#inspired by a tik tok

[bruciemilf]

“No loyalty, no loyalty —,”

Dick kind of understands why Tim called.

Bruce is something animal and savage. something monster made; He’s never been more Gotham than this.

With his cowl ripped off and his autumn brown eyes manic, teeth bared and hissed. He understands why Damian looks scared, even if he doesn’t expect it.

“NONE. “

Bruce Wayne is a man; Men, as Dick learned since he was 10, are scary all the time, but they’re something else when angry. Even Bruce, who’s a gentle one, all things considered.

“Not even from YOU.”

He’s a gentle man who’s currently backing Talia at the edge of this building, and Dick moves without thinking, without judgement, jumping in front of Talia, to both their surprise,

“B— Tati —,”

“WHERE,” Bruce’s voice is bullets and thunder, a sound ripped straight from his heart, looking straight through Dick. Like he’s not even there. Like he only sees Jason’s body crawling from green and death.

“IS HE?!”

Okay. But when Bruce discovers Talia knew Jason was alive? That she knew his child was the man under the red hood. His boy.

Oh.

Jason’s met and memorized every facet of Bruce Wayne. He knows Bruce by the way his eyes melt when he looks at him, to the hard lines of his cowl. He knows where Bruce starts and Batman ends.

When Bruce rips off his cowl to give her the deepest glare Jason’s ever seen, he’s reminded there’s no difference. Fear hits his stomach when he swallows,

“Hey, old man, don’t fucking blame HER. She has NO obligation to you—“

Bruce’s eyes are unblinking, wide, jumping from her frozen form to him. And Jason’s suddenly 10 again, running from hungry stray dogs cornering him in a place with no exit.

Bruce’s voice is shadow and whisper, “Quiet.”

“…Okay.”

“Damian,” he rasps, pointing at the small figure with dark hair and green eyes, who looks at neither of them. He looks at Talia. Jason thinks it’s fair. He’s never seen her scared, either. “Car. Cave. Stay. “

There’s something incredibly bitter in Jason when he just does. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t rebel. He wants to, with every fiber and matter and crumb in his body. And his body says no.

He grabs Damian like he’s an angry cat, not the small assassin he knew since he was born. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t want to, he realizes.

“Did you know?” Bruce asks, such a deadly calm to him, too calm for the winter in his eyes. Talia would’ve preferred a blade to the neck.

She can’t meet his eye. Almost like if she doesn’t face his hatred, his disapproval, his disappointment, it doesn’t count. “I did. “

“…Whatever you do,” she’d take it as pity if he didn’t sound repulsed , “you’re still his daughter.”

[acourtofquestions]

“If you were to ask me what Throne of Glass is about…

I’d say it’s about the epic journey of a teenage assassin in a corrupt kingdom.

But if you were to ask me on a deeper level, I’d say…

It’s about how small acts of kindness can change the outcome of the world.

Money to a barmaid, waiting an extra minute to shoot, a warning in a competition, a cloak in a cold dungeon, a message on a wall, sharing your lavender soap.”

[hijacked-mouse]

[WARNING: Slight harm portrayed]

Does God cry when it rains?

Do angels still feel pain?

Will you always love me this way?

Will you always love me the same?

[sleepymarimo]

toji x fem!reader // sfw! a little meet cute moment with some sprinkles of sadness synopsis: reader cleans and maintains abandoned graves, including that of toji's late wife.

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 doesn’t visit his late wife’s grave often, if ever.

it’s easy to say that it’s because he doesn’t care, that he’s lost all respect for the world and those on, or buried beneath it. yet, the reality is that he’s ashamed, a bit of a coward. how could he face her again? how could he read the letters of her name knowing he’d been unable to grant the one request she’d given him? take care of megumi.

he doesn’t know why he’s walking in the direction of the cemetery, an old, surely run down patch of land that’s now nestled between some homes just outside of shinjuku.

maybe the weight of his most recent job gets to him. maybe it’s nearing what would’ve been their anniversary. maybe the weather reminds him of her funeral, in which him and baby megumi were the only attendees.

a rock gets kicked a good few meters away as he remembers that day. her family had cut her off after she’d married him, seeing nothing good coming out of their future, feeling disdain at the mention of their daughter marrying man with not a thing to his name. toji scoffs. perhaps they were right.

the overcast sky does nothing for the scenery ahead, which consists of old, rusted cemetery gates and a wall made of dull, greyed stones.

however, a splash of color stands out against the monochrome background. it’s all instinct, the way his senses hone in, but it’s not because you’re the only other person in the cemetery, not because your colored scarf makes you particularly identifiable.

no, it’s because you, a stranger, are standing in front of his wife’s grave.

despite the numerous leaves on the ground, the rather quiet environment, you don’t hear him approach.

you’re focused on your task, your brows ever so slightly knitted, a bristly brush in your hand which you use to scrub away at any debris wedged between the letters of this grave. dust, mud, leaf litter… it gets removed with each gentle movement.

a bottle of cleaner is in your other hand, spraying the stone every now and then when it gets too dry or when a particularly stubborn piece of debris refuses to be erased from existence.

one little stain catches your attention, so much so that you ignore how the autumn wind nips at your cheeks. it’s just about removed. a little more, a little more…

“what are y’doing?”

a small gasp leaves you, or maybe you choke on air, and your hands retract from the gravestone as if you’d been burned. you take a couple of steps back, a natural response, wanting to put some distance between you and whoever else has decided to join you in the cemetery.

the sudden move results in you kicking over your coffee cup, your mind a mess as you crouch down and keep it from spilling any further. you put your tools away, too, placing the brush and spray bottle into a tote containing a few other items.

toji doesn’t mean to intimidate or scare you.

it’s just… how he is. it’s in the energy he carries, how he presents himself to the world that’s done him more harm than good. he’s suspicious of you, reasonably so.

when you finally stand and look up at him, he can see the anticipation in your eyes. your hands fidget, unsure of whether to retreat into your pockets or rise in self defense.

“i’m so sorry,” are your immediate words, sincere. “i didn’t know she had visitors.”

she.

why are you talking about her like you were a part of her life? toji is sure he’s never met you before. he doesn’t remember his late wife saying a thing about weirdos who hang out in cemeteries, either.

those green eyes of his narrow, just a bit. he doesn’t have to say anything more, his stance is enough. you haven’t answered his question and he isn’t going to ask again.

“i, um, clean graves,” you answer after a few heartbeats, a little put off by his stare. “i’ve been coming by for the past year, clean up every month or two. i usually wait and make sure no one comes by. i thought it was abandoned, i’m so sorry.”

the situation isn’t entirely new to you. it’s not the first time you’d been ‘caught’, and the reactions you’ve gotten have ranged from grateful to furious, but it’s jarring each time. how could it not be? you’re not a fool, you know these people meant something to someone, that they represent more than the headstones ever could.

your eyes remain on his, equal parts apologetic and bashful, clearly genuine.

toji’s posture relaxes, just a bit.

a part of that has to do with the smidge of guilt he feels. abandoned. he couldn’t be surprised. after all, he never visited, never paid for cleaning services.

perhaps a normal person would say thank you, but the words fizzle out on his tongue. he’s not one for such words, or at least that’s what he tells himself.

“it’s fine,” he ends up saying, curt, to the point, not giving away the extent of what he’s thinking or feeling.

even those two words have you feeling relieved, a long sigh leaving your lips. you can’t deny that you’re itching to leave, still a little unnerved. being alone with a strange man in a cemetery isn’t exactly on your bucket list, so you reluctantly reach down and grab your things.

your bag gets slung over your shoulder, but your coffee… well, you’re pretty much left with an empty cup now. the liquid had spilt all over the concrete floor when he’d spooked you earlier.

“i’ll leave her alone,” you promise him, truly not looking to cause any conflict. “sorry again…”

for a second, toji considers leaving it at that.

his eyes drift from you to your empty cup. he should feel bad, should be a decent person, but can’t find it in himself to reassure you.

he needs a nudge, and that nudge is given to him in the form of an acorn falling from the tree rooted over his wife’s grave.

the small object hits him right on the head, reprimanding him for his actions. toji grunts, his hand coming up to rub at the spot where the damn thing whacked him. he should’ve sensed it, should’ve been aware of its existence as soon as it snapped off the branch.

his eyes look up toward the sky, almost glaring, and for a second he can almost hear her voice, scolding him.

“don’t be mean, toji!”

with a click of his tongue, he looks back at you. you, who’d taken care of his wife in death as he’d cared for her in life.

inhaling, he decides to screw it all and take a step toward you. maybe being a decent human wouldn’t kill him. maybe.

“look, i didn’t mean to freak you out or make you spill your drink,” it’s the closest thing to an apology he’ll give, but it’s better than nothing.

he recognizes the logo on your cup, then nods his head toward the cemetery gates. “let me at least buy you a new one,” he offers, though by the sound of it, it’s quite clear he wants to do this for you. “what’s your name, anyway?”

you tell him, then he gives you his.

the sun starts to burn away at the clouds, warming the earth just as you’re about to leave the cemetery. things grow a little brighter, a whole shift in the atmosphere.

toji doesn’t comment on the gust of wind ushering you two out of the gates, the rustle of leaves which could pass as a hushed cheer. no, he won’t say anything, not even if the breeze on his back feels like the hands of his late wife, pushing him toward something new.

his eyes flicker down, watching you, noting the curve of your cheeks and the slope of your nose. he shakes his head, steels his heart, ignoring the small jump it does as you look back at him.

no, he won’t say anything, not at all.

[nappingmoon]

nanami finds your perfect engagement ring -of course- but he is torn on the decision of the accompanying bands. he revisits the jeweler over weeks, standing before the glass and comparing the rings in the display to pieces of your favorite jewelry from past photos. they would all look so gorgeous and each unique ring aspect reminds him of a different part of you and, rather than leave any option behind, he gets a bunch. some have little emeralds, because the pop of green just compliments your skin tone so well. another is simple, just a band for your quieter days, when things get overwhelming. one stack of rings joins together like a little sun, and even with all the diamonds set in it, it cannot even hope to match half of your sparkle.

he gives each one to you on a different date. one night, he takes you for a beach stroll. you've just finished dinner at the most beautiful restaurant on the coast and as you walk hand in hand, your sandals in his free hand, you're focused on the sensation of the sand between your toes, and how the water feels lapping up before receding. when you turn around, he's got his eyes fixed on you. his gaze is soft and full of nothing but adoration and you watch him sneak his hand into the pocket of his pants before pulling out a stunning little band, decorated with small pearls. "kento, you did not!" you squeal, giddily making your way back to him, leaving small divots in the wet sand. you throw your arms around his neck without thought, and he grips on to the ring hard while his arms come around your back, intent on not dropping it. he replaced the sapphire embellished ring with the new one, perfectly fitting around your sparkling engagement ring. the blues were cute by the water but the pearls brought in such an elegant aspect. after taking a moment to admire it, you rise back to your tippy toes and bring your husband in for a kiss.

he smiles against your lips, pleased. "i take it, you like the ring?" he asks, as if he had even a smidge of doubt.

"it's perfect, my love." your response is echoed by the waves, the soft rumble of the ocean glittering under the moonlight only strengthening the resolve in your voice.

[yes-im-a-simpp]

Dick : What you and a hospital have in common?

Wally : I don't know Dick, what do we have in common?

Dick : I should be inside both of you.

Wally laughing : That's really funny-wait a second.

Dick :

Wally :

Dick :

Wally : Why do you have to be in a hospital?

Dick taking his shirt off : Well, I kinda got shot three days ago and-

Wally : DICK WHAT THE FUCK YOU'RE BLEEDING OUT

[tratshka]

Gota draw him serving CUNT

[ssahotchnerr]

ellie taking everythinggggg off her bed (everything besides the mattress 💀🤭 pillows, all her stuffed animals, blankets) and bringing it to your and aaron’s bed. the way she so proudly yet nonchalantly walks into your room 😭

the look you and aaron share 😭 — it’s gonna be one long night.

[snowflake-sage]

Everyone look at this right now

[pistachi0art]

been talking about a infection au- Gordo starting a chain reaction by biting Benrey (who doesn’t tell anyone about it)…to then shortly disappear afterwards- Tommy’s the leader now!

[whendidmythoughtsgocrazy]

If you're failing it means you tried. If you're rejected it means you went for it. If you struggled it means you overcame. If you didn't get something you wanted it means there was something you really wanted, that is you opened up your heart enough to be vulnerable.

k.b. // @/nasimehehe - tiktok

[snowyshuanghua]

mdzs headcanon of the day #420 !

despite being a relatively calm and collected individual, there was one time where xiao xingchen crashed out so bad they had to send him into seclusion. he doesn’t even remember what happened

[mymultifandomhell]

x

[loonylupinblack3]

Wretched

Paring: Barty Crouch Jr x reader

Warnings: none

Summary: barty crouch jr is wretched

Word count: 0.6k

“Looking for this?”

I turned around reluctantly, none too thrilled to find Barty Crouch Jr staring at me with that wicked amusement in his eyes, a book in hand. Not just any book. My book. The one I needed to complete my Charms essay, and the one Barty knew I needed.

I held my hand out, not in the mood for his shenanigans. “Give it here.”

Barty raised his eyebrows at my tone, a wretched grin making its way onto his face. “You sound grumpy.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’m not grumpy.”

Barty hummed. “I think you are.”

I scowled, lunging forwards in the hopes to catch the Slytherin by surprise. Barty was too quick though, or maybe he was just suspecting the attack, because he moved smoothly out of my way, holding the book at a distance. My scowl deepened and I crossed my arms.

“What do you want then?”

Barty feigned confusion, going so far as to scratch the side of his head in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

I took a deep breath, glancing around the quiet library. There were only a few students in there; the sound of turning pages and the scratching of quills on parchment the only noise in the place. Aside from Barty and I, in a little nook in the back of the library. It was a sunny day, unusual for November, which was why the library was so empty; most wanted to enjoy the sunshine while it lasted.

Noticing my surroundings was a tactic I used to calm down, one I’d found myself using a lot more once Barty Crouch noticed my existence. He went from not even knowing my name last year to constantly badgering me every chance he could. It was infuriating.

“Why don’t you go outside like everyone else and just give me my book?” I demanded.

Barty tilted his head, looking at me like I was something he couldn’t quite figure out. A puzzle he couldn’t solve. I glowered at the thought, surging forward to try once again to get my hands on the book.

The wretched boy was too fast again, this time grabbing both my wrists with one hand and pining them above my head against the bookshelf he pressed me against. Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I refused to look away as the Slytherin leaned in closer, his eyes boring into mine.

He tilted his head, moving forward until I could feel his breath against my ear, sending tingles down my spine.

“Why don’t you say please?” he rasped, voice so quiet I nearly didn’t hear it.

I swallowed thickly, finding myself at a loss for words as I stared at the wretched boy in front of me. He was that; wretched. He was the most wretched person I had ever met, with his wretched smirk and wretched hair and wretched confidence as he talked to me, like he didn’t care that I hated him. Like he knew I didn’t really hate him at all.

“Well?” he prodded.

I stared at him, my eyes straying to his lips. They were parted, small pants coming out of them like Barty was feeling just as flustered as I was. I looked back into his eyes, and I think we both knew I wasn’t asking for the book when I breathed, “please.”

Barty’s lips crashed against mine as he got a fistful of my hair, tilting my head back to give himself better access to my mouth. I melted into the kiss, feeling my knees go weak as I returned the pressure, moving my mouth against his like it was the only thing I knew how to do.

My tongue swiped across his upper lip and Barty let out an appraising groan, his hold on me tightening as he tugged me even closer. There were fireworks everywhere as the kiss continued, my mind hazy.

When we finally pulled back, we were both panting, staring at each other with undisguised hunger.

Barty flashed that smug smirk and handed me the book, our fingers brushing. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

“You, Barty Crouch Jr, are wretched.”

Barty grinned. “I know.”