#from the rubble and destruction while holding hands with their dead family

[jbweld]

npr's coverage of the ongoing war in palestine is the most jaw dropping and gut wrenching examples of liberal journalism i've ever had the opportunity to experience in real time

[bridgertonbabe]

Also just visualizing the absolute angst in the umbrella academy au that would be Benedict and Sophie being on opposite sides of Francesca’s forcefield when Lucy is in the middle of her rampage and Benedict just trying to get out of there but his siblings and mother won’t let him

Oh without a doubt being separated from Sophie would be tortuous for Benedict, especially as he can do nothing but watch as his soulmate fights for her life against her rampaging out of control sister.

After Gregory had accidentally given Lucy back her memory, the sudden recollection that she possessed powers coupled with the mounting anger that they had been suppressed and the fact her own family had kept it from her resulted in her unbridled fury reaching fever pitch and her phenomenal power explosively burst forth from within her.

Benedict had tried to reach out to Sophie but he was blocked by Francesca managing to conjure up a forcefield at the very last second, sheltering their family in a protective bubble as the walls of Umbrella Academy crumbled around them. While the Bridgertons were safe they were trapped under the rubble but with Gregory mirroring Francesca's powers they managed to manoeuvre the bubble they were in out from the ruins of what had once been the Umbrella Academy. Once free the Bridgertons were met with the horror of the city already near-flattened and burning down around them as Lucy's unrestrained power saw fit to destroy anything and everything around her. Her siblings were desperately trying in vain to stop her but to no avail; Phillip had tried sneaking up on her to incapacitate her but she had blasted him through a neighbouring building; she had sent Simon's daggers flying back at him; and she had just launched a car right at Sophie, who only narrowly missed it thanks to Gareth teleporting her out of the way.

"Fran, let me out!" Benedict demanded. "You've got to let me out!"

"No one's leaving." Francesca calmly replied, her eyes squeezed shut as she focused all her might into maintaining the forcefield they were protected by.

"No, you've got to let me out!" Benedict snapped. "They're going to die if we don't do something!"

"Ben, sweetheart," his mother tried to calm him down.

"No, no, no! We have to do something!"

"Ben, don't you get it?" Anthony grabbed a hold of him by the shoulders. "Lucy is the apocalypse. The only reason we're not dead yet is because Fran's protecting us."

"Well if she's the apocalypse then we're all going to fucking die anyway, aren't we? So just let me out!" Benedict fiercely argued, his body beginning to tremble with frustration as he watched Sophie duck for cover - if they were all fated to die, he would rather die by Sophie's side.

Outside, Kate's chubby corgi appeared, scampering out of sight of Lucy's set path of destruction and barking to get her attention. Lucy turned away from Kate and Michael, who she had just been about to target, and her icy-eyed gaze landed on the dog. She raised a hand out, preparing to strike the canine down with a single burst of power, when suddenly a figure materialised at the corgi's side, grabbed a hold of him, and disappeared with a pop just as Lucy blasted the spot where they had just been.

A pop sounding within the forcefield drew the Bridgertons' attention to Colin, who was panting wearily as he clutched Newton in his arms.

"Oh my god, Colin!" Daphne gasped.

"What were you thinking?!" Anthony spluttered. "You could have got yourself killed!"

"Jeez, sorry for undoing the trauma of watching this fluffball perish." Colin huffed out and then shoved Newton into Anthony's arms, much to his older brother's annoyance.

"Colin." Benedict grabbed a hold of his brother's arm. "You've got to teleport me out of here."

"Ben, no!" Violet barked out.

"Or at least go out and bring Sophie and the rest of them in here with us!" Benedict alternated but Colin hesitated. "Oh what? You're just going to sit back and watch them all die? You want to watch her slaughter them all?"

"Ben; we all just saw Newton die-"

"No we didn't! You just saved him!" Benedict frowned and motioned to Newton as he licked Anthony's unamused face.

"Yes but only because we watched him die, and I thought oh god if only I could have saved him, and then the next second I know I've managed to rewind time by several seconds because I'm somehow right there next to him just before Lucy killed him." Colin explained much to his siblings' amazement. "But I don't know how I did it! I didn't set out to do that! It was completely by accident!"

"But you've always been able to rewind or jump ahead of time by a few seconds; how can you be so uncertain now?" Daphne questioned.

"Because while Fran's been keeping us safe I've been trying to focus my mind on rewinding time to just before Lucy realised her powers." Colin answered and it was only then that it occurred to his siblings just how quiet he had been since they had been under Francesca's forcefield. "But it doesn't matter how hard I try, I can't get it to work - but then somehow without even thinking I managed to save him." he said, gesturing to Newton who was now nosing Anthony's ear as the eldest Bridgerton sibling grimaced. "My powers aren't cooperating when I'm actually trying to use them. Watch."

They all watched Colin as he furrowed his brow, waiting for something to happen - but nothing did.

"What are you meant to be doing? Holding in a fart?" Eloise asked.

"No." Colin bit back. "I was trying to just teleport outside of the forcefield - but I can't even do that with my mind set on it. So believe me," he said, turning to Benedict, "I want to retrieve Sophie and Pen and the rest of them, I really do; but I just can't! I still don't have full control over my powers."

Benedict ran a hand through his already messed hair and turned back to see even more destruction had occurred during Colin's explanation - and much to his ever mounting dread, Sophie was stood right before Lucy.

With his hands pressed against the forcefield he watching with growing terror as Sophie got down on her knees and pleaded with her sister, holding her hands up to show she meant no harm, and he could hear her voice trembling as she tried to reason with Lucy, begging her for forgiveness and trying to talk her down.

"No!" Benedict wailed as Lucy aimed a hand at her sister from which a tangible blue shock of power burst forth and plucked Sophie off of the ground, raising her up, tightening a hold on her and slowly began trying to squeeze the life out of her. "No, no, no! Sophie! SOPHIE!" Benedict screamed out, banging his hands against the chamber Francesca had confined them in. "SOPHIE!"

He watched before his very eyes as Sophie choked out in pain, how her body was contorting from the strength of Lucy's hold over her, and how tears began shooting down her face.

"SOPHIE! SOPHIE!" he continued yelling out, banging more and more against the forcefield until suddenly he received an electric shock and fell down.

He glared at Hyacinth with betrayal but she just shook her head back at him. "Fran's protecting us." she stated simply as Francesca continued to concentrate but appeared to relax slightly, having had to focus even harder on keeping the forcefield up when Benedict had been forcefully pounding against it.

"Then let me out! Just let me out!" he cried as he got back to his feet. "Sophie!" he sobbed as he watched her body shaking, and he surged forward to try to reach her but Eloise and Violet grabbed a hold of him.

"Ben, wait. Look." Eloise said.

The rest of the Umbrellas weren't just taking Sophie being asphyxiated lying down as they rose up and surrounded Lucy. Simon called out, grabbing Lucy's attention before the team began their assault. Lucy dropped her hold of Sophie and the latter fell to the ground, landing in amongst the rubble; but then she coughed profusely as she tried regaining her breath.

"Sophie." Benedict croaked out with relief, seeing her momentarily out of harm's way.

Despite being a distance away she looked up and caught his gaze and he saw her mouth his name in between staggered breaths.

"Sophie! Sophie, Sophie, Sophie!" he called out, breaking free from his mother and sister's hold and getting right to the edge of the forcefield before kneeling down so he was on a similar level to her. "Sophie!" he motioned, beckoning her to crawl over towards him. "Greg," he called over his shoulder, "you can expand the forcefield. If she gets close enough you can expand the forcefield over her." he said; it wasn't a question or a suggestion; it was an imperative.

"I... I don't know." Gregory swallowed as he watched Lucy fighting off her siblings. "I can try,"

"Don't try; just do." Benedict snapped. "Sophie!" he called out, his tone softer as he frantically waved her over, desperate to hold her again and keep her safe.

Sophie kept her gaze locked on his and made a single movement forward in an attempt to army-crawl towards him -

"I heard a rumour," Penelope projected her voice with her sights set on Lucy.

But in the blink of an eye Lucy turned her attention away from Simon, who had just launched a dagger at her, and she diverted the blade away from her, overcoming Simon's own telekinetic ability - and then the knife sliced across Penelope's throat.

Penelope hadn't been able to finish her sentence, her voice instantly becoming gargled and coughing up blood as her hands flew up to her cut throat that was gushing with even more blood. The Umbrellas and Bridgertons all fell silent and watched in horror as Penelope fell to her knees before collapsing.

There was a howl of anguish that jolted everyone out of their stupor and a second later Colin was by Penelope's side. Another second later he had popped back into the shelter of the forcefield, this time with Penelope lying on the ground as she choked on the blood that was pouring out of her.

"Pen." Eloise quivered and threw herself by her friend's other side, darting her hands out to help Colin stem the bleeding.

"Stay with us, Pen. Please, please, please stay with us." Colin begged as Violet ripped off a piece of her own blouse to try and help stop the blood that was continuing to gush from the redhead's throat.

Benedict couldn't bear to watch his siblings battling in vein to save Penelope's life and turned back to the carnage outside of their bubble. He urgently needed Sophie to make her way over to them now more than ever; she couldn't afford to remain out there, not with how deadly Lucy was.

"Sophie. Sophie!" he waved, catching her attention and once again frantically gesturing for her to crawl closer, desperate for her to escape Lucy's wrath.

Sophie's eyes shone back at him but then a chorus of cries darted their attention to Lucy's newest victim; Gareth.

Just like she had done with Sophie, Lucy's tangible power had grabbed a hold of Gareth, raising him in the air and like there was an invisible boa constrictor wrapped around him, his body was being squeezed as he grappled for breath. He was trying his hardest to fight it, fidgeting in spite of the death-grip around him, battling to use his own power to teleport out of danger; but Lucy's superhuman ability proved to be unbeatable. His eyes were bulging, a final wheezed out plea uttering his younger sister's name; and then his body fell still. Without even batting an eyelid Lucy unceremoniously dropped Gareth to the ground and his body dropped just metres from where Sophie was.

Sophie's face crumpled with anguish at the sight of her motionless younger brother and at the same time Benedict helplessly watched her cry out, a blood-curdling scream erupted from within the forcefield.

"Nooooooooooooo!" Hyacinth screeched at the sight of Gareth lying lifeless among all the devastation. "Noooooooo!"

Daphne took her youngest sister into her arms, holding her close to comfort her but all the while she stared at the fallen Umbrella, utterly shell-shocked.

Benedict glanced at Francesca, who was still entirely focused on preserving the protective bubble around them. All he had to do was throw his sister aside in order to break free from the forcefield, to grab a hold of Sophie-

An aggrieved roar tore his attention back outside as Phillip launched himself at Lucy but instantly her power caught a hold of him, and the ethereal blue tangent radiating from her coiled around his neck. It began to tighten around him but there was far more resistance to the pain it inflicted thanks to Phillip's superhuman strength. As he endured the throttling one of his hands was moving frantically, and Benedict realised he was signalling to his remaining siblings to flee; he was sacrificing himself to save them.

Benedict once again banged at the forcefield and screamed Sophie's name, trying to recapture her attention and urge her to get away and into the safety of their bubble. But Sophie didn't seem to hear or notice; she was fixated on Phillip and as she managed to wobble up to stand Benedict's heart dropped as he realised she wasn't going to try to save herself. She was going to try to save Phillip.

"SOPHIE!" he yelled. "SOPHIE!" he pounded heavily against the forcefield, paying no mind to Francesca's pained groans. "NO, SOPHIE!"

He watched as she staggered forward to try to come to Phillip's aid, meeting Simon and Kate who also had eyes trained on their brother as they desperately searched for a way to rescue him still. Only Michael seemed keen to get them all out of there as he tried herding them further on. He wasn't doing it out of cowardice; he seemed to be the only one who understood what Phillip was doing by hurling himself directly into harm's way.

Lucy's power coiled tighter and tighter around Phillip's neck but even still he was putting up more of a fight than Sophie or Gareth had been able to. He was trying to occupy Lucy for as long as possible even if it meant dragging out his own painful demise.

Michael tried to shoo his siblings away and steer them in the direction of the forcefield, having clocked Benedict's desperation to get Sophie to safety, but Simon shoved him inside and led Kate and Sophie forward.

However before they could do anything Lucy appeared to have grown tired of trying to strangle Phillip and opted instead to throw him aside and directly onto a car that was on fire. As soon as he fell into the flames Phillip screamed in agony and Sophie skidded to go to him - but Lucy had other ideas.

This time her power claimed a hold of not just Sophie but Simon, Kate, and Michael. The four rose upward, all of them struggling against Lucy's omnipotence but to no avail as once again all of their bodies began to have the life squeezed out of them.

"No! No, no, no, no, no!" Benedict yelled. "SOPHIE!"

"Fran. Fran, we've got to stop this." Gregory swallowed on the other side of their sister.

"No." Francesca grunted out.

"Fran, she's killing them!" Daphne wept, her eyes focused on Simon in particular as he gasped out in pain.

"SOPHIE!" Benedict continued to wail. "SOPHIE!"

As the colour drained from her face, Sophie managed to look at him one last time and she saw her lips mouth his name; "Ben." And then her eyes fluttered shut and she stopped moving, as did the remainder of her siblings.

Lucy carelessly dropped them all to the ground, their bodies like ragdolls; and just like that the blue energy radiating from Lucy seemed to simply melt away and when she blinked the possessed ice-blue of her irises returned to their normal deep warm brown.

Benedict couldn't hear anything over the sound of his own screaming, unable to focus on anything but Sophie as she lay lifelessly in the rubble. He didn't even notice the forcefield dropping due to Daphne throwing Francesca to the floor and tearing off towards Simon, nor Gregory breaking into a run and making a beeline for Lucy.

A part of Benedict's brain must have registered that he was no longer confined by the forcefield as his feet moved him to cross through the devastation surrounding them. When he reached Sophie he dropped to his knees, pulling her into his arms to cradle her close to him.

"Sophie." he breathed, brushing her curly locks out of her face, watching as his own teardrop landed against the apple of her cheek.

She seemed so peaceful, so rested, as if she was blissfully asleep. He pressed her forehead against hers, closing his eyes and hoping that's all she was doing; sleeping. Dreaming even. Perhaps he could just slip into her slumber and bring her back into the realm of consciousness, assure her she was safe, that he was here and nothing would happen to her.

Except when he tried accessing her dream, her mind, her very soul; there was nothing. There wasn't a solid wall he couldn't break through - there was nothing but a void.

"No." he croaked. "No." he shook his head against hers and opened his eyes, drawing away to study her unconscious form. "No. Please." he shook his head. "Sophie. Please. Please."

His sobs became wretchedly ragged as he clutched her to him, willing her on with every fibre of his being to wake up, for this to all be some horrendously awful nightmare that he had no control over, that she wasn't lost to him forever.

"I love you." he wept and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Sophie, please." He kissed her again. "Just wake up. Please."

[xtruss]

Turkey and Syria Earthquake Latest: Death Toll Rises to 22,765 as Anger Grows Over Syria Rescue Response

The New York Times has used satellite imagery to identify nearly 200 buildings in central Kahramanmaraş that show clear signs of destruction. The city is located between the areas above the epicentres of the earthquake and an unusually strong aftershock that occurred hours later. The downtown district with taller buildings was hit particularly hard, while residential areas outside the city’s centre had less apparent destruction.

The Times reports that the imagery shows:

Whole blocks near the city’s centre have been reduced to rubble. Cars line the roads, with people — whose homes were destroyed or who feel unsafe staying in damaged or vulnerable buildings — sleeping inside. The city’s soccer stadium has been turned into an aid distribution point, where displaced families shelter in tents. A nearby hospital once surrounded by buildings now stands alone.

UN sends 14 trucks full of humanitarian aid to Syria. Photograph: Anadolu Agency/Getty Images

Reuters has the heartbreaking story of Naser al-Wakaa, who kept his family safe through years of war, bombings and air raids until the earthquake struck their home in Jandaris in north-west Syria, levelling the building and burying his wife and most of his family under the masonry.

Rescuers pulled two of his children alive from the rubble at night, who were seen bruised and covered in dust alongside another child. But his wife and at least five of his children were killed.

He spoke to a reporter as he sat amid the ruins of his home, surrounded by broken concrete and twisted metal, grieving his loss as he held baby clothes tight to his face. In despair and confusion, he named his children – boys and girls – without saying how many he had.

He said:

“The house shook. We are used to airstrikes. We are used to rockets, to barrel bombs. This is normal to us. But an earthquake, it’s an act of God. I ran out of the house and said ‘please God, let one survive. I just want one of my kids’.”

In his home town of Jandaris, across the border from Turkey in a rebel-held enclave, many houses were razed and others were partially collapsed. Rescue workers and residents, sometimes helped by mechanical diggers, dug into ruins to find survivors.

In another part of town, rescuers pulled out five year-old Ahmed Abduljabbar, the only survivor from his family of six. His adult cousin, Ahmed Abu Chehab, spent hours heaving up broken masonry to reach him before he was whisked to an ambulance.

Drone footage shows large faultline in southern Turkey after earthquakes

From his bed in a hospital near the city of Azaz, the boy said:

“My father and I were sitting in the living room when I heard the sound of the earthquake hitting.”

The imam leading Friday prayers at a Jandaris mosque struggled to hold back tears as he preached.

A UN agency said 14 aid trucks crossed into northwest Syria on Friday, the first outside assistance to reach a region held by rebels fighting the Damascus government and among the areas worst affected by Monday’s earthquake.

After the quake, Wakaa had called for several of his sons, learning that two boys, Faisal and Mohsin, had both perished. His eldest daughter, Heba, was also found dead, along with her little sister Israa in her lap. Samiha, another sister, was found dead nearby.

Wakaa gripped a scrap of paper in his hand that had been found in a notebook buried in the rubble. In neat handwriting, were the words addressed to her father: “You are in the hands of God and in my heart, Abu Faisal.” Alongside was an inked heart.

At a cemetery, Wakaa watched in grief as gravediggers lowered the body of one of his children, shrouded in white, into a communal grave with other victims of the disaster.

Rescuers carry a woman named Zeynep to an ambulance after she was found after 104 hours trapped in rubble in Kırıkhan, Turkey. Photograph: Piroschka van de Wouw/Reuters

Death toll in Turkey and Syria rises to 22,765! The death toll in Turkey has risen to to 19,388, according to the president, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, who said 77,711 people had been injured. The number of deaths in neighbouring Syria has been put at 3,377, giving a combined death toll of 22,765. Turkish president Recep Tayyip Erdoğan visiting a camp in Adıyaman. Photograph: Murat Cetinmuhurdar/Turkish Presidential Press Office/EPA

Woman rescued after being buried in rubble for 104 hours in Turkey after earthquake

A boy is carried out on a stretcher by search and rescue teams in the Turkish city of Antakya on Friday. Photograph: Emre Can Yadoglu/Depo Photos/ZUMA Press Wire/REX/Shutterstock

Yagiz, a 10-day-old baby who was rescued in the Samandağ district of Turkey’s Hatay province. Photograph: Anadolu Agency/Getty Images

An aerial view of search-and-rescue efforts among collapsed buildings in Jindires, Syria. Photograph: Anadolu Agency/Getty Images

Flooding in the Syrian village of Tloul, after a dam collapsed following the deadly earthquake. Photograph: Muhammad Haj Kadour/AFP/Getty Images

Turkish armed forces transport 107 earthquake survivors, including children, with military transport aircraft from earthquake-hit zones of the country to Istanbul's Ataturk airport on Friday. Photograph: Anadolu Agency/Getty Images

[weelittleweasley]

Always Be Here | Fred x Reader

Requested by @pxroxide-prinxcesss: The war is over and the dust has settled. Many were dead and your mind cannot help but go to dark places; you may have lost Fred. But when you see him after the war, he is just as thrilled to see you alive as you are to see him.

Warnings: 18+ sexual content (soft smut), language, mention of death, blood

Word Count: 2.7k

It was over. The Dark Lord was dead. The good had prevailed through the darkness that contaminated your world for four years. You could finally breathe without the fear of your last breath being taken from you by a Death Eater. It was all over.

But with the victory came losses. People fought valiantly for the good and died heroes. Classmates, professors, parents, siblings all fought the good fight and did so with courage and bravery. But you couldn’t help but have tears well up in your eyes when you looked around and saw so much death. People carrying bodies out of sight, running others to the infirmary to prevent them from the inevitable, loved ones crying over bodies of the recently deceased.

As you looked around, anxiety and fear rose in your throat and your chest became tight. Your mind immediately went to a horrific dark place and you thought of Fred. Where was he? Was he alive?

You ran into friends and classmates, relieved to see them alive, hugging them as you encountered them. Sharing an embrace and tears streaming down your face to see them, you would prematurely pull away and ask, “Have you seen Fred?” Nervous for you, they would shake their heads no as your heart sank further and further into your stomach. A pit grew in your stomach and you grew increasingly impatient. Where was your boy? He had to be alive. He just had to be.

Running around the castle, you make your way around rubble and fallen stones, desperate to find your Weasley. Where could he be? You felt nauseous, your head fuzzy, vision blurry from the impending tears that threatened to fall from your eyes and roll down your cheeks. “Fred?” you call out, now in sheer hope that he would call back out for you. No response. Your breathing becomes more rapid with the rise and fall of your chest as you dart around the castle grounds. “Fred!” Nothing.

Your eyes scan your surroundings before catching the eyes of another Weasley, but not your Fred. “(Y/N)!” Ron yells out a smile on his face to see you alive, dried blood all over his face. You exhale a small sigh of relief when you see Ron as you run towards him to embrace him. “Thank Merlin, you’re alive.”

As you squeeze Ron tight, you start to cry a little harder, hoping that he would have the answer to the question that plagued your mind. “Ron,” you pull away from him. “Where’s Fred?”

Ron smiles and that’s when you let go of the breath you were holding. He was alive. “Come on,” Ron grabs your hand as he zig zags through the castle to bring you to where you assumed Fred was.

Pulling you into what once was the Great Hall, Ron stops in his tracks and looks at your face as you scan the room. And that’s when you see him. He’s sat next to George, head in his hands, leg shaking nervously, probably thinking the same thing that you thought about him moments ago. He’s pulling on his ginger hair in distress, but George stops him by pushing his shoulder and pointing in your direction. 

Fred looks up and meets your gaze. As he does so, you let a happy sob escape your lips as you cover your mouth to stifle it. Fred’s face immediately relaxes and you see him mouth, “Thank bloody Merlin.” 

Without hesitation, you start running to him and he rises to his feet to meet you halfway. Your feet couldn’t carry you faster to your love as you wrap your arms around his neck, him wrapping his arms around your waist, picking you up instantly. You wrap your legs around his long torso and burry your face in his neck as he holds you. Sobbing into his neck, you manage to speak through sobs, “Freddie, I thought I lost you.”

Fred strokes your hair to soothe you, like he always did when you were upset. His other arm holds you up with barely any effort, squeezing you impossibly closer to him. There was no way he was letting you go. “I told you I was going to see you at the end of this,” Fred calmly speaks, but tears are also streaming down his cheeks as he thanks Merlin that you were alive at the end of the brutality of this war. “I’m here. I’ll always be here. I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

You stay in his arms for a little while longer, not caring who watched you or how long you were there for. Your love was alive and okay and that’s all that mattered. You two came out of this alive. Fred gently puts you down, but still keeps his hands on you, hands resting on your waist tightly. The two of you look at the other’s face as if it were the first time seeing it. His eyes were intensely looking into yours with so much love, you couldn’t help but want to cry again. Your heart swelled with how much love you had for this boy. Pulling your attention away from his face, you notice the large gash he has on his forehead, fresh blood still trickling down the side of his forehead. “Freddie, you’re bleeding,” you cup his cheek and gently touch his forehead.

“Me and the rest of the people here, darling,” he rolls his eyes as you shake your head. Of course, he would joke about this right now. “I’m fine, I promise. All I care about is that you’re here and you’re okay.”

The two of you make your way to the rest of the Weasley family as you embrace George tightly. “Glad you’re alright, (Y/N). If you weren’t, I don’t know what Fred would have done,” George confesses as you decide not to think about if one of you had not made it. 

But now was not a time to think of the pain. You were grateful to be alive and even more thankful that Fred was next to you, holding your hand, kissing your forehead at the end of it. You were alive.

---------

That night, you found yourself in the comfort of the Burrow in Fred’s old bedroom. There was no way you were spending the night apart after today. Fred needed you by his side at all times, too scared to let you go. You had to insist that he took a shower without you much to his dismay for multiple reasons. 

It had been a while since you were in this room after Fred and George moved out of the Burrow and into their own flat above the joke shop. But the Burrow was always home. It’s where you and Freddie had your first kiss, where he asked you to be his girlfriend, where you two had slept with each other for the first time. The Burrow had become not only home to your boyfriend, but to you as well. 

Interrupting your thoughts, Fred emerges from the bathroom and into his bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist as he shut the door behind him. Fred looks at you and a warm smile appears on his face. “Hello, gorgeous,” he beams.

“Hi, Freddie,” you smile back as he sits on the bed beside you before you place a sweet his to his lips. You push his wet ginger hair out of his face, combing it back with your fingers. The two of you sit in silence for a moment before you break the quiet. “I can’t believe it’s over. It’s really done with, huh?”

Fred lets out a light laugh, “Yeah. I just can’t believe how much destruction there was. Hogwarts is in shreds. It’s crazy to see somewhere you called home look like that.” You nod your head. Even though the two of you had graduated from Hogwarts a few years ago, your memories of being a student were vivid as ever. Especially the ones you made with your friends and Fred. “It’s where we fell in love,” Fred adds, making you blush. He smiles and kisses your rosy cheeks. “I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

You stroke Fred’s cheek gently and lightly smile at the beautiful boy in front of you. He leans into your touch and lets out a small sigh, the two of you looking at the other lovingly. “You’re the love of my life, Fred. There’s no one out there for me but you,” you admit to him. Fred knew that you loved him more than words could say, but every time you confessed it to him, it gave him butterflies.

He kisses the palm of your hand before pulling you onto his lap, you straddling him as the thin fabric of the towel covers his lower half. “And you are the love of my life, (Y/N). I will never love anyone like I love you. And I will say that until my last breathe. I love you,” Fred tells you, squeezing your hips as your heart swells with so much love. You were the only people in the world right now. You don’t know what to say to him. But that wasn’t a problem because Fred had something to say. “Marry me.”

His words make your heart stop for a moment and your eyes widen in shock. It takes you a moment to process his words. Your mouth is agape as you search for words. “What?” you manage to speak. That’s all you can say. What was happening?

“I know, it’s crazy, and I wanted to wait until we returned to some sense of normalcy before I asked you, but it felt right,” Fred admit. “I don’t have a ring, but I’ll get you whatever ring you like. I don’t care, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, (Y/N). The war made me realize that I don’t know what I would do without you if I lost you. You are everything to me and I want to be with you forever,” he rambles. “Marry me.”

The proposition was crazy, but you were crazier for Fred. This was the easiest question you were ever asked. “Yes. Done. Yes, Fred. Of course. Yes,” you excitedly answer, gripping onto his shoulders as you beam, laughing like a child as Fred joins you. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Fred repeats before pressing his lips onto yours for a sweet kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you in closer by your hips. The kiss turns more passionate as you open your mouth gently, letting Fred’s tongue enter your mouth, swirling around it as you tangle your fingers in his still wet hair. Fred lightly moans into your mouth as you rub your hips against his. “I love you,” he speaks again before kissing down your neck as you tilt your head, giving him more access to your exposed flesh. 

Fred pulls your shirt over your head, revealing your bare top, sitting on his lap now with just panties on. His eyes rake up and down your body before kissing across your chest and onto your full breasts. He takes one of your breasts in his large hand, massaging it as he takes the nipple of the other in his mouth, sucking and licking the sensitive area. You tangle your fingers in his hair deeper, pulling at his roots as you moan, rolling your head backwards. “Fuck, Freddie,” you moan out, continuing to roll your hips against his towel covered pelvis. 

Before you can say anything else, Fred has you underneath him as he tosses his towel to the floor. His erection hits his stomach, hard for you already. Fred kisses you again deeply, tongue sloppily massaging yours before pulling your bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to make love to you,” he whispers in your ear as you gulp. His words make your heat even more wet. You nod your head up and down. He huskily chuckles before placing a kiss to your jawline. 

He kisses down your neck as you reach out and start stroking his hard cock. Fred groans at the sensation of your hand wrapped around his dick, resisting the urge to thrust himself into your wet pussy. You stroke his cock, slowly, up and down, in a circular motion, making Fred let out a low groan into your neck. “Fuck, baby,” he breathes as you continue to pump his member.

You start to pick up the speed, but Fred stops you. “I wanna come inside of you,” he whispers, sending shivers down your spine. He reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a condom as he rolls it onto his hard length. 

He lines himself up at your entrance, slowly pushing himself into your dripping wet heat. You moan out in satisfaction, arching your back gently. Fred always filled you up delightfully. The sight of you writhing in pleasure was enough to get Fred off. “Oh, Fred,” you breathe out. “Move, baby.”

Fred obeys and starts slowly thrusting in and out of you. Each thrust is gentle, but feels euphoric. Fred laces his fingers with yours as he pushes in and out of you. “You’re so beautiful, baby. I love you,” he tells you between breaths.

His other hand snakes down your stomach until he reaches your clit, rubbing slow figure eights on it as your eyes screw shut. Fred knew exactly how you liked it and he lived to make you feel good. “Shit, baby, just like that, don’t stop,” you moan out as Fred continues to pump in and out of you and rub your clit. “Faster, please, Fred, fuck, please.”

Fred starts to thrust faster, his hips colliding into yours with each thrust, filling you up with his cock deliciously. Fred lets out low moans as he fucks you, pressing kisses to your jawline with each thrust. “Say my name,” he whispers in your ear.

“Fred, baby, yes,” you moan out, letting his name fall out of your mouth. He moans at the sound of his name falling out of your pretty little mouth. “Fred, you make me feel so good. I love you so much, baby. I love you.”

It’s music to Fred’s ears as he takes you like this, making you grip the sheets in pleasure. You arch your back up and Fred takes this opportunity to suck hard on one of your nipples, still drawing lazy circles on your clit, dick rocking in and out of you. You are overstimulated with pleasure, eyes rolling back, toes curled up. “Look at me, baby, look at me,” he pleads. “I wanna watch you come.”

You peel your eyes open and look into Fred’s eyes as he fucks you like this. Small moans escape your mouth with each thrust and Fred lets out a deep groan as he watches your eyebrows furrow in absolute pleasure, mouth agape as he makes love to you on his bed. “I’m gonna come, baby, fuck,” you tell him.

“Come for me,” he speaks. “Come all over me, princess. Moan my name, go on,” he growls. 

With that, you release all over his dick, rolling your head back as you moan, “Oh, Freddie, fuck.” Fred continues to thrust in and out of you before releasing into his condom moments after you, pleasure shuddering through his body as you watch him release, screwing his eyes shut and nuzzling his face into your neck as he comes. 

The two of you are breathless, chests heavy rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. Fred pulls out of you and rolls beside you, tossing the condom away. He wastes no time pulling you into his chest, cuddling you close next to him, kissing your forehead as you snuggle into his chest, wrapping your arms around him. “I love you, darling. I love you so much,” he tells you. “I promise I’m gonna make you the happiest woman in the world. I swear on my life.”

You smile into his chest before looking up at the man you love. “I love you much more. I can’t wait to spend forever with you,” you confess as he presses a kiss to your lips. “You’re my forever.”

[autismvampyre]

Little Brother

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: Peter Maximoff wakes up at the battle of Sokovia in another universe. Thankfully, he still has a family here.

Pairing: just some familial Maximoff fun

Warnings: guns, literal war, probably swearing idk i didnt check but i swear a lot, bad writing and thats it i think

A/N: I take no credit for this idea it was purely inspired by this post from @you-said-yes and they gave me permission to write it. I had a blast with this, I'm a sucker for the multiverse triplets. Oh and in this version I'm going with the story that Peter's Wanda is dead, cause thats just how i think of the story since shes never mentioned after DOFP.

Peter's POV

The first thing he remembered was running. He ran faster than he ever had before and he kept running for what felt like eternity until he woke up. In other circumstances, Peter would've brushed it off as just a bad dream, but that proved difficult considering he was laying on the ground covered in rubble. His head was pounding and he felt something warm and sticky near his eyebrow, pulsating from his forehead.

He tried to sit up and groaned, beginning to take in his surroundings. There were beaten up buildings lining the street in front of him, bricks laying scattered all around the ground. Peter had seen plenty of destruction like this; it came with the job of being in the X-Men. But this place was different. If not for the thin air and freezing cold, then for the fact that there were reminants of robots everywhere, some seemingly ripped in half. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it was just another dream.

"Wake up, Peter," he mumbled to himself

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of guns and screaming, alerting the young speedster. Without a second thought he got himself together and took off, trying to find the fight. He followed the sound of machine guns and picked up the pace when he felt the ground beneath him shake. It didn't take long until at the edge of the foreign city. He could barely believe his eyeswhrn he saw the fight. There was nothing weird about the fight per se, except for the fact that the city was flying.

Before the silver haired boy got the chance to question his sanity once again, a machine gun went off. He didn't fear the machines -- he could easily outrun them-- but there was a man holding a kid in the line of fire. They both looked utterly terrified and the man turned his back to the bullets, shielding the child with his body.

Peter went into super speed, and everything around him moved so slow, it looked like a still frame. The bullets were frozen in place and everything was deadly quiet, the sound being too slow to reach him. With the arrogance of a boy who'd outrun explosions, Peter casually walked up to the machine gun and poked the bullets out of the way, one by one. But not even halfway through his little charade, something moved in his peripheral. He tured to see a man, running to block the bullets with his body. His hair was so blonde it could be considered white, and his dark roots and facial hair revealed it was simply a dye job.

At the speed the silver haired speedster was going, everything should be practically still to him; yet this man was running. His steps were agonisingly slow, but still. Peter gawked as he realised what was happening. Another speedster. He had never met someone who shared his ability of super speed, and the excitement that bubbled in his veins was indescribable. Finally, there would be someone who understood him.

Peter turned to the bullets once again and removed them with ease. He didn't care to put on a show anymore, too excited to meet his equal.

Pietro's POV

He ran faster than he ever had before, faster than he ever could've imagined he could.

But he knew it wasn't fast enough.

Pietro Maximoff could outrun a lot of things, but a machine gun was not one of them. All he could hope was that his body would save Clint and the child in his arms. He was prepared to die, he had accepted it. At least he would die doing the right thing, though his heart broke at the thought of leaving Wanda.

His body tensed in anticipation for the bullets, but nothing came. The bullets were gone, and in their place was a young boy with goggles and silver hair. Pietro's confusion must've been painfully obvious cause the boy chuckled.

"You know, for a speedster, you sure are slow," he said, a grin spreading across his face. Pietro's confusion only grew at this statement.

"W-what?" His eyebrows furrowed at the silver haired fellow. "What happened- the bullets?"

"Oh the bullets? Yeah, I moved them. And I ripped apart the gun too while I was at it. Couldn't let you get filled with bullet holes," the boy said nonchalantly, as if it was the most normal thing on earth. He stretched his hand out to the older male. Pietro took it, at a loss for words.

"I'm Peter," the boy introduced. "Peter Maximoff." At those words, Pietro froze.

Maximoff.

"Pietro Maximoff," was all he could get out. Peters eyebrows furrowed at the name.

"How do you know my real name? No one calls me Pietro." Before he could explain however, Clint spoke up.

"Hey, you two. We gotta get to the helicarrier, Pietro you go get Wanda." At that, he took the child and brought him to the rest of them civilians. The two speedster were left staring at each other. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Pietro spoke up.

"Well, I have to go get my sister. You can go with Barton over there, then we can talk later, okay?" Peter only nodded, too deep in his own thoughts. That was all the confirmation he needed, so Pietro took off to get Wanda.

Wanda's POV

"Who is he?" She questioned her twin. A boy with silver hair had appeared mid battle and saved Pietro's life by stopped bullets. That wasn't the strangest thing about him however.

"I don't know," Pietro shrugged. "He says he's Peter Maximoff." Wanda gawked at him.

"Maximoff?" She asked in disbelief and her brother nodded. Her eyes turned to the mysterious Maximoff stood in a corner twiddling his thumbs so fast they looked like blur.

Wanda walked over to him and tapped his shoulder lightly, taking him out of his thoughts. He looked up with wide brown eyes. I know him from somewhere, she thought.

"Hi, I'm Wanda. You saved my brother today. I owe you everything, I don't know what I'd do if.." She didn't have to finish her sentence, he simply nodded.

"I'm happy to help, I lost my sister. I don't want anyone to go through that shit." His voice was low and broke slightly at the mention of his sister. Wanda's heart ached for him, and she wrapped her arms around the boy, surprising them both. He returned the hug as she mumbled how sorry she was for his loss.

Once they both let go, the boy started rubbing his neck anxiously. "I've been meaning to ask this but... where are we?" She eyed him to see if he was serious.

"We're at a safe place, outside Sokovia?"

"Sokovia?"

"Yes, Sokovia. You know, the city the flying city?" Wanda explained but the silver haired boy simply stared in utter confusion.

"I-I've never heard of Sokovia. Also, why was the city flying? How did I get here and who are you guys?" Peter's voice rose in panic, and he bit his lip as he awaited a response.

"I don't know how do answer you, but I'm Wanda Maximoff, the man you saved is my twin brother Pietro Maximoff. We're with the Avengers, who were fighting the evil robot Ultron who tried to wipe out humanity."

The boys eyes filled with tears at the mention of her name. And she realised from where she knew him.

Peter's POV

"Wanda?" He looked at the woman in front of him. She resembled his own twin, his Wanda, but she looked different. Something was off, but he couldn't quite place it. His wanda didn't have an accent, her hair was lighter; she was just different. Despite that, he pulled her into a tight embrace. Even if she wasn't the Wanda he knew, she was the closest to family he had right now.

"Wanda, is this real?" He asked, realizing the absurdity of the situation.

"Yes, it is. It's real, Peter." He squeezed her, not wanting to let go. Not when he finally got his sister back. Except it wasn't his sister, he reminded himself.

"I don't know whether to be sad or happy," he said, finally letting go. "Cause I'm finally seeing my sister again, but at the same time you not my sister. You're not my Wanda." He put his hands on his face. Wake up, Peter. To his surprise she didn't find him completely insane.

"You're not like my Pietro either, you're younger and..."-she paused, trying to find the words-"... just different. I can't explain it." He nodded in agreement. Something was off.

A blur of silver entered his vision and Pietro was beside them.

"What's going on?" He questioned upon seeing his siblings tear stained daces. Wanda smiled at him before looking to Peter again.

"I think we just got a new little brother."

the ending was a lil rushed sorry, hope it was still decent jdhdgdg

[jinx-jade]

April Angst and Fluff gift exchange

Angst-Prompt-2 “you remember?” “Of course I remember.”

I took a line of the song mercy out of context.

This is the result.

Part 1 of Mercy

for @celestial-void-the-3rd

______________________

The spotted vigilante looked around numbly.

There’s fire everywhere.

Injured, dead, frightened, sobbing, and mourning civilians of all ages were scattered amongst the rubble.

Buildings, sidewalks, and roads were broken, falling apart, and heavily damaged.

Yet the spotted vigilante was simply numb.

Far too used to seeing this level of destruction and death.

There was only a small difference between this and an akuma attack.

There is no miraculous cure.

The cure was only responsible for removing any trace that a miraculi was involved.

The only reason it reversed deaths, healed the injured, and restored the surrounding areas was because a miraculi had caused it in one way or another.

This?

This time the deaths are supposed to be permanent.

This time the destruction is supposed to stay.

Marinette looked at the other heroes, vigilantes, and magic users.

They all seem stiff.

Each of them seemed to have carefully placed a blank mask of neutrality on their features.

The only reason Marinette could even read their emotions was due to her time as Ladybug during Hawkmoth’s terror.

That thought alone strikes a bitter cord.

Marinette is not Ladybug, hero of Paris.

Not anymore at least.

She is Miracle, a mage, and a member of the Justice League.

No one in the League knows that she has the miraculi.

Marinette plans that no one ever will know that she has the miraculi in her possession until she gives up her title.

Not her friends, Dick, Babs, Jason, Cass, Tim, and Damian.

Not her family, Tom, and Sabine.

Not even her Fiancé, Jon.

Was it really worth keeping her title as guardian such a big secret when she can help?

Sure the miraculous cure won’t work, but the guardians had created a spell with the same effect.

Looking around again, Marinette clenches her hands in thought.

The spell requires four things.

The first, guardian blood to be used to draw the mark.

The second, read the incantation in the guardian’s tongue.

The third, read the incantation in your love’s tongue, be it, platonic love or romantic love.

The fourth, an unknown price.

Marinette had memorized this spell for a rainy day.

She never thought using it would be a real possibility, and she doesn’t know its price.

Taking a deep breath Marinette forced her body to relax.

Marinette moved from the spot she had been standing still in, effectively gaining the other JL members’ attention with the movement.

As Marinette walked with the attention on her, she bent down and picked up a discarded blade that probably belonged to one of the bats.

Marinette continued walking as she twirled the blade in her hands, arriving at the desired area.

She knelt down on an area of ground that was mainly clear, or at the very least, clear enough to draw the mark.

With all the destruction, crackling fire, and crumbling buildings, Marinette thought it would be too loud for herself to focus, yet at this moment, it was eerily silent.

Marinette didn’t look up from the ground, knowing that her resolve might break if she dared to look at the ones she cared for.

Taking in a deep breath Marinette quickly sliced a line from the crease of her elbow to the inner side of her writs.

She could hear the others question what she was doing but she ignored it as she let the blood run down to her hand.

Marinette began by drawing the outer circle of the mark before drawing the inner details, kneeling on the outside of the mark while her blood continued to run down her arm and into the symbols.

She began the incantation in the guardian’s tongue.

“Gnimusnoc lla eht ria edisni ym sgnul,” Marinette could feel her chest tighten with this line.

“Gnippir lla eht niks morf ffo ym senob,” Her skin began to burn as she had to keep herself from hissing out in pain.

“M’i deraperp ot ecifircas ym efil,” She could feel her eyes stinging, with tears or pain, she’s not sure. All Marinette could do was close her eyes tightly.

“I dluow yldalg od ti eciwt,” Marinette could vaguely hear someone call out to stop her.

Most likely one of the magic users since the guardian’s tongue was the same as a normal magic user's spells.

Marinette clenched her eyes a bit tighter.

Her love’s tough is English.

They would all know exactly what she’s saying.

Marinette opened her eyes when she felt Pollen’s magic being used.

She began to speak again, under the assumption that everyone who could possibly stop her is currently paralyzed.

“Consuming all the air inside my lungs,” she hissed out in pain.

“Ripping all the skin from off my bones,” Marinette can see how pale her skin is now, resembling porcelain in both color and warmth.

“I’m prepared to sacrifice my life,” She could see the marks of the Grand Guardian appear on herself. Her chest felt as it was being crushed under one of the buildings

“I would gladly do it twice” Marinette states, as she wabbled on her knees.

Marinette finally looked up, eyes meeting the eyes of her Fiancé, her love, before completely collapses, her head hitting the ground as she whispers a plea to any deity, spirit, fate, or balance that would listen. “Please have mercy on them.”

Marinette felt Pollen’s magic snap as someone finally broke through, the bee kwami not bothering to rebuild the spell.

She vaguely felt someone pick her up and hold her to their chest.

Panicked shouts, whispers, and sobs could be heard.

A flood of light appeared so bright that she could see it without opening her eyes.

With that, Marinette let her consciousness fade into darkness as she released the title of Grand Guardian to her successors.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Marinette gasped awake.

Her head was pounding.

What happened?

Oh.

That’s right.

She had used her life to cast a spell with the same properties as the miraculous cure.

Wait.

She remembered?

Of course, she remembered.

Why would anything she did go smoothly?

Looking around Marinette was met with the people of her temple and her successors.

“What’s going on?” Marinette questioned.

“We felt you transfer your title but something wasn’t right,” Manon said as she helped her sit up.

“So what happened?” Marinette questioned once again.

“The balance has laid claim to you, high priestess. While those you choose to succeed you now have your old title, you have gained a new” One of the elders answered.

Marinette let out a tired sigh.

"I am honored by the Balance,” Marinette claimed, resigning herself to her fate.

[obae-me]

Devil Kart

Fire. Still-burning flakes of ash floated down from the now smoke suffocated sky. Rubble laid down at their feet. Splintered wood. Glinting shards from broken windows. Bricks and foundations of pieces of their home, the House of Lamentation, scattered amidst the yard like abandoned tombstones. For but a moment, all of the residents and their invited company stood still, gazing at the pillar of fumes pouring out from the enormous gap that had been blown out from the sturdy mansion wall. They took in its destructive beauty, taking note of it as the result for their horrendous mistake. One that would not be made lightly again. Suffice it to say, this hadn’t been the first nor the last time this building would be torn asunder. It’s beloved owners were demons after all. However, this fact did not bring comfort to those soaking in the situation at hand. Although for some it did bring great amusement. 

“Well…” MC sighed. “This definitely ended worse than Uno.”

Our favorite demon brothers along with MC, invited Diavolo, Barbatos, and the residents of Purgatory Hall to invite them in a fun game night. Who knew Mario Kart could be such a deadly game?

Lucifer

Character: King Boo

He offered the character with the title “King” in it to Diavolo first, but when Diavolo chose someone else, he didn’t hesitate to pick the ruler of...whatever these specter-like creatures were. 

He plays ruthlessly, constantly throwing bananas, hiding fake boxes in the real ones, whatever devilishly sneaky trap he can lay, he’ll have it done. Even if he doesn’t win, he’s going to take whoever threw that red shell and drag them down to the last in line with him. More often than not, he finds himself winning anyway. He’s not a huge fan of playing games that he deems...childish and illogical, but secretly he deeply enjoyed it. Even for only the value of all his brother’s various expressions when he’s the cause of their suffering.

The destruction wasn’t quite his fault...fully. He’d never do something so idiotic in front of the Prince of Demons, but in his anger and desperation to stop the fight to save face, it was more figurative fuel for the eventual literal fire.

Mammon

Character: Roy Koopa

He really wanted Bowser, desperately so, but Diavolo had picked him already. He almost had an idea to fight Diavolo for the right to play him, but one look at Lucifer’s expression, now sporting a very angry vein in his forehead, and he settled for someone else. Roy Koopa, whatever he was...with his sunglasses and spikes, was a decent second choice. 

He’s not quite sure what the goal is, to be completely honest. He’s seen racing before, even gambled on it, but this one has a lot more rules and...weapons than he’s used to. Is he supposed to be killing people? Is he supposed to have the most money? He’s more focused on collecting items and coins rather than making sure he’s the first in line. Unfortunately for him, he’s often the one targeted for bombs and bananas. 

He ended up being one of the main suspects of the destruction. He didn’t start it, but once he got involved, he made everything so much worse. Why did everyone always go right to him to accuse him of something, eh? Why was Satan spouting off that all of this might as well be his fault? He’s upset over his constant losing too.

Levi

Character: Mario

If you think he’s choosing anyone else other than the popular main character, you’d be comically wrong. He considered maybe taking Princess Peach, but someone already chose her. 

He knows too much about this game. After all, it was a special gift MC had given him. A game from the Human Realm. He did want to explain and rant about all the things it was lacking, but he had played much worse before. So, like he did in most-if not all-of his games, he quickly learned all the ins and outs. He’s a master at drifting, finding the secret shortcuts, and dodging items. However, anything can happen in this game, and for all his talents, his brothers are experts in misfortune. He almost rages more than the demon of Wrath himself. 

It’s possible a lot of this is his fault. He couldn’t help it, when it came to video games, no one should be able to beat him so easily. He couldn’t contain his anger. He had been AT the finish line when someone unleashed a blue shell. He ended up getting hit with such a bombardment of items after he’d been stunned, he ended up last place. Dead last. People were going to pay.

Satan

Character: Dry Bones

Honestly he chose the character that looked the least annoying and cartoony, that was his only motivation. So a skeletal Koopa with glowing yellow eyes seemed a decent enough choice. 

How did he get roped into such a childish game? He’s not exactly sure himself. It might’ve had something to do with MC’s begging eyes or even just the thought of digitally torturing his brothers. He’s even more brutal than Lucifer. While Lucifer puts all his tricks into sneaky items, Satan will not hesitate to be brash and use all his items on one person. Is three red shells a bit overkill? Probably, but he doesn’t care. He’ll also bump people off edges, and of course, somehow he always gets the blue shell. Does he typically win? No. Does he always make everyone else scream in anger and openly love it? Yes. 

For once, he didn’t throw the blue shell, but right after Mammon, Levi figured it was him. Accusing him of always sabotaging people, always stirring up people just to tick them off. Levi hadn’t been wrong, but he didn’t like being compared to Mammon, it insulted his intelligence. Also he just had a lot of pent up anger he needed to release. This game for all it’s merits was starting to drive him mad. He and Levi kicked things off, Mammon joining in soon after.

Asmo

Character: Princess Peach

He has no idea who these characters are but you know he has to go with the pink princess. And with a name like Peach? He had no other choice. She’s almost as cute, flirty, and pink as he is. Almost. 

He doesn’t really care for this game or the idea of winning it either. The thing he specializes in is drama. He adores messing with the other player’s feelings. He’ll randomly make alliances for the sake of spicing things up, but he won’t hesitate to quickly switch sides if it makes for a good match. Oh yay, he’s almost helped Solomon past the finish line, how beautifully heartbreaking would it be if he used the red shell he’s been holding onto? The only person he’ll truly team up with to help them win is MC. Or will he? 

Oh he is loving this. The fighting, the drama, he was hoping for something to this scale. Leave it to his family to always be causing trouble. The whole video of what happened is now on Devilgram, and it is blowing up. Almost like that wall did. 

Beel

Character: Yoshi

He’ll admit, he wasn’t even fully aware they all would be playing a game. All he heard was that everyone would be hanging out together, having a fun time, eating snacks. He’d go anywhere if there were snacks. When he shrugged and asked Levi to choose a character for him, Levi suggested Yoshi, the adorable and iron stomached dinosaur. Beel enjoys him. 

He’s the only person who doesn’t stir things up on purpose. He doesn’t like being aggressive, and honestly, he’ll brake his digital vehicle and let someone else pass him if they’re being chased by a shell so he can take it instead. The only time he sabotaged a match was when they played on a tasty looking map and he subsequently tried to eat the TV. If he ends up winning it’s just because no one has the heart to throw anything at him. That or they’re too focused on targeting someone else. 

When stuff goes down, he’s just trying to keep MC out of this. He went to work scooping up the humans and the tiny angel and brought them to safety. It was a good thing he did too, who knows what would’ve happened to all of them had they stayed in the room. He does now have a craving for roasting marshmallows, though.

Belphie

Character: Rosalina

He really didn’t care who he played, he barely had the energy to play in the first place. He eventually settled on Rosalina because she looked like a soft character, surrounded by stars. He liked stars.

He didn’t even realize that Beel had carried him to everyone while he was asleep. When he woke up, MC had asked him kindly if he wanted to play, and even though he had coldly said no, he grabbed a controller anyway. If he can even manage to stay awake enough to start the race, he’ll put no effort into anything. He’ll just shrug anytime he falls off the course or gets hit by someone. No one knows he’s actually quietly seething. Part of his struggles might be due to the fact he’s trying to play while he’s laying down. Once he started sitting up, eyes laser focused on the screen, MC knew it was starting to spell trouble.

It was him, he did it. He threw the blue shell. Why? Curiosity maybe, mixed with a hint of spite and laced with some sweet revenge. He was sick of seeing everyone win when he hadn’t won a race himself. He was ready to cause some problems, they always ended up being entertaining.

Diavolo

Character: Bowser

He had a hard time choosing at first, he’s just so excited to actually be playing a game, with friends! It’s a very youthful thing to do. He eventually settles on Bowser, appreciating his features, big and menacing, and they both have the same red hair! He finds it immensely enjoyable. 

He also has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He always has to ask what the buttons do, even if he’s already asked three times already. Admittedly, he’s just happy to be doing anything other than work. Corruption, torture, and ruling his kingdom of demons can wait. He never really has the chance for this ever, and he’s playing with a bunch of friends. He’s extremely elated. The only one who really dares to even attempt to sabotage Diavolo is Lucifer. It’s possible the eldest brother is taking this game a bit too seriously. Diavolo ends up winning a few times purely out of respect for his royal status, and the little gold trophy brings such a smile to his face. 

He could’ve done without the destruction part. He does love a good explosion from time to time, but his fun adventure with his friends has now gone up in flames, and right after he had been neck and neck with Lucifer. He does prefer that his student council uphold an image, but he had been having too much fun to worry about it now. He’ll look over it this time.

Barbatos

Character: Shy Guy 

He’s not sure who to choose, so he might as well pick the little...creature with the mask and mysterious aura. But, to be fair, he chose mostly at random. 

He was very grateful to have been invited to play along with his Lord and his friends. He can’t remember the time he was allowed to just...play something...for fun. However, all he really knows is his duty and his job to serve Diavolo at every turn. His main goal in this game is to make sure Diavolo wins. He’s surprisingly on par with Levi at this game despite having never touched it before, and he can single-handedly force the match to go in Diavolo’s favor.  

He helps Beel in escorting people to safety, and already he’s made preparations to put out the fire and get to work fixing the damage. Again. Now he has to change his ‘Days Since The House Of Lamentation Was Damaged’ sign in his room back to zero. To think they had almost made a new record. 

Simeon 

Character: Random

He can’t just decide on one character, not when they all look like so much fun. He doesn’t want to leave any of them out, and so each match he’ll choose a new character. He wants everyone to have a chance. 

He’s the same as Diavolo in the case that he has no idea how to control this thing. He’s still learning how to use a D.D.D. for heaven's sake. Which button is ‘go’ again? Once he thought he almost won, when in reality, he ended up doing three laps going in the opposite direction. He did actually win once, but no one knew for the life of them how, when he had been holding the controller backwards the entire time. He won’t throw anything at anyone ever. Mostly because he’s an angel, but also because he has no idea how to even use items. 

He was a little confused and disappointed when the fighting started. He mostly just worried for MC’s safety. He was disheartened to hear how casually they were reacting to this. He made sure to promise to invite them over sometime for a nice calm game that wouldn’t end in inevitable chaos.

Solomon

Character: Waluigi

He’s a human, he’s been on the internet, he knows the memes. He doesn’t need to say anything more on the subject. 

Like Asmo, he’s almost more focused on the people playing the game than the actual game itself. He might even help Asmo in secret alliances. He’s just incredibly amused with how the demons are acting. He also might have set his phone to record audio during all the matches. He now has several amusing phrases from multiple demons such as ‘you’ll take my banana and like it or choke’, ‘I would’ve finished first if you hadn’t rammed me so hard’, ‘I’ve been covered in goo’, and many more. The recordings ended up being mostly cussing, sadly, but those few gems he’ll be keeping for the foreseeable future. 

He was prepared for something like this. MC had recounted the many stories of games that met unfortunate ends. He’s got a spell prepared to at least attempt to mitigate some of the harm.

Luke 

Character: Toad

His main motivation for picking Toad was because he thought he was some kind of muffin. Apparently there’s a popular Celestial world treat that looks shockingly similar, much to Solomon and MC’s silent distress.

He keeps trying to tell anyone that he’s not a child so he’s not enjoying this. Everyone can tell he’s lying due to how wide-eyed he is about it. He’s honestly having the time of his life until all the demons keep cussing so badly he feels like his ears are going to literally bleed. After Luke started to question exactly where Satan meant when he said Lucifer should shove his shells somewhere, MC and Simeon decided to take turns covering his ears to preserve his innocence. 

He’s going to do his best to act like he didn’t cry when all the fighting and explosions started. After his shock, he focused on making sure MC is extra safe. He insisted that MC stay at Purgatory Hall until things were fixed.

Note: I am so behind on finishing headcanons and yet... despite having strange writer’s block I managed to come up with this at 3 am...I have no some regrets. 

Based off of:

MILD LESSON 24 SPOILERS

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Hi, but um, why did I see no one talk about how the strict and grumpy Lucifer played Mario Kart with the Prince of Hell?!

[fangirlfics]

You Just Saved Me (Fred Weasley x reader)

summary: A near death experience leads to confessing some feeling

word count: 1,924

Also I didn’t exactly proof read so 

y/n watched the sky as hundreds of spells hit the protective barrier surrounding Hogwarts all at once. If it were different circumstances it would’ve looked beautiful-but these weren’t different circumstances. “You ok, y/n?” She heard someone ask. She didn’t have to turn to see who is was-she already knew it was Fred. 

She nodded her head, continuing to watch the sky. “Yeah.”

Fred stood next to her now, watching the sky as well as they mentally prepared themselves for what was about to happen.

“Actually, I’m terrified.” y/n confessed after a small silence. She looked over to Fred who was already looking down at her, “I mean...these are death eater we’re talking about, they’ve killed hundreds, they know what they’re doing...” Another silence.

“I think everyone’s scared.” Fred told the girl, looking back up at the sky, “at least a little, except for me of course-I’m a Gryffindor.”

y/n laughed at his joke, “of course.” She sighed. 

Shortly after that the fight had started. 

Now about an hour into the fight y/n was shooting spells in almost every direction at the death eaters surrounding her. She was standing right outside of the room of requirement about a foot from Fred, her back facing his.  

“You're joking, Perce! You actually are joking...I don't think I've heard you joke since you were–“

There was an explosion that came out of nowhere and a wall was about to fall on Fred-he didn’t have any time to react but then, “Protego!” y/n yelled-she leapt as far forward as she could pointing her wand in front of her as she grabbed Fred’s collar-pulling him closer. Instantly a transparent force field shot out from the tip of her wand, shielding the two wizards were they stood. As soon as the falling wall hit the shield, it turned to dust falling at y/n and Fred’s feet. 

Fred’s jaw dropped as he looked down at a panting y/n with wide eyes. He looked at the dust at their feet. “You just saved me.” He said-still processing what had happened. He was pretty sure that wall would have killed him instantly if she hadn’t shielded him. 

“Hey-look out out!” She said-pushing him away from her. ”Incarcerous.” She said quickly, binding a death eater who had his wand pointed at the two. 

Fred finally got back to reality as more deatheaters came and the two began dueling once more with Percy at their side. 

Voldemort gave them an hour to collect their dead and wounded and for Harry to surrender himself to him-if he did everyone at Hogwarts would be sparred, if he didn’t the battle would resume. y/n entered the the great hall beside Fred and Percy, their eyes scanned the place-there were bodies on the ground and wounded being attended.

They caught site of the rest of the Weasleys huddled in a small group and y/n swore she had been holding her breath. The three walked over to them and Molly turned her head-a worried expression had taken over her featured. “Are you ok?”she asked looking between her sons and y/n, “Are you alright.”

Fred and Percy nodded, “We’re fine Mrs. Weasley.” y/n reassured her and she scanned the room, “Where’s Tonks?” She asked scanning the room for her friend.

“y/n-” Molly began to say sadly. Then y/n caught sight of a stretcher on the floor a few feet behind Molly. “Oh...no.” y/n whispered to herself. She rushed over to it and to her dismay Tonks was laid down on it-her body lifeless, her hair messy. She didn’t look like herself. Remus was laid next to her in the same condition-his face and clothes dirty.

“No...“ y/n whispered, touching her friend’s face. She looked between her and Remus, putting her hands on their wrists. “No.“ She cried out-feeling tears flowing down her cheeks. “No!“ She dropped her head down, closing her eyes. It felt like her entire body was trembling as she cried. 

She felt a hand on her shoulder and knew who it was, she stood up, turned around and practically flung herself into Fred’s embrace. He held her close, with one hand on her back and the other softly stoking her hair. His chin rested on her head as he soothed her.

“They’re gone.” She whimpered in between sniffles. “I’m sorry, y/n.” Fred whispered softly to the girl. “I’m so sorry.”

But grieving had to wait for later as there was less than an hour left to come up with a plan, but as it turned out Harry’s plan was to turn himself in and nobody could convince him otherwise. Not even Ron or Hermione. So the castle stayed quiet-awaiting to see what would happen next, hoping that Harry would miraculously come back with Voldemort defeated.

y/n stared at a lifeless Harry in Hagrid’s arms while Voldemort boasted, laughing with his followers. “No!” Ginny’s scream tore through the area and Arthur had to hold her back.

“It’s over.” y/n whispered, she looked up around her at the destruction and rubble before looking up at the twins. “This is how it ends.” She said to herself.” The twins looked down at her and Fred who was closest, took her hand in his-while George looked back at the scene unfolding in front of them as Neville began to speak.

George then looked back to Fred with hope in his eyes, “he’s not dead.” He said, y/n was about to say something when Harry suddenly sprang out of Hagrid’s arms, wand in the air and projecting a spell towards Voldemort.

“We’re not done yet, Freddie.” George told his twin, wand at the ready. Everyone jumped into action, casting spells, ready to end the battle.

At some point y/n had gotten separated from her friends and now that Fred and George were in the Great Hall with the rest of their family-y/n was still outside of the castle, disarming and stupefying death eaters with her spells. Screams were ringing out throughout the castle grounds as wizards were stunned, killed, disarmed and cast spells. 

The battle was about to be over-Harry was winning his duel with Voldemort-y/n could see this. But a death eater made it’s way towards y/n, throwing a spell-she disarmed it but not before their spell had been cast. She had at first thought that they missed her but then realized that they hadn’t been aiming for her. A huge chunk of the Hogwarts castle was falling from above and she barely jumped out of the way-dropping her wand in the process. 

She was on her hands and knees, crawling behind a bush as rubble and rocks flew around her from small explosions. My wand. She kept thinking. I need my wand. She sat there, covering her head for a moment as more explosions went off. She thought back to Fred then George and the rest of her friends. Were they ok? Were they safe? People were screaming all around and with each yell she couldn’t help but wonder if she had just lost a friend. There was now dust and dirt in her hair and on her face, she coughed more out scanned the ground around her for her wand, feeling the ground desperately with her hands in search of it. But she had no idea where it was, it could be anywhere now among all the commotion, or even broken. Debris kept flying with booms. And y/n kept crawling away, missing each one until the ground from a couple of feet away exploded, knocking something into her head. Then the world went black.

Fred rushed out of the grand hall as soon as the battle was over, in search of y/n. He went straight to the entrance-where he last saw her. But she wasn’t there. He felt panic beginning to settle in as he continued to cast around the school. Please be ok. He thought to himself before stepping on something in the courtyard. He thought it was just more rubble but after looking down he saw a wand and recognized it as y/n’s. “Oh no.” He said to himself, picking it up gingerly-as if it would snap. “Please.” 

Then he caught of y/n, she was on the ground with her back facing the sky and arms beside her head. Her messy y/h/c hair covered her face and was full of debris from the fight. 

“Oh no, please.” Fred knelt down beside her. “y/n, darling please be ok.” He turned her over and sighed in relief when he realized she was still breathing. “George, I found her!” He called to his brother. “She’s got a cut on her head, but...she’s-she’s fine.” He smiled to himself, brushing her hair out of her face. He pressed a kiss on her temple, holding her protectively as he picked her up.

The first thing y/n realized when waking up was the smell of something burning, but not the bad type of burning. The peaceful feeling of firewood burning in a fireplace like the one in the y/h common room she used to sleep in. She opened her eyes slowly remembering what had happened and sat up so fast her head began to spin and she fell off of the bed she was laying in when she attempted to stand to quickly. She stood up quickly looking around her but didn’t recognize the cozy room. Then she realized that she was in a Gryffindor dorm. The door suddenly opened up and Fred walked in, he broke into the widest smile she had ever seen and was standing in front of her in a matter of seconds. y/n immediately broke into tears of joy and they didn’t say anything as they embraced eachother. Fred rocked side to side slightly as y/n hugged him even tighter. 

“It’s ok.” Fred whispered, puling away to wipe her tears away. “Georgie’s ok, and so is Ron and Bill and Hermione and Ron an-”

“and you.” y/n said, putting her hands on his cheeks she stared into his eyes, “you’re ok?”

“I’m ok.” He confirmed staring back at her.“I love you.” He told her suddenly, “and I didn’t realize it until today...y/n I thought you...” He took in a breath, ”died.” 

“I love you too.“ y/n replied and Fred smiled the most genuine smile. 

Then they were kissing. It had happened so fast, they had both leaned in at the same time, and now Fred was pulling her closer by the waist and smiling against her lips, and she pulled him closer by his collar and they were running out of breath but he still deepened the kiss and-

“Oi!” The two froze, turning their heads to see George in the doorway with two bowls of food. “Do you want to keep snogging or do you want..whatever this is?” He asked looking into the steaming bowl.  

Fred thought for a moment “Honestly I’d rather-“

“You’re going to make me lose my appetite.“ George joked setting the bowls on the desk next to the doorway and began to leave. ”Let me know when you’re done snogging.“ He called back with a laugh. 

The couple chuckled before Fred gestured towards the two bowls. “Are you hungry.”

y/n nodded, “starving.”

“Well lets eat then.” He said with a smile.

ok I should start my hw now XD

[winterbanner]

Mercy (Bruce Banner/OFC)

Summary: Bruce is upset after a mission goes awry. Can Catherine's words help him to see himself in the way that she does? Takes place six months after the first avengers film. 

Tags: Angst, Emotional Hurt/ Comfort

Word Count: 2687

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rated PG-13

Pairing: Bruce Banner x OFC (Catherine King, former SHIELD agent gone rogue, now a member of the Avengers.) Her name is only mentioned twice, so just ignore it of you’re looking for a self-insert) 

It wasn’t easy being an Avenger, but today felt especially taxing. The battle wasn’t necessarily harder than others, it was the civilians that made the experience all the more horrific. They were everywhere, scattered throughout the streets, sprinting in a panic to find cover, to save themselves from the cataclysmic destruction. We tried to direct them all to safety, and for the most part we were successful, but there were only seven of us and hundreds upon hundreds of them.

When it’s your job to save lives it becomes difficult to focus on the positives, to think about the ones you saved, to consider how many lives would have been lost if you were not present. It is impossible to celebrate a victory, when the dead bodies of innocent civilians, bloodied and lying under the rubble, products of a conflict in which you were involved, are imprinted in your mind. It haunts all of us, but perhaps no one more than Dr. Banner.

I saw it happen, a young couple, was attempting to run into a department store for cover. Hand in hand they attempted to dodge the flying debris, while avoiding the menacing robotic soldiers that flooded the streets. 

Hulk was there, doing his duty smashingly, taking cars, and large chunks of metal, and throwing them at our adversaries, leaving them as nothing more than a pile of wires. The decision had been made to keep Hulk off the field as much as possible, for Bruce’s sake mostly, but also in the hopes of lessening the inevitable damage. There were times, however, when his strength was needed. For those occasions we taught him to avoid civilians, and the effort was made. Oftentimes you could find him gently careening around a group of huddled innocents, stepping between them and whatever destructive chaos we found ourselves faced with. This time however, he made a mistake, and when Hulk makes a mistake, the consequences can be gruesome. 

He heaved a car, vaulting it over his head at a group of enemy soldiers, but in the midst of our enemies stood the young couple, and as the car came crashing down, they were crushed. The young woman was left barely alive, screaming for her partner, who could be found a few feet away, his head crushed under the fender. Her outcries of pain and grief echoed through the streets, and over the sounds of metal clanging and weapon blasting, piercing our ears, with guilt and shame.

It wasn’t Bruce’s fault. He had no control over what precautions the Hulk did or didn't take, but despite his genius, that concept was something he couldn’t seem to comprehend. Bruce can see what happens during the time he spends as the other guy, he can see the destruction and death, just as much as any of us can, the only difference is that he can’t choose to run away, to duck for cover, to defend rather than attack. He has no control.

It was getting late, our wounds had been tended to, and we were beginning to settle down for the night. For many of us that didn’t necessarily mean sleep, it meant going onto our prospective floors to process the day's events. I, however, wasn’t planning on heading up to my quarters just yet, I wanted to check in on Bruce. I knew for a fact he hadn’t eaten, and I could also guess the toll that the day’s events must’ve taken on his mental state.

As I stepped out of the sleek silver elevator, I could see Bruce out on his balcony, staring down at the destruction from hours before. It was cold outside, and he still hadn’t changed out of the ripped up clothes he scrounged up from the battlefield. His curls were still dirty and his hands were shaky as they clung to his opposing forearms, squeezing himself tightly. He had been crying, the evidence found in the redness of his eyes and the wetness of his cheeks. I grabbed a blanket that laid haphazardly on a nearby chair, and approached the terrace, food in hand.

“Hey,” I whispered, in an attempt not to startle him.

He jumped, before turning around to see who exactly the voice was coming from. When he saw that it was me, I saw the tension in his body release. “Hey Catherine,” he croaked. He was sitting on a patio sofa, staring out over the mangled concrete, flashing police lights and Stark Industry construction workers, that littered the streets of Manhattan.

I gently sat down next to him, before placing the steaming plate of pasta on the nearby coffee table. I took the blanket, and began to wrap it around his shoulders. He winced at my actions, afraid for me to touch him.

“It’s okay” I whispered, as I slowly placed a hand on his, in an attempt to show that I trusted him. I took the blanket and draped it over his broad shoulders before sitting back down again and turning my body towards his. It broke my heart to know that he was afraid to let me touch him, that he thought of himself to be that dangerous.

“Thank you.” he said, finally looking me in the eye.

I grabbed his hand and gave it a loving squeeze, a nonverbal you’re welcome.

He then turned his gaze back to the streets, his expression immediately hardening, holding within it a plethora of sorrowful emotion.

I looked over and saw that the plate of food had stopped steaming, growing colder from the chilly New York air.

“I brought you some pasta, Clint made it so it might taste like shit.” I joked gesturing the plate and fork towards him.

He smiled briefly at my comment. “You didn’t need to do that,'' he said. Before taking the serving of pasta. “You didn’t need to come all the way up here for that.”

Bruce always had a way of deflecting your kind gestures, of making himself feel like he didn’t deserve them. “You haven’t eaten in hours Bruce and even if you had, I still wanted to come up here and check on you anyway.”

He looked up at me, his brown eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you, really thank you.” he said before twisting some pasta onto the fork and bringing it to his mouth.

“And surprisingly it doesn’t taste like shit.” He joked causing me to chuckle.

We both sat and watched the policeman directing traffic as he ate, all within a state of silence. From an outside perspective Bruce wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but when you took the time to get to know him, it wasn’t long before you realized that the man could talk your ear off. When he was passionate or excited about something, he could talk for hours, patiently explaining every particle, and every computation. Watching his face light up when I would ask a question, or when he realized that I was understanding, had become an occurrence I adored. Tonight, however, he didn’t utter a word. Probably in the fear that he may break down in front of me.

He finished up his meal quickly, he must’ve been starving, before placing his empty plate down on the table, and looking back to the street. It was honestly nice to see the city being picked up, to remind ourselves that the damage done can be fixed. There are certain types of destruction, however, that cannot me mended.

Two EMTs approached a pile of rubble. We witnessed their struggling to retrieve something, and to our horror they emerged with the body of a woman. They checked her vitals, and by the looks of dismay, it became apparent to us that she was dead. The emergency workers retrieved a body bag, and gently zipped up her carcass, thus sealing her fate. My heart ached as I thought of her family. That innocent woman could have been a wife, a parent, a child. Now remembered as a life cut short, lost to those they loved forevermore. I felt the pang of guilt press down on my chest, my mind overcome with the thought that that we could’ve somehow prevented the gruesome scene sprawled out before my eyes.

I looked over to Bruce, his eyes wide as he gazed upon the tragic scene that lay before us. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, I swear he didn’t even blink. He felt as though he deserved to watch this scene, to wallow in the pain that he may have caused.The screams of that young woman probably still echoing in his mind. I reached over and put a hand on his back, before rubbing small circles.

“Bruce let’s go inside okay. We don’t have to watch this” I said softly, as I gently gripped his chin pulling his gaze away from the street below to look at me.

He nodded in agreement, more concerned for my well-being that his. We both stood up and walked back inside to his sitting area, my hand still resting softly on the curvature of his back, as we took our seats on his familiar sofa. I had spent many nights sitting in this same spot, whether that be drinking and laughing with him and Tony, or after a mission in a similar situation as this one, I felt at home here, with Bruce. There were even some mornings where I had accidentally fallen asleep on that very cushion, only to awaken and find myself perfectly tucked in, with the smell of maple pancakes wafting from the kitchen.

After watching what had just happened, Bruce was trying even harder to hold back his emotions. He sat there, his hands shaking as they clasped together, his head hung in shame staring at his feet, his eyes glistening with tears. I scooted closer to him, before wrapping an arm around his feeble frame, my thumb gently rubbing his shoulder. He leaned into my touch, his weight shifting so his body pressed into my side.  

“What happened today wasn’t your fault.” I whispered, rubbing my hand up and down his back, in an attempt to bring him back to reality, away from whatever thoughts plagued his mind.

He pulled away, recoiling at the sound of my words that were telling him the exact opposite of what he had been telling himself. “I-I saw it happen, If I had just taken control, if I had just…”, he looked down once more, placing his head in his hands in an act of frustration. He wasn’t angry at me, he was angry at the Hulk for not being more careful, and mostly he was angry at himself. Angry that he couldn’t save them from the giant he was forcibly given the responsibility to manage.

I will never know what it is like to be plagued with something like the Hulk. The risk of danger and violence forever living just under the skin, unable to be fully contained or controlled. I will never know exactly what Bruce suffers through, but in this situation I unfortunately had some expertise.

I sighed, causing Bruce to look up from his sorrowful stance, as I adjusted my sitting position in the effort to make myself more comfortable.

“Ten years ago, I got a call from Fury telling me I was needed in Chicago for a negotiation. Some prick wanted access to SHIELDS weapon blueprints, in exchange for what I was told was “highly classified cargo”. I was instructed to give the contact false intel, it was risky, but nothing I wasn’t used to. “

“I had guessed that this special cargo would have been some sort of weapon, or at the worst maybe a high profile hostage, but when I arrived on location it turned out to be so much worse. These masked bastards had children, I’m talking little kids, lined up execution style. They looked so scared…”

At this point my breaths had become more shaky, causing me to take a moment to gather my senses. Bruce had scooted himself closer in an attempt to comfort me.

“I was so fucking pissed at Fury for not telling me, I just- I wasn’t prepared ya know?”

Bruce nodded and rested his hand on mine as if to let me know that I had his full attention.

“I proceeded with the negotiation, and at first it seemed like it had gone off without a hitch. My partner sweeped the place, and I was told that every child was safe and accounted for. Things, however, went to shit when he insisted the calculations on the blueprints were off. He pointed his gun at me, and without hesitation I blasted him. What I didn't see was the little boy who had been standing behind him.”

My eyes were now filled with tears, and my emotions made it so it was harder to speak.

“I- I killed him. He must’ve been hiding, and they didn’t count him. He was so scared, but there was nothing I could do. I-”

Bruce’s arm had now been gently wrapped around my shoulder, pulling me against his side.

“He was perfectly innocent. So, I guess that makes me a killer.” I whispered.

“No,” Bruce softly uttered. “Catherine, no you’re not-”

I pulled away from his grasp. “I should’ve looked closer, I should’ve double checked I-I”

“Stop, that wasn't your fault.”

I paused for a moment to regain my senses, before turning to look Bruce in the eye.

“Bruce, I killed that little boy, me myself and I. I was in control of my decision making, I did that. So, if that poor boy’s death wasn’t my fault, then how is what happened out there today your’s?”

“Catherine it’s not the same.”

“Your damn right it’s not the same. If anything, I'm at more fault than you are. I, Catherine King, am a killer.”

He looked at me saddened by the words I said, “Don’t associate yourself with that, you’re not that, not you. I’m the monster.” 

I took his face in my hands, forcing him to look me directly in the eye. “Why can't you grant yourself the same mercy you’ve given me?” He looked down, at a loss for words. 

“Bruce Banner, you are no killer, you are no monster. I know what evil looks like, and you aren’t it. Everyday I go out there and find myself met with the absolute worst shit that the world can offer. So, when I get back, I go see you. I go up to the lab, or come find you here because Bruce, you remind me that there’s still good left. You make me feel safe. I couldn’t feel that way about you if you were a monster.”

At first he sat there in awe, at a loss for words. The last few years of Bruce’s life had been ones of fear, isolation, and self-deprecation. His kind nature and mild-mannered disposition, met with violence, scorn and pain. He didn’t deserve to have gone through all that he did, but he didn’t realize that. His experiences were those fit for the monster that he and the world had so convinced himself he was. So, at the sound of my words, he began to tear up, not because of sadness or fear, but out of gratitude. Ever since the accident no one one had ever told Bruce that they felt safe in his presence. That they didn’t see him as a potential threat, a ticking time bomb.

After a moment, I noticed the look on his face grow soft, as he pulled me into an embrace. His chin resting on my head, as his arms wrapped around me. His hold was gentle, but all encompassing. It was as if he was afraid he’d hurt me if he squeezed too tight, but everything within him was telling him to never let go. I tightly hugged him back, carding my fingers through his hair, as I guided his head to rest in the curvature of my neck, all in the hopes of making him feel the truth behind my words, to make him feel human.

“Thank you.” he whispered.

And in that moment, with the two of us intertwined in the others embrace, we felt safe.

[recycledcactus]

so i’m really thinking about the Dream SMP as like, a world with civilians and stuff. because you know how when there was an election, our votes were canon, right? so what if there were regular ol’ villagers and civilians who lived in this world...

(also this is kinda based off of something @khizuo said a while back. also @phantom-clock, @strawberiitea, and @emo-and-confused, y’all might like this, idk)

reblogs appreciated :]

Warning: Long post ahead!!! (Basically me just skimming over all the events since Tommy had the first duel with Dream and then to the point where he and Tubbo faced off with Dream in sort of a civilian’s perspective)

I’m thinking about how people inhabited the lands of the whole DreamSMP, lived in those places and had homes and jobs in those places. There were people who followed their leaders. People who grew to question their leader’s morals. People who still remained after all the destruction. And people who left because nothing could ever be the same

I’m thinking about how some men, women, and even possibly some children went to war for their countries. They looked up to their leaders––their symbols of hope and freedom. They fought and died and some probably never made it home.

I’m thinking about how they went to bed one night, presuming they had lost the first war, only to wake up to cheering in the streets. They woke up to see their leader, Wilbur, and his closest friends laughing and hollering and yelling ‘We won!!’. Do you think they ever learned that Tommy sacrificed a life? Do you think they were told that? Or do you think they lived in blissful ignorance that a child died and gave up his discs for their country. Did they celebrate that day, thinking all was well?

Did they pass the walls of Eret’s castle with hatred in their gut?

What about Schlatt’s election? I wonder if people knew who this guy was. Wasn’t he just a stranger brought to their lands? Schlatt was originally there to help Pog2020 win, right? How did the citizens feel when the ram announced he’d be running too? Or worse, when he won? They must’ve been scared, right? Confused. Scared. Unsure. Curious, probably. And when Tommy and Wilbur were exiled. They had to watch their leaders be shot at, driven away by arrows and mad laughter. They watched Tubbo be called to the podium. Watched Schlatt grin at the teenager and announce him as his right hand man. They were helpless to Tubbo nervously leading Tommy and Wilbur far away. Did they riot? Cry out? Try to fight? Were they held back by the others? Perhaps some left the nation, too scared to stay.

Citizens probably slipped away in the night, past guards, and followed where they saw Tommy and Wilbur go. They probably found the two building their home and joined them, eventually setting up a system for other people on their side to come quickly. Did they work as double-agents in the shadows? I imagine they mined out Pogtopia and created little pockets of space to live in. Children’s laughter would ring out on all levels of the ravine. Patters of footsteps rung throughout the underground society. People would slip in and out with resources, information, and recruits. It was a small, bustling base. But it was home to the revolution.

They watched the great Blood God walk their halls, scared to be in his presence but ultimately in awe. They farmed silently by his side for hours, just to go to bed and wake up the next morning, finding he didn’t stop. That probably changed their vision of him, if only for a short while.

I wonder how they felt when Wilbur went insane.

Were the plans of bombing their old nation just rumours that echoed the caves? Or did they know the grim possibility of what could come?

When Technoblade murdered Tubbo, did cries ring out in the streets? I’d imagined they did. I’d imagine more riots. By both citizens and revolutionists. Fireworks danced in the skies but they were never a joyous sight after that day. Did people yell and scream at Techno as he massacred the leaders and founders of this server? Or did they dare to make a noise, too scared to meet an end like that?

Some of the adults gathered around the pit Wilbur made, watching the sickening show happen. They cringed at each of Wilbur’s little taunts. This was not their leader. This was not who they swore to follow.

I think some people left the lands after that.

They went into another war and thought they came out with a win. Schlatt was dead in the old drug van and it seemed things were at peace now. Many people disagreed with Tommy being at the podium––being in power––but not much was said. It couldn’t really get worse from Schlatt and Wilbur, right? Tubbo is elected and he accepts. There are cheers and cries of relief. Everyone’s tired but in a good mood. They don’t notice their old leader slip away. It only descends into more chaos from there. There are more fireworks, fighting, clanging of metal on metal. People no longer know which side is which––or even who attacked in the first place. Tommy is yelling something, and Techno is yelling something back. Did they notice Wilbur was gone? Did they start to realize the gravity of the situation? Did anyone suddenly just feel hopeless and accept that this was the end? The ground shakes, and people can’t tell if it was due to battle, or due to a winged man entering their world. Civilians and soldiers alike witness their home explode and burn to the ground. Did they have time to see Phil and Wilbur argue? Did they watch their former president get stabbed by his father? Or were they too distracted with Techno’s speech and the Withers and Tommy’s reaction to see anything? (A reminder was set into place: Do no mess with the Blood God). How many people do you think died that day? Soldiers and civilians alike? Children, even?

What did they do when their nation was nothing but a burning hole in the ground?

What did they do when they suddenly lost everything? When their homes were nothing but rubble and ash? When the bodies of their friends and family alike littered the gaping crater that was their nation?

Did they hold onto hope at the words of their new leader––the dream of a new L’Manburg? More people left, probably. Did the revolutionists take their stuff from Pogtopia and never enter that toxic crevice of a base again? Perhaps they put up tents and huts around the destroyed L’Manburg just like how it used to be in the early days. They set to work slowly rebuilding their country and tried their best to keep their spirits high. It wasn’t the end.

Philza was nice to them, albeit melancholy at times. They liked him. (Did they know what he did)?

How many people do you think yelled and took out their anger on Ghostbur? How many people do you think actually liked him?

Did they turn the site of the still-intact L’Mantree into a graveyard for their fallen friends and family?

I wonder how many people hated Tubbo being in power. Hated that a kid was leading their country. Or were they more pitying and angry at life for doing these things to children?

Did they know Tommy and the new kid, Ranboo, burning George’s house before Dream caught on? How many were terrified when the obsidian walls were put up? How many people were angry when Tommy went to court. Angry at Tommy for doing this? People probably either yelled that Tommy was just a kid, a victim of war and manipulation. Others probably yelled that ‘yes, this was all his fault, he should be punished for this’.

But were they prepared to see their conflicted leader exile his best friend?

Did they riot, scream, curse, and fight? Did they shout at Tubbo for being a terrible leader? Did they drive him into his home with their protests? Or were they stunned into silence at the gravity at the situation. He was a kid. He was a kid. He was a kid. They were kids. Did anyone try to find Tommy when he was in exile but ultimately get killed/escorted back to L’Manburg for their efforts? What did they think when Tubbo stumbled into their nation one day with tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes, mumbling something about ‘Tommy’s dead’?

I wonder how many people lost respect for their president that day.

I wonder if they showered the famous bench in flowers, place notes of respect in Tommy’s house, and give him a grave under the L’Mantree next to Wilbur’s.

Was it a surprise when Philza fled the country? He was kind, yes, but he never seemed to enjoy himself. He always looked tied down. Were they happy he was going to find a better place to be, or were they angry if they knew just where exactly he was going? Were they horrified and disappointed in their government for forming a ‘butcher army’? How sick do you think they felt when they heard the ambitious whispers of Quackity and saw how his behaviours became small reflections of Schlatt? Were they terrified at the possibility that another dictator like Schlatt could arise into power? Did they watch Techno’s failed execution with satisfaction or with unease? I think some were more amazed seeing the powers of a Totem of Undying for the first time. (A second reminder was set into motion: Do not mess with the Blood God).

Was anyone brave enough to ask Quackity how he got that scar running down his face?

How do they feel when Sam starts building a large whatever-the-hell-it-is out of blackstone and obsidian? They might catch wind of a prison being built to contain somebody certain. Nobody knows who, but many theories (Tommy, Techno, Tommy, Techno, Tommy–) are discussed. Is the inescapability of the prison boasted about or kept entirely secret? Does anyone look at the massive creation and feel like throwing up on sight? Not only because of the magical effects, but also because how the hell could somebody put a living, breathing human in there and not feel an ounce of regret or remorse? It sticks out like a sore thumb in the badlands and soon people just learn to travel places in a way that they can avoid it at all costs. I wonder if anyone senses Sam’s slight discomfort when he’s talking about who will go inside. Do they pity him? Or do they spit on him and glare at him for agreeing to do this?

The egg is is still only known by Bad, but do you think they sense the changes in his behaviours? Or are they simply too busy with their own lives?

When Tommy shows up, do people think they’re hallucinating? Do they stop in their tracks when they see that not only is he still alive, but he also looks nothing like who he was. He looks tired. So, so tired. His eyes are mostly dull, only the twinkle of the Christmas lights making them seem remotely bright. Though his smile is wide, do they notice how nervous it is? How happy yet unbelievably worried he is? How he slouches more, curls in on himself more, to appear smaller and less threatening. He still speaks loudly, yes, but he shuts up much faster. Do they notice how he always looks over his shoulder? How he always seems hesitant to open his mouth. Do they even recognize who he is anymore?

How do they feel when Tommy lights up when he sees Tubbo, yet seems almost scared to go and talk to him?

When the festival for Dream is announced, do they dread it? Do they get nightmares about the old festival when Tubbo was executed? Do they talk amongst themselves about how bad of an idea it is? Does anyone protest? Or are they just relieved to get some time off? I can’t imagine they’d know about the plans to assassinate Dream.

Are there any passerby’s when Dream stops Techno and Tommy at the Nether portal? Do they exhale in relief when Techno says Tommy is with him? Do they hold their breaths when Techno talks about cashing in a favour? Or do they simply retreat, too scared to be caught in a potential scuffle?

Do they cower or prepare to fight when Tommy and Techno show up, demanding for Techno’s things back? Does anyone really feel any kind of sadness when a Wither is spawned and destroys bits of their homes? Or do they just sigh and pick up the pieces of their hopeless nation?

How many people hear Techno mention blowing up L’Manburg again when he talks with Tommy at the community house? Does anyone catch that information amidst the pouring rain and newly-broken homes? I imagine it’d go unheard. The civilians are too busy fixing yet another damage to follow the mysterious brothers in the pouring rain. (They’d prefer to sleep in dry beds that night, thank you).

The festival takes place and it’s surprisingly... normal. There are tensions between the members of the cabinet and the other important figureheads of their respective lands, but it’s relatively quiet. It’s obviously not a well-planned festival, but it’s a festival nonetheless. Citizens get to enjoy the crappy games and snack booths that were haphazardly put together. It’s unusually peaceful considering this is the DreamSMP. Do they fall to their knees in despair when they find the watery ruins of the Community House? Are they furious that the most significant building in their world has been destroyed, just like everything else important, it seems. How many tears fall that day? How many accusations are spewed that day?

As they watch Tubbo and Tommy yell at each other, are they reminded of the day Tommy was exiled? Do they think of the face-off between best friends that happened on looming obsidian walls and dull skies?

Can they even register the words Tommy screams in blind frustration?

Are they in disbelief when discs are tossed to the enemy?

Or are they even surprised that another fight is breaking out? Do you really think that after all the shit these people witnessed, they’d still get surprised at conflicts.

But what about when Techno and Dream casually discuss plans to blow up their nation beyond repair? Do they finally register what’s happening? Are they frantic, already running to save their stuff? I think some would be in such a state of shock that they can’t even think about leaving.

I think that’d be the moment when people realize just how utterly powerless they are when it comes to their fates.

Is it really worth being sad over anymore?

When Tommy rallies figureheads and civilians alike, they try to be hopeful. To have one last spark of faith. But it’s hard. It’s so hard to be hopeful when the only constant in your life is destruction and chaos of your own home. It’s hard looking into the eyes of a boy so broken by war but still desperately trying to fix things. To know nobody had faith in him, and watch as this kid tries his goddamn best to make things better.

(Is he called selfish? Are people still mad at him? Does anyone have the energy to be mad at him for wanting peace?)

Nobody sees Nikki destroy their items for war.

Many last ‘goodnights’ are said as everyone prepares for what they dread (read: know) will be the end. They wake up to a big obsidian grid towering over their nation and a feeling of hopelessness settles into their guts. It wasn’t supposed to happen this early. It was supposed to be later. They were supposed to have some time in the morning to prepare for the inevitable. To say their final ‘goodbyes’ and hug their families for what could be the last time. They were not supposed to wake up to a grid obscuring the sun, still in progress of being built.

This battle is far more chaotic than the first destruction of L’manburg. There are far more Withers, far more swords and shields clanging, far more shouts between once-brothers and leaders. Phil no longer has the caring yet melancholy smile on his face. His eyes are cold and uncaring, his mouth unmoving as he schools his expression. People drown in blood, but they keep fighting because why not? They don’t have a reason to live anymore. Why not go out fighting for their doomed nation? They look the screeching Withers in the eyes and accept their fate.

Most are too distracted by Withers to listen, but do some hear the desperate cries between a certain Piglin and a certain blond boy? Do their hearts shatter all over again, or can they no longer feel anything? Perhaps their pity is buried underneath all the trauma and exhaustion they’ve endured. It can be hard to pity another when you yourself are barely getting by. They watch Nikki throw a torch into the L’Mantree, uttering the line ‘It was never meant to be’. They watch as it goes up in flames. They do not have the strength to put it out. But some salute with her and give her silent nods of understanding. They can’t bring themselves to be angry when Fundy stands off to the sides and watches their country burn. Do they hear Ghostbur’s outburst agains Phil? Do they watch in sadness as blue tears flow out of his eyes and he cries out about how much he actually feels things and isn’t just some happy-go-lucky comic relief.

Does anyone have enough care left in them to cry?

The numbered survivors join in on singing the national anthem. That seems to be the breaking point for a lot of them.

It’s okay, some try to convince themselves. It was never meant to be.

Not many people stay after that. There are only around 6% of the original population left. A good portion of these people are ones without families or friends. People who can afford to stay in such a destructive environment. It’s a desolate wasteland and people scatter around to find some kind of shelter. They don’t really know why they stay. Why they bother caring. It’s over. Maybe it’s because there’s really nothing left in life for them so what’s the point in leaving if their past will haunt them forever? Or because the chaos of their lives has now become a definite constant and they can’t imagine living without it. They’ve lived with destruction for so long that peace almost seems boring and unfulfilling. Did they really form an addiction to this lifestyle? How pathetic, honestly. Most people join Tubbo in Snowchester while others simply live wherever isn’t completely destroyed.

There are plans of Tubbo and Tommy finally killing dream.

Citizens are tired. It will not end.

The day comes, slow and steady like molasses on a hot day. Silence blankets the already pretty-quiet lands. Unspoken words are muttered between citizens and leaders alike. They line up on the Prime Path and say goodbye to the boys who fought so hard for a better world.

They try not to think about how much the two have lost, and yet they do not give up. Like the soldiers they were forced to be, they march on and face the jaws of death without any second thoughts. There are no fathers or brothers to be proud of them anymore. Nobody to stand behind them and offer unwavering support. They only have each other, and who knows if that’s a good or bad thing.

The silence that hangs over the land doesn’t lift. Not for many, many hours. Not until they watch as Tommy and Tubbo stumble back into the DreamSMP with wounds on their bodies and drained yet ecstatic smiles on their faces.

Nobody talks when they see Sam lead a chained up and tired-looking Dream to the large, inescapable hellhole that is Pandora’s Vault.

Not a word is uttered until the two teenagers announce their victory.

Dream is on his last life.

Dream is in prison.

Dream will no longer hurt them.

There’s an exhale of relief.

Many would argue that this wasn’t worth it. That living in this land was not worth the trouble it brought upon people. And many people would be right. But the sight of Tommy and Tubbo finally relaxing for the first time since before L’Manburg even started made them feel like maybe, just maybe, this moment was worth sticking around for.

[thetorturerwrites]

Lamb Ch 10 - I Am Owed

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol​​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

Summary: In this new, awkward quiet, there were two things you reminded yourself of constantly. Things you’d kept fighting. The utter shift in his demeanor, however, made them concrete.

The first was that The Ren was not human, and expecting him to behave as such was folly.  

The second was that The Ren was right. Begrudgingly, you admitted that you learned more when you stopped asking him questions in favor of quiet observation.

Author’s Note: Please note: This chapter deals with dark themes, including self-harm and un-aliving; mentions of pregnancy and mass death.

This is the time for adulting; know your triggers and police yourselves.

***

Corruption, violence, and faithlessness consumed the Galaxy. Third Man knew only greed, depravity, and wickedness.

Angry and vengeful, Grandfather Sky Walker demanded the brothers begin anew.

“Wipe clean the face of every planet,” he commanded. “Let not a single creature survive my wrath.”

And so, The Ren stretched his substantial power across the Galaxy, darkening all, down to the scantest light of life.

Kylo.

It fit him perfectly, both abrupt and beautiful. You thought about it daily — how he chose a name apart from the one he was given, how he chose something that someone could whisper, moan, or shout. It would fit every situation perfectly. You wondered how long it had been since he told someone his name, or if he’d ever done so at all.

But a wall came down after that day. A price you paid for your nosiness.

After telling you his name, he stopped kissing you, stopped grazing his fingers along your skin in the gentle way that made butterflies dance in your belly. He made you sleep in his bed, and he used you at least twice per day, but he hardly spoke, and he hardly worried for your enjoyment. It was a business transaction. Nothing more. 

It’s how he had you each morning. What should have been an erotic moments were tainted by his lack of consideration. His only goal was your pregnancy, and he hunted it relentlessly. On hands and knees for him again, you gripped the silk, sable covers and buried your face into the crook of your arm while he pommeled you from behind. He trapped you in a delirium that was both maddeningly good and incredibly empty. 

He forced your cunt open wide with his girth and rattled your bones with powerful thrusts, a snap of his hips that made you see stars. You didn’t want to moan; but when his eager cock nudged at the deepest part of you, the target he sought every time, you had to bite your lip to keep it down. Each time, his grip left bruises, marks you had to soak away in the bath; and each time, you whimpered and hiccuped into the bedsheets, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing the wreckage he made of you if he didn’t care.

Involuntarily, your pussy spasmed around him. You learned that the fiercer you squeezed shut your eyes, the more your cunt tightened for him to mirror it. Since then, you curled into a ball, as small as possible, and tucked your arms beneath you, turning your cheek against the bed. Your body betrayed you repeatedly, clenching and contracting around him. Your pussy was always ready to receive him, even through the brutal sting of it being broken open too quickly.

You suspected he delighted in making you cum when you didn’t want to, but he didn’t show it. The only sign you had that you pleased him was a grunt here or a groan there, but he always kept them contained behind clenched teeth and a locked jaw.

Blessedly, his pace tripped into erratic. He buried himself in you to the hilt and flooded you with his seed, not heeding for a second that you wept. Finished with you and your nonsense, he allowed you to fall into a disheveled mess as he dressed. He hardly looked at you anymore, committed to acting like you didn’t exist until he wanted your cunt. If you had even an inkling this would be the result, you’d have never asked his name. In giving you such an intimate detail, he liked you less; but whether it was because you’d outwitted him and made him tell you something profound or because you wasted your question on something so simple as a name, you couldn’t say.

In this new, awkward quiet, there were two things you reminded yourself of constantly. Things you’d kept fighting. The utter shift in his demeanor, however, made them concrete.

The first was that The Ren was not human, and expecting him to behave as such was folly. Since you’d arrived, you argued with yourself over the existence of his feelings. If he had them, you surmised, they must differ from anything you could comprehend. But undoubtedly, someone, something, so complicated and profound as he felt.

You laid that argument to rest once and for all. The chill that settled over your every interaction proved he felt nothing. At the very least, he felt nothing for you. 

The second was that The Ren was right. Begrudgingly, you admitted that you learned more when you stopped asking him questions in favor of quiet observation. If he suspected your sudden pledge to silence, he refrained from commenting on it. You assumed that he preferred it. He only wanted one thing from you; and as long as you gave it, he didn’t care how you passed your days or the tumultuousness of your pitiable mortal emotions.

It was the not caring what you did, the modicum of freedom, that made space for your education.

Perhaps he was satisfied you were as tied to this place as he; or, perhaps he didn’t care at all what happened to you, but he no longer barred you from venturing outside, and you learned that the border to Hosnia was half a day’s walk from the mouth of his keep to where you’d entered. Further, you learned that unless The Ren’s underlings were with him, they patrolled that border, ever ready for a threat he could not expect.

You knew exactly who that was now, and why he would come.

Inside, you discovered that although The Ren had a throne room, he was only ever in it to leave. You found multiple nooks from which to spy; and for a fortnight, you watched him come and go. You learned that the doorway responded to him only, but it remained open long enough for him and his team to pass through, regardless if he took them or not. If he was alone, that portal remained open long enough for them to cross its threshold. 

Long enough for anyone to do it.

The most important thing you learned was that it was 12 steps from your current hiding spot to that door. 

There were only a handful of outcomes on the other side; and after weighing them all, you decided it was worth the gamble. He left you with no option but to steal your information; and if you died over there, you would be free of this bleak existence. You doubted he would allow you to return to your family in death, but you would be rid of him and the vacant way he looked at you. It was that apathy, that muted disgust that cracked you apart a little more day by day.

Waiting for him to return was excruciating. Once you decided on your plan, everything seemed to stretch on for an eternity. But finally, it was time, ready or not.  Here you were, blood rushing, ears ringing, holding your breath lest he hear you with his damnable godly talents.

The sudden echo of energy strikes, the crackle of air that signaled his return ignited your adrenaline. Squeezing your eyes shut, you concentrated on the sounds, admonishing your senses to work better, faster.  Then you heard his boots. One step, two steps. He would turn to his right as he always did, and you had seconds to make it through. You stood up onto bare toes, electing to forego your boots in favor of stealth. 

This was it. The moment was yours. Ever the stupid girl, you pushed off the wall, sprinted the 12 steps, and vaulted across the static boundary, leaving the growl of your name behind.

What you careened headlong into was too stunning to name.

It was a paralyzed world, stopped in time, bleak, and awash in shades of destruction. Trees stood black as soot against a charred ground; buildings crashed and rumbled to rubble along the horizon; bodies lay all around, burned to nothing but bones. There was not a leaf, not a flower, not a carrion to recover the life that was once here. You blinked, frozen to the spot at the atrocity of it all. Dead bodies. Dead foliage. Dead planet.

To your roots, you knew this was a planet-wide phenomenon. It was a razing that hadn’t been seen in millennia, the kind most people believed to be fable.

Large fingers beneath your collar jerked you off the ground and backwards. You tumbled into the raging beast, pushing against the pillar of his chest and twisting to get free. You wanted to scream, to slap and claw his flat affect of a face, but he pinned your arm behind your back painfully.

You hunched over, falling into him, and your sobs had you pressed against his shoulder, seeking comfort that would never be there. You managed only a strangled, hoarse whisper.

“What did you do?”

He snarled, spun you, and mashed your back against his front, wrapping you in an iron hold. He made you look with fingers dug harshly into your cheeks. He was so angry you felt the tremble of his digits against your skin. If you didn’t open your eyes, if you disobeyed, you feared he would do worse.

“You asked how I spend my days.” His furious breath tickled your ear, loosing a shudder that registered through your terror. He seethed. You could hear it in his voice, straining in a semblance of calm but aching to explode. “Look.”

Abruptly, the landscape changed. No longer standing atop a hill, you looked out over a cliff, gawking at what clearly used to be a sea but was instead dried and barren. Another shift had you in the center of a scorched forest, then a hollowed out city. Your lungs, nose, and eyes burned from debris and dust hanging too thick to fall. The air changed again, and again, and again, but the scattered atmospheres had one commonality. You fought to inhale it, the remnants of destruction inundating your senses. 

Foolishly, you thought the doorway was the key; but just as every time before, you were wrong, too simple-minded to work it all out. While it needed him to function, he did not need it. World after woebegone world flashed in front of you. All the same - devoid of vibrancy, emptied of the living. He left husks in his tracks, fractured shells to punctuate his passing.

“Stop.” You croaked, hanging limp in his concrete arms. “Please stop. Why are you doing this?”

As always, it was one question too many. Releasing his grip on your face, he shoved you away, sending you crashing to the ground. 

“What could you possibly understand about the cosmos, you perpetual idiot?”

When you looked up at him, your eyes went round as moons. Your throat dried out, and your fingers dug into the sod beneath you. You shook away tears, thinking perhaps a less blurry lens would put him back to the way he was yesterday. But no. You looked upon a tragic figure, set ablaze by the sort of feeling you believed him to be incapable.

He was resplendent. Righteous malice morphed his already angular features into hard lines. His eyes shone a dangerous obsidian, and his lips quivered in a way that should not be so enticing. He could blink you out of existence, but you remained engulfed by the expanse of his disconsolate stare. He was endless and, you feared, unknowable. For a moment, he seemed to be larger, more real and more solid than ever before, but it was fleeting, obliterated by the war raging inside. He threw an arm out, gesturing for you to take it all in.

“My job.” He sneered, the word practically dripped with disdain. “My consuming, inescapable, infernal purpose.” 

You nearly spoke, nearly proved for the hundredth time that you were an idiot. Somehow, you found the wherewithal to snap your mouth shut so hard it clacked. His fists clenched, and he looked away. You watched his jaw tick, heard the grinding of his teeth. Despite the clear and present danger, you had to say something. There was no other option. With the weight of precisely all of creation on the line, you must try to reason with madness.

Mustn't you?

“Surely, he didn't mean this.” 

It was barely a whisper, the horrified challenge buried deep in your gullet. He was on you in a flash, hauling you up from the ground to hang like a limp doll. Absurdity in the face of absoluteness.

“You think you know what gods mean to do? Your Sky Walker and his peaceful middle way?” His voice tore at your soul, all jagged edges and steel. “Whom do you think he burdened so you could live freely? Whom did he abandon to an eternity of servitude?”

You clutched at his shoulders, legs flailing in the air to find something to stand upon. But when you caught his eye, you found not only anger, but a sorrowful determination. Time stopped; your entire torso seized, sending a burning radiating through your ribs. You saw it then. Saw the unstoppable slog through time, colored bitter by anger and loneliness. It all coalesced for you in this terrible, gut-twisting understanding.

He never had a choice.

You had choices. Free will. Limitless possibilities. Your eyes again lost focus, and you fought to keep your mouth from trembling. No doubt he would see your empathy, your compassion for his predicament as pity; and no doubt, he would punish you for it. Curling your fingers into his coat, you shook your head because you had no words to give him, nothing more than the ramblings of a child.

“I am owed an audience.” His tone evened out, smoothing into that tantalizing seduction you knew and craved so well. His fingers brushed against your sooty cheeks, almost tenderly. “That's the difference between us, lamb. You talk about genocide, about vengeance and purpose; but every day, you move further from that path.”

Again, you shook your head, but you couldn’t look away. Dismayed, you tried to block out what you knew he would say. What came next was a horrible truth, one you didn’t want to know. But you had only yourself to blame. Like a zealot, you pursued his secrets; and now, you could never give them back.

“I am genocide,” he said.

His eyes hardened a second before his lips found the quivering of your chin. He ignored your half-hearted imploring. There was no changing his course. He was resolute and beyond redemption.

“I will annihilate you all until he comes.”

“What happens when you find him?” You surprised yourself with the question. “To me?”

To us.  Your battered spirit wanted to ask, to demand he reconsider you, but you swallowed it down, wondering when the rest of you decided you were his despite his hatred.

The plump of his lips flattened into a hard line as he set you on your feet. Your accursed curiosity led you to a second grim fact. Your stomach banged, and your jaws ached from how hard you fought to keep them in check. Tumbling along the line from what he had revealed, you worked out what he hadn’t.

He would challenge Sky Walker.  And one of them would die. 

You struggled, mind racing. Your jittery eyes traced a curling wisp of his shoulder into nothingness. It was more pronounced today, the unsteady solidity, and you realized that the more he committed to leaving, to possibly dying, the more he bled away at the edges. In searching for a means to be free, he was already fading.

That’s what Solo meant. This was the damage. Without him, the cosmic balance no longer existed. He tipped the scales further and further every day he kept this quest. He would reach that goal; there was no way around it. This hatred, this murderous need to find Sky Walker, who never allowed him the same freedoms as man, dogged his every moment. One way or another, he would…

“I’m the back-up plan.” Understanding dawned, and your voice grew stronger. Unconsciously, one hand covered the lower swell of your belly while one covered your heart. “Aren’t I? If you can’t find him, you mean to make an heir, a replacement.”

Not someone to love. Not someone to ease the ache of solitude. Someone to take over. An escape.

“You’re going to leave.” Your eyes hardened to match his, irritation suffusing your face with heat. “Aren’t you? You’re going to leave us behind without a second thought.”

Whereas you were so angry you didn’t realize your slip of tongue, he caught it. His deadly eyes flashed. He tangled thick fingers in your hair and wrenched your head back, cataloging your responses in his predaceous way. 

“When?” His voice dropped into husky, a gravelly, unnerving timbre that made you squirm in his hold.

You tried not to think about the long-gone days when he used that tone on you, when he wrapped his limbs around you and fucked you into blissful oblivion, when he kissed you until you couldn’t breathe. You tried to hold on to your anger, but the living prisms he had as eyes were distracting, so beautiful you lost track of your ire. He rubbed his thumb back and forth across your mouth in that soothing way that made you want to beg. Your resolve was weak compared to his.

“A-a few weeks, I think,” you mumbled, fidgeting. Maybe if you whispered, it wouldn’t be real. “I’m not sure.”

Rigid fingers wrapped around your neck, tempting it to swallow anxiously. He squeezed until you hitched up onto your toes, trying to keep a bit of leverage and not expire at the end of his arm.

“And yet, you purposefully threw yourself onto an unknown planet, endangering my child.”

It wasn’t a question. He wanted no argument, no excuse or fake reasoning. He didn’t want an apology. You could clearly see he wanted to discipline you for your insolence and idiocy. Your brow furrowed, an icy heat blossoming in your middle. It was more than sympathy. More than compassion or understanding. You felt this deep in the dark of your mind, in the recesses you’d only discovered existed since you crossed into Hosnia.

The tremble of your voice calmed. The twist and twitch of your arms and fingers settled. Your breathing found a steady tempo because this wasn’t a childish fancy. It wasn’t a juvenile overreaction or vapid gambit. You had a reason to come here, and it was a reason he had to understand. It was his language.

“Why is it alright for you to want to die but not me?”

Something new eased the fury in his features. The grip on your pulse loosened, and his lips parted. He looked down on you with what could only be surprise. It was a look you’d seen only a few times before.

“You’re seeking the one being in all of creation that can kill you; and if he does, I won’t even know. You’ll have left me behind.” 

The depth of your honesty had you quaking, but it was not fear or anger. 

“I’m already alone. You already hate me. I have no one to go back to and no reason to carry on bearing your loathing. Pregnant or not, I have every reason and right to want to walk off a cliff.”

You couldn’t cry, yell, shake, or stomp. Admitting you’d like to die should have produced something of an emotion, but you only met his assessing eyes with yours. They shone with tears you could not shed. You had no more feelings to give today.

“I’d like to go home, please,” you said flatly.

He was expecting you to say something else; it was as clear as his midnight sky in Hosnia. You looked away, unable to hold his gaze a second longer. He let go of your throat and slipped his fingers out of your hair. Grasping your upper arm, he pulled you into him, a cradle you longed for but found yourself hating. In seconds, the air changed from alien to recognizable. Benumbed and silent, you slithered out of his embrace, shoving off his arms to flee.

This time, you were the one to walk away, leaving him standing in the throne room as befit a hollow statue.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

In honor of your new name is there a chance you could do something jercy related with this prompt?

I have fought wars, brought gods to their knees, leveled cities yet my greatest achievement was making you smile

Hello sweet Anon💖this prompt made me so very happy and I hope my little drabble satisfies your heart!

This is dark. Like maybe the darkest I've ever gone so:

TW: violence, death, torture. Please proceed with caution. 

That being said there is a little "We are each other’s and that is enough" fluff at the end so I hope you enjoy that!

Masterlist

Anyway please enjoy!

Percy swipes his hand across his pants, ridding himself of the blood dripping down his fingers. These unfortunate souls had been squealers and while he usually preferred the beggers, he was amused nonetheless. The dust finally settles and he can see the delightful destruction that surrounds him.

He's not sure he'll ever get tired of it. The bloodlust. The carnage. The deathly quiet that surrounds him after a battle. He slowly steps down from the concrete platform and picks his way over bodies and rubble. A soft rustle sounds from behind him and he freezes. Dead people don't move. Taking a deep breath, filling up his lungs, he turns around. His faces morphs into something wicked, sinful, evil.

"Hello," He smiles at the twitching hand, trailing it till he sees a face.

The person makes a strangled noise and he wants to laugh. Their face is distorted with pain, dust and debris like glitter in their hair and a broken leg, bone sticking out like a stake.

He hunches down till he can see their dark brown eyes and the little scar through their eyebrow. "You're in pain." It's not a question but they attempt to nod anyway.

He brushes the back of his hand across their cheeks and hides a grin at the hot tears.

"Please," They gasp, "Please help me."

He chuckles low and throaty, "Did I not do this to you?"

A sob wracks their body, "Please. I have a family. Friends who are counting on me."

He barks out a laugh and it sounds like crunching gravel in the quiet dusk.

"You don't understand. My girlfriend is waiting for me. My mom—" They break off wincing. He realizes at least one, if not two of their ribs are broken.

"We can do this quickly," He shrugs, "Or, my personal favourite, we can drag it out." He rolls the words over his tongue.

"Please. Have you no mercy?" They cry.

"I did once," He smiles, and it is the memories of war that make his green eyes glow. "But when you are given no mercy, you run out of any to give."

They whimper, lips trembling, head shaking as if their body is rejecting their fate.

"So," He grins, looks at the cotton candy sky. His husk of a heart clenches with longing. "Have you decided how you want to do this?"

"I think," A laughing voice from behind them says, "We should do it quickly so you and i can get out of here."

He freezes at that voice, those words. It can't be. He doesn't want to turn around in case it's not real. He doesn't want that disappointment.

"Not even a 'hello,' Jackson?"

Percy's entire body goes slack. And then he's whipping around and slamming straight into a hard warm body. "You're here." He chokes. He presses himself further into those hard plains, runs his fingers over expanding ribs. The smell of storms and life surrounds him and he wants to live in this embrace.

"Why are you here? I thought you were on the otherside of...."

Jason Grace pulls back to pin his lightning blue eyes on Percy, "I was done early. I wanted to see you."

"I missed you so much." He holds in the tears threatening to erupt.

"I missed you more." The blonde gives a soft smile, brushing his thumb across an angular jaw.

A strangled noise interrupts their moment and Percy decides that infernal human will die for it. Painfully. Before anyone can blink he is stepping out of Jason's embrace and standing over the dying body. He dances his fingers in the air and watches as their limbs bend. Their cries ring like music in his ears.

"I was going to let you go easily." He sighs, "But then you interrupted us." He cracks their arm in half and they scream so loud it rings in his head.

"Please!"

"Should have thought about this before distracting me from my love."

"PLEASE!"

He cracks another bone and let's the blood flow from the pierced skin in a wave. It is dark and rich and floats over their body like a maroon blanket of death.

"Percy," Jason breathes. And he looks over to see blue eyes as dark as sapphires, lust crackling like lightning in them.

"You are sick." He laughs and there is seduction wrapping around his throat.

"Please hurry up so we can go." The blonde's voice is nothing but whispers and temptation.

He turns back to his victim, "His wish is my command."

And with a grin that ruins light the Son of Poseidon slams the body into the earth and ends their long lasting suffering.

"Are you ready my love?"

Percy intertwines their fingers, skin the colour of earth and gold pressing into each other. "Take me to the stars Jase."

So Jason wraps his arms around him and pushes of the ground into the night sky.

They fly past the levelled village and the dying fires caused by raucous, terrified people. The Son of Jupiter sticks his hand out as they go over and the wind snuffs out the embers. The last light that proved a civilization once stood there. Percy feels no remorse. He doesn't owe anyone a reason for the destruction he inflicts. Because the world did not give him one when it destroyed him.

"I am here." The arm wrapped around him gives a reassuring squeeze.

"I know." He nuzzles into a golden neck.

"You got into your head again." He can hear the frown, the worry.

"How do you always know?" There is no-one else, no other being on earth that he loves more than Jason Grace. That he trusts more. No-one else he'd live for.

"I can feel your heart against mine." The blonde says, shrugging his shoulders.

"And how do you know it wasn't your heart?" He is teasing.

Jason answers seriously anyway, "Because when I am with you my heart beats as steadily as the rain." A smile blooms soft and true on his beautiful face.

Every nerve in Percy's body sets itself on fire. He is the unwavering granite of the earth, and the encompassing air, and the rush of water, and he is fire. "I have fought wars, brought gods to their knees, leveled cities yet my greatest achievement is making you smile."

The blonde doesn't say anything as they fly across the world, amongst the stars, to the moon. And then they're going down towards a little island. Before he can blink he is sinking into the sand. Jason releases him slightly so they're staring into each other. He cups his cheeks and presses their foreheads together.

"I love you Percy Jackson. I love your darkness. I love your eyes. I love your smile. And most importantly I love your heart."

Percy cannot breathe, cannot form words, doesn't know what language is. When he first became this monster the Son of Jupiter had reveled in his corruption, stared at him with awe, pulled him close and said "Show me again."

They had demolished worlds, had torn gods apart till the rivers were gold, had made symphonies out of screams but it was this, this softness that made him weak.

"You are my light in the darkness." The Son of Poseidon whispers.

And when their lips meet universes come alive. And shadows dance in the night.

[misc-headcanons]

Hello dear Misc tis I the angst king in your inbox~ I had an angst idea the other day where basically, you know the poofing system in Steven Universe when a gem's physical state is near death they retreat into their gems to regenerate? Well, I had the idea of maybe Doffy, Ace and Law reacting to their S/O get poofed (lets say bc of a df power) for the first time and they actually think they are gone for good. Its okay if you don't accept it I know its kinda weird lmao

(So for OP lore's sake, I'm gonna call their DF the Gem-Gem Fruit. When the user is damaged too much, they retreat into a gem shaped like their favorite fruit that's also their favorite color. Examples for reference:)

Doflamingo

Doffy would be more shocked than upset at first. One minute you're walking next to him through the royal gardens, and the next, he hears a gunshot go off. Before he realizes it, he hears you gasp sharply and in one instant, he no longer feels your hand. He can hear who fired the shot, frantically yelling to one of their collaborators that he was aiming for Doflamingo--and missed.

He doesn't even look down at where you were laying on the ground, immediately rushing to ensure your killers didn't escape. A vein on his forehead bulged and his typical smile was gone as he slowly and sadistically subdued the would-be assassins, using his String Fruit to manipulate their bodies into killing each other in a brutal fashion. They killed you. They killed YOU. A part of him wanted to be angered at you for dying to such nameless worthless lowlives, but...he never could stay mad at you.

When he stopped seeing red, he looked back at where you two had been standing and stared at the spot where your lifeless body should have been. There was something glittering in the sunlight, and he cautiously made his way towards it to examine it, holding it up by his Strings. It was...a fruit? A crystal fruit?

As he looked at it, he swore he saw your reflection inside of it. You were sleeping soundly, floating around in a little void as you curled up against yourself. He stared intently at the gem until he realized he wasn't hallucinating, and then slipped your gem into his coat pocket before making his way back to the castle.  Just to make sure he wasn't the only person who could see you in there, he slyly asked Jora if he could see something within the interesting "art piece" he'd found. When she said it looked like you were in there, he made his way to his bedchamber and set your gem on the center of his bed. He spent the rest of the day waiting for you to appear, not letting anyone else in the Family know about what had happened to you. 

When you finally reappeared, Doflamingo was sitting in his chair with a relieved (and slightly annoyed, because you hadn't told him about this ability) smile/smirk on his face and asked if you enjoyed your brief "rest".

Ace

You were always throwing yourself into the heat of battle alongside the Whitebeard pirates, insisting that you'd be fine no matter what happened to you. Even if you'd told Ace about your ability, he still wouldn't be prepared to see you seemingly die and then see your body vanish out of nowhere.

When that finally did happen after you took a sword through the chest that Ace had failed to notice a Marine that had tried to ambush him, Ace's heart stopped when he saw the blade sticking out of you. It didn't seem real. It couldn't be real. His eyes widened even more when you slumped forward slightly and then disappeared, startling the Marine and everyone else who was watching the battle. He heard the sound of something clattering to the ground and saw a crystal fruit laying where you had just been standing, and he immediately knew what it was even if he didn't know the specific details of your ability. He could just tell you were in there, somehow.

He drove the Marine who'd stabbed you and his nearby allies back with a wall of flames, scooped your gem off of the ground, and sprinted away from the battlefield to get you to safety. Even if you survived that sword through the chest, he had no idea if your gem could be broken...or what that could possibly do to you. 

Marco had seen Ace tearing away from the fight, and once he had dispatched the enemies he was fighting, he flew over to ask what had happened to you. Ace immediately placed your gem in Marco's hands and told him to get you back to the ship while he "took care" of the Marine who had stabbed you in a cowardly attempt to take him out from behind. Marco saw the look in Ace's eye and knew better than to try and convince him otherwise, and he flew back to the Moby Dick while carefully holding your gem to his chest. 

When the battle was over, the entire crew was clamoring to see if you were actually inside of a gem and were asking Marco and Ace dozens of questions (most of which they couldn't answer). Marco offered to keep your gem in the ship's clinic until you re-emerged, and Ace refused to leave the clinic for longer than a few minutes at a time until you were back. He noticed that if he squinted into the gem hard enough, he could make out an image of you fast asleep. When you finally did reappear, Ace was so happy to see you in the flesh again that he hugged you with tears in his eyes and refused to let go of you until he'd held you for at least five minutes. Even if you could survive things that would normally kill a person, he never wants you to get poofed again on his watch.

Law

Law's rarely ever panicked during a battle, outside of fighting Doflamingo when he knew how one-sided it would be until he teamed up with Luffy. But the moment he sees you get sent flying from a massive enemy's punch and then slam against a wall that crumbles from the impact, his only thoughts are to get to you. His normal sense of composure is completely gone, and he Shambles everyone near you as far away as possible while he desperately yells your name. Even if you already told him what your Devil Fruit does, and he knows that you likely aren't dead...he still just saw his s/o get hit with a devastating, fatal blow. The logical, rational part of him is thrown to the wayside for a moment and is replaced with a protective sense of fear and worry.

He's even more worried when he can't find a trace of you among the rubble. If he can't find you, he can't take care of your injuries, and if he can't take care of your injuries, he'd lose you and...shit, where are you!? He'd be Shambling away random piles of bricks while using his bare hands to throw the other ones aside until his hands were scratched and bloodied. When he finally comes across a strange crystal fruit, his eyes narrow; despite the destruction of the building, and looking so fragile, the gem was completely intact.

His breath hitched when he caught a glimpse of you inside, and he felt a small sense of relief. Your ability had protected you, you weren't dead...just…recovering? Reforming? The specifics of your Devil Fruit were a mystery to him. Once he got back to the Polar Tang, he'd want to try to see if he could detect any kind of vital signs from your gem while you were inside. 

He'd stay on the battlefield long enough to swiftly and coldly take out the large enemy who'd poofed you, and shortly after the lingering enemies would either be wise and retreat, or get killed by the Heart Pirates as they made their way back to the Tang. Law would immediately place your gem in the medbay, experimenting with different ways to observe your vital signs while you recovered: heartbeat monitors on the gem's surface, detecting changes in temperature from inside the gem, etc. The only thing that reliably showed anything was just looking into your gem to see you, but you weren't doing much--just floating peacefully with your eyes closed.

When you finally emerged from your gem, Law immediately sat you down onto the medical table so he could check you for any signs of injury or changes to your body now that you had reappeared. After that, he'd gently put a hand on your shoulder and try not to let on how worried he had been when he'd seen you get hurt. He never wants to experience that heart-sinking feeling from seeing you "die" any time soon.

[earthly--truth]

I want to do a comparison.

Ah, the fabled Palestinian people. The Palestinian people, who simply want "a better life." The Palestinian people, who, President George W. Bush has repeatedly informed us, "long for a society in which they can raise their children in peace and hope."

The Palestinian people, who support, fund and execute suicide bombings. The Palestinian people, who dress their toddlers in bomb belts and then take family snapshots. The Palestinian people, who cheered on September 11 as the World Trade Center towers fell. The Palestinian people, who followed terrorist extraordinaire Yasser Arafat, supported Saddam Hussein, shredded the blooming rose that was once Christian Lebanon, and almost toppled the Western-friendly Jordanian monarchy. The Palestinian people, who destroy relics on the Temple Mount, openly call for the destruction of the state of Israel, ally with Syria and Iran, and elect Hamas. The Palestinian people, who teach their children that the Holocaust is a fairy tale, and that Jews routinely poison Palestinian candy. The Palestinian people, who stage injuries in order to solicit Western media sympathy, and then roar madly as they hold up their hands, red with the blood of murdered Israeli soldiers.

The problem runs deeper than a few figureheads. The Palestinian Arab population is rotten to the core

The West has bribed them for decades, and the Palestinian Arabs have demonstrated their preference for suicide bombing over working toilets. Palestinian Arabs will not be moderated: Israel has ceded land continuously since 1993, and the Palestinian Arabs have demonstrated their preference for murder over peace. Palestinian Arabs must be fought on their own terms: as a people dedicated to an evil cause.

Ben Shapiro, The Radical Evil Of The Palestinian Arab Population (2007)

Now, let’s hear some other quotes from someone else. This is a shock comparison, but it’s important to talk about nonetheless.

“This criminal race has the two million dead of the (First) World War on their conscience, and now hundreds of thousands. Let no one say to me: we cannot send them into the mire. Who concerns themselves about our men? It is good if preceding us is the terror that we are exterminating the Jews. The attempt to found a Jewish state will fail.”

“In my speech before the Reichstag on the first of September 1939, I spoke of two matters: first, since we are forced into war, neither the threat of weapons nor a period of transition shall conquer us; second, if world Jewry launches another war in order to destroy the Aryan nations of Europe, it will not be the Aryan nations that will be destroyed, but the Jews...Once the Germans Jews laughed at my prophecy. I do not know whether they are still laughing, or whether they are laughing on the other side of their faces. I can simply repeat — they will stop laughing altogether, and I will fulfill my prophecy in this field too

“...Centuries will pass, but from the rubble of our city, our hatred of those who are to blame, international Jewry and its lackeys...I have made it clear that if they treat the nations of Europe as tools that may be bought and sold by these international swindlers for money and material support, then that race, the Jewish race, which is truly responsible for this murderous struggle, shall bear the consquences...Above all, I oblige the national leadership and its followers to observe the racial laws scrupulously and subject the poisoner of all nations — international Jewry — to merciless resistance.”

Adolf Hitler

I want to make something clear. Ben Shapiro is not Adolf Hitler, nor is what is happening to the Palestinians by Israel the same as what happened to the Jews by Nazi Germany. I also don’t want anyone to misconstrue what I’m saying to justify anti-semitism. What I want to highlight is that the rhetoric of racial supremacy is always the same. Notice how many similarities you can find between both. Whenever people want to justify an ethno-state, they will always fear-monger about the population that they are oppressing and forcibly removing (whether through violence or excising). They will convince their followers that the people they are “forced” to victimize are inherently evil, are the cause of many of world’s unspeakable horrors, and if they don’t remove those people from their society, then the people the supremacists want to uplift will be the ones victimized.

Ben Shapiro is not Adolf Hitler, and that should be what’s worrisome, because the supremacy Israel is partaking in has been so normalized that millions of people no where close to being as bad as Hitler (while still not very good people) are using similar rhetoric to justify what Israel is doing to the Palestinians.

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 24: House - Sinner Are We Chap.3:  The Home Of Broken Parts

Orrin sent a lot of time thinking and that could be both good and bad for those around him. One thing was for sure, even he knows the Gray-Phantom home was strange.

Orrin watches his father’s back as he walks away, out the hall doors. They had gotten into another minor brawl, not that that was uncommon in this family. Arguably it was a favourite past time for all of them. Not that his lummox of a brother was all that refined or skilled at it.

Speaking of that fool, Orrin steps back slightly to easily avoid a blast from him; spotting him glaring bloody murder at him. Orrin rolls his eyes, “are you really going to try that”.

Russet scowls at him and stalks over, “you’re supposed to stay out of the way”.

“I don’t listen to you”. Orrin sidesteps to avoid his brother’s claws, turning to follow Russet landing in a crouch, “I'm the alpha here. You’re just a little boy that prefers to hide in your room”.

Orrin rolls his eyes, easily bending out of the way of a lunge, “you tell yourself that”, sighing and stepping next to him, putting his hand to Russet’s chest, and promptly blasting him into the back wall, “and I’m more of the wanderlust type”. Turning and watching Russet pull himself out of the wall rubble, with the wall immediately repairing itself, and sighs.

Russet scowls and aggressively tosses off the little bits, snarling and clearly baring as much fang as he possibly can, “fuck you, Ori”, and stalks off with a huff. Orrin does catch the slight glance back with a hint of worry on his face though.

Orrin smirking, “fuck you too, Rusty”, quiet enough that one of the living absolutely wouldn’t have heard him. He gets it, Russet was a blowhard that felt he deserved to be the king of the roost; who just got upstaged by someone he thought didn’t give a damn. Shaking his head and turning to look up at Dove, who’s floating upside down and fiddling with the white lace frill of her baby blue dress. Crossing his arms loosely, he has a feeling she didn’t notice the animosity between her brothers. Sure they didn’t hate each other but neither would lose sleep over the other's demise; and neither have damn if the other was at home at the time or not.

But Dove... she was something strange and unfamiliar to him. Yes, he had understood from a young age and his many travels, that their family dynamic was all kinds of unusual. That most of the living and dead were far kinder and gentler than the rest of his family. Or him for that matter. That was perfectly fine with him. And other people and families were protective and supportive in a way his wasn’t, from what he had observed anyway. That’s not to say his wasn’t, his father was probably the most protective being on the planet in all honesty. His brother would have gotten himself destroyed by now otherwise. Not that Russet ever seemed to appreciate it, and not that father gave a shit if his actions were appreciated or not.

Father was quite content to protect them, destructive methods or not. While mother was much more of the ‘protect your damn self’ type. She was very big on them being as capable as possible from day one, and he knew more methods of torture than he really knew what to do with. Mother was a fighter, father was more of a scarer. Encouraging him and his brother to be more creative and dramatic about pretty well everything. Mother always gave him that weird fond look that used to make Russet gag when father was being over-dramatic.

The only dramatic bone Russet had in his body was overblowing his own power and throwing fits like an entitled brat. He also couldn’t build a weapon to save his half-life. But he had tank throwing down to an art and a knack for blowing shit up. While Orrin himself was more dramatic in the confident sense and always being the ‘beau of the ball’ in any room. He knew he could come off as quite snobbish, but he was better than the vast majority of people. And if someone had a problem with that then he’s got no problem force-feeding them an ecto-light or tripping them down a well. See he had creativity, panache; Russet was just a brute. A brute that was more mediocre strength-wise. Which was just a bit sad in his opinion. Sad in a pathetic way, not in a ‘he feels bad for him’ way. Russet has been a real bastard growing up after all. Russet never blooming into power was just him getting his comupins.

Moving his hands to motion Dove to float down to him, her sitting on his forearm. The problem he can already see with her is that she just felt gentle. And kind. Not powerful, or sneaky, or dramatic, or aggressive. She felt like the opposite in fact; which was odd in this household. Yes, she was young, newly born/formed, but even him and Russet had a feeling of danger to them from day one. Russet’s first word had been to scream ‘DIE!’ while incinerating his food according to mother. And he had always been a teeth-barer who liked fire and anything that went boom way too much. Orrin had been blown up more than a few times in his youth because of that bastard. Didn’t help that mother encouraged them both to play with weapons, bombs included. And their father had literal fire for hair and a tendency to set anything around his feet on fire. If he was somewhere recently you would know it, because there’d be foot-shaped scorch marks.

As for himself? Father said his first word, or phrase really, had been to tell Russet to ‘fuck off’ before shoving Russet over via a foot to the face. Father had apparently laughed so hard he tipped the chair over. And while the larger world viewed Russet as the ‘demon child’ all the servants of the Keep gave that title to Orrin. Mother had a collection of photos of all the times he’s scared the crap out of someone simply by being somewhere they didn’t expect. He hardly thinks it’s his fault that curling up in cupboards, cabinets, and other assorted small areas, was comfortable. It was certainly a plus that seeing that look of abject terror and shock flash over someone’s face was rather enjoyable. So what if he may have given one of the mortal servants a heart attack or two. Their fault for being weak.

Shaking his head slightly and floating off to Dove’s room, her staying tucked in his arm and grabbing his frock coat; his parents might be all over that skintight bodysuit style, but he could do without it. At least that one ghost had been nice enough to explain the best use of glamour to him. And by ‘nice’ he means suddenly very agreeable under threat of some very creative knife play. So now he could accentuate the vertically half black, half white t-shirt/shorts bodysuit he was born with. The frock coat, top hat, and cane were his general go to. Never underestimate the usefulness of a cane for knocking out people's feet or snagging some ghosts tail. The white gloves and thigh-high black heels he was also born with worked quite well he thinks. Having a leaner body than mother certainly helped. And it was very amusing that the borderline-stiletto heels confused father. As was the absolute chaos his ocean blue eyes caused. Since apparently father had neglected to tell mother that she knew him as a human. She had blown half the Keep to smithereens over that; which brother had giddily helped with.

Walking into Dove’s room and eyeing the pink-tinted white walls and plushies all around. The Keep had formed her a very different room than the rest of the family. It was incredibly foreign to him... and incredibly interesting. It said a lot though, watching her float off and scrunch up the down-feather comforter over her mouth. A teddy-bear -which is apparently something children normally had- falling off the bed, only being stopped from hitting the ground via Dove’s telekinesis; her floating it over to her and patting its head.

Him walking over, “why did you do that. It’s not like it can get hurt or even care”, and Gray-Phantom’s didn’t care if something outside of their family got hurt in the slightest. She predictably just hums at him, changing to her ghost-form seemingly purely to coil her ghostly tail around the plushie. Orrin’s not sure she’s ever actually spoken.

Shaking his head and sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her. Dove was the sweetest little thing he had ever seen. Wavy soft gray hair nearly twice her small body’s length and eyes the colour of pure amber. Pale skin so easily burned by the sun, while he and his brother were of a darker tone. She touched everything like it was the most breakable thing in the world, she was a gentle soul, and looked at everything like it was made of sparkles.

Their parents would destroy her. A Gray-Phantom wasn’t soft, gentle, or breakable; and that’s all Orrin could see in Dove.

Even her ghost forms outfit felt that way, it was reminiscent of a spandex ballerina, all white with little sparkling black stars dangling off the rim of the skirt and long flowing arm-sleeves; little black shoes and black spandex over her fingers topping it off. Father liked the stars, not that he said that, but if it weren’t for her being black and white like the rest of the family then their parents would likely have questioned if she really was theirs.

With him it wasn’t even a question if they were his parents. And Russet had their father’s bulk plus the more angular appearance to his military-esque jumpsuit. At this point people probably though the white machine guns he carries strapped around his hips were actually attached to him. Same with the military cap he wore over his shaggy black hair. Orrin gets a bit of a kick out of himself being the only one to get father’s fire hair. Even if his flames were a dark red. Which yes, was absolutely blamed on mother. Father had teased her for weeks about probably having red hair when she finally keeled over.

Sighing at the sound of an explosion. Russet was probably picking fights. Or just aimlessly blowing shit up like a rabid mutt. Russet absolutely had mother's tendency to hold grudges and overreact to the slightest slight. Dove looking up to the ceiling and tilting her head, like she didn’t understand the sound. At least she had their parents’ seeming fearlessness. Nothing seemed to startle or scare her. Even him and Russet had the sense to be somewhat cautious of new things that clearly had the potential of danger. Not that Russet would admit to that, or possibly even knew he actually did that. Dove was gentle and soft, never cautious.

Orrin seriously wonders how breakable she is, how strong she is. Mother and the FrightKnight already didn’t know what to do with her. She wouldn’t swing a sword hard enough to even give a piece of paper a paper cut. Her dainty fingers had a lot of promise for putting things together, for intricacy. But the little pistol she had put together at mothers prompting had fired flower petals somehow. Which yes, he had gotten her to use to fill Russet’s bed with flower petals. He was pissed. And in typical fashion tried to blow the both of them up. Which Dove had just stood there and took, giggled slightly even. Before pouting over there being ash on her dress. Mother teased father over her having his dodging skills. Which was fair, father’s dodging was practically non-existent even to this day. Though he could see that mother was actually just slightly concerned. The only ghosts -or halfas for that matter- that could get away without ever dodging were ones like father. And their parents' way of teaching dodging or fighting was just to get hit and shit kicked till you learned better.

Little Dove couldn’t handle that, he’s sure of that. She was good and kind and sweet. Which was strange and he was curious to see what would become of that. He also just didn’t want to see that sullied and stripped away. He didn’t want to see her become their mother. He was aware of what his parents used to be. Heroes. Which was also strange. But enough ghosts and even mortals had told of it or pointed out footage that it was undeniable. So he can’t help but wonder if Dove was a return to that. That the good that was destroyed in them rebuilt itself in her. It would explain a lot. And honestly? Orrin was well aware that their parents were not remotely good people. Evil and villainous really. Russet was just as bad, and Orrin himself was hardly better. He was more immoral and vaguely bad, rather than downright evil. Which was perfectly fine with him and the family. Dove seemed to be trotting right into the innocent sweetheart do-gooder territory though, and a family like this was bound to crush that into dust. The fact that their parents were once the good guys wouldn’t help. They knew the tricks and ways, and they knew how to break a ‘good guy’ and teach them anarchy at the very least, downright world-destroying merciless villainy at worst.

So what was he to do? He could stand back and watch things play out; he’s not too fond of that option. And a Gray-Phantom, a prince, doesn’t do things they don’t want to. And he wasn’t lying when he referred to himself as one of wanderlust, he could arguably take her away from here. Sure father could sense where any ghost, or half-ghost, was, but Orrin had made himself exceptionally skilled at glamours. If he didn’t want to be found, then he wasn’t going to be. It wouldn’t take much to get a small space amongst the living, sixteen or not he could seem older if he wanted; he could look as old as father if he wanted, older even. Age-morphing was an incredibly enjoyable power to have. Of course if he went that route then they would really be on their own, not that that was an issue to him or even out of the ordinary. And living arrangements wise it would be quite the downgrade. The living didn’t have partially nice living arrangements. Houses getting blown up or suffering some other form of destruction didn’t particularly encourage the living to build them well or fancy. Dove might mind that, or she might not care at all.

And living with mortals posed its own inherent issues, they weren’t ‘one of them’ and the living could be quite perceptive to that. If you acted like them then you could generally be fine, but he could only fake it so much and couldn’t really relate. Dove wouldn’t even know to fake it or hide her halfa status. Which if they did get found out that could be a problem, not to mention a blow to his ego. Both the living and dead weren’t entirely fond of the Gray-Phantom’s. Which he finds logical, they were dangerous threats who ruled through fear and destruction. If the mortals and ghosts could destroy or dethrone them, then they probably would; and likely without hesitation. And even if they could only destroy or harm Dove, they’d see that as a blow to the high royal family; which it would be. Sure, no ghost would with him around. Making an example of those troll giants served its purpose fabulously. Mortals, however, where much more willing to sacrifice their life for the supposed good of others. Martyrdom and self-sacrifice was quite romanticised by the living after all. Ghosts valued power, mortals valued community. Ah the differences between the strong and the weak.

But what really interests him with this idea was what will become of Dove and society should she make it to adulthood with her pure heart intact. What kind of change could that bring about. Would the living flock to her as some sort of symbol of hope. As the good princess that could reform the king and queen. Or perhaps usurp them. Would the dead see her as a chance for the Ghost Realm to flourish without all the constant destruction or ‘living’ in fear. Or would the two realms tear her to shreds in repentance for her lineage.

Regardless of his ponderings, if he wants to see this through he’ll need some sort of name. After all, him and his brother had their own titles. The Shadow Prince and The Poisoned Thorn Prince. Looking her over, watching her play with the legs of the plush animal, shimmer glittering in her wide amber eyes and smiling faintly. He finds himself breaking out into a grin.

The Golden Princess.

That would work splendidly.

[veroxin-a]

ohh   god   the   brain   muscles   go   brrrr   here’s   50   headcanons   @bnharpchub     /     u   got   me   to   do   this   so   u   get   tagged   too   :knife:  @symbol-of-terror​

1.       daiten   knows   japanese   and   english,         and   knows   some   russian.         however,         learning   too   many   languages   can   be   confusing   due   to   the   language   she   was   taught   as   a   child       -------       a   mix   of   multiple   languages   meant   to   create   a   language   barrier   between   the   people   in   a   cult   and   regular   denizens.

2.       while   daiten   doesn’t   know   much   of   anything   else   regarding   biology,         daiten   was   taught   some   and   still   studies   cardiovascular   and   the   muscular   system,     ��   as   well   as   knowing   an   equivalent   of   what   a   training   EMT   would   know.

3.       daiten   usually   pulls   one   or   two   fingers   back   towards   her   palm   when   she   holds   something,         but   she   stopped   this   when   she   chose   to   hide   her   quirk   and   switched   to   only   controlling   her   quirk   through   her   quirk.         because   of   this,         her   hands   are   pretty   cold   the   majority   of   the   time.

4.       something   alike   to   the   last   regarding   to   control,         daitens   main   support   items   are   a   bandage   like   material   that   goes   over   areas   with   arteries         (      not   all   of   them,         just   a   few      )         to   ensure   that   no   one   dies   if   a   civilian   panics   and   grabs   her.         the   material   doesn’t   constrict   her   movements.

5.       daiten   eats   alot   and   tends   to   eat   healthily.         she   takes  vitamins   and   quirk   nullification   drugs   even,         because   her   quirk   often   doesn’t   allow   her   body   to   absorb   nutrience   properly.

6.       she’s   been   taken   care   of   by   her   foster   father   since   she   was   ten   years   old.         she   doesn’t   call   him   dad   often   and   calls   him   by   his   name   or   his   nickname.

7.       daiten   has   a   hard   time   getting   close   to   people   and   tended   to   avoid   it.

8.       she   likes   the   smell   of   gingerbread   and   honey.

9.       daiten   prefers   more   dull   colors   like   greys,      browns   and   blacks.         bright   colors   tend   to   make   her   eyes   hurt.

10.       daiten   excels   at   science   and   hero   studies   but   is   terrible   at   math   and   home   ec.

11.       she’d   be   interested   in   baking   down   the   line,         but   daiten   doesn’t   know   how   to   cook.

12.       everything   she   touches   naturally   warps   out   of   shape   after   a   while   as   it   slowly   rots,         especially   day   to   day   items   like   pens   or   toothbrushes.

13.       have   a   secret      ?         tell   daiten.         unless   you   murdered   someone   or   put   people   at   risk,         she’ll   take   it   to   her   grave.

14.       her   trust   is   hard   to   earn   and   easy   to   lose.

15.       daiten   is   like   hawks.         willing   to   make   the   harder   decision   by   killing   a   villain   if   necessary.

16.       daiten   is   physically   strong   and   fast   on   her   feet.         she’s   able   to   make   due   without   using   her   quirk   in   a   fight.

17.       daitens   quirk   causes   alot   of   chronic   pain   that’s   hard   to   deal   with   sometimes.

18.       she   was   in   the   house   when   tenko   destroyed   it.         she   avoided   being   crushed   by   the   rubble   because   of   the   crib   she   was   in   but   she   had   a   open   triangle   shaped   scar   on   her   side   that’s   mostly   faded.

19.       daiten   has   a   quirkless   cousin   from   her   mothers   side   that   she   has   no   idea   about.         he’s   nine      !

20.       daiten   was   close   to   a   year   old   when   the   shimura   incident   happened.

21.       she   had   a   tendency   to   call   tenko   koko   when   she   was   younger.         the   nickname   was   one   of   her   first   babbled   words

22.       daiten   has   c-ptsd.

23.       daitens   blood   isn’t   the   only   thing   that’s   destructive.         every   single   cell   in   her   body   is   destructive   in   some   way.

24.       her   room   is   extremely   clean   to   the   point   where   it   doesn’t   look   like   anyone   other   than   a   quiet   guest   stays   there.

25.       she   has   destructive   intrusive   thoughts   not   only   caused   by   her   ptsd   but   also   because   of   her   quirk.         she   wonders   why   she   shouldn’t   make   people   bleed   and   rot   or   make   entire   cities   collapse   and   she   hates   it.

26.       daiten   has   both   a   rational   and   irrational   fear   of   being   like   her   biological   relatives       -------       shigaraki   is   shigaraki   but   nana   is   dead   and   she   thinks   that   she   would   be   strong   enough   to   abandon   the   people   closest   to   her   if   it   would   keep   them   safe   but   she   doesn’t   want   to   die.

27.       that   said,         daiten   feels   little   connection   to   her   biological   family   because   she   doesn’t   remember   them.         a   little   connection   is   felt   towards   shigaraki   because   of   their   quirks   but   she   wants   him   dead   or   arrested.

28.       daiten   was   meant   to   be   a   media   stunt   for   the   commission,         which   was   made   even   better   for   them   when   it   turned   out   that   daiten   was   related   to   shigaraki.         hero   commission   rehabilitates   cult   victim   related   to   shigaraki   tomura.

29.       she   likes   the   cold.

30.       she   has   alot   of   scars   on   her   hands   and   arms   from   her   quirk   and   more.

31.       she   fights   dirty   to   get   a   fight   over   more   quickly.

32.       daiten   tends   to   pick   out   the   weaker   students   and   make   them   train,         she   worries   and   is   paranoid   about   their   deaths   which   is   why   she   only   tries   to   become   friends   with   the   strong.

33.       she   doesn’t   need   to   move   to   guide   the   mist   but   sometimes   she   does   in   just   movements   with   her   hands.

34.       her   blood   cannot   be   controlled   outside   of   her   body   due   to   mist   being   created   by   cells   rotting   apart   and   becoming   lighter.       it   being   in   its   solid   form   makes   it   too   heavy   to   control   outside   of   her   body.

35.       daitens   handwriting   isn’t   the   neatest   as   she   writes   quickly.

36.       she   has   a   big   fear   of   fire   and   needles.

37.       daitens   quirk   acts   as   her   immune   system      !         she   can’t   get   sick   that   easily.         but   it   also   means   that   if   she’s   without   her   quirk   for   an   extended   period   of   time   she’s   fucked.

38.       she   likes   lilo   and   stitch    !         titch   is   her   favorite   character.

39.       she   likes   sharks   too.         those   big   shark   plushies       ?         she   has   one   of   those.

40.      daiten   is   protective   of   kids   and   is   good   with   them   but   she   especially   is   protective   of   eri.         being   that   anno   is   still   running   and   is   an   organization   for   helping    people   with   troubling   quirks   despite   them   being   a   literal   cult,         she   fears   that   they’ll   hurt   eri   even   more.

41.       dai   still   has   chronic   migraines   caused   by   her   fight   with   hanae.

42.       she   likes   collecting   small   things   just   to   keep   or   to   break   and   destroy   them,         like   those   glass   marbles   from   those   japanese   soda   bottles.

43.       daiten   takes   really   good   care   of   herself   but   that   doesn’t   stop   her   quirk   from   drying   out   her   skin   and   making   it   crack   easily.

44.       daitens   internship   was   with   vlad   king   but   she   was   planning   on   being   in   an   internship   with   midnight   after   the   war   arc   since   midnight   was   another   mentor   of   hers   that   gave   her   advice   and   helped   her   with   quirk   control.         but   then   u   know   what   happens.

45.       her   ears   are   pierced      !         she   usually   only   uses   earrings   for   her   industrial   and   mid   helix   piercings   though

46.       she’s   generally   touch   starved   but   also   doesn’t   like   being   touched.        

47.       daiten   has   a   hard   time   considering   her   well   being   in   decisions   and   that   is   where   her   impulsivity   can   become   so   dangerous.         she’s   hurt      ?          doesn’t   matter,         her   regeneration   factor   will   take   care   of   it.

48.       she   never   was   able   to   go   to   an   actual   public   school   and   was   isolated,         trained   and   homeschooled.

49.       she   tries   to   fall   asleep   early,         like   at   8pm   to   help   with   if   she   can’t   fall   asleep   and   if   she   ends   up   staring   up   at   the   ceiling   for   a   few   hours.         she’ll   be   less   tired   in   the   morning.

50.       she   wakes   up   early   in   the   morning   though   if   she   can,         and   sticks   to   a   schedule       --------       she   likes   taking   a   walk   in   the   morning   before   class