#he made it even further than the joker

[holybagelsstuff]

It just occurred to me today, why is Scarecrow still alive after the events of Batman Begins? Wasn't he literally poisoned by his own toxin?

[notmoreflippingelves]

Actually going insane over the implications of Jason asking Dick to be the Robin to his Batman in Battle for the Cowl.

Like I initially took it at the purely surface-level of Jason wanting a partner in the general sense. Which made sense, it's a huge responsibility and a lonely one so an assistant/sidekick/partner seems a no-brainer if you can get one.

But then I really thought about it, because Jason is not asking Dick to be his partner in the general sense; he's not even asking Dick to be his Nightwing. He's asking Dick to be his Robin.

And they both know exactly what Jason means: "Be the light to my darkness. Be the smile to my scowl. Be the hope to my fear. "

He's saying "Be 'Robin'; be the embodiment of Love and Justice and Goodness. Be the exceptional person that you have always been. Be the slightly-less exceptional person that I was when I wore your colors. Be the person that I was in the process of becoming and might have been (or might still be), if only Joker hadn't clipped my wings."

He's saying "I am prepared to become vengeance, become the Night. And I will go further than Bruce ever dared to, because it is what is needed. I will be the necessary evil. But you don't have to be. If Batman is Gotham's curse, Robin has always been its blessing. I will be the brutal punishment to our world, and I am asking you to be its incandescent gift."

He's saying, "Be for me, what we were for Him. Be my anchor, my comfort, my hope. Remind me what it's all for, why it's all worth it. And remind yourself as well."

He's saying "Be 'Robin' again--for both of our sakes."

[anyca786]

Press Conference

Platonic!Marvel cast (Chris Evans, Sebastian Stan, Benedict Cumberbatch, Anthony Mackie, Tom Hiddleston) x actress!reader

Summary: When a notorious press member became too personal,your marvel family stood up for you.

The flashbulbs exploded in synchronized bursts as you entered the Endgame press conference, the air thick with anticipation. You, the newest member of the MCU family, were the talk of the town, and tonight, all eyes were on you.

The lights dimmed, a hush fell over the packed auditorium. All eyes swivelled towards the entrance as the press conference host boomed, "Let's give a warm welcome to Y/N L/N, our newest addition to the Marvel Cinematic Universe!"

Chris Evans, seated beside Benedict Cumberbatch, couldn't help but steal a glance, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Sebastian Stan, across from him, mirrored the sentiment, his gaze lingering a beat longer. Tom Hiddleston, ever the gentleman, offered a small, knowing nod, while Anthony Mackie, your on-screen partner, winked playfully, muttering, "Ready to steal the show, Y/N?"

After introductions and greetings, everyone settled into their assigned sofas, you positioned amongst the Avengers heartthrobs. The press conference began, questions flying thick and fast, your name met with excited murmurs and camera clicks.

You settled onto your designated sofa, a nervous flutter in your stomach. But as the press conference began, you found your rhythm, your wit and intelligence shining through your responses. Your laughter filled the room, captivating not just the audience, but also the men around you.

Their gazes, once discreet, became bolder. Chris leaned in, his smile widening with every insightful point you made. Benedict chuckled at your witty retort, his eyes sparkling with appreciation. Sebastian's lips twitched, and Tom offered a thumbs-up, his smile tinged with a hint of something deeper. Even Anthony, usually the joker, seemed captivated, his gaze lingering on you with newfound respect.

Then, the atmosphere shifted. A reporter, notorious for his inappropriate remarks, directed his attention solely at you, his motives seemingly more personal than professional, began peppering you with flirtatious questions, his gaze lingering a little too long on your figure. The room grew tense, and you could sense a change in your fellow MCU stars. Chris's normally relaxed posture stiffened, his jaw clenching imperceptibly. Sebastian's smile vanished, replaced by a steely glint in his eyes. Tom, even Tom, seemed to radiate a cool disapproval.

"Y/N," the reporter drawled, his voice dripping with insincerity, "you're absolutely captivating. Tell us, does playing alongside such handsome co-stars come with any perks?"

Benedict leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper, "You don't have to answer that, Y/N. He doesn't deserve your attention." His words, laced with a quiet intensity, sent a wave of gratitude through you.

You gave him a polite smile, your response witty and deflecting. But you saw Chris clench his jaw, and Sebastian crossed his arms, a scowl forming. You appreciated their silent show of support, focusing on the next question.

However, the reporter persisted. "Come on," he pressed, "surely there's some juicy behind-the-scenes romance brewing..."

Before you could even formulate a reply, a chorus of voices interrupted.

Suddenly, Chris interrupted, his jaw clenched, stood up, his voice low and dangerous. "Excuse me, but your line of questioning is overstepping boundaries."

Anthony, equally protective, rose, his voice booming, "Show some respect, man!"

Benedict, ever the diplomat, interjected, "Let's keep things professional, shall we?"

Sebastian, his eyes narrowed, added, "We won't tolerate any further disrespect towards Y/N."

Tom, ever eloquent, finished the thought, "Her talent speaks for itself, no need for cheap tactics."

The reporter, flustered and intimidated, stammered an apology, slinking back in his seat. You sat there, speechless, the warmth of their protectiveness washing over you.

The press conference continued, but the mood had changed. The air buzzed with a new energy, a silent understanding between you and the men around you. You were no longer just the newest star; you were their colleague, their friend, and they would fiercely protect your place in their universe.

Later, after the formalities were over, Chris approached you, a sheepish grin on his face. "Sorry about that," he muttered, "we don't take kindly to anyone disrespecting our team."

You smiled, touched by their protectiveness. "It means a lot," you admitted, "having you all have my back."

A comfortable silence settled between you, before Chris chuckled. "Besides," he winked, "who wouldn't stand up for someone as brilliant and beautiful as you?"

Your cheeks flushed, and you laughed, the warmth in Chris's eyes making your heart skip a beat. Maybe being an Avenger wasn't just about saving the world, but also finding a new kind of family, one that protected you not just from villains, but also from inappropriate reporters and perhaps, even budding feelings.

And as you looked around at the smiling faces of your co-stars, you knew you wouldn't trade this experience for anything, even if it meant facing a few intrusive questions along the way. After all, who wouldn't want to be protected by Earth's Mightiest Heroes, both on and off screen?

Please suggest anything related to marvel characters, cast or actors. I'm very new to this, I just started yesterday *cries*

[aalghul]

damian is clearly biased in his misinterpretation of jason in boy wonder

damian's interpretation is supported by the story itself; it is clear that you are not meant to take it as a misinterpretation. the hostage narrator (who isn't damian) establishes dick, jason and tim as being nice, angry and reckless, and smart (respectively) in the first issue. nothing is done from then on to either challenge or add depth to any of these.

ignoring both damian and that narrator, even the story itself proves the mindless "nice robin, angry robin, smart robin" categorization. dick's issue even goes so far as to misconstrue his conflict with bruce when he was 18 as being, essentially, "dick wanted bruce to be nicer". jason's status as the reckless robin is reinforced when the comic spells out for the readers that jason (and damian) need batman to supervise them, otherwise they will not think anything through and instead attack like animals. jason's recklessness could not be made clearer by the writer.

this ends with jason hallucinating the joker (surprise, surprise) and then he just starts randomly shooting (which is something he is prone to do when the joker is involved, apparently. under the red hood and lost days, and all of jason's deliberation and planning regarding the joker, must have just been mass hallucinations that all of us had) and damian ends up shot. once again, jason hurts an innocent person because another writer doesn't have the reasoning skills to come up with a logical argument against jason using guns/killing, so they need to create a specific instance (which would be unlikely to happen were he written in character) in order to counteract his entire methodology.

rather than challenging the characterization of jason where anger is most structurally vital to his actions, the story repeatedly defends it. to the point where jason himself brings up the anger instead of anything else. the writer goes a step further and has jason's anger blind him enough to kill the murderers of a victim who did not want jason to avenge him in blood. jason is himself motivated by the perspective of a victim who wants to choose what is done to avenge him, it's senseless to have him ignore the wishes without any internal conflict.

the ending of this issue is literally damian telling jason that jason is the only person standing between himself and reconciliation with bruce. this implication existed in the beginning of the issue as well, with the narrator claiming that jason's gripe with the joker being alive was pointless because the joker's locked up, regardless of the fact that jason first found out joker was still alive when he saw that joker had escaped and hurt people again.

so. there is no misinterpretation. you're supposed to nod along and agree. jason is angry and reckless, and he ends the issue ruminating on the thought that he should made amends with bruce, who has been freed from any responsibility by this point.

[thesightstoshowyou]

No Questions Asked

Ledger!Joker x F Reader

- Chapter One -

Summary: A house call puts you in the path of Gotham’s newest menace.

Warnings: Gunshot wounds, blood, descriptions of medical procedures and medical “torture,” reader is described as having longer hair because I was gripped with insanity and had to write that scene, swearing.

[A/N: This is a bit different than what I usually write! Stepping out of my comfort zone, I guess. Let me know how I did!]

The sidewalk simmers, heat rising off pavement. A weak breeze billows through the street, bringing with it the stench of refuse and exhaust. Gotham in the summer smells like literal hot garbage.

Paradise.

Your nose wrinkles and you tug your hat further down on your forehead to shield your eyes from the sun. Towering buildings offer shade, but thousands of windows reflect the glare of that accursed star at just the right angle to blind unsuspecting passerby. Even the skyscrapers here mean harm.

You weave through the crowd, calves burning with your quick, deliberate steps. The strap of your bag digs into your shoulder and sweat gathers beneath it until your shirt adheres to your skin. The relative cool of the alley you enter would be a relief if you weren’t already so sticky.

The door is unassuming; metal, distressed, a little rusted at the corners like all the others nearby save for the rectangular peep hole at eye level. You knock twice, two sharp raps in quick succession. Almost immediately, the shutter over the peep hole slides open with a clang.

You raise your chin in greeting to the pair of eyes that inspect you through the opening. Slam goes the shutter. The muted click of locks opening reaches your ears before the hinges squeal as the door is tossed open.

You don’t wait for permission from the burly man behind the door. Instead, you cross the threshold and descend the worn stairs two at a time. An annoyed sigh leaves your lips when the stuffy basement air presses into your already overheated skin. You’d think these rich assholes could at least afford some a/c.

Rossi meets you in the doorway. His uneasy expression immediately sets you on edge and you worry the urgency of the situation had not been properly conveyed over the phone. He gives you a look before you step into the room, a glance that says, ‘Don’t ask questions.’

He must think you’re an idiot. You could not have made it in this job for as long as you have by allowing your curiosity to speak for you.

It immediately becomes apparent what Rossi meant when you enter. The low ceiling is dotted here and there with aging, incandescent bulbs that bathe the room in sickly yellow. At the center of the room is a round, makeshift “conference” table littered with bloody paper towels and rags.

A few goons you don’t recognize hover uselessly around another slumped in a fold out chair, the reason you’d been called here on such short notice. He’s vaguely familiar, a distant relative of Maroni’s—Ronny Something. He’s clammy and pale, his scarlet coated fingers pressed limply to the wound in his shoulder.

However, what draws your attention and raises your hackles is the man seated in the corner atop an overturned box. His legs are spread wide and he hunches over them, elbows resting on his knees, fingers clad in purple leather and absently fiddling with a pocket knife. Dark green hair hangs like oily curtains next to a grease-painted face. Stained mostly white with blacked out eyes and a curling red grin, it’s apparently supposed to be a crude imitation of a clown. Above him, the light bulb flickers, throwing him in and out of shadow, but you can still make out the sharp eyes trained directly on you.

You don’t ask. Never do. That rule had been made abundantly clear. Instead you stride across the room and shoo the henchmen aside. Bending at the waist, you pull Ronny’s hand away from his shoulder and click your tongue as blood gushes from two distinct bullet holes.

“I was told these were grazes,” you start as you straighten to shoot a glare at Rossi. “There’s at least two slugs still in there. I’m gonna have to call the doc. He needs anesthetic and blood and other shit to keep him from going into shock. I don’t have the tools—

“Do it,” dares a sing-song voice. Startled, you turn to face the man in the corner. He’s smiling now, yellow teeth peeking between red, his upturned cheeks pockmarked and twisted. You realize the paint covers thick scars that stretch away from his lips like a macabre extension of his grin. The intensity in his gaze is difficult to hold so you don’t, instead glancing at Rossi, the unspoken question of, ‘Who the fuck does this weirdo think he is?’ written all over your face.

“No, no, no, no don’t look at him. Look at me.” Even with the weird, warbled inflection of his voice, there’s authority in his tone and an unspoken threat should you disobey. Brows knitting into a frown, you do as you’re told, and your head twists back to meet the eyes of the clown in the corner. The air in the room is thick and heavy and it’s no longer because of the heat. You can barely even hear the other men breathe.

“I’m a nurse. I don’t have the expertise necessary to perform surgery.” Not entirely accurate these days, but he doesn’t need to know that. “He could die, and then my head would wind up on a plate.”

“I like your head…where it’s at.” His own head shakes a little with his words and a pink tongue darts out to swipe across painted lips. Finally, he stands. Pinching the knife between thumb and forefinger, he slips the blade into an inside pocket. Gripping the lapels of his purple jacket, he gives them an exaggerated shake. His movements are erratic and cartoonish and you can’t stop your nervous little backwards half-step.

‘Who the hell are you?’ The question sits poised on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t let it free. Instead, you grit your teeth as the…man saunters over to Ronny and claps a hand on his uninjured shoulder. The movement jars Ronny enough to pull a pained cry from his mouth.

“Little, uh-“ the clown snaps his fingers like he’s trying to remember something, then makes a grabbing motion like he’s pulling the information out of the air, “Ronny here has faith in your skills. Don’t you, Ronny?”

Weak, but hasty, Ronny nods as though he’s trying to placate the other man. In response, the clown spreads his arms, palm up, eyebrows raised as if to say, ‘See? Told ya’ so.’ Voice a deep growl, he sweeps one arm in front of him and says, “The floor is yours.”

None of the men speak up. There’s no protest, not even a scoff. The only sounds are the flickering bulb and Ronny’s haggard gasps.

You don’t glance over your shoulder at Rossi. It is clear to you now that there has been some sort of shift in power and this clown…this man is in now in charge. And questioning orders is definitely not in your job description.

“Well, that’s fuckin’ great,” you sigh. The man chuckles, high and airy. “Get him on the table,” you snap at the two goons hovering nearby. After a second of hesitation, they quickly comply and hoist a blubbering Ronny onto the dirty tabletop until he’s flat on his back, his legs dangling.

Heart rate pulsing in your ears, you whip off your ball cap and toss it away. Hurriedly, you gather your locks into a messy bun before tossing your bag onto the table next to poor Ronny’s shivering form. The zipper is so loud in the tense silence, the rustle of bandages and the clink of instruments a cacophony. Unfortunately, there’s no sink to be found, so you settle for hand sanitizer.

“You’re gonna be okay, Ronny,” you tell the man staring up at you as you snap on a pair of gloves. Fear and pain twist his expression and you can tell he wants to protest, but won’t dare. It makes you wonder what the man in the makeup is capable of to inspire such fear in hardened criminals.

Scissors make short work of the bloodied shirt. With gauze and sterile water, you clean away dried gore so you can properly inspect the wounds. You note one graze along the bicep, a bullet buried in the deltoid, and another lodged just under the clavicle.

“If there’s any nerve or artery or organ or bone damage, I won’t be able to repair it. He needs actual surgery.” You shoot a withering look at the clown who makes a show of sucking in air through his teeth as though he’s concerned. You don’t miss the grin tugging at his scarred lips. “I can get the bullets out and do my best to stop the bleeding. You two,” you nod at the unnamed henchmen, “Will have to hold him.”

Ronny whimpers, the sweat pouring off his brow mirroring your own. You want to complain about just how not sterile this space is, how Ronny is probably going to die of an infection even if you get him stabilized, but you bite your tongue and focus on the task at hand.

You watch the process as though you are suspended just outside your body: Insert IV, start fluid, give what little pain meds you have on hand, sterilize the forceps, clean the injuries, bodily hold down a thrashing, screaming Ronny while you dig out the slugs, slap him awake and tell him to man up, hold pressure, stop the bleeding, suture the wounds closed.

“Keep this,” you shove the bag of normal saline into the hands of Goon Number One, “Above his head.” You turn to a stone-faced Rossi and solemnly tell him, “Doc needs to see him.” You fill a syringe with antibiotics, amazed by how steady your hands are. Ronny barely flinches when you jam the needle in the meat of his hip.

Snapping off your gloves, you release an exhale that trembles on its way out. On autopilot, you turn back to your bag and reach for the blood pressure cuff when, without warning, leather-clad fingers wrap around your wrist. Jolting, you stumble back into the table to put an arm’s length between you and the clown—where the fuck had he come from—but he closes the distance with one, bouncy step.

Just like that, you’re snapped back to reality. Now firmly seated in your body, you are startlingly aware of how hot everything is: The air, your sweaty palms, his chest against yours, his breath on your lips, your blazing cheeks, the stares of the other men burning into the sides of your head.

“Don’t—

“Shhh, shh, shh, c’mere,” the clown murmurs as he grips you by the back of the neck. You stiffen and push back against his hand in a subconscious effort to put distance between you, but fall still when his opposite hand comes to rest on your neck. His expression is unreadable, the look in his eyes a mixture of amusement and something a bit more menacing. You don’t want to search too hard, but fear of what will happen should you look away keeps your gaze on his.

White paint cracks along the creases in his forehead when his brows raise. “You’ve just got a little….” He presses a thumb to the corner of your mouth and drags it upward. You feel the slickness smearing across your dewy skin, too thick to be spit or sweat. Blood, you wager. Judging by the satisfied smile that spreads across his face and the contented hum he emits, you guess there’s a red half-grin now curling away from your mouth.

An imitation of his own.

You barely manage to contain the flinch when the clown raises his hand to your crown. Fingers dip into your hair and feel around for the hair tie keeping it piled atop your head. Three quick tugs sees your locks cascading around your shoulders. Both of his hands then come up to ruffle and shake until it’s all a wild, frizzy mess.

You don’t know whether to be afraid or baffled, and you realize this is entirely the point. Keep others guessing and unable to predict your next move. There’s fear in uncertainty.

The intensity of the moment, the frantic fluttering of your heart, the stifling heat of the room has you seconds away from begging for mercy, something you’ve never done before. Even the slouch of his shoulders—the way he almost curls over you—seems designed to make you panic. You swallow thickly and open your mouth to break the awkward, terrible silence when he interrupts:

“Why don’t you…run along, hm?” He offers you your ball cap and, tentatively, you take it. The clown shuffles back the tiniest inch and you suck in a gasping breath, your heart like some kind of trapped bird ricocheting against your ribs as you hastily whirl around to pack up your instruments. Fuck Ronny’s blood pressure. Doc can handle it. You must get out of here.

You don’t look over your shoulder as you quickly stride from the room, but lilting words reach you in the hallway and stop you dead in your tracks. A chill races up your spine.

“See you soon!”

The clown’s parting sentiment.

You’re up the stairs and out the door before Rossi can catch up. “Who the fuck was that?” you snarl, whipping around so fast your bag smacks against your sweaty back.

“Are you livin’ under a rock?” he shoots back, but any bite there might have been in his words has been shaken from him. He’s pale, you notice, obviously disturbed by what you had to do to Ronny.

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your arms up in the air. “Yes I am! I keep my head so far down, I’m underground.”

Rossi shakes his head and huffs a humorless laugh. “Turn on the news, then. That oughta answer your questions.”

**

Begrudgingly, you do as you’re told.

It doesn’t take long to put a moniker to the painted face splashed all over your television screen:

The Joker.

Maybe it’s time to pay more attention to current events.

[blu3n]

By: @blu3n

Anon : blue hi 👋, could you make a short story where Jason and the reader argue?, at the birthday party, I want some angst and fluff at the end, I hope you understand kisses.

YES YES YES YES, THANK YOU!!! 🪼

edited.

Bad luck ๋ ࣭ ⭑ Jason todd x female reader

Synopsis: angst, cute at the end, this one is sad ๋ ࣭ ⭑ you and jason argue, I've never actually done one of those

— edit: @blu3n.

The rain fell heavily on Gotham, as if the city was mourning the return of a lost son. Jason Todd, now known as the Red Hood, walked through the dark streets, the echoes of his old life still echoing in his mind. He had been through so much; betrayal, pain, and a violent rebirth at the hands of the Joker.

The last few months have been tough, Penguin giving him trouble, malice, Cat Woman and the Batfamily on his tail all the time. Bandits and missions stressing him out.

His weapons failing in the middle of combat, it seemed like bad luck was with him in those last few days. To make the headache worse, his 4-year anniversary was coming up.

He was never one to celebrate or care about stupid holidays, birthdays or important dates, but if it was important to you, he celebrated. But fuck. Today you were annoying.

Exactly the day he barely managed to capture the Riddler. It felt like they had thrown years of bad luck at him, he didn't believe that shit, but now he was starting to think so.

He was working out, lifting arm weights (sorry, I don't know what it's called) while training his biceps, his mind was racing with the events of the day, Dick pissing him off for being harsh with one of the evil henchmen, leaving the guy almost paraplegic.

focused in his mind, he didn't hear your footsteps, when you approached him, you could tell he was focused, but you didn't seem to notice how angry he looked.

"What do you think? Pink or red?" Her cheerful voice made him feel bad for being grumpy for the party he had tonight. Looking at you and your dresses, he sighs, barely holding back a groan of annoyance when he sees you flaunting the dresses once again, "whatever, fuck" coming out harsher than he intended. He knew it wasn't his fault that everything was going wrong, but he couldn't help but feel angry.

"Oh yeah..." His voice sounded so broken and so short, but you respected him. You knew he did that sometimes, but not on purpose. "I'm gonna...go get changed." All he heard was a low growl before he walked out of the training bag leaving you alone.

It wasn't because he wanted to, sometimes Jason knew he could be an asshole but everything seemed to be going wrong, he didn't want to take it out on you but you didn't seem to see the clear signs that he didn't want to be around.

everything gets worse at the party, the attention was focused on you two all jason wanted least was for the attention to be on him that night just when he wanted to simply disappear and stay at home, but he stayed, he stayed for you, it was important to you so that means he should be there, right?

He was trying, God he swears he was but that, those people were suffocating him. He needed to go out for a smoke.

Once outside, it was cold, the cigarette smoke swayed and disappeared in the wind... everything seemed calmer and more peaceful on this side.

"Jason?" Your voice echoes behind him, making him turn and look at you, "Ah... aren't you coming back?" All you wanted was for him to stay with you that night, to stay just a little while to celebrate your important day. in his mind it was being an incredible night

"If I want to go, I will, stop bothering my ass," he says in a thick, firm voice, already close to exploding if you push him any further.

"Excuse me? Look at the way you talk to me, Jason, I just want to celebrate our night together as a couple-"

"CAN'T YOU REALIZE I DON'T WANT TO CELEBRATE THIS SHIT!?" Jason was never one to yell at you even if he had reason to do so he would never do so, but today he yelled which scared you just a little bit , he didn't mean to do that.. His anger bubbled, his chest heaved, he wished he hadn't done that.

"ah..." even though you try to say something your voice betrays you leaving only silence bad to fall into this situation.

Jason, when he finally regained his senses, was silent, he took out his anger on the one person he wished he hadn't done it to. "....Y/n" came out as broken as he wanted it to in desperation he said "Y/N, please wait, I- I didn't mean to

Jason in turn was in panic, would you leave him? were you mad? god, did he lose you? no after 4 years would you leave him for this? no god please don't do this to him.

Jason, you in the distance, almost felt his chest stop beating, he didn't want to do this, "I'm sorry", he covered his face with his hand to keep from letting out angry tears, everything was going wrong. Jason saw her reaction and almost felt his chest stop beating, he didn't want to do this, "I'm sorry" he covers his face with his hand to keep from letting out angry tears, everything was going wrong. "Don't walk away from me" he says with a broken voice, even knowing that you weren't there, he would give you some time, but not so much, for you to see how bad he was (in your mind). his mind).

You, in turn, were sitting at one of the tables in the distance, watching everyone laughing and smiling, even though it was your day... maybe you really were annoying to the point of pressuring Jason... maybe you weren't good for him? What were you thinking? He loves you... doesn't he?.

"Y/n-" the tone of his voice made you look where it came from, seeing Jason standing in front of you, his eyes red and his brow furrowed. "babe?"

"Shhh, "It's okay" you say looking at him wiping your eyes from the tear stains as you hear him say that he didn't mean to say what he said, and you had already forgiven him after all it wasn't his fault.

"...i love you, i love you, i love you" he says softly just for you to hear, directing your face into the curve of his neck.

That brought a genuine smile out of you, you quickly pull him up, hugging him fully before whispering in his ear, "I love you too, congratulations to us"

both of their chests pressed against each other as their heartbeats beat together.

—

THANKS FOR ASKING!!!

🪼 - I love writing about him

[extensionallydefined]

Okay, so, I need to talk about the relationship between Persona 5's ending and Persona 5 royal's ending, because I think it isn't discussed enough how one puts into question the themes of the other and in doing so it elevates everything that came before.

Spoilers are coming, you've been warned.

The main thing that's given me an outlet to think about this is a few quotes from the Phantom Thieves when they're in the Velvet Room after being Thanos-snapped by Yaldabaoth. Specifically these quotes:

Ann: "I... I never want anyone to have to go through what I did!"

Yusuke: "Just as art is meant to break boundaries, people should be saved even if they frown upon it. I won't allow the justice I believe in to be shaken any further!"

Ryuji: "We're doin' this to make sure people don't go through the same crap we did. It doesn't matter if they think we're just or not. We gotta do what we believe in!"

Futaba: "I can't let people suffer like this, even if I don't know them personally"

They mention some core ideas: 1. They want to prevent people's suffering because of the suffering they've felt. 2. They must do this regardless of if people want it, because they think it's the right thing to do. 3. Their justice is worth fighting for by virtue of being what they believe in.

Does this seem familiar? Maybe makes you think of a certain therapist who shows up in Royal?

I think Takuto Maruki serves a decent amount of purposes narratively and thematically, but one of the most genius things about him is that he serves as a foil to both the Phantom Thieves and Akechi, and in being that foil, he is, deep down, following the principles that the Phantom Thieves fought for - In the end, it was largely Joker who inspired him to fight for his reality.

Maruki fights for a reality where suffering straight up doesn't exist, because he doesn't want anyone to feel the suffering he's had to endure. Maruki wants the Phantom Thieves and Akechi to never feel suffering anymore, regardless of their stance on the matter. He is "saving" them regardless of their wishes, and will fight them to keep the reality he wants. He thinks the world is unfair, so his "justice" is to make a perfect world for everyone - and that's what makes it worth fighting for, because that's what he believes.

Maruki's rationale to fight against the Phantom Thieves and Akechi is (partly) the same reasoning that the Phantom Thieves use to regain their motivation to fight the Holy Grail/Yaldabaoth.

So, narratively, Maruki serves as a mirror that's telling things not to be told for the Phantom Thieves to look into and to see the ugly parts of their own way of acting. Can they really fight Maruki, knowing that he is just acting how they did?

I see people sometimes refusing Maruki's reality because it "wouldn't actually work" or "it's imperfect". But as far as I'm aware, it's imperfect because it hasn't been completed yet - I think the game is a lot more interesting under the pretense that Maruki truly has the power to erase all suffering, once his reality is complete, past the deadline. I also see the argument, and even the game uses it, that Maruki's world "isn't reality". But did we listen well to Morgana's speech before he disappeared in the Yaldabaoth arc? The world itself is made up of cognition, reality is born from the points of view of everyone. Maruki *can* change reality, and the real question of the game is not about the logistics or "ontological dignity" of his reality, but rather - Do you want a world where all your wishes are granted and no suffering exists?

In the end, the game shows the Phantom Thieves that "sticking to their justice" will make them fight against people with similar ideals as theirs. It's funny, in a way, how Akechi was the one fully willing to fight Maruki from the start. His rebellion has always been more individualistic in nature than the Phantom Thieves' - he wanted revenge for himself, then redemption for himself and now he wants a reality where he isn't under anyone's control anymore. To him, Shido's country, Yaldabaoth's ruin and Maruki's world are all the same - Maruki just has a nicer, more therapy-speaky way of presenting his proposal, and sees people as his equals rather than as insolent masses, but his goal is the same. They're all worlds that shackle you for the "greater good". And in the end, Maruki, and Royal, force the P5 gang to become more like Akechi - to value their individuality in the face of the public's "justice".

To fight for what you believe in you will face people with the same determination as you. They will be your equals in many, many ways. In the end, you can only stick to your guns and hope that what you believe in is worth more than what they believe in.

I have a lot more to write about these topics but I'll leave it there. Maybe about the relationship between Maruki's reality and individuality next? That could be fun ^^

Btw - Special thanks to @thedaythatwas for inspiring me to write up stuff about Persona 5 Royal!

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hi!! Hope everything is going well!

Could I Please ask for some bottom buggy (mayhaps with some watersports since I saw you had a interest) or some ftm crocodile being fucked into submission!

Have a nice day.

Ftm Sir Crocodile x male reader

Ficlet

I love Sir Crocodile so much 🗣️ 🗣️

Reader is part of Buggy’s crew, cuz I thought that would be hilarious. Reader doesn’t have a devil fruit, but is still super kickass. Hes kind of the information gatherer, smuggler, etc, for the Buggy crew. Reader is also normal human height.

Mixed terminology for Crocs bits. Also, breeding/pregnancy? kink warning ig. but its just mentioned for the fantasy.

The Cross Guild appeared great for any outsider or lesser in the know members, which was most of them. They all saw your captain as someone great and almost godly, thinking he was so much more than he was, but you had been with him for many years, even before the Buggy pirates had even been created. Shortly after the execution of Rogers, Buggy had stumbled into your path and had accidentally saved your life, and from then on you had been by his side.

Most people thought of you as something akin to an accountant or treasurer, wearing an outfit that looked very much like that of a ringmaster, long red tailcoat and top hat and all. You were always one of the first to run away, giving you a reputation of a coward who couldn’t fight.

The only one who truly knew how much of a threat you could be, would be your captain and his inner circle, which you were also part of. You might not have been the strongest physically compared to someone like Mihawk, but no one could gather information like you could, smuggle like you could, or have someone “disappear” like you could. Your network was so extensive that even the one they called Joker, who you knew was none other than Donquixote Doflamingo, was jealous.

That was why you knew everything about Sir Crocodile and Mihawk before the day was over when the Cross Guild was formed. You cowered off to the side, keeping up your weak act as you flinched at their raised voices or the light reflecting off Crocodiles golden claw.

They believed you a weak fool who’s only worth was your quick mind and ability to calculate numbers quicker than most computers, which resulted in them mostly dismissing you. It was a role you basked in and felt comfortable, using it to keep your true identity under wraps. That was until they pushed your captain too far, as Crocodile especially seemed to take great pleasure in antagonizing and hurting your captain.

You were protective, most pirates were, if they felt any sense of loyalty to their captain. It was because of that, that you dug up a trusted contact, a celestial dragon with greater access to seastone than anyone else you knew. Using measurements from the moment’s clothes had to be made, a pair of cuffs in just the perfect size soon arrived to you with the post.

It was easy to press Crocodiles buttons, to get him worked up by acting stupid and pathetic, just the way you knew made his blood boil. It was even easier to enrage him so far that he chased after you, so blinded by his anger that he didn’t even notice how you kept avoiding his sand, or how you were leading him further and further away from the rest of the guild.

When he finally caught up, Crocodile caged you against the wall, hook digging into the drywall as he almost snarled down at you, cigar crunched between his teeth as his purple eyes blazed. But mild confusion crossed his face as your fearful expression dropped, his body straightening as your eyes met his head on. Before Crocodile could order an explanation, a feeling of weakness crashed through his body, making his knees buckle enough that you had to catch him, supporting his towering weight and bulk.

His vision swam as you started dragging him along, his feet dragging along the floor because of his height compared to your own. Crocodile felt dizzy and mildly nauseous, his eyes finally catching the heavy bands around his wrist, the one he still had left. “ssseastone?” he slurred out, voice lighter than the growl you were used too, cigar long forgotten somewhere along the journey.

In the beginning, you had planned on torturing him, the blades strapped to your person burning at the thought, but as you threw him down almost carelessly on a barely clad bed, a different through passed through your mind.

A slight thrill ran down your spine as his purple eyes burnt into you, his usual anger still present, but mixed with something else, something deeper and hungrier. Soft pants left Crocodiles lips, sounding faintly struggled as the seastone drained the power from his body, leaving him limp and pliant.

You could see the heat rising to Crocodiles cheekbones as you started stripping off your usual getup, tailcoat slid off your shoulders and neatly folded, top hat placed down with care. “What the hell are you doing…” Crocodile rasped from the bed, his pupils blown as an unfamiliar need unfolded inside him, the familiar thrum of pleasure running through body.

Maybe it was his weakened state, but he swore his cunt was pulsing with need, especially as you unbuttoned the stark white shirt you always wore, revealing a tightly muscled and heavily scarred body underneath, leather straps adorned with vials and weapons stretched across your torso.

Crocodile tried to shuffle his legs, maybe to squeeze his thighs together, or to spread them further apart, he wasn’t sure, but all he could do was a minimal twitch and jolt. “I planned on cutting you up, making you beg for mercy. But from the looks of it… you wouldn’t mind some other kind of discipline” you murmur, almost stalking towards him where Crocodile was splayed out on top of the white sheets.

You could see all his muscles tense as you let your hands climb up his legs, up his thighs and stomach, traveling all the way up his arms towards his hook. A choked off noise leaves Crocodile as you remove his hook with ease, like you had done it a thousand times before, placing it off to the side with care.

“Behave yourself” you tell him, squeezing the sides of his jaw to make his lips part. Crocodile tried to growl or snap a threat, to snap his teeth at you or somehow fight back, but his body was mostly unresponsive, his tongue feeling thick and useless in his mouth.

A shiver of anticipation ran through Crocodile as you moved again, settling between his thick spread thighs. Your eyes met as you reach for his belt, your brow lifting as if asking if he wanted you to stop. You may be a pirate, but you had class and manners, at least when it came to stuff like this.

But when all Crocodile responded with was a sour expression and glare, you make easy work of his belt and slacks, tugging them down his hips and legs, throwing them off to the side with little care. Your disregard for his clothes made Crocodile grumble, but the noise was quickly silenced as you pressed your entire hand against his slick underwear, fingers teasing his hard t-cock and soaked folds.

“Tsk tsk, look at you, bet you just need someone to put you in your place, is that it?” you mumble in an almost mocking tone, looking up at him with an almost feral hunger in your eyes. Crocodile chokes on the words that want to form in his throat, some kind of rebuttal perhaps, that he would never want someone as low as you to do anything to him, but as you pinch his cock between your fingers, it morphs into a shaky moan.

Crocodile’s boxers as easily pulled off, thrown to the floor with a damp plap, making his face redden further as you only find amusement in the obvious sign of his arousal. Kicking off your pants and boxers, you crawl up the bed and sit between his thick thighs, pushing them further apart to expose where he only grows slicker, hole clenching around nothing as if begging you to fill it.

“What would they say, seeing the great Sir Crocodile, spread out like this, ready to take the cock of a feeble weak treasurer” you taunt, pressing your hips closer to his, so that you could drag the tip of your cock up and down through his folds. The act has Crocodile arching as good as he can with the cuff on, his eyes squeezing shut as he clenches his jaw, a breathy noise leaving him, folds only growing slicker around you.

Maybe it was your size difference, with you being average human size, compared to Crocodiles almost 9 feet, or maybe it was his gut deep arousal, but his hole didn’t need much prep for you to be able to fit inside.

That didn’t mean you were just gonna give it to him, since this was supposed to be a lesson. A stuttery moan spills almost silently from Crocodiles lips as your fingers rub through his folds, barely pressing against where he wants you the most. He had never imagined himself in a situation like this, splayed out and dripping for you, someone he had always just seen as a nuisance, but here he was.

“Come on Crocodile… ask nicely” your tone is almost cruel as you push only two fingers inside him, barely felt because of his size, but just enough to rub against his wet gummy insides and leave him aching for more. Crocodiles jaw clenches, barring his teeth as his head weakly rolls to the side, as if to hide his face into the sheets.

“Or… I could just leave you here, thighs spread open, cunt glistening with want. Im sure someone will pass by, and who wouldn’t want a chance to fill this” as if to exaggerate your point, you push two more fingers into his slick hole, burying them as deep as possible into Crocodiles wet insides, punching a gasp out of him.

Crocodile seems to debate it, if he wants to put his pride aside for someone like you, but his thoughtprocess is knocked off course as you pinch his cock with your free hand, twisting it cruelly. Had he not been wearing the seastone cuff, his thighs would have clamped shut and a shout would have left him, but now all his body could do was tense up as a wet keen tumbled out of him.

“P…please” Crocodile finally mumbles, voice small and almost shy, but it can barely be heard over the wet slick sounds of your fingers thrusting in and out of him, his wetness running down your palm and wrist in the process.

“Hm?” you hum, the questioning tone in it clear, as if you didn’t hear him at all, giving his cock another twist just because you could. “fuck me… please…” is gasped out, Crocodiles insides clenching around your slick fingers as they rub and prod around inside him.

Your fingers movements slow to a stop, silence filling the room long enough for Crocodile to peek an eye open and look down at you. Your eyes are intense as they bore into his, the predatory flare in them making Crocodiles insides quiver. “Normally id demand better than that, but I’m starting to pity you” you scoff out, withdrawing your fingers from his hold with a slick noise.

Instead of wiping them off on the sheets, you use the large amount of slick that had gathered in your palm to slick up your shaft, releasing a huffed exhale as Crocodiles eyes widen at the sight. “I’ve thought about making you ride me, so you’ll have to make yourself take it, but we can’t do that right now, can we” you eye the cuff around his one wrist, making Crocodile growl and spit out a weak warbled “fuck you”

His insult carries no heat, clearly only for show, his glare quickly wiped off his face as you finally push inside him. Crocodile needs little time to adjust, resulting in you almost immediately setting a bruising rough pace, drawing in and out of him with loud wet slick noises, his hole gripping onto you as he gasps and moans.

Reaching down, you push his shirt up just enough to splay a hand across his lower stomach, a foxlike grin spreading across your lips as you watch his hips weakly roll into your own. “If you weren’t such an asshole, I could fuck you whenever. Imagine that Crocodile, walking around, cunt leaking my cum, as you try to play tough.” You chuckle darkly, tone thick and hungry in the way only a predatory animal could possess.

As your cock rams into that sensitive spot inside him, Crocodile is finally starting to realize you are truly more than you seem, his cunt drooling a wet puddle under him on the sheets as you take him with a new hunger, a glint appearing in your eyes as your hand presses down harder on his stomach.

“I could knock you up you know, right here.” Is hissed out as you bottom out inside Crocodile, the words making him tighten up and shiver in want. “No one would find you so scary then, would they Crocodile. Waddling around, fat with my kid” you purr, letting both your hands splay across his stomach. It was all fantasy, but by God did it make Crocodile wet and wanting. Something about the fantasy of you, some lesser subordinate knocking him, Sir Crocodile, up, had him seeing double.

The seastone didn’t help with his woozy state, all attempts at forming words only becoming half formed and slurred, Crocodiles eyes going wet and glassy as that familiar feeling spread through his body. “in… inside me…” Crocodile slurs as you curse to yourself, clearly close to the finish line as well. Had it not been for the cuffs, he would have thrown his legs around you, squeezing you against his body to keep you inside him, but all he could do now was beg.

Crocodiles pride crumbled as your fingers squeezed his cock one last time, a pure orgasmic expression crossing his face as he gasped and moaned, his entire body twitching weakly as he came, wetting your cock and the sheets even further as the feeling thrummed through his entire body.

With a deep groan you bottom out inside Crocodile for a last time, letting your eyes squeeze shut as you spill inside him, coating his insides in a thick coat of white. Crocodile whimpers weakly at the feeling, trying to squeeze around you as if to milk your length for more.

He slumps against the sheets further than he already is, eyes falling shut in a relaxed exhausted expression. Crocodile barely notices as you pull out, white leaking out from between his folds to join his own mess on the sheets. He barely even notices you cleaning him up, only twitching and gasping softly when you clean up between his legs.

Its only when the seastone cuff leaves his wrist that Crocodile returns to himself somewhat, as the familiar feeling of his devilfruit washes through his body again. Squinting his eyes open, he catches sight of you getting dressed again, tucking on your shirt, then your coat, and lastly placing your hat on top of your head.

Even with his devilfruit returned to him, Crocodile still feels weak and exhausted, but the good type of exhausted one only gets after a good fuck. Part of him wants to ask you to stay, to hold him and pet his hair, to maybe mumble more dirty fantasies about knocking him up, and how you’d make him live as your pretty little housewife. But instead, Crocodile just grunts to get your attention, his attempt to demand to know where you are going.

“I have to get back to the others, since ill be taking over your duties for the rest of the day and tomorrow” you say, voice resolute and not allowing any denial or struggle. And normally Crocodile would have growled and rejected anyone taking over his duties, but for some reason, the idea of you taking care of him made him relax deeper into the bed, muscles lax and thoughts empty and calm for once.

Approaching him, you press a soft kiss to his forehead before telling him “this room is hidden away from everyone else, so take all the time you need. Ill check up on you later” as you pat his cheek. After telling him where the bathroom is, where he could find towels and replacement sheets and blankets, you were on your way, leaving Crocodile on his lonesome.

It took a while, but he finally pushed himself into a seated position before getting to his feet. The feeling of your cum trickling down the insides of his thighs as the familiar heat of arousal burning inside him once more, making Crocodile shuffle towards the bathroom you had pointed him towards. Even though you had just left, he could still get himself off a few more times from just the memory alone.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be disciplined by you, he wondered how you’d react if he caused issues with your smuggling routes. The idea sent a line of heat up his spine as he stepped into the shower, hand quickly traveling between his thighs, fingers burying themselves into his still sensitive hole, fantasies of hungry glare and cruel fingers filling his mind.

[space-dreams-world]

DPXDC soulmate prompt au:

Everyone has a soulmate. Even if the way you meet your soulmate is different, you can still feel a click in place. Even with different species, romantically or platonically, and multiple soulmates. ( like one person has by sight, and their soulmate is by touch. Basically, you can have soulmates with the same markings or two different types and still work)

So, Danny, after becoming Phantom and dealing with the ghosts, finally finds a way to shut down the Portal around his last year of high school, and multiple people aren't happy about that, i.e. his parents, the ghosts, Sam, the GIW, and even Vlad as he was banking on the fentons for his shit to work, and he had plans surrounding Danny's family.

He gets run out of town by Amity and his parents after they uncover his secret. Danny then spends the next few years in space, discovering aliens.

(During his disappearance, the GIW are disbanded, Vlad doesn't have access to the zone anymore and asking for him to search in space is a permadeath sentence for him, his parents regret their Gung ho attitude and miss him. In a twist of faith, an accident kills them off, and they are working through their regrets in the zone, waiting to see Danny so they can pass)

Now, as I mentioned at the top, this is a soulmate au, so in Death, Danny is able to get a feel for soulmate, like if his soulmate had a marking for him to recognize even if his soulmate identifier is lock on sight. (He essentially has an advantage of figuring out his significant other as he has his soulmate symbol on him.)

So, whose Danny significant other? Look no further than Gotham depressed himbo dad, Bruce Wayne, whose soulmate identifier is a tattoo of Danny's mark.

This could be pretty early on in his hero career or after Duke is a part of the Bats, but basically, Bruce goes on a space mission with the league and in one of their stints to get info, Danny immediately recognizes Batman's mark which was his soulmate clue. So, Danny, who hasn't spoken human or been on earth in years, has zero in on him,but they don't get to talk before Bruce heads back to earth, but Bruce knows there is something off about the possible alien man.

On Bruce's side, he hasn't seen anyone that has made it work, except if if you want to make it a polycule with Superman. (Dick has his redhead squad or the titans, Jason ends up with Roy or someone else, Tim has Bernard and Kon, and Damian is starting to platonically be friends with Jon. Cass has found her soulmate in Stephanie.

(The Joker is a weird case where he has a soulmate that isn't born yet or died already, or he has no one and that why he is crazy and scars the Bat symbol on him as he sees his enemy with no soulmate either.)

Anyway, something big happens on earth, like an invasion, and the Bat is almost killed before a bright light descends upon the sky and removes the threat. Batman, once recovering his sight, sees the same masked alien man from before. Once they regroup, the masked man removes his helmet, and Bruce finally gets his soulmate connection. Danny has aged significantly since his first departure of earth and attempting to relearn earth's customs and figure out what happened with his family and friends.

( Jazz is soulmates with Talia and is in a secret relationship with her after Damian is made.

Sam is soulmates with Paulina but despises this, which causes her some mental instability, and refuses to acknowledge their bond, somehow still banking on Danny being her knight, and rebrands herself as Pamela Isley or Poison Ivy and finds love in Harley.

Tucker actually renames himself after Amity as Silas Stone and has a child. He works with Alien Tech to see if he can find his best friend again.

Dani is only made after Danny's return to earth but loves her indefinitely as he feels that the Portal had robbed him of a good life with offspring.

And Dan is working on his aggression in the zone.)

[bluetooththereptile]

Father in law (part two)

(Yandere Bruce wayne x reader)

( English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in the following text.)

This fic is continuation of this one.

Tw: mentions of death, and unsettling images

"Easy now, easy...just focus on taking another step..." Bruce's voice echoed in the silent room, you tried to hold onto the parallel bars, your knuckles hurting from the sheer pressure of gravity pulling on your body, your body trembled, the weak muscles hardly holding on, you didn't want to give in, no, you didn't want to give in and let his large hands grip onto your sides once more. "Easy kid..." you turned your head over your shoulder to look at him, giving him a side eye glare, his damn voice...that damned voice was the only thing that clouded your mind since you were pulled from the darkness you were in. His and Angel's presence didn't leave your side just once.

Speaking of Angel, "Love?" Their voice reached out to you, making you turn to look at them once more "Just a few steps more, see? You already have taken three more than yesterday!" You grimaced at their energetic tone, optimism oozing out of the words. God can't they just shut up? Your mind was irritated, but what was actually scaring you wasn't the fact that you were locked in this apartment complex that you didn't know its location, no, it was the way you were getting used to the parent and his child's presence.

Your legs gave out and your fragile body was once again, held still by Bruce's hands. "Take a deep breath..." he spoke gently, if you were your normal self you'd pull away from those hands, hating the way his thumbs rubbed your flesh to soothe the shaking, but now, you felt...sort of content, that scared you. You didn't know how many days had passed since the moment you pulled yourself out of that horrendous pool of green liquid and gasped for air, your lungs feeling strained, and burning as if you didn't have used them before. You didn't know why you were so putty in their hands, why your mind even though maintaining the memories of your life before your feast with that bottle of Xanax and your inevitable death, was so numb...it felt like you were experiencing things for the first time.

Each meal was a challenge, firstly, you had to convince Angel that you could hold the utensils even if your hand trembled violently, then you'd drop the said utensils and after that Angel would scold you gently for being stubborn and feed you, cooing as you ate your food. Your hunger had peaked, and you ate as if you were eating for the first time, experiencing different tastes like someone who hadn't tasted anything before. You didn't know, but your body's revival had made you very impressionable, every new sensation was new, and it etched into your subconscious as if it was a blank sheet of paper having something written on it for the first time. Hence Jason after his revival in the hands of Joker suffered greatly and its effects never left his soul, haunting him forever.

"Here, I'll let you go, try walking again, just a few steps more, alright, darling?" Why Bruce called you in that tone?! UGH! You put your feet onto the floor once more, your muscle mass was nearly gone and it felt like you hadn't walked before, even if you had the memories and experiences of walking. You didn't know it was because you were nearly decomposed in your casket before they had pulled it out of the dirt and your body was rebuilding itself. Letting out a sharp breath through your teeth, you tried to take another step, your leg gave out slightly making both of them gasp in worry but you surprisingly held yourself steady.

"Such a great learner you are..." Bruce chuckled softly, his chest vibrating behind you, his hands encouraging you to walk further into the open arms of Angel "Just two more steps my love...just a little more" Angel said, beaming. You avoided eye contact with them, those eyes held such a gravitation that you felt like if you looked long enough you'd lose your hold on yourself.

You were unaware of so many things, which was a huge blessing, you didn't know that outside the safe walls of the apartment was chaos unleashed in the media, Bruce had changed the document of your death so you'd be considered still alive, your family taken care of so they wouldn't say anything, and the media now were portraying you as someone that was victim of hackers and personal enemies, you were baptized and portrayed as a Saint, and the public was ashamed in accusing you of those things.

You were also unaware of the fact that Bruce was wrapping you in the bandages of his so-called love, sticking them to your body with the wax of his coaxing words and actions, and soon he'd mummify you in the casket of Angel's arms, gilding your union up with the name of the perfect couple. Bruce already could see the headlines of the paparazzi in his mind, oh it'd be marvelous!

Your death had made something in Bruce snap, the same feeling he had with Angel and the rest of his family, you were his family. Which already meant so much, you were already in the circle of his life, and when you entered that circle, you could never leave. At first, he had despised you for taking his Angel from him but he didn't know Angel's obsession had sipped into the waters of his mind and polluted them slowly. And well, with love, thorns would turn into flowers, wouldn't they?

You took in a sharp breath as you felt your legs getting tired with the weight of your body, and with a final step, you fell into the arms of Angel, letting out a sigh of relief as you escaped from the clutches of the pain as they held you with their surprisingly strong arms. "There there dear, you did well, you did so well..." Angel's perfume filled your nostrils as you buried your head in their shoulder, closing your eyes you were too tired to not melt into their arms, you knew you lied to yourself, you actually didn't want to leave their arms.

Angel helped you to sit down on a chair, and walked away to grab a glass of water for you, Bruce walked towards you and his hands gripped the back of your head firmly but gently, you ignored those hands on the back of your head as you looked towards Angel, humming happily as they walked around, how lucky you were to not see them three months ago, when they had heard the news of your death, how their eyes had lost their light and became lifeless, a dangerous shadow appearing in them as they stared into the oblivion, how they had nearly turned mad, and how hauntingly fast they had switched into normal the moment they held your fragile breathing form, fresh out of the Lazarus Pit.

Your eyes scanned the familiar room full of physiotherapy devices, only for them to settle on the large mirror on the wall, your hallucinations had subsided greatly with the help of the medicine you took but still, the images of what your subconscious perceived were the truth came to you here and there, death had sort of opened your eyes to the other side of creatures, but you only could see those images as the reflections of said creatures, a cat was a walking shadow with two golden eyes or a bird was a ghostly being with a red beak, you could see the familiar dark figure standing behind your chair, Bruce, looking at you in the mirror as his clawed hands affectionately caressed your face, why he looked so much like Batman? You had asked yourself so many times, you didn't know of Bruce's other occupation, and that was why you were so confused by the image of this Batman-like monster looming over you, no one but you saw him, and your mind couldn't comprehend the image of Bruce in his true form, why?

"I was thinking of having a spring wedding what do you say?" You stiffened as Angel spoke, looking at their reflection as they approached you, a fair creature with pale skin, yet their eyes were just like Bruce's, red, and their hand that soon reached out to you and caressed your cheeks had sharp black claws. "What do you say, darling?" Angel purred as you looked at them while they stared at your reflection in the mirror. You knew you had to be afraid yet...those monsters seemed...welcoming. "I'll choose the flowers" you spoke, closing your eyes to not see those sharp fangs in their mouth as they smiled affectionately, you knew you shouldn't give in but...most of you wanted to...and so your head rolled back in Bruce's hands as he chuckled, his deep voice echoing in your mind. With love thorns would turn into flowers...right?

[remarcely]

Batmanfic Prompt: WHAT IF Batman got turned into a cat and Red Hood found him?

(This was a prompt somewhere on Tumblr but I lost the original post, if you know who it was let me know so I can tag them)

There were good reasons behind Batman’s rules. ‘Don’t travel without bat-shark repellent’, he’d always managed to get caught off guard the few times it had been missing from his utility belt. ‘All dominoes must be fitted with lenses’ was another. He’d gotten too many bugs in his eyes during his first year to waver on that. Then there was his ban of magic. There were too many examples to count for that rule and, as Bruce looked down at his hands only to find two small black paws, that number appeared to be climbing.

He wasn’t sure why this magic user had come to Gotham, or how for that matter, but one thing he was certain of was that when his body was back to being human again, he was going to throw them off a roof. See if they land on their feet.

Bruce stuck to the shadows and walked behind dumpsters and kicked over bins, stepping over newspaper pages so trodden on they matched the grooves of the streets. He headed further down the alleyway, ears twitching with each droplet of water that fell from the metal fire escape stairs to the puddle collecting the left-over rain beneath it. Sounds of chatter and laughter escaped through the back door of a restaurant, which was cracked open and preventing the fire escape to lock the establishment properly. A fatal mistake in a city like Gotham, especially on such a night when Batman wasn’t in any shape to protect them.

One of their bins was one of the many that had been knocked over. Bruce could smell it, half-full of scraps of food, the delicious scent of cooked meat and fast food. His stomach rumbled and Bruce drew back in shame. He hadn’t eaten before leaving the manor that night, much to Alfreds displeasure, and his hunger had been gnawing away at his focus the entire night. Bruce glanced around warily and slowly crept forward. No one would cast a second glance at it, surely. Stray animals eating discarded food was nothing unusual and, unless that damned magic user was lurking nearby, he wouldn’t be recognised as either Batman or Bruce Wayne. Of course, he would know, but this was hardly the worst thing he’d done.

Bruce darted forward before some unseeable force could stop him and tugged a mostly-wrapped flat shape from the bin. His sharp teeth tore the paper away to reveal most of a hamburger with a single bite taken out of the side. It must have been a mistake and returned. Bruce leaned closer and sniffed it. It smelled fine, nothing dangerous, and pretty damn tasty. His stomach gurgled again and, his hunger getting the best of him, Bruce took a bite. A very small bite, seeing as he was a cat and all.

He took another, and then another. He was pushing his nose further into the torn wrapping, lapping his tongue at the sauce, when two heavy footsteps at the mouth of the alley made Bruce freeze up. His head whipped back and tensed as he recognised the red helmet, illuminated by a single flickering street light.

The Red Hood.

The biggest threat to Gotham in the past few years, and not because of his kill count. It was high but, again, this was Gotham and they’d seen far worse. No, it was the unknown factor to the villain that terrified Bruce. He had no name, no face, and no idea who the murderer was. Even his motive was unclear and Bruce had struggled to piece together much to the mans goals, other than the death of the Joker and the destruction of Batman.

The Red Hood stepped forward and tilted his head to the side. There was nothing else of significance in the alley for him to be staring down other than Bruce. Painfully aware of the villains instability, Bruce took a few steps back until he was partially hidden behind the pile of garbage. Red Hoods chests moved strangely, almost as if he was laughing, but made no sound. It wasn’t until the man pressed something on the underside of his helmets jaw that Bruce could hear him speak.

“Hey there.” The villain spoke softly and crouched down. He removed one of his gloves and extended a hand for Bruce, trying to cajole him forward “Are you hungry, little guy?”

As demeaning as it was, meeting the Red Hood in the unwilling form of a cat was probably the best shot Bruce would get at gathering information on the villain. He acted the part and approached the man, bumping his nose into his bare fingers. The villain chuckled and petted him gently, scratching behind his ears.

“Not a little guy at all, are you?” He snorted at the flat stare Bruce gave him at the comment “You’re pretty big for a cat. Must be a fancy breed or something, huh?”

Bruce dared to place a paw on Red Hoods leg and stretched closer, nosing at his jacket and belt pouches. The Red Hood was armed to the teeth, guns holstered to each leg and another two hidden in his leather jacket.

Hood moved his scratches to under Bruces chin and neck “No collar.” He hummed and carefully picked Bruce up, adjusting the large cat to curl up on his chest half under his jacket “You’re all alone, aren’t you?”

Bruce paused. He’d never heard Hood sound so human before. Their previous meetings had consisted on taunts and threats, almost all of which were followed through on in the same breath. He had theorised that the Red Hood had undergone an intense trauma and found comfort in flying bullets and blood. Bruce could understand using violence to balance out the darker moments in people’s lives, he had done something similar through becoming ‘The Batman’, but hearing Red Hood speak so fondly to what he perceived as a stray hungry cat- it was too much. Bruce had found a ‘cat’ of his own, starving, and desperate, in an alley less than an hour away.

“How about I get you a proper meal.” Red Hood mumbled and ran his free hand up and down Bruces back, revelling in the softness of his dark fur. Bruce raised a front paw, batted his helmet lightly, and was stunned to hear him laugh “Come on, let’s go home.”

Bruce tensed and wriggled in the Red Hoods hold, not caring how ridiculous he might look. He’d only wanted to gather intel, not get the man emotionally attached to him. The shapeshifting-spell could wear off at any moment and he doubted the Red Hood would hesitate in shooting him if Batman suddenly appeared in his home.

“Fuck, stop that. It’s freezing out here, I’m doing you a favour, furball.” He grumbled and wrestled his hold on the cat.

Bruce yowled and made disgruntled noises when he realised he was completely pinned in place. He got louder when Red Hood laughed at him again, settling for swatting him with his tail.

-

Despite hating every moment of it, Bruce made sure to commit the route the Red Hood took as he returned to a safe house to memory.

[ornii]

|| My Kind of Crazy ||

Harley Quinn X Male Reader

So after Binge Watching Barbie, rewatching Suicide Squad, Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn), don’t forget that part, and The Suicide Squad, my appreciation For Morgot Robbie has increased more than it already has. Adore her. So, here’s part one of ?

(Any Tags I forgot please let me know.)

The Stench of rotting carpet, old wood and the tinge of blood was in the air. But this was all a part of the plan. Inside that old decrepit apartment you had your pistol Aimed at a man standing before you, Batman. Yes, The, Batman. A series of choices lead to this moment, but it wasn’t always like this. You were his Robin, his Boy wonder. Now you’re the shadow hiding within Gotham. Your foot was placed on the chest of another man, who’s cold and chilling laugher echoes though the room, Joker. It was on this same day, that you were Abducted; tortured, and subsequently Killed by the Very man. A Trip in the Lazuras pit changed you for the worst. But to your surprise after your revival, Joker was still alive, and Batman hadn’t sunk revenge for your murder, and all you could ask was…

“Why?” You as under your Helmet.. “Why him?” You said, Batman was stoic, silent.

“Who are you..?” He grumbles, his voice modulated to avoid detection, “You don’t know? I’m hurt.” You say with much sarcasm, you grip your helmet and tear it off, showing your face to Batman, even with the small J scar under your eye, it’s obvious who you were. Out of all the people he thought, he never expected his old Sidekick..

To be under the Red Hood.

Jokers eyes lock with the scar and he laughs much harder.

“Wow, now THAT, is funny!” He has his grilled toothy grin, and you placed your foot higher right on his throat. The wheezing laughter continues slowly.

“You don’t get to talk.” You growl at him, and then turnt your attention back to Batman.

“You know, I forgive you for not saving me, you can’t save everyone. But why, why is HE still alive?!” You scream, the rage and trauma building up in you finally. “After everything he’s done, he’s crippled, broken, murdered people! Why, why is he still here?!”

“You don’t understand… you never understood.” He said to you, and you scoff.

“What? That you can’t do it? That you don’t have the spine to! It’s too hard isn’t it?” You ask, Bruce shakes his head.

“No, I know it’s easy, he deserves to die a thousand times over, but if I killed him, i wouldn’t stop myself… I’d justify it, then I’d justify killing someone else, and it’ll keep going.. and I’ll sink further, and further into the dark.” Bruce said, you shook your head.

“You can’t control yourself… I’m not talking about Dent, or Penguin, Even Harley!” You toss the gun, Bruce instinctively catches it but, obviously isn’t capable of holding a gun.

“Do it, shoot him. Kill one, and save millions of lives… you’re the Batman right! You save people, don’t you? So save them! And kill him!” You demand, Bruce stares at you, both of you unwavering in your convictions. But he simply dropped the gun.

“No… I’m sorry, (Y/n).” He said in a solemn whisper.

“Fine!” You yell, revealing one last trick up your sleeve. an explosive set in the entire apartment block, revealing the dead man’s switch in your other hand. Joker laughs as he looks around it all beeping. He turns to Batman, and just smiles

“You, you found a way to win! But to lose everything! AHAHAHAHAHA—“ he laughs, reveling in the chaos as you let go of the switch, Batman made a choice, and now all three of you had to live with it, and in a flash, an explosion, it all faded to black for you.

You’ve been playing that in your mind for the past year you’ve been in Belle Reeve. Sitting in your orange room, captive. The 4x4 room kept you isolated, only for a bang at the door.

“Inmate. You’ve got a visitor! Stand up, face the wall.” He yells, you weren’t keen to listen to others. You stood up, facing the door, cracking your neck.

“Any of your men step in, I’m sending ten of them to the ICU.” You said, very calmly, the door opens and they rush in, training with the Batman made fighting multiple enemies a breeze, punches, kicks and knees flew all though the room as you delivered counters, combos and ruthless tactics. But all fun even came at an end as you were apprehended and locked into a chair. Struggling like a dog you strained to get out, you were wheels around Belle Reeve as you see eleven stretchers head to your cell.

“Told you..” you mutter, struggling in the binds. Being wheeled into an interrogation room, you kept your lips purse until you saw your visitor, she wore a women’s suit and skirt, her eyes deep brown like mud drowning you in muck. Amanda Waller. You looked around and saw that the room was being monitored by a single camera. She gave one officer the nod and he presses a button, the red light on the camera fades off.

“You’re not as scary as I expected.” She said, holding a file she sat down across from you. You knew about Waller, working with the Batman gave you some intel on contacts. And she was the nastiest one of all.

“Waller?” You ask.

“In the flesh.” She responded and opened your file, reading it off.

“(Y/n) Todd, Father was a factory worker, died due to Gang related activity. Mother was an addict, died years ago, leaving you alone, but you see.. that’s where it ends, as if you faded off the planet of the earth. Until you resurface a year later.” She said, all of that was true.

“What’s your point?” You ask. And she reads off another page.

“Peak Physical fitness, durability, speed, Agility, Strenght. Master Of Arms and a Genius level intellect… you are a dangerous and powerful individual, so I’m offering you a chance to cut your sentence down..” she offers

“You’re bluffing..” you struggle in the binds more, but Waller keeps her dead stare.

“Do I look like I’m bluffing?” She said, you stop and she looks you in the eye. “you complete your task, you get years off your sentence, you fail.. you die. Fairly simple.” She said, a million thoughts raced though your mind, but one did.

“Get out, Find Joker.. Kill, Joker.”

“…Im in.” You said, Waller takes her file and closes it. “Good, get his bomb in and relay with the others.” She says, your attitude shifts pretty quickly, “bomb?” You ask, “What do you mean bomb?!” You yell, but nobody said anything, being wheeled away you were held down by officers and a needle injected right into the base of your skull. Granted it wasn’t the worse thing that’s been done to you, still hurt. Finally reaching the breaking point you were wheeled outside, the sun finally hitting your skin and you found yourself surrounded by soldiers, many wounded, others preparing for what seems to be a war.

You turn your head left to spot someone you know too well, Deadshot. Seems he was also canned to Belle Reeve, and to your left was a woman you knew too well, Harley Quinn, also a prisoner. Your blood began to boil even more than before and you were ready to throttle her, but with all these soldiers here, you doubt you’d be able to do it without getting filled with lead. So you bid your time as any Hunter would. A Soldier approached them, and looked them up and down.

“Unlock 'em.” He orders, the soldiers obliged and your restraints are removed, you sit up from yoyr bindings and look further down your line. You even spot Killer Croc, in all his, Lizardy goodness. Harley Stretches and keeps her off putting smile. Closest to Harley was a man adorned with Tattoos, ElDiablo was his name, you heard a few reports about him from Batman.

“Mmm! Hi, boys! Harley Quinn. How do you do?” She said, obviously no one said anything. It was dead silence until she looks around. “Huh? What was that? I should kill everyone and escape? Sorry. It's the voices…” she said, but laughs, “I'm kidding! Jeez!…That's not what they really said.”

The soldiers aren’t done assembling their Squad, more soldiers drag over a sack that’s fighting pretty furiously.

“What do we got here? Twelve pounds of shit in a 10-pound sack. Welcome to the party, Captain Boomerang.” He watches them cut it open, Captain immediately swings on the first person he sees. The Soldiers pin him to a wall.

“Hey, what's going on, man? Hey, one minute I'm playing Mahjong with me nanna, then this red streak hits me outta nowhere.” Boomerang pleads.

“Shut up! You were caught robbing a diamond exchange.”

“I was not!”

He Totally Was.

There was one last member, Slipknot, the man who could climb anything, which was an odd ability set, it nonetheless he was here. The man before them all was Colonel Rick Flag.

“Listen up! In your necks, injection you got, it's a nanite explosive. It's the size of a rice grain, but it's powerful as a hand grenade. You disobey me, you die. You try to escape, you die. You otherwise irritate or vex me, and guess what? You die.” He says, which throws a wrench in your plans to escape, Harley obnoxiously puts her hand up.

“I'm known to be quite vexing. I'm just forewarning you.”

“Lady, shut up!” Flag yells, and then composed himself, “This is the deal. You're going somewhere very bad, to do something that'll get you killed. But until that happens, - you're my problem.” He explains, Deadshot looks him up and down.

“Mmm. So was that like a, uh, pep talk?” He asks.

“Yeah. That was a pep talk. There's your shit. Grab what you need for a fight. We're wheels up in 10.” He said, crates of gear was brought in for you and your “Teammates.”

“You might wanna work on your team motivation thing. You heard of Phil Jackson? He's like the gold standard, okay? Triangle, bitch. Study.” Deadshot, with those very inspiring words to flag suits up with everyone. You open your crate to see the old gear you had, still in damn good condition, and you suit up, Your body armor and jacket lined with shuriken, explosives and throwing knives, a combat knife strapped to your leg. Twin M1911 Dual Handguns, mint condition. And your helmet, still holding one scar on it, you take the helmet out of its case and stare at it. Your eyes waver for a moment to your other teammates, everyone seems to have some dumb gimmick, but your eyes dressed down Harley, not by your choice of course, you’ve been cramped in a hole for nearly a year, and the first woman you see was stripping down in front of you. An urge came over you and you knew exactly what it was, she finally gets her shirt on and sees almost every guy staring.

“What?” She said, they all quickly go back to doing what they were supposed to do, you as well, pushing those feelings down. You keep looking at your mask, Deadshot does the same thing with his.

“What? Won't fit anymore? Too much junk in the trunk?” Harley said to him.

“Nah. Every time I put this on, somebody dies.” He tried to shake it off, but couldn’t that.. this wouldn’t be a normal contracts

“And?” Harley said.

“I like putting it on.” He admits, she smirks and grabs her mallet, “Goody. Somethin' tells me a whole lotta people are about to die!” She sounds so giddy.

“Yeah. It's us. We're being led to our deaths.” Diablo said.

“I don’t plan on it.” You said, looking down the barrels of one of your 1911’s.

“You know something we don’t Mate?” Boomerang asks, “No.” You reply. “I just don’t plan on dying again.” You mutter.

“What you a zombie or something?” Deadshot looks unimpressed. “Something like that… point is; Been dead, done that… I plan on getting out of here..” you say, and turn to Harley.

“I’ve got business to take care of.” You made your claim pretty obvious but it didn’t matter to you, escape is the only plan, and getting this explosive disabled. “You don’t seem to giddy like these guys..” you ask El Diablo, “I’m not here to hurt anyone man.” He said. Deadshot was the first to let them all know.

“Y'all might wanna leave old boy alone. He could torch this whole joint. Ain't that right, ese?” He looks at Diablo, who calmly shows his hands, flames emitting from them, but low ones:

“Ain't got nothing to worry about from me. I'm cool, homie.” He says, Flag returns to them, holding a tablet with Amanda on screen.

“Behold the voice of God.” He said, and she gives them the rundown. “For those of you who don't know me officially, my name is Amanda Waller. There's an active terrorist event in Midway City. I want you to enter the city, rescue HVT-1, and get them to safety.” She orders.

“I'm sorry. Uh... For those of us who don't speak good guy, what is HVT-1?” Deadshot asks.

“HVT.. High Value Target.” You say, “It’s like a bounty, Basically a rescue mission.” You explain, Deadshot nods, admitting you made it sound much less cool. “The only person that matters in the city, the one person you can't kill. Complete the mission, you get time off your prison sentence. Fail the mission, you die. Anything happens to Colonel Flag, I'll kill every single one of you. Remember, I'm watching. I see everything.” Waller ends the communication and Flag turns to Deadshot

There's your pep talk.”

“Compared to your shit, she killed it. So that's it? What, we some kind of Suicide Squad?” He asks, Flag ignores his question and leaves.

“I'll notify your next of kin. Alpha, Bravo team. Mount up!” He orders, you look around to the team you’ll be forced to work with. All of them, criminals in their own right, but for now they’re the thing between success, or all of you dying painful deaths. You put on your helmet and the detective mode still works, turning it off. You load your guns and walk to the helicopter.

Task Force X, has been activated.

[kaeso4ka]

You're being stalked. It becomes even more of a problem when you find out who it is

Pairing: yandere Optimus Prime x reader

Oddly enough, it started with a glance. You never suffered from paranoia, but it was impossible to ignore that feeling of constant scrutiny. Someone was peering at your back on the street, staring out your window, and even crossing their eyes with you a couple times, I think.

Jasper was a small town, and you worked at one of the most popular cafes. It wasn't strange that a lot of people knew you by sight and even sometimes recognized you on the streets. But a slight nod from a group of teenagers, to whom you made a discount yesterday by great kindness of heart - it's one thing, but the feeling of persecution - quite another.

During one of your shifts, you found a note on one of the tables, on which someone described your smile and hands in a very poetic and beautiful handwriting. It looked cute and weird in equal measure, so the strange note soon went in the trash and the memory of it went out of your head.

Then strange things started happening more often. Someone attached to the doors of the coffee shop not small notes, but whole letters in which someone addressed to you.

You tried to catch the joker for a long time: you watched the cameras, followed the visitors. But it didn't bring you any closer to an answer. It was as if someone was invisible: he did not meet anyone's eyes, bypassed all the cameras.

The situation began to get out of control at the moment when on the doorstep of your own house you began to find the same notes, but this time with presentations: scarlet roses, food, something that looks like jewelry. Someone continued to correspond with you one-sidedly, confessing their warmest feelings for you.

It sent a chill down your spine.

It wasn't normal.

Someone knew your workplace, your personal address. Someone was following you. Wanted to get you to like them. They were showering you with gifts.

And at one point, even contacted you.

It was an early Saturday: you woke up to the hot desert sun beating down on your face. And the sound of notifications coming in.

Normally, no one bothered you on weekends: your bosses knew you weren't going out on your day off, and everyone else preferred to rest rather than write to you.

And yet someone had broken a glorious tradition.

You frowned, unlocking your phone. Messages came from an unknown number.

“Hello. I apologize for disturbing you. Did I wake you up?”

“Jack, if it's you, I told you, just because you have ballet on Saturdays doesn't mean I'm going to go work a twelve-hour shift for you. Let's go without me somehow, friend.”

“This isn't your work colleague. I'm writing to make sure you liked all the presents. I didn't misjudge your taste?”

Sleep receded into the background soon enough. You sat up abruptly on the bed. Immediately you took screenshots of the correspondence. You weren't five years old, and she knew exactly what to do if you were being followed. At the very least you had to prepare evidence for the police.

“It's understandable. You do know there's still a statute for stalking in our state, right? That's a pretty serious violation of the law.”

“I apologize, there was a misunderstanding between us. I didn't mean to scare you at all. I'm just showing signs of attention.”

“Uh-huh, yeah. Tracked me down at work, at home, even got my personal phone number…. Not stalking at all, huh. If you wanted to meet me, you would have approached me yourself.”

“I can't.”

“What are you, a wheelchair user? Well, you'd drive up.”

You nodded your shoulder, remembering. Did a lot of handicapped people go to your coffee shop…?

“That's not the point. I can't come up to you right now. But I'll be able to soon.”

“You shouldn't bother. I did not like the note with which you began the acquaintance. I do not wish to continue it.”

You didn't wait long: you threw the undecided number on the block and drifted further into sleep. A sense of dread dulled the ironic hilarity.

The gifts and notes were gone. The unknown person didn't try to contact you again, and you exhaled hastily: it's nice when people around you turn out to be strange but understanding.

One shift, a tractor-trailer pulled up to the car food dispensing window. The red-and-blue, expensive-looking Paterbilt looked pretentious against the gray-and-yellow Jasper. Still, truckers often passed through this town on their way to Las Vegas, so you weren't surprised.

“Could you take the order outside?” a pleasant male voice asked quietly and conciliatory. “The booth is very high up. I won't be able to reach the order.”

“Yes, of course,” you nodded into the void, as if the person you were talking to could see you, ”the order will be ready in ten minutes. Wait in the parking lot, don't hold up the line.”

When the food was ready and stacked, you hurried out from behind your desk. You headed for the parking lot, which was empty except for Paterbilt.

The car door from the driver's seat was ajar, and you hurriedly reached forward with the bag of food, but… There was no one in sight. The cabin was empty.

“What the…?” the moment you reached forward to look for the trucker, who had obviously moved back to where they had a sleeping place, something yanked you forward by the arm. “What the…!”

Paterbilt's door slammed shut exactly as the plugs pulled you inside.

“I can speak to you personally now, my Spark.”

[dollwrites]

ᴍɪsғɪᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴘᴀᴍᴇʟᴀ ɪsʟᴇʏ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!robin!reader, established relationship, predicament bondage ( plants ), blood mention ( mind the thorns ), improper use of Pam’s powers and plants in general, it’s kinda dub con, suggested age gap, praise kink, maybe a very small amount of sex pollen if you squint. all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 ∣ act six [ object stimulation ]

“Well, well, a little birdie got caught in my trap.”

vines slither up your legs, coiling like serpents around your thighs and squeezing tight. Pam’s voice sounds like it’s all around you, but you know better than that. she’s just a pro at playing up the villain bit. “Ivy,” you break out into a subtle smile even saying her name, but attempt to hold it at bay by nibbling on your lower lip. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“Isn’t that what you said last night? And the time before that?” Pamela’s voice only grows softer as she gets closer, practically materializing out of the darkest shadow at your back, until slender fingers drum against your shoulders, and glossy lips smack against the shell of your ear. “Oh, and the time before that?”

“Heroes make mistakes,” you remind her, but you’re happy it’s her causing chaos in Gotham and not that looney tune Joker. “I have just made… a lot of mistakes this week.”

and you wanted to make another. just one more, terrible decision before Batman ruined all your fun.

“Pamela—“ you reach for her, wanting to run your fingers through her fiery curls or caress her face long enough to guide those tantalizing, glossy lips to your own, but more vines got in the way. snapping around your arms, they pin them tight to your sides, looping several times around your midriff. this is when you notice the thorns, angry and red, nipping at the spandex of your uniform around your belly, tearing several, minuscule holes in the threading and pressing into your soft skin beneath. “Ivy.” you say, more firm this time. the fabric that clings to your thighs like a second skin is also being torn at by her dubious, thorned ‘babies’ as she called them. “Now’s not the time for your little games. Batman is—“

“Shh, sh, shh,” Pam cuts you off, allowing her hands to careen over your shoulders and down your front, caressing your chest as her lips tickle the column of your neck with tender kisses. you moan out loud when she teases a particularly special spot that she already knew was there, and her svelte, razor sharp nails slip beneath your neckline, severing quintessential threads that hold your top in place. the seams snap with a soft sound, and part to expose your cleavage. “I know Bruce is probably scouring the rooftops of Gotham right now, searching for you, little bird. But you and I can still have our fun before he finds you.” both of her willowy hands envelop your breasts through your top, running her thumbs along the shape of your budding nipples, and you moan, your resolve slipping, as you allow your head to fall back, simply enjoying the attention. “There you go, my little pet. Such a good girl for me.”

but you can’t ignore the thorny vines that are vice-tight, digging into your arms, waist, and legs. shredding the integrity of your outfit. “Time to call off your babies, Ivy.” you tell her in a mew, but they only seem to tighten their grip at that, twisting against you. some of the sharp edges find your skin beneath the costume and liquid rubies bead up from you at the contact points. you let out a sharp hiss at the sensation of so many cuts at once, and tilt your head back further to look up at her, demanding to be released.

but Pamela is simpering wickedly at you as she peeks up from your neck— the visage of a heroine, usually so strong, reduced to a damsel in distress. “Mm, nn-nn.” she denies you simply, “I think I’ll have my fun with you all tangled up this time.” as she speaks, the two tips of the vines incapacitating your legs meet in between your thighs, their bulbous buds stiff and oozing a nectar-like substance as they begin to rub against you. it was sticky and warm, but not unpleasant, the smell of a honey-arousal cocktail wafts in the atmosphere the longer they tease your sensitive cunny through your suit. you were almost worried the two, determined little buds would rip a hole in the crotch of it with all their furious, hard scrubbing, and you would have a difficult time explaining to your mentor why your private parts were exposed. the injuries from the thorns you could probably explain away without raising much suspicion. however, the edges of these buds were slick enough to lubricate the fabric ( and you, of course, taking care of the interior the more they pleasured you ), so the majority of the integrity of the suit tonight remained in tact.

your gloved hands ball into fists at your sides, but you can’t deny it feels good. the flowerlets seemed to be ribbed in all the right places, writhing in tandem to toy with your cunt— pushing the spandex around until your nerherlips slot around them, and they can worm their way, instinctively, to the more sensitive parts, like your throbbing, little button that swells further. “Ah, uh—!”

one of the sprouts blossoms, the flower mimicking the shape of a small mouth, and latches itself in place with several, microscopic teeth-like thorns impaling through your suit. the seal creates a suction against your clit hard enough to make your eyes cross and your knees buckle. it felt like Pamela’s mouth when she ate your pussy, the way it sucked hard on your nerve-bundle. that’s how you knew she was in complete control, aware of the sensations that bring you the most pleasure and channeling them into these, little minions. the bubbling in your belly, a brewing orgasm, flares at the sudden ferocity, and your mouth hangs open, half in shock and half to simply allow your needy moans to flow freely. “P—Pam, oh, god, this feels… Good!! Don’t stop…!!”

your pleading nature elicits a giggle from the vixen fondling your breasts, further overloading you with pleasure, and she traces her name along your throat with her tongue, as if claiming Batman’s young, pretty sidekick for herself. “You’re always so sensitive, so responsive. Taking whatever I give you, doing so well.” she croons softly, her thumbs and forefingers pinching at your pert nipples to intensify the pleasure her plants are giving you. the still-closed floret has taken to prodding against your hole as it clenches, helplessly, behind the flimsy defense of your suit, teasing you with fantasies of tearing its way through and impaling you. right now, you were intoxicated by the pleasure ( or perhaps, that sweet-scented sap that seemed to envelop you in a warm, tingling sensation ), and you wanted nothing more than that to happen. but Ivy knew there wasn’t time to ravage you, not like you both wanted. “My pretty, little bird. My favorite.” she emphasizes the word favorite, by allowing one hand to flee to your jaw, grasping it, and turning it to capture your lips in a steamy kiss.

you can’t help yourself. you’re teetering on the edge of orgasm, and all this praise is only throwing gasoline on an already-raging fire. so you kiss her back, as fervently and hungrily as you can manage. your tongue tangling with hers in a dangerous dance as her suffocating kiss muffles the higher octaves you reach when your orgasm hits you like a sack of bricks.

you come undone, your hips bucking back and forth, riding the waves of intense pleasure because you can do little else, your fists balled so tight that your knuckles hurt, and you whimper when Pamela sinks her teeth into your lower lip, tugging on it. your eyelids flutter when you release, and then, without so much more as a second to torture you further, the vines retreat. Pam breaks the kiss, kicking her lips, smirking with her arms crossed as she steps back.

without the vines’ support, you are more than a little wobbly on your feet. you manage to stay standing, only barely, and pant, chancing a glance down at your suit. the chest is ripped open, exposing more cleavage than normal, it’s riddled with small, puncture holes, and the aromatic slime mixed with your own release creates a thick, damp patch in the crotch. Explaining this to Batman might be a little harder than you anticipated, but you would figure it out. your eyes flicker over to her, watching the vines retreat into the darkness behind her, and she only stands at the edge of escape. she looks stunning, irresistible, and in your post-orgasmic state, still riding the high, you want to grab her and insist on a round two. bury your face between her thighs and drink her in. but you couldn’t, and you both knew that. not yet, at least. “Don’t look so sad, baby.” Pamela speaks first, reading your pouty expression, and she reaches out to caress your cheek and trace your jaw with the very tip of her nail, smiling fondly. “We’ll see each other again soon. You just have to find some time to sneak around Bruce. Keep him distracted a little longer, and then I will really and truly ravage you.”

your heart thumps harder at the idea. you’ve been at the mercy of Poison Ivy and her insatiable appetite more than once, but it’s always a place you want to be. “Yeah, just stay out of his way in the meantime, okay?” you plead with her, tilting your head to kiss her fingers, mumbling softly, “It’s a pain in the ass to sneak into your cell at Arkham.”

[triptychgardener]

I swear to actual Gog no nom-transfem outside of Tumblr actually understands June as a character and it will be the death of me. If I see another cavalcade of people turn up at the slightest mention of her name saying "ohhh I don't see it, I don't think it makes sense, tbh it'd just be better if they didn't at this point" I'm going to turn into the Joker. I read further down on that "June would be better as a trans guy imo I'm not transmisogynistic I mean femtransphobic" reddit thread and it made me want to become a nomad wandering the Appalachian peaks

Yeah like I'm gonna be real. I think entering fandom and using characters as nothing more than a source for projection really screws up your actual reading of the text (said as someone who has done that before!) And if you're unwilling to let go of that interpretation, you're going to be operating in a fundamentally different reality than everyone else who bothers to read the text.

June at this point is on the edge of becoming canon. She's been "canon" for years now, the evidence and reading of June as transfem has been thoroughly documented and discussed. She is a thing. That is happening. And while Homestuck often draws in fandom ideas and discussion, it's rarely going off of things that weren't at least partially in the text themselves.

I don't hold all of Homestuck's text as scripture. My distaste for, say, transmasc Roxy, has been growing as I actually began to read and understand more. And if people want good transmasc readings, there are plenty of great options! Jane, Dirk, Aradia and Nepeta are all wonderful examples of strong transmasc readings. I'd say there are, on the whole, maybe fewer than transfem readings, just because Homestuck is a very transfeminine story. It's about trying to escape and defeat the ultimate force of masculinity that pervades and lords over the story, contrasted by the Space aspect, which has some of the most transfeminine goddamn characters in the whole comic (even a basically canonical one in Calliope). It's a story with Vriska Goddamn Serket in it for the love of god!!!!

Also not to get too deep into the weeds but arguments like "well she actually admired her dad a lot and wanted to be like him" seem to forget the Literal Familial Strife he had with his dad every day, or the fact that his dad always seems to be a bit of a sore subject, or maybe, perhaps, John is not always being one hundred percent honest about his feelings about his father who died when he was thirteen. Honestly, even outside of a transfeminine interpretation, it's just a deeply surface-level reading of John.

[theemporium]

Hello! I hope you're doing amazing!

I've been thinking about Remus x Reader smut, Academic rivals, who are assigned a Order mission by Dumbly and they have to stay in a hotel for the night due to some changes in plan. And you guessed it right with the one bed trope.

I can't get it out of my head!! Could you maybe write a fic about it? Pretty please? Thankyou so much! Have a beautiful day ahead!

thank you for requesting!🖤i hope you have a lovely day!

.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

It had been bad enough that you had been stuck in a mission due to some last minute intel you had received overnight. 

It had been bad enough that most of the mission had gone to shit after a mistake from said intel that left you stranded in a some dodgy town you had never stepped into before tonight. 

It had been bad enough that throughout all this you had been stuck with Remus Lupin, the boy you had spent the last seven years arguing and bickering and fighting with since the day you first met. 

But the fact you had stumbled into the small motel, tired and drenched from the rain and in desperate need to just lay down, only to find one bed was the final straw that had you cursing whatever sick joker in the universe that had planned this night for you.

“Of–fucking–course,” you grumbled as you walked further into the room, glaring at the bed that was smaller than a double. 

“Are you already complaining again?” Remus commented, having followed you into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. 

“Shut up, Lupin,” you murmured bluntly, peeling away the layers of soaked clothing and unceremoniously dumping them onto the armchair in the corner of the room in hopes of them drying out enough before the morning. 

“Just go take a shower and stop whining,” he huffed out and gestured to the small attached bathroom.

And you were too tired to even argue with him.

Neither one of you spoke to the other as you sorted yourselves out. Remus contacted the Order and informed them of your situation, and as expected, they wanted you to pull out and return to Grimmauld Place in the morning. 

Meanwhile, you had managed to warm up a little in the shower before making your way back out into the room, wrapped in only a towel and barely glancing at the wizard before you grabbed your change of clothes as he disappeared into the shower himself. 

By the time he got out, a wall of pillows had already been set on the bed with a single look from you that warned the boy to stay on his side, not that he argued much on that matter. However, it was hard to fall asleep when he could feel your shivers vibrating that bed.

“Merlin, put a hoodie on or something,” Remus murmured sleepily as he glanced over his shoulder, peeking over the pillow wall to see you clutching the duvet close to you.

“I am,” you snapped back.

“And you’re still cold?” Remus asked, his brows furrowing a little in concern.

“No, I’m warm and fucking toasty,” you deadpanned.

However, Remus didn’t respond with a snarky comment like you expected. He instead started throwing the pillows off the bed, ignoring your weak attempts at batting his hands away before he could reach over to your side and pull your body close to him.

“What are you—oh,” you let out a small groan of appreciation when the warmth of his body was pressed against your own, settling something inside you. You eagerly wrapped yourself around him, nuzzling yourself further into his chest. 

“Fucking hell, you’re freezing,” he murmured as his hands rubbed up and down your back, the gesture slow and calming. 

“Thank you,” you spat out, even if it killed you a little to say.

Instead of being smug about it, Remus simply nodded in response. “Are you warm enough?” 

“I’ll be fine for the night,” you assured him.

“That’s not what I asked,” he pointed out. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m still a little cold,” you admitted in a slightly sheepish tone.

“Do you want me to help?”

Something about his voice made you lift your head up from his chest, finding that the boy was already staring down at you. His eyes were dark and, for a second, you thought it was just because of the lack of light. But then his arms squeezed around you, his thigh slotting between your legs and his gaze dropping to your lips and suddenly you were wondering if your body could heat up that quickly.

“What do you have in mind, Lupin?” you asked, your voice a little breathy as his hands dipped under the fabric of your hoodie, his hands sliding over your bare skin.

Remus gulped a little. “Do you trust me?” 

“No.”

“Good.” 

Before you went on a mission, your mind raced through a million different outcomes on what you could possibly expect, just to prepare yourself so you were never caught off guard. 

Not a single one of those could have prepared you for Remus to kiss you until your lungs burned for air. Not a single one could prepare you for the dirty little phrases that slipped past his lips as his hands squeezed and caressed every inch of your body. Not a single one could have prepared you for the fact you’d be lying underneath Remus Lupin as he fucked you hard until the bed frame was banging against the wall.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whined out, your nails ranking down his back as his hips thrusted in and out of you, at a pace you didn’t even think was possible. 

“That’s it, pretty girl, let it all out,” Remus groaned, his face pressed into the crook of your neck as your walls clamped around him. “Doing so good f’me, taking it all like such a good girl.” 

“Please,” you moaned, your legs winding around his waist to keep him close. “I–”

“Shhh, come for me,” Remus grunted, your breathy moans and pathetic whimpers sounding like a fucking symphony to his ears. “That’s it, just like that. Fuck, so pretty for me.” 

You felt him press encouraging kisses along your neck as you finally came for the third time that night, your shaking body held close to him as he came inside you, not letting you go as the warmth settled inside you and you finally fell asleep.

And not a single one could have prepared you to wake up the next morning, your body still tangled with Remus’, to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the bed with a shit-eating grin. 

“Sleep well last night?” 

“Shut up,” you grumbled, narrowing your eyes at the boy. “I was cold. We were just cuddling,” you said to him, though the sheet wasn’t enough to cover the fact neither you nor Remus was wearing clothes.

Sirius raised his brows. “And you both conveniently forgot about heating charms?”

Your face burned as you chucked a pillow towards his head, only for him to rush out the motel room, cackling.

“You have ten minutes to get ready before we have to be back for a debrief!”

.