go and could you please just forgive him this once for not being what you needed him to be?

He waits for you to push him away. You don't. His shoulder slump when you wrap your arms around his waist and hug him so tightly that he has no choice but to believe that you want him to stay.

He doesn't hesitate to latch onto you and mumble nonsense into your hair. Promises that he'll be better. Different. Whatever you need.

You tuck yourself closer to his chest and tell him you don't need him to be anyone else but him. The rest of your reassurances are muffled into the fabric of his clothes when he clutches you tighter.

Jason isn't very good at admitting his feelings. But he wants to. With you.

He'll figure it out later. But for right now, he lets himself sink deeper into your hug, and all the serenity you bring.

[anas-aspiration]

Toxic! Vi x reader

Summary: Vi gets hurt and when you try to help her she brushes you off aggressively, so you leave her be. You’re still pissed at her for being so harsh when you meant no harm, so when she comes to your apartment, you’re reluctant. Though in the end Vi always gets her way.

Warnings: angst w/ a little comfort, strap (r receiving), strap sucking (r receiving), manhandling, spitting, injury, fucking against a door, Pet names; princess, baby, & good girl, vi switches up quickly

Thank you to the weeknd, couldn’t have written this without listening to trilogy😞

She told you to stay back, you even agreed, but you just couldn’t wait for her like that cooped up in her box of an apartment hoping she’d come back uninjured. You won’t have to get too close, you knew where she was going so it would be no problem. Hand on the doorknob, you took a deep breath and went on your way.

The violence could be heard by anyone in a 5 mile radius. Stares were coming from both sides of you as you quickly walked with a black hood on and your head low. At every turn it was noticeable that people were filing out of the streets until you were the only one occupying them, so you knew you were getting close. Suddenly you turned a corner and saw her, there was no mistaking her muscular silhouette and violet hair. She was putting up a good fight, but still struggling. Your heart was racing, the person fighting her was unrecognizable standing at about 6’0 with scars across their face, large muscles and a sort of ax in their hand. You heard more voices coming from the bunch of people fighting 15 feet from you. There were more men coming from all directions toward them, so you crouch behind a couple of boxes to avoid being caught by the men, or worse Vi. Your eyes turn back to her and you gasp at the sight of her underneath the tall man. She looked absolutely defeated beneath him as he raised a hand to throw another punch. You sprung up from behind the boxes about to run to her, though you had no real plan. Before you even got five feet ahead, everyone started scrambling in the same direction. You looked around confused and decided to just bolt it and bring Vi to some place safer. She hadn’t even registered it was you until you were both in a quiet lobby and you crouched down to be face to face with her.

“Baby i- oh my god..” you stammered, trying to catch your breath.

She took your hands, previously cupping her face, and held your wrists between you two. “What did I tell you?”

“What? Well you- youre hurt and i uh-“

“What. Did. I. Tell. You?” She spat.

You stayed silent for a moment, studying her face. “You told me to stay back, I know that, but i couldn’t, really.” You began to tear up. “You could’ve died just now, he might have beaten you to death!”

“Well I fucking didn’t. I gave you one simple order, can’t even follow that.” She squeezed your wrists harder before letting go harshly. She stood up and began walking out of the alley, clutching her side.

“Let me help you, please you can barely walk”

“I’m fine, just go the fuck home.” And with that she was out of your sight, leaving you alone in the dark alley.

After that you didn’t leave your apartment for days. You felt useless and unwanted, not that you wanted to even be in her presence. She made it clear that she didn’t need you, therefore you did not need her.

You were sitting on your couch eating ramen when you heard a loud knock at the door. There were lots of possibilities of who it could be, the last one on your list was Vi. Once you opened the door you were met by Vi. You froze with your hand still on the doorknob, waiting for her to say something.

“Hey baby…”

“Oh hell-” You attempted to close the door in her face but she grabbed it and basically fought to keep it open.

“The fuck?!” You exclaimed. She had shoved her way into your apartment, now standing in the hallway with you.

“Listen, I know I left you there and it was fucked but I’m sorry.” She said while running a hand through her hair. “Please, baby.”

“You can’t just come in here like that. Leave.”

“No.” she scoffed.

“No?”

“No.”

“Fine, then I’ll leave.” You went into the kitchen to grab your bag and walked right past Vi and hers pleas for you to stay and got your hand on the doorknob when she turned your back and pinned you against the door.

There was a few moments of silence between you two before you broke it.

“Why do you hate me?” You choked out.

“What?” Her brows furrowed. “I don’t hate you princess.”

“Then why treat me like you do”

She leant in to whisper in your ear “I can show you how much I love you.”

You stayed still letting your eyes wander her face before she leant in to kiss you. At first it was soft and loving but quickly turned more and more aggressive. Minutes had passed and now she had you grasping onto her and moaning into her mouth as she kissed you. She barely had her hands on you, ghosting over your clit through your underwear.

“Are you sure you didn’t miss me?” She smiled feeling the wet spot on your panties.

“I did.” You breathed out.

She leant into you with her whole body and swept her hand inside your panties so she could plunge two fingers inside you. “Gooood, girll.” She dragged out.

Your back arched back into the door as you threw your head back and moaned. You bucked your hips to match her pace, already feeling incredibly satisfied due to the fact that it’s been days.

She left trails of violet on your neck and chest. Your tank top was holding on merely by one strap. Your lungs gave out every time you looked down at her. She looked menacing, taking over your mind and body in the simplest way. She worked you nearly to an orgasm but you stopped yourself.

“I want- uh! I want you inside of me, pleasee.” You practically moaned out.

At first she gave you a look that said “I am inside of you” but then quickly realized what you meant.

“Fuck yeah.” She scooped your thighs up and lifted you so she could carry you like a toddler to your bedroom.

She purposefully dropped you on the floor, leaving you stunned and dazed while she went to get the strap that she knew the exact location of.

You heard the sound of your drawer slamming shut and her clothes hitting the floor. Suddenly she was grabbing your chin and telling you to open your mouth, you just stared.

With a quick slap to the face she grabbed you harder and repeated herself. “Open up baby. Thought you wanted this.”

You complied, even sticking out your tongue. She mumbled “good girl” before spitting in your mouth. “Suck.”

You didn’t hesitate, you didn’t have much thoughts in your head to think about doing anything else besides what she told you. She said praises to you under her breath while pushing the pink strap further into your throat, causing you to gag.

Once she thought it was enough, she gripped you by the shoulders and threw you up onto your bed. You already knew to spread your legs as she joined you on your beige colored duvet.

She lined herself up with you, not wasting another second and slid inside. You gasped out a moan gripping and scratching at her arms and back. In no time she had picked up her pace and found the right rhythm, and place to drive you crazy.

“Shit. Aren’t you happy you let me inside now? Hm?”

“Mhmm..” You let out, knowing she was twisting the story.

“Yeah..you are.” She smiled to herself.

At this point it was apparent that she was chasing her own high. The way her brows furrowed and her hips dug deeper into you every thrust told you that she was getting close herself.

You couldn’t be mad at this, no matter how much you felt that you should. You were both inching closer and closer to the edge of that cliff—the one where everything would crumble, and you’d both fall apart.

She hit a certain spot inside of you, and you basically screamed her name. Euphoria touched every spot of your body and you had forgot every other emotion in that moment.

It slowly passed and you brushed your hair out of your face, got yourself up on both elbows to look at vi and realized you came at the same time. She had the same shattered look that you were sure was in your face.

You locked eyes, breathing heavy in the same position and time froze.

A/n! I was gonna write toxic!ellie but I had to get this idea out first😫! This was pure filth, i thinkkk, but i hope you like it. And there is definitely more where this came from. Also where is everyone getting their page dividers from? I can’t find any cute ones that are a png.

[mxltifxnd0m]

cute glasses ◦◦ d. winchester

summary: your eyes are dry because of your contacts, so you have no choice but to put your glasses on

pairings: established dean winchester x reader, dean winchester x gn! reader

word count: 1.3K

warnings: none really, no use of 'y/n', major fluff, some insecure thoughts, but mainly fluff

a/n: first official fic for dean!! also this was intentionally written as a blurb but as always, it seems i have more write than intended lol

please reblog and comment, i love to see your thoughts!

𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

You had to fight the temptation to rub your eyes as you stared hard at your laptop, the screen emitting a blue light that was beginning to give you a headache alongside the dryness of your contacts as you sat at the table in the motel room. You blinked hard multiple times, trying to bring moisture to your contacts and find some relief from the dryness, but nothing was working.

You were still dressed in the FBI garb you had put on in the morning when you and Dean were going to the station to gather information on the hunt the two of you were working. Sam would have joined the two of you, but he had come down with a cold, and Dean forced him to stay back at the bunker while the two of you would work the hunt.

You glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand, seeing that 10 minutes had passed since Dean went out to get dinner for you two. You threw your head back with a groan, feeling the soreness in your shoulders as you sat down and hunched over your laptop, researching for hours on end.

You stood up from the seat and stretched out your limbs like a cat waking up from a nap and stalking over to your bag to grab your pajamas and glasses, and headed to the bathroom to take a quick shower and get comfortable.

You jumped into the shower and rinsed off the day. After showering, you took out the dry contacts that were irritating your eyes, put them back into their case, and let out a sigh of relief when you blinked, and moisture was restored to your eyes.

You put on your glasses and strolled back into the room to find Dean sitting at the table and pulling the food out of the takeout bag.

"Took you long enough, sweetheart. I got us Chinese since there was a place I saw when driving in an-" He stopped talking as you crossed the room to see what he ordered.

"And what?" You asked him, looking at him with furrowed brows as you took in Dean's stunned expression, his mouth agape as his eyes flickered around and all over your face.

"You have glasses." Dean pointed out, blinking slowly as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Uh, yeah I do."

"Since when?"

"Since I was a freshman in high school." You told him as casually as you could, not wanting to make a big deal out of you wearing glasses.

"How come I've never seen you with them on?" Dean asked you with knitted brows.

"Err…" You trailed off. You didn't really want the boys to know you had glasses since you could be considered a liability if anything were to happen to your contacts or glasses. But hey, you've managed this long hunting with them, and you haven't died yet because of them. You just didn't want the boys to look down on you because you had them, and they could potentially hinder you in hunts.

"I wear contacts, and I try to keep them in for as long as I can until I can get back to my room and put my glasses on." You finally explained with a sheepish smile as you rubbed the back of your neck.

Dean's face turned into one of realization. "Is that why I sometimes feel you slip out of bed and then come back a couple of minutes later?"

You felt your face flush with heat as you nodded in response. Dean chuckled lightly at your embarrassment and leaned in to kiss your forehead. Then, a chaste peck on your lips before turning back to the food.

"You're not gonna ask me why I kept this from you?" You asked, confusion coloring your words as you saw him sit down in front of your closed laptop and dig into one of the takeout boxes with a plastic fork.

"Do you want me to?" Dean questioned through a mouthful of chow mein.

"Uh, not really. I was just ready for you to go all Spanish inquisition on me." You sat down across from him and looked through the takeout boxes before opening one of them to find the orange chicken.

Dean swallowed the food he was chewing. "Look, you had your reasons, and yeah, I have many questions about them but right now I just want to stare at you with them on."

You raised an eyebrow at him again. "You like them?"

"Yeah," He shrugged. "You look beautiful with or without them on." Dean reached across the table and traded chow mein for the orange chicken box in your hands.

You smiled at him, feeling your cheeks flush with heat again before huffing an amused breath through your nose. You narrowed your eyes at him as you leaned forward, taking Dean, who was still in his FBI suit, minus the jacket, tie, and a few of the buttons on his shirt unbuttoned.

"The glasses are doing something for you aren't they?" You teased him as you took a bite of the chow mein.

"Yeah, you have this sexy librarian thing going on. Could only imagine how much hotter you would have been if you left your FBI suit on." Dean's mouth pulled into a coy smirk, his green eyes alight with mischief and desire.

You chuckled as you shook your head. "Of course, you'd be into that."

Dean shrugged again as he popped a piece of orange chicken in his mouth.

Later, when the two of you finished eating and did a little more research and while you were doing your skincare, a sliver of worry still sat with you as you thought about how this would affect Dean and hunting. When you climbed into bed with Dean and placed your glasses on the nightstand, your world got a little blurry, but you could still see Dean's slight smile on his face as he pulled you into his side, wrapping an arm around your waist.

Dean pressed a warm kiss on your forehead. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asked lowly, his voice laced with care and fatigue.

"S'nothing." You shook your head.

"Come on, don't like seeing you like this before we go to bed." Dean squeezed your waist.

You sighed before propping your chin on his chest. "Just concerned that you might worry about me because of my bad eyesight."

Dean looked at you before leaning forward to press another kiss to your forehead and brought his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against the soft skin. You leaned into his warm touch, pressing a kiss into his palm.

"I'm always going to worry about you," He started, pausing before finding his following words.

"But you've been hunting with your contacts and glasses for a long time before you met me, and you've been able to keep up with me and Sam without us knowing. I don't care that you have glasses or contacts because you're still a damn good hunter."

You smiled at his words before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss against Dean's full lips. Dean kissed you just as softly as you pressed your lips against yours and chased your lips as you pulled away.

You rested your forehead against his. "Thank you." You whispered, your lips brushing against his as you did.

"No problem, sweetheart. Let's get to bed, we've got a bastard to hunt."

You chuckled softly at his words and pressed a quick kiss on his lips before settling beside him and melting into his side as you guys slowly fell asleep, finding that your dreams were filled with Dean's joyous laughter and playful kisses.

[novelistwriter]

Phantom Rogue

DP x DC Prompt

Danny has had enough with Amity. His friends and his sister began to distance themselves from him after the whole "Dan" incident. He dropped out of school and was barely patrolling around Amity, just doing his best to avoid Vlad at all costs.

By the time he was 19, he just up and left Amity altogether, taking all of his parents' work, just to spite them for ignoring human him and chasing Ghost him.

He drifts from city to city, not really having anywhere to stay. That is until he reaches Gotham, where he encounters Tim, someone almost like him. But not the Tim Drake we all know, the Tim Drake Danny encounters is one who isn't part of the Batfam and is instead the biggest Crime Lord of Gotham.

Jason was persuaded to stay in Gotham when he found out about his biological mother. And he's happy about it, as he learned that she works for the Joker later on. Tim spent most of his teen years hoping and praying that Batman would find him and take him away from his neglectful parents. By the time Janet died, he had accepted that Batman wouldn't notice him. This led him down the dark path, where he began to gather blackmail on the other rich families of Gotham, and from there, it slowly began to expand into the criminal organization he has now.

Tim had become one of the most feared people in Gotham. The reason? His intelligence. He has developed a lot of countermeasures to prevent any evidence from being left behind or acquired to be used against him. After he inherited Drake Industries when Jack died, he used the company to develop a lot of things to counter the Rogues of Gotham and uses the tech to threaten the Rogues.

Croc works for Tim because he was promised to have a cure developed for him so he could be human again and is frequently used to fight Bane whenever he is attacking Drake Industries to acquire anything to help his Venom improve. Tim was so close to killing the Joker, but the newest Robin, Damian Wayne, stopped him. This is what causes the Joker to fear Tim Drake. Oswald doesn't have enough money to ruin Tim and almost lost the Iceberg Lounge to Tim. He got to keep it after he proposed to work with Tim. The Court of Owls can't do anything to Tim, as he has dirt on all of the members, and if he is killed, it will be released to the entire world, and Tim has found a way to control quite a number of Talons.

And now that these two neglected young men have met, they are going to show the world just how dangerous they can be.

(Fun Fact: This prompt was inspired by either an official or fanmade artwork I seen somewhere where Tim isn't part of the Batfam and is saying how he wished Batman took him away from the Drakes to a man he was about to pull the teeth out of their mouth with pliers)

[kissesz]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝

ambessa medarda x f!reader

warnings: see above. mdni. f!sub!reader. dom!ambessa. mirror sex. vaginal fingering. older woman/younger woman, age gap. praise. begging. dirty talk. power imbalance. orgasm denial (1x). power dynamics. guided masturbation—as in: her hand over yours. allusions to aftercare. established relationship. (but it's messy). ambassador!reader.

summary: some handle domestic affairs. some handle foreign affairs. you handle being the affair pressed up against expensive furniture by noxus’ decorated general.

notes: the "explicit" in my last fic was tragically lacking—so much so that it kept me up at night. therefore, i skipped two of my french classes to remedy that. bon appetit or whatever. 

You stood before the silver-lined mirror in your private quarters, removing the pins from today’s elaborate updo—a necessity for the diplomatic summit you'd just concluded. Each clink against your vanity echoed like falling shards of glass, the slow dismantling of the persona you wore in the council chambers. Your reflection stared back, composed even in solitude, jaw still set with the tension of twelve hours of negotiations.

The door opened without warning—only one person would dare enter your space so careless.

"Piltovians, is it?" Ambessa's voice carried from the entrance, sultry and smooth like aged merlot. "You had them all wrapped around your finger." Her reflection appeared behind yours in the mirror, still in her military regalia, though she'd removed her formal coat. The sleeves rolled to expose strong forearms marred with scars—each one a story you'd traced with reverent fingers on languid nights.

You maintained eye contact through the mirror, refusing to turn, to give her the satisfaction of seeing how her mere presence affected you. "That's my job." 

"Mm." She stepped closer, her boots silent on the plush carpet. "You're remarkably good at it. The way you led that delegate in circles until he agreed to your terms..." Her hands came to rest on your shoulders, heavy and feverish, the warmth of her seeping through the silk of your blouse. "Very impressive."

"High praise from the great General Medarda," your voice wavered as her thumbs pressed into the knots at the base of your neck, skilled fingers finding tension you didn't even know you carried until it began to unspool under her hands. Your eyes fluttered shut despite your best efforts, a small sound escaping your throat unbidden.

"Look at yourself," she commanded softly, her breath ghosting your ear, too close for comfort. Your eyes snapped open—years of martial training compelling you to respond to her tone. "Look how exquisite you are when you start to let go."

Heat crawled up your neck, staining your cheeks a telling rose. "Ambessa..."

"No." Her fingers threaded through your hair, now loose around your shoulders. "Watch." She gathered the strands, exposing the graceful line of your neck, and pressed her lips to the sensitive spot below your jaw—that place she'd discovered could make you come undone with the barest touch. Your breath hitched audibly, heartbeat thrumming hummingbird-quick against her mouth. "See how your body responds to me? How it knows what you need even when your mind fights it?"

You tried to look away but her other hand caught you, grip bordering on bruising, keeping you captive to your own reflection. "I don't–" you started, but she nipped at your pulse and the protest died right on the tip of your tongue, lost to the wave of desire that crashed through you, as if dissolving your very bones.

"You do," she corrected, her voice honeyed gravel—that maddening mix of velour and steel that never failed to ignite a fire in your blood. "You spend all day being in control. Making decisions that shape nations." Her free hand slid down your arm, calluses from years of wielding a blade drifting against your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake, leaving touches that settled into an ache between your thighs. "But here, with me..." She pressed closer, her front flush against your back, the hard planes of her body a delicious contrast to your softer curves. "You don't have to be anything but mine."

The word sent liquid heat pooling low in your abdomen, and you couldn't hide it—not from her, and not from yourself. Not with the mirror forcing you to witness every micro-expression that crossed your face—the way your lips parted on a shaky exhale, kiss-deficient and wanting; the flush spreading across your face, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your blouse; the naked hunger in your eyes, pupils wide.

"Look at you," Ambessa murmured, her breath searing against your skin, branding you with invisible marks more permanent than any ink. "How you tremble for me." Her hand splayed across your stomach, pressing you back against her, securing you to the solid strength of her. "How you're aching to surrender."

"Please," you choked out, the word torn from your throat, raw and desperate as you tilted your head back against her shoulder, baring the column of your throat in silent offering. "Ambessa, I need-"

"What do you need, little dove?" She caught your earlobe between sharp teeth, biting just this side of too hard, soothing the sting with her tongue. "Tell me. Watch yourself say it."

The pet name broke you, shattered the last of your resolve. A sound escaped you—half whine, half fractured gasp—and you no longer cared how wanton you looked, how far you'd fallen. "You," you breathed, barely recognizing the lust-drunk rasp of your own voice. "I need you. Need you to make me let go." 

Ambessa's smile was a curl of unfiltered satisfaction, feline and dangerous. "Clever girl," she purred, and you shuddered at the praise, feeling it slide down your spine like springwater. "Now, keep those lovely eyes open. I want you to watch as I take you apart." Her hands moved to the fastenings of your blouse, deft fingers making quick work of the delicate buttons. 

You couldn't look away if the world was ending, captivated by the sight of her divesting you of your clothes—the silk and lace that you donned every morning like it could protect you. The contrast of her battle-roughened hands against your smooth skin, the way the candlelight danced across her face, softening the sharp contours, the wildfire of desire blazing in her dark eyes—you committed it all to memory, carved it into your very marrow.

"The way you test my control," she rasped, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder as she bared it to the cool evening air. "Do you know what it took not to bend you over the council table today, in front of all those simpering delegates?" Her teeth scraped against your collarbone, dull nips that had you arching into her touch with a needy whimper. "Knowing that I'm the only one who gets to see you like this?”

Your hands clenched helplessly at your sides, itching to reach back, to anchor yourself to the flex of her hips, the coiled strength of her thighs, but you didn't dare—not without her permission. She noticed your white-knuckled restraint, a slow smirk etching its way onto her lips. "So well-behaved for me," she praised, one broad palm sliding up your torso to cup your breast, thumb scraping over the sensitive peak. "Keeping those greedy hands still, even though you're dying to touch. Aren't you, hm?"

"Yes," you gasped, voice breaking on the single vowel as she rolled your nipple between deft fingers, sparking pleasure that bordered on torturous. "Please, Ambessa, I can't– I need–"

"Shh, I know." Her other hand slid down your stomach, fingertips teasing along the waistband of your trousers, dipping just beneath the fabric to trace maddening patterns on your overheated skin. "You're being so good, letting me take my time with you. Letting me savor you." 

A broken moan slipped past your swollen lips, and your hips canted forward, seeking friction, seeking relief, but she held you fast, kept you still. "Ah-ah, none of that," she chided, but there was a roughness to her voice now, a hunger that echoed your own. "You'll take what I give you, isn’t that right, sweet girl?”

"Yes," you breathed, surrendering to her completely, utterly—a diplomat used to finding authority in words, now reduced to a single need, an urge. "Yes, Ambessa, anything, just please–"

"I have you," she murmured, and it was sacred breathed against your skin, a permanent whispered in the scant space between your bodies. "I'll give you what you need, little one. I'll shatter you so beautifully, then put you back together, piece by piece. You can let go."

With a final tug, your trousers fell to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your underwear—drenched and trembling. Ambessa’s thighs brushed against the back of yours, her warmth wrapping around you like a second skin. Her hand slid down your abdomen, over your navel, to cup the heat between your legs, and you jolted at the contact—so sudden, so possessive.

"Easy," she murmured, her thumb stroking circles over the damp fabric, sending shudders through your body. "Calm yourself."

You watched in the mirror as she hooked her fingers under the elastic of your panties and pulled, the fabric sliding away to reveal the slickness that glistened, filthily so. The sight of your own arousal had you biting your lower lip, a wordless plea for more. And she knew—of course she knew—just how to read the language of your body, the dialect of your cravings. Her hand slid into your wetness, and you keeled over forward with a gasp, the heel of your palm smacking against the vanity as you tried to keep your legs from giving out.

That earned you a huff of pity—or amusement, it was hard to tell.

Her eyes never left yours in the reflection as she stroked you, her thumb circling your swollen clit, her fingers slipping deeper, higher, coaxing and caressing until your hips moved of their own accord—until you were rocking against her hand. Mewls spilled and tumbled from your lips, honey-drenched sounds of submission tainted with primal lust; Ambessa’s veins threatened to clog with the aphrodisiac your undoing was dripping into them.

Much to her delight, or perhaps your dismay, you could feel yourself beginning to teeter on the very edge of something vast, something overwhelming—your skin hypersensitive, lungs burning as if you'd been underwater for hours, drowning in sensation. And just as you thought you couldn't possibly take anymore, when something inside you threatened to snap like an overwound string, she slid her fingers out.

That fucking tease of a—

Quickly as it disappeared, her hand moved to grasp yours, guiding it back to where she'd just been.

"Show me," she quieted the protests that threatened to form on your tongue, her own voice strained with need. "Show me how much you want it."

You obeyed without an ounce of hesitation, your arm shaking as it replaced hers, your fingers slipping into your own heat. The sight of your hand, entwined with hers, working in tandem to give you pleasure was almost too much to bear. But you didn't look away. You watched every twitch of your eyelids, every exhale that stole your breath, every quiver of your lip as you brought yourself closer to the precipice.

This was loss of control, stripped from you in its purest, most delicious form. A dizzying realization that you'd spend forever chasing this high—the unashamed longing pulsing through you as you fought the urge to beg for more. You'd never wished to yield to someone else like this before, never thirsted for surrender with such feral vocarity that it made your bones rattle with hollow want, yet here you were; fracturing in Ambessa’s grasp like it was written in the stars themselves, an inevitability as ancient as violence and twice as devastating.

And then, with a cry that echoed off the cold walls of your room, raw and unrestrained, you came undone—shuddering, writhing; it was as if months of strain had crystallized beneath your skin, every careful word and measured breath condensing into this singular moment of release. You arched up into her, against her, seemingly never-ending tension bleeding from your muscles, leaving you boneless and at mercy of her hold.

The room spun around you as your body fought to remember how to breathe, and, though you’d never admit it, you were deeply gracious for her efforts to hold you upright—hands firm on your hips, keeping you grounded. You leaned back, feeling the solidity of her chest, the thunder of her heart behind you. It was blissful, if only fleeting—the courage to bare your throat to the one person who could tear it out, trusting that she would press kind lips and quiet praises to its column instead. 

How curious, that the wolf of Noxus knew not just how to devour, but how to savor, fangs carefully sheathed. That being spared could feel so devastatingly like being consumed.

©️kissesz

[moonlightcycle571]

Lmao I just had a fantastic vision.

The JL fighting a multiversal threat, and the for keeps disappearing into different universes/worlds. While everyone is coming up with ways to travel to apprehend the foe, Captain Marvel has an idea.

Batman: so far, our current multiversal technology is subpar and unable to go at the rate the villain is going.

Flash: while I can travel through universes, it’s going to take a while to l’acte which one they’re on, and even then, they can leave before I even do anything.

Superman: we need a reliable tracker and transport system. Both being crucial elements we don’t have

Captain Marvel: I have an idea.

Cue to the JL all on a random sidewalk, with the clear instructions to ‘wait until they arrive’ and to ‘not move or interfere in any way shape of form’.

Random Truck: *appears out of nowhere, hitting a random pigeon*

JL: huh

Marvel: well that’s going to be an interesting story. Anyways, there you are! Guys, meet Truck-kun!

JL: excuse me???

Truck-kun:

Marvel: Their a bit shy ☺️

JL: …

Truck-kun: *blushes*

JL: how is that even possible??!??!?

They proceed to go in and go through some weird interdimensional car chase, passing by random worlds, spawning through random streets (for some reason, most of them are in Japan), and more importantly, hitting A LOT of people. Old, young, middle aged, animals, even a vending machine at some point. It’s just a slaughter.

The JL is horrified, and Cap is just sitting in his seat, all chill.

Green Lantern: DID WE JUST HIT SOMEONE

Marvel: yup

Superman: AND YOURE DOING NOTHING TO STOP IT

Marvel: nope

Batman: Captain that kills people

Marvel: it’s not killing, more like transporting them into a different universe that is more suited for them. Had we not hit them, they would have died either ways within the hour. Now they get a second chance of life.

JL: *existential crisis*

Even after the villain is apprehended, they found out they only managed to get this far is because they had a magic car*

Hawkwoman: *stares at the car* how does one come across thee vehicles

Marvel: well I met Truck-kun cause he’s besties with my magic Train. Train-chan told me that Truck-kuns little brother Car-kun got abducted, which is why Truck-kun was so willing to help.

JL:…

Flash: I’m going to go lie down.

Batman: *mentally adding magic vehicle community to his conspiracy board*

Bonus:

Green Arrow: *retelling what happened* -and then some random Truck pulls up

Conner Hawke: lmao you met Truck-kun

Green Arrow:

Conner:

Black Canary: … how do you know that name?

Conner: w h a t

Bonus 2:

Naturally Conner tells Damian, who tells Jon, who tells Kon, who tells the Titans and basically the whole thing spreads.

Red Robin: YOU MET TRUCK KUN! THE GREAT ONE HIMSELF

Spoiler: THE ALL MIGHTY WHEELS OF STEEL

Cyborg: WHY WASNT I INVITED! CAP YOU LBOW HOW MUCH I LIKE MY ISEKAI

Blue Beetle: JUST CAUSE YOU GASLIGHT DOES NOT MEAN YOURE A GIRL BOSS

Superboy: SHARING IS CARING

Arsenal, lying on the road: TAKE ME

Bonus 3:

Static Shock: next you’ll be telling us you know Archie’s magic bus

Marvel: well I’m not sure I know who this ‘Archie’ is, but Train-chan does have a cousin called Bus-san.

Titans: *explode*

[threebea]

The Jedi should have done something about Tatooine and the Hutts. If only they sent Jedi to Tatooine and not just ignored it--

Oh hi Quinlan. How's Tatooine circa TPM?

Anyway the Jedi should have done something about slavery in the galaxy outside the Republic's borders and not focused just on the Republic--

Huh. The CIS were pretty cool with helping the Zygerrians reestablish their slave empire that the (checks notes) Jedi dismantled.

Anyway, the Jedi should never have joined the war at all. Sure the clone army existed and the clones would have to fight no matter what the Jedi decided to do, and yes, as far as the Jedi knew the clones were created by one of their order and so they had a responsibility to them in whatever capacity they could, and the clones being brainwashed into loyalty for the republic was established so convincing millions of them at once not to fight would be impossible that early on. And sure, Dooku, a Sith, led the galaxy's worst capitalists that wanted to make naboo look like child's play and kill countless civilians if the Republic didn't give in to all their demands, and yes the Jedi were linked psychically to the cosmos in a way where they could feel imbalance, death, and darkness, but they should have taken the moral high road and (checks notes) let both civilians and clones die from droids. Droids who are programmed and aren't going to hesitate about killing anyone. Droids who can't be negotiated with.

Of course they could have... Negotiated with the Sith Lord? Who wasn't actually the head sithlord in charge.

Then again the other Sith Lord who had been duly elected into office wouldn't have allowed that but...they should have tried!

Well they worked with hutts to use hyperlanes for the war they could have chosen not to fight in had actually tried harder! They were lazy and chose the easy path of being forced to dirty their hands because otherwise fascist billionaires and corporations would send programmed droids to kill civilians (like Naboo during TPM) until the Republic gave into their demands (unbridled capitalism which as we recall were totally cool with helping the Slave Empire they previously dismantled become a slave empire again).

The Jedi should have helped people and not tied themselves to the senate. They could have just negotiated with a galaxy worth of planets on a case by case basis.

Listen. Star Wars is a metaphor. It is not a one to one comparison of reality. The Jedi did all they could to help people and they did things that wore them down in body and soul because they had to make that sacrifice or let people suffer and die. There is no alternative in the galaxy they existed in. The Empire that Palpatine made is what they saw the CIS becoming.

Palpatine saw the Jedi as one of the biggest threats to his fascist empire so the plan was always to kill them. It's not illegal to be a Sith he might say, but he certainly made it illegal to be a Jedi.

I would love to know what people think, with the GFFA being what it is, and the size it is, and the Jedi numbering about ten thousand in the end what they were supposed to do as an alternative that would have had any of this end different.

If they hadn't joined the war people would have been enslaved and died and the Jedi would have still been hunted and killed.

If the Jedi removed themselves from the republic in protest of the war but still fought independently to help people they would have lost so much access, more clones for sure would have died, and the Jedi would still be hunted down and killed at the end.

If the Jedi left the republic before the war and were independents they would be slaughtered faster than they were on genonosis because they don't have the numbers. The droid army would get them or the republic run by Palpatine would get them. Keeping in mind Palpatine was elected and the Jedi had nothing to do with his election beyond saving a teenage girl and bringing her to beg her case to the senate on behalf of her people (the death toll was, as we remember, catastrophic).

If they retreated to the mountains and meditated then they just let people die without even trying to help and feel the cosmos become darker and more imbalanced by the suffering they could feel but we're ignoring. And years later Palpatine would show up to kill them because that aspect of his plan would never change.

They should have taken the moral high ground doesn't work in the scenario they were given in the universe they existed in. Not for them. Not when they are powered by empathy. It would have been a corruption of what they stand for if they didn't try to help people. And they tried. It wasn't their corruption that let the galaxy down. The Jedi were aware of their own flaws. They were aware they shouldn't be generals. They knew they shouldn't be commanding a clone army. They were under no illusions that the choices they were being forced to make were good, but even at their most morally questionable they didn't sell out the galaxy. It was the politicians that voted in a mass murdering fascist with thunderous applause to not just be supreme chancellor, to not just have emergency powers, but to be an emperor.

The Jedi even tried a coup. The last thing they would want, but they tried it anyway to hold back a Sith Emperor establishing his empire built on slavery and suffering who would later build a weapon that could destroy entire planets.

The Jedi did not lead to the downfall of the Republic. They were the last shield to be shattered.