#mission impossible 20 years

[dhsyweirdo]

2006 - 2025

20 years of getting closer and closer, to know your heartbeat.

二十载时光流转，步步走近，只为聆听你心跳的节奏。

In the MI universe, they’d still be partners.

Always.

在《碟中谍》的世界里，他们始终是彼此的信仰与依靠。 —— 永远如此。

[sunshineandwhiteroses]

***spoilers for mission impossible: the final reckoning***

Long post but hold onto your butts cause I’m cooking with fire (at least I hope)

There were not enough scenes with Benji and Ethan in mi8. The only reason that I can think of is that Ethan was trying to keep Benji safe. Gabriel went after Ilsa first cause that is what the Entity told him was the biggest threat on Ethan’s team, the person Ethan was “romantically involved with”.

Then he goes after Luther cause the Entity figured out that he was the next biggest threat after Ilsa, building the poison pill and all. So the next logical step would be to target Benji, right? So what does Ethan do? He brings in Paris, the one person that might have a bigger grudge against Gabriel other than him and has the skills to take him out. He puts her with Benji (he knows that it was only a matter of time before Benji endeared himself to her and she would protect him). Getting Degas to join was an added extra bonus of protection. Now that he has two people protecting Benji, the most important part of his plan is to leave Benji’s side. We saw with both Ilsa and Luther, the Entity likes to put those Ethan loves in peril and then taunt Ethan into thinking that if he’s fast enough, if he’s strong enough he can make it in time to save them, only to be just a moment too late. Too late to save them but just in time to say goodbye and watch them die. So, if Benji is far far away, far enough that there is no way that he could ever make it in time to save Benji, then Benji can be safe. But, he also knows that Benji would never let himself be squirreled away to a safe place. He’s earned his place by Ethan’s side and nothing would make him willing give that up, not while Ethan is out sacrificing himself. No, Ethan tried that in Rogue Nation and he failed. So he comes up with another plan, he gives Benji the responsibility of caring for his own team. Ethan knows that if Benji’s hero (let’s bsffr, even after all this time Benji’s hero worship of Ethan has not died down the least bit) is trusting him enough to take on Ethan’s role and burden, then he would do his best to succeed. The tragedy is that Benji still gets hurt. He gets hurt the moment Ethan and him are together again in that cave which further solidifies his belief.

[illprotectyou-hearteyes]

MI2 bts, in which John Woo attempts to fire Tom's stunt double Keith Campbell in favour of hiring Keith Campbell:

I [Keith] walk in and Tom introduces me to John Woo, and the look on John Woo's face is like, so, just 'what am I going to do with this,' is what I see in John Woo's face. I'm way taller, my hair's blonder ... and he's looking at me like, 'this is never gonna work.' So I feel bad, and the [stunt] coordinator calls me and says "yeah, John just, he's wondering how you're gonna double him, but Cruise said 'well that's my guy, that's my guy,' so, we're going!' ... The first little sequence I got to work on was just some motorcycle riding stuff that was, uh, second unit stuff, and they are watching dailies the next day of uh, of this motorcycle sequence, and John Woo says to the stunt coordinator, he says "Bryan ... I need this guy to double Tom the whole movie. I'm sorry, but it just has to be [him]." And Bryan says "Well that's good, because that's Keith, the guy you met!"

- Light the Fuse, episode 71 with Keith Campbell (8:52-10:04)

[imaginedisish]

Dare (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys. Just wanted to say thank you for all the support I got this morning. All of your comments really warmed my heart. Thank you so, so, so much. I ended up getting this done pretty fast. Went with "Dare" by Gorillaz for the title. Made me feel better to write. I like this one. Hope you do, too. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan finds out you've never been eaten out while playing a game of "Truth or Dare," and he's more than willing to change that.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, softdom!Logan, pussydrunk!Logan (he does not let up, he is starving for you), older!Logan, implied aged gap (reader is in her 20s/old enough to teach at the institute), cocky!Logan, he is an absolute service dom in this, friends to lovers, mentions of mental health/self worth, fluff, some hurt to comfort, some angst, afab/fem!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,235 wowza didn't expect that and oh my god this gif

You’re lying on your floor—the door to your room wide open. Everyone is out anyway. It’s Friday night at the mansion—no one will see you like this. Students’ papers are scattered around you. You stare up at the ceiling, feeling choked up. It had been a bad day—a bad week. Maybe even a bad year. You feel like you’re slipping, losing yourself. 

Teaching the older students had become beyond challenging—possibly because you aren’t much older than them in the first place. Most days, it felt like everyone expected greatness from you, given the strength of your powers, which naturally comes with responsibility, and that can be incredibly overwhelming. It had all been—if you were being brutally honest—an absolutely terrible time. 

So, you’re lying on your floor, feeling numb. You stopped grading papers at least an hour ago, and simply decided to stare at the ceiling, your head spinning. You wanted to calm the noise, to take a breather. Luckily, you’re alone—everyone is on a mission or out given that it’s Friday night. 

Or so you thought. 

“What on Earth are you doing?” A familiar voice cuts through the silence like a knife, jarring you, and forcing you to look up. And there he is, in a white t-shirt and denim jeans, arms crossed tightly against his chest, leaning in the doorway. Logan. You want to roll your eyes at how good he looks. You want to slap yourself for thinking it in the first place.

He smirks at you, his brows furrowed playfully. You let your head fall back to the floor. “Grading papers,” you mutter. You can hear his footsteps as he walks into the room, drawing closer to you. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re grading papers to me,” he teases. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Why aren’t you out with Jean or Rogue?” 

He stands next to you, and you look up at him. “Didn’t feel like it,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit up. You draw your knees into your chest. You decide to turn the question around on him. “Why aren’t you out?”

He sits down next to you, stretching his long legs in front of him, his shoulder bumping against yours as he settles in. He shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you, right?” He jokes, nudging his elbow into your arm. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. It’s impossible to fight it when he’s next to you. Your eyes meet his, and his smile quickly turns into something else—concern. “You’ve been off lately.”

You swallow harshly. “Did Jean or Rogue say something?” You ask. They’d notice, maybe they told Logan. “Did they ask you to stay with me or something?”

But Logan shakes his head. “No. I could just tell,” he says, worry clear in his voice. “Thought I’d hang back with you. All my idea.” He tilts his head, his jaw working, his brows furrowing again. “Is something going on?” 

You take a deep breath, turning away from him. You’re suddenly overwhelmed by his presence, by his kindness and his care. He stayed home for you. “I’m okay,” you mutter, avoiding the truth. 

“Hey,” Logan whispers, tentatively reaching his hand to your knee, waiting for you to shove him away. His palm is warm against your skin, calming and stabilizing. You turn back to look at him, his brows raised incredulously. “I know that’s not true,” he says. He has always been able to read you like a book. “What’s going on?”

You swallow harshly. “I’ve just been having a tough time lately,” you say, distracted by the way his thumb brushes across your knee. “I…” You trail off, letting your eyes fall closed. “Things are hard.”

“You can talk about it if you want,” he says, his voice deep and steady. “I’m here.” 

You sniffle, struggling to keep yourself in check. “I just…” you pause, looking off to the side. “Everything sucks.” You take another deep breath. “And the students are so hard.” You point to the piles of papers scattered around your floor. “And then there’s me, and all my shit. My powers. The responsibilities we have. I’m young, and I’m still learning. And fuck, Logan, this all just feels so impossible sometimes. It…it…” You trail off, finally running out of words, out of steam.

“It hurts.” He finishes your sentence, taking the words right out of your mouth. You turn back towards him, your eyes instantly meeting his. “It hurts a lot.”

You nod. “Yeah, exactly.” He squeezes your knee comfortingly. “You get it,” you murmur. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he soothes, his hand lifting off your knee, his arm wrapping around your shoulder instead. “I’ve got you.” You let yourself lean into his touch, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “Let’s take your mind off things, yeah?”

You nod against him, not wanting to move away, not wanting to separate from him. He feels so nice, so solid. “What did you have in mind?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t involve getting up.

“Wanna play a game?” He offers, turning his head to look down at you. You smile widely, almost mockingly. “What?” He chides. “You think I don’t know how to have fun?”

You laugh softly. “I just don’t see you as a game guy, Lo,” you confess. He chuckles, and you can feel his laughter reverberating through his chest. “Can you even think of one to play?”

Logan’s still laughing, shaking his head. “What about truth or dare?” He ever so slightly pulls you in closer, his lips pressed against the side of your head. 

You giggle, feeling light for the first time in a long time. “Are we in seventh grade?” You ask teasingly. You felt like a teenager, honestly—being next to Logan always made you feel like a love-sick schoolgirl. But you know you and him could never be. You were younger than Logan—everyone was—but you, being in your 20s, assume that Logan doesn’t see you the way you see him. 

He just shakes his head and laughs, pulling you back to reality. “Truth or dare?” He asks, ignoring your middle school comment and officially starting the game. 

You don’t want to get up, don’t want to move an inch, so you answer: “Truth,” hoping it isn’t anything too crazy. 

Logan thinks for a second, his head resting on yours. “Why’d you pick truth instead of dare?” He finally asks. 

You roll your eyes. “Boring!” You tease. “I only picked it because I don’t feel like moving.” And then you realize…perhaps your answer is more revealing than you previously considered. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

Logan hums. “And why don’t you want to move, exactly?” He’s onto you. 

“You asked your question, you got an answer,” you protest, trying to shut him down. “No follow-up questions.” It’s your turn now. “Truth or dare?” You ask. 

“Truth,” he says. “Because maybe I don’t feel like moving either.”

You smile, and you can feel him looking down at you. You’re too nervous to meet his gaze. You think for a moment, racking your brain for a question. “Did you really stay home for me, and was it all your own idea?” You finally ask. You regret the question almost immediately, fearful of the honest answer. 

“Yes,” he responds without a beat. “Jean said you were staying in, and said she didn’t know why, so I stayed too.” He pauses, and you can hear his steady breathing amidst the silence. “I was worried, princess.” The pet name burns a hole through your heart. “Needed to know that you were okay.”

You can feel tears building behind your sinuses. “Thank you, Lo,” you whisper. “That means a lot.”

He presses the ghost of a kiss to the crown of your head—almost not quite there. But you can feel it, hesitant and tentative. “It’s nothing, no need to thank me.” You finally find the courage to look up at him and find him smiling down at you. His lips part. “Truth or dare?” He asks again. 

You can feel some sort of tension brewing, building, thick and heavy. You try to ignore it, try to brush it off. Your heart hammers in your chest. “Truth,” you pick again. “But get a little more creative this time.”

He pauses, the gears in his head turning. And then finally: “Why’s your heart beating so fast? It’s loud, too.” 

Your eyes widen, suddenly remembering Logan’s heightened senses. He can hear everything. “Uh…” You trail off, not sure how to get out of this. “I-It’s not…”

He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. You know that?” His voice is deep and honeyed, smooth. “You gotta answer the question, or I get to ask another.”

“Those are not the rules!” You protest, lifting your head to look at him. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that makes your stomach drop. 

He tugs you into his chest again, his lips at the shell of your ear. “Then answer the question,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. He’s so close. Too close. Your heart is only beating faster, louder now. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. But of course, you know. It’s all because of him. “Just anxious, I guess.” It’s a half-truth—you’re certainly nervous, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him why. 

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” Logan coos, his thumb brushing circles into your shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Yes, exactly, you want to say. It’s you. But you don’t. You try to steady your breathing, try to calm down. “My turn,” you force yourself to say. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says darkly. “And make it good.” You can hear the cockiness in his voice—a sudden shift in his tone. 

“We should just call this truth or truth,” you say, mulling over a question in your mind. It’s hard to think with him this close—hard to breathe. You want to rile him up, to find out what makes him tick—to make him itch the way he makes you. And then it hits you: the perfect question. “When was the last time you…” You stop yourself, suddenly too nervous to ask. 

“When was the last time I what, darlin’?” He asks, cocking his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. 

You huff. You’ve fallen into your own trap. There’s no backing out now. “When was the last time…” You pause again, biting your lip. You close your eyes. “…somebody got you off?” 

“Been a while,” he says simply. Your eyes flutter open, and Logan is completely relaxed, his eyes trained on you. He isn’t annoyed. He’s unbothered, unprovoked, as if you had asked him what the weather was going to be like tomorrow. “But it depends on how you mean. So, what do you mean?” He finishes. 

You’re slightly frustrated by how easy it was for him to answer. “I don’t know,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders. “Whatever the last time was.”

“Few years back, not particularly proud of it,” he huffs. “Girl took care of me in a bar. That was it.” 

You nod. “Must’ve been nice,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a bit disheartened. You catch his drift; you know it didn’t mean anything. You likely didn’t know Logan at that time, having only arrived at the Institute two years ago. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous, shouldn’t care that he was ever with someone else, even for a fleeting moment. You’ve had boyfriends. You’ve been with other people. 

“It was fine. Just a blowjob.” He says it nonchalantly. “Didn’t mean a thing.” You look straight ahead, waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t. “Truth or dare?” He finally asks. 

“Truth.” Your fake, plastered-on smile becomes real when his eyes meet yours. It’s just what happens when you look at him. “And make it interesting.”

The corner of his mouth turns up slyly, and you know he has something up his sleeve. “When was the last time somebody did that to you?” He asks. 

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?” But you already know exactly what he’s asking. And you desperately do not want to give him the answer.

“Got you off, like that,” he husks. “With their mouth.”

Fuck. “Uh…” You trail off. You can feel heat spreading across your chest and up your neck, your skin prickling. “Never,” you say honestly. 

“What?” Logan’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Never?”

You’re suddenly embarrassed. Your skin feels tight—so do your shorts and tank top. “Never,” you repeat, looking down at your knees, still pulled in tightly to your chest. Your heart beats rapidly. “Just hasn’t happened yet,” you choke out. “I’ve been with people, but…”

“Hey,” he whispers, suddenly grabbing your chin and angling you up to face him. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, princess.”

You smile shyly, reveling in his touch. “You didn’t,” you insist honestly. “Just a little embarrassed.”

Logan shakes his head, his eyes softening. “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assures. “You deserve to be taken care of.” His hand slides across your jaw and cups the back of your neck. “Deserve to feel good.”

Your eyes flutter closed at his touch. “Lo,” you whisper, struggling to keep your composure. Heat pools between your thighs. “Tr-truth or dare.”

His forehead presses to yours. “I think we’re done with the game, pretty girl,” he rasps, the arm around your shoulder slipping down to your waist. “Unless I get to give you a dare this time.”

“What’s the dare?” You ask, your eyes fluttering back open. His lips are so close. Your noses touch softly.

He works his jaw, licking his lips. “Let me eat you out, pretty girl,” he pants, his chest heaving against yours. “Let me take care of you like you should’ve been already.” He hates the idea that you’ve never been touched properly, the idea that those younger guys didn’t know how to treat you right. But he can fix that. He can make you feel good.

“Fuck,” you curse, his breath fanning across your lips. “A-are you sure?” You ask. “I don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad for me or—” “You think that’s what this is about?” He cuts you off, pulling you closer so that your body faces his, your thighs slotting together like puzzle pieces. “You think I want this just because I feel bad for you?”

“Well…” You search his eyes. “Yes,” you say. 

Logan’s face falls, and he shakes his head. “I want you, pretty girl,” he pants, his knee rubbing against your aching core. “Wanted you this whole time.” His palm presses firmly against your back, his other hand gripping your neck tighter. He wants, no, needs you closer. “You ruined me the second I saw you. Haven’t been with anyone since then.”

“Logan,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to his neck. “I want you too. Always have,” you confess.

He smiles, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to yours. “Then let me do this for you,” he rasps, almost begging, like he needs this more than you do. “Need to make you feel good, beautiful.” “Please,” you breathe. “Want you so bad, Lo.”

He curses under his breath, his lips capturing yours, harder this time. This kiss is starving, all-consuming. His tongue swipes across your lower lip, and you open your mouth, inviting him inside. He lowers you down carefully, sure not to break the kiss, guiding your back to the wood floor below. 

His thighs rest on either side of your hips as he hovers over you, bracing himself with his forearm. His free hand trails up your body, exploring your curves, hiking your shirt above your breasts. He smirks against your lips at the realization that you have no bra on. 

“Look at you,” he mumbles, rolling a nipple under his thumb, palming your breast. “Fucking perfect.” His fingertips drag to the other side, massaging you gently, taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinching softly. “Can smell you, you know,” he grunts. “Know you’re soaking for me, darlin’.”

His hand slides between the valley of your breasts, trailing down your stomach, until his fingertips bump into the waistband of your panties. He hesitates, looking down at you, waiting for you to change your mind, to tell him to stop. “Please,” you beg. “Need you, Lo.”

Logan smirks, his hand slipping under the hem of your shorts and inside your panties. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart,” he groans. His fingertips flick your clit gently before finding your folds, feeling your arousal. “Barely even touched you,” he tuts. “And she’s already crying for me.”

He prods your entrance, spreading your slick, teasing you. He bites your lips, sucking so hard he might bruise—might draw blood—and you hope he does. You want proof that he was here, proof that he wants you—needs you this badly. You moan as his fingers find your clit again, drawing a few soft circles before pulling away, his hand slipping out of your shorts. 

You grab his biceps needily, impatiently, your nails digging into his skin. “Don’t stop,” you cry out. “Please, Logan.” 

He swallows your moans with another kiss, his lips trailing down to your jaw, then your neck—that sensitive spot just under your ear. “Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he soothes, biting down on your pulse point, licking the hollow of your throat. “Don’t think I could stop if I tried.” He nips at your collarbone, shoving your tank top further up your chest as his lips drag down the valley of your breasts. 

He kisses his way to your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your legs. His palms spread across your inner thighs, yanking them apart. He settles between them, his face just inches from your heat. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit, still all too clothed, hidden behind your panties. 

“Lo,” you whine. He breathes you in, pressing another kiss to your clit. He digs his fingers into the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. 

“Wanna take my time with you, sweetheart,” he grunts, finally throwing your panties to the side. He spreads your legs wider, his face settling back between your thighs. You can feel his breath against your cunt, warm and teasing. “Wanna take care of you.” His lips finally find your clit again, and he licks at you. 

His tongue is soft, warm, wet. He laps at you again, harder this time, and you moan his name. “Fuck,” you curse as he licks a long stripe through your folds and back up to your clit, flicking the bud. Your legs twitch, your hips backing away involuntarily at the newfound pleasure. Logan’s hands slide under your ass, yanking you back to his face. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He mumbles teasingly against you, the vibration of his deep, bassy voice rocking your core. “Not letting you go until I’m done with you, darlin’.”

You curse under your breath as he licks another long, slow stripe through your folds before settling on your clit. His tongue draws gentle circles around the bud, and you can’t hold back the loud moan that falls from your lips. 

“Yeah?” Logan husks between laps. “Feels good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, looking down at Logan, his face buried against your cunt. His eyes are trained on yours, watching your every move, taking in the way you’re squirming for him. “D-didn’t know it would feel this good, Lo.”

“Gonna try something, okay?” He says, his eyes searching yours. You nod emphatically, bracing yourself. His lips wrap around your clit, his teeth lightly grazing the bud as he pulls it into his mouth. And then he sucks, hard. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching off the floor.

He releases the bud, and does it again, sucking harder this time. Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins. “Logan!” You cry out, your nails digging into the floor below, searching for purchase. “Fuck!” He laps at you soothingly, drawing tighter, faster circles around your clit. 

“You okay?” He coos between laps, his tongue swirling rapidly. 

You swallow, meeting his gaze again. The sight of him between your legs, working your clit, his hair a disheveled mess—it’s overwhelming. “Yeah,” you heave. “More than okay.”

He smirks against you and wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking on the bud like hard candy. His right hand slides out from under your ass, trailing up your inner thigh. Your heart thunders in your chest as his fingertips find your folds, spreading your slick, your walls clenching down around nothing. 

“Know you need ‘em, pretty girl,” Logan croons, two fingers nudging your entrance. “Beg for it.”

But he’s sucking on your clit again, making it impossible to say a word. You whimper, your legs trembling. “P-please,” you stutter, choking on air. “Need…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed. You swallow harshly. “Need your fingers, Lo,” you finally manage. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, shoving two fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. 

“Fuck, thank you,” you whine, moaning his name as his fingers stretch you out. You suddenly feel so full, so warm, so close. He pulls out, only to plunge back in, deeper this time. He’s lapping at you with reckless abandon—a man starved, like you’re the air he needs to breathe. Your walls flutter around him, the liquid heat in your lower belly threatening to burst. 

“Tastes so good,” Logan mumbles against you, his long, thick fingers thrusting in and out. He hits that sweet spot deep inside you with every pump. “Such a sweet little pussy. Tastes better than I imagined.” You’re crumbling underneath him. His words alone might push you over the edge. “Nothing compares to you, you know that?”

Your walls flutter again, his fingers sinking deeper inside you. “You like that?” Logan husks. “Like knowing how much I want you? How much I need you?”

“Yes,” you groan, his fingers fucking into you, faster now. His teeth graze your clit as he pulls the bud back into his mouth and sucks roughly. “N-need you, too. Always.” 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, scissoring inside you, dragging along your walls. He laps at you, his tongue stroking your clit. “Not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You curse under your breath. You can feel yourself melting, your walls contracting and releasing. “Lo,” you call. “I’m so close. Wanna…” You trail off, unable to finish. 

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Don’t hold back. Let it happen,” he coaches, rocking into you. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you come on my fingers.” He laps at you between sentences. “Come for me. Know you can do it.” And then everything is white-hot and blazing.

It’s earth-shattering—better than anything has ever felt before. The tension snaps, heat boiling under your skin. Everything is blurry, hazy, dizzied as you let go, and let go hard. You cry out Logan’s name, your thighs shaking as waves of pleasure drag you under. Your bones are burning, scorching. Everything is on fire—overwhelming and greedily all-consuming. 

Logan’s pumps slow, and he carefully pulls out of you. He laves at you, his tongue pushing through your folds, milking you dry, savoring every last drop. 

“Logan,” you whisper, your hands reaching down to his head, digging your fingers into his scalp. 

He hums against you, unwavering as his tongue laps at your folds, tasting your release. 

You’re still shaking, still coming down from your high. “Logan,” you call again, and he looks up this time, lifting his face from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, and he licks his lips clean of you. His eyes are dark, his palms squeezing your thighs possessively. 

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart,” he says, demand clear in his voice. 

Your heart flutters in your chest as he climbs up your body, hovering over you again. His lips find yours. “You taste that?” He mumbles, kissing you again, harder this time. “You taste how sweet you are?”

“Y-yes,” you answer, his hand sliding down your body, slipping between your legs, finding your overstimulated clit. 

He pinches the bud lightly, your back arching off the ground, your breasts pressing to his all-too-clothed chest. “Need more of you,” he husks, his hand dragging back up your body. He sits up and pulls you into his chest, taking all your weight as he hoists you up and stands. You instinctually wrap your legs around his waist. 

He places you in the center of your bed before striding across the room, closing and locking your bedroom door. “They’ll all be home soon,” Logan says, walking back towards you, spreading your legs and settling between your thighs. “Might have to be quiet for me, darlin’.”

“W-what do you—”

And then his face is buried deep inside your cunt, his tongue lapping desperately at your clit. “I told you,” he rasps. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

tags: @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[falesten-iw]

Urgent 🆘️ call: 🚨🍉 Please help..🥺😓🙏

My name is Falastin, and I am a mother of three small children, ages 5 years, 2 years, and 3 months. I am not very good with social media, but I am writing to seek your help to give my family in Gaza the chance to live their lives again.

Due to the ongoing genocide we in Gaza are experiencing, my family need your help to survive, leave Gaza, and find safety.

In november 2023 last year, i lost three of my cousins from my mother's family with their wifes and children's, some of them still under the rubble untill now. 

In mars 2024 this year i lost another 2 cousins in Alshifa hostpital, this shock after three months of the first lose was a big slap into our face, it was a harsh reminder that death didn’t stop, and that none of us is an exception in this genocide, not a woman nor a child, everyone of us is a target to the death machines above our heads.

My family has lost everything. Some of them have tragically passed away, and those who remain are without shelter, moving from one temporary place to another in a desperate attempt to stay alive. Currently "After more than 20 times of being displaced and having to leave our house escaping from rockets and death " they have fled south and are living in a makeshift tent made from plastic bags and torn clothes.

Each day is a battle for survival. Each day, my family wakes up not knowing if they will have food to eat, clean water to drink, or a safe place to rest. Their homes have been wiped, and their children sit sleepless waiting their death. In Gaza, there is no where to seek shelter, no bunkers, nowhere to hide. Gaza is no more than 40 kilometers long and 10 kilometers wide with a population of just over two million. Gaza's border is completely surrounded by fences and barbed wire. The only way out of Gaza is to Egypt.

I used to introduce myself as the youngest in the family but in this GENOCIDE I’m a big sister who see her siblings’ future getting lost in front of her eyes, as i see my brothers kids who are still young and supposed to be in school, my mom who is 73 years old unable to find her medicine, as I see them, I made it a mission to myself to save my family or who’s left alive from it, to save their future from all of this and to escape Gaza.

Despite everything, I still have hope to save those who remain of my family. But I need all the help I can get from every person on earth. This challenge is not easy for me, especially since I am not good with social media and i dont have so many follower to reach and ask them for help. However, I am trying, and maybe with your support, the impossible can become possible.

Asking for your help is the only way I have to save my family’s life and future. Your help can be our hope when hope seems far away. Because of that, I appeal to your generosity and compassion, asking for help so that we can gather the necessary funds to help my family.

Photos of "Lina," who was born at the start of the war, and she is now 9 months old. Your donation could give her the chance to survive, leave Gaza, and find safety with her family.

I would like to thank everyone who has donated, shared and supported my campaign so far. Your generosity has given us hope in the darkest of times, and I am deeply grateful.

So far, we have raised 3,950 SEK of our 2,000,000 SEK goal - August 15th. While this is a small step, it is a crucial one, and it shows that together, we can make a difference. We still have a long way to go, and I urge you to continue sharing our story and contributing if you can.

Every donation, no matter the size, brings us closer to saving my family and giving them a chance at life. Please read and act as if it were your family, your mother, your siblings in these conditions. 🙏🙏🙏💔💔💔💔

Important note: Donation value:

** 1$ = 10.5 Swedish kr

** 10$ = 105 Swedish kr

** 100$ = 1050 Swedish kr

** 1000$ = 10500 Swedish kr

VETTED and shared by 90-ghost, also as no. 282 in The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet compiled by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi and shared in the masterpost.

We have also been verified by Al Jazeera News. Here is the video. I added this video today, august 15th. Its showing my cousin and aunt in the hospital, where she shares how the Israeli army airstruck them with their kids. Listen to my aunt Suad "Em Mhammed".

Best regards,

Falastin and her family.

[legend-the-dumb-jock]

Hi, I am a 20 year old boy studying at university, I am slim and have dark hair. I have an old fashioned uncle who nags me because I'm not manly enough according to his standards and I'm still a virgin and I should be more muscular and hairy like him. Can you help me?

Your uncle wants you to be more like him?? It sounds to me that your uncle wants someone to follow his footsteps. Of being hairy. Muscled. And just an absolute masculine alpha. Being at your uncles house is always frustrating for you. Constantly nagging you about your body. About how much of a recluse you are. When you were sent to him your uncle had one mission. To change you. It first started with the clothes. As soon as he seen what you brought with you he immediately threw them in a fire pit. “You’re going to wear my clothes from now on. Everything you wear will come from my closet”. And when he said everything. He meant it ! Gone was your shoes and underwear. Everything was his. Forcing too in to get dressed in some of his clothes he pulled from the dirty clothes bin. Covered in sweat stains and other stains that you couldn’t believe he just wiped on a shirt like a dirty rag. “Go on boy. Wear it! Be a real man!” And too scared to defy you much larger and stronger uncle, you did what he told you to do. You get a warm sensation spreading through your body. Looking in the mirror you seen your muscles swell. You grew taller. Even your own package dropped heavily in your uncle’s underwear and gym shorts. “Hmm. You’re filling out nicely boy. But “ he began to rub his shoulders “a real man needs to be covered in a thick mess of hair”. And everywhere you uncle rubbed, thick hair began to grow at a rapid pace. Soon you were covered from head to toe ! A thick beard grew from your face. You thought his shoes would be to massive for you to wear when he said it was time for you finish getting dressed for the gym. He bragged all the time about wearing such large shoes. And he wasn’t lying as you looked in the tongue of the shoes you were being handed and the label read 16W. But strangely enough when you slipped your much smaller feet into the shoes you found that they fit snug as a glove. Your uncle pushed you in the gym harder than you’ve ever been. Sweat dripped from every muscle. Making all your hair slick with a smell you would find impossible to wash off. Coming up behind you in the gym, your uncle slapped you on the ass. “Time for you to put this to use now boy”. And as if on command your hole began to itch. To feel empty. You own member grew stiff and began to stick out in front of your depending attention. Your uncle led you to the locker room and bent you over. Filling you with own large member. In the mirror you could see the look of ecstasy plastered dumbly on your face and your uncle plowed like a machine. Reaching around he grabbed your massive member and began to stroke you with each thrust sensing you to another levels of euphoria and pleasure that you didn’t think possible. Then with one final loan grunt. You felt the pulse from his own member as he flooding your insides with his hot sticky seed. Then he ramped up his own hands on your member and even when you began to release he didn’t stop. You were bucking from the sensation and he wouldn’t let up till he got every lash bit of you out. Then pulling himself and bracing you on the counter you looked at the mirror and was shocked. You looked as if you could be his son! There couldn’t be no denial about it. Your uncle smiled at your while taking a picture of your backside. “That’s my boy ! I’m going to post your in my gym chat. Get ready son, you going to love getting used by all my friends! And you can forget about college. That little act we just did made your change into my son permanent. You’ll be forced to be just like me now !”

[fluffypotatey]

your name is Ethan. you’re in a pinch (regular Tuesday tbh), and in a split second of panic and impulsive thinking, disguise yourself as the reputable and hot-headed Maverick to sneak into Navy headquarters.

your name is Ethan (but acknowledge the respectful or distained “Maverick” by others as you pass them in the halls) and accidentally bump into the Commander of the Pacific Fleet. who begins flirting with you

your name is Maverick. you are exiting the floor’s elevator, grumbling to yourself about receiving weird looks and deja vu comments, when you find Ice leering at a mirror image of you

ngl i did not expect the top gun and mission impossible crossover (tho i really shouldn’t have been too surprised) but they’re fun to read

i just think, personally, it would be so fucking funny if Maverick and Ethan aren’t even related. just two dudes who happened to be identical to each other, and sometimes this doppelgänger issue bleeds into their work at times

also Maverick hates Ethan for some unexplainable reason

[millermouth]

Summary: Being raised by a survivalist father meant learning two things: endure at all costs, and trust no one. And you lived by those rules, even after he was gone, surviving alone in a world that never gave second chances. But enduring becomes far more complicated when a familiar face returns, burdened with a fierce young girl and a mission that was never meant to include you. When you're forced from the only home you’ve ever known, survival is no longer just about the next meal or the next breath—it’s about who you become when there’s no way back. You’ve spent years believing your father’s lessons—that needing people is a sign of weakness. But as the miles stretch on, as survival becomes more than just a fight for the next day, one truth becomes harder to ignore—you can’t live by your father’s rule of trusting no one anymore.

And one man makes following that rule damn near impossible.

Themes: Joel miller x reader slow burn romance, post-outbreak, grief, healing, angst & longing.

Warnings: canon-type violence, death, depictions of grief and trauma, age gap romance, suicide (referenced, not graphic), intimacy and eventual smut. 18+ only MDNI, but I can't control what you do so discretion is advised.

Other: reader is afab, long hair (enough to grab, put up in a ponytail) may be mentioned. no other physical characteristics. graphics do not reflect character description, only used for vibes. Follows Season 1 of The Last of Us. Blend of show and game canon. Picture Joel as you prefer, but I will be mentioning Pedro Pascal's brown eyes. No use of Y/N. In the beginning of the story, time hops are not canon.

mood boards: Bill's Daughter | The Road So Far | You & Joel | A Lonely Day | Her Peace | Teaser Trailer

Prologue

Before: 5 Years Old

Before: 10 Years Old

Before: 15 Years Old

Before: 18 Years Old

Before: 20 Years Old

Before: 23 Years Old

Now: 25 Years Old

Chapter 1: Joel and Ellie

Chapter 2: Escape

Chapter 3: The Envelope

Chapter 4: Fungus Ain't That Smart

Chapter 5: Kansas City

Chapter 6: The Climb

Chapter 7: Turret

Chapter 8: Strangers

Chapter 9: Spotlight

Chapter 10: Into the Water

Chapter 11: The Suburbs

Chapter 12: Fight and Flight

Chapter 13: Breaking Point

Chapter 14: One Month Later

Chapter 15: Jackson

Chapter 16: Thresholds

Chapter 17: Thinking of You

Chapter 18: Betrayal

Chapter 19: On the Road Again

Chapter 20: The Basement

Chapter 21: David

Chapter 22: Capture

Chapter 23: Blood and Fire

Chapter 24: What Comes After

Chapter 25: Waterways

Chapter 26: What Was Lost and What Was Taken

Epilogue

Ever After

Four Years Later

more coming soon

Hey, you beautiful, amazing people.

I don’t even know where to start, but thank you. Seriously. From the bottom of my heart: to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, screamed in the tags, sent me messages, or just silently followed along—you made this story so much more than I ever imagined.

Every comment, every reaction, every little freak-out over a scene made my day (and honestly fueled me to keep going). The way you connected with this story, these characters—it means everything. Writing this was one thing, but experiencing it with all of you? That was the best part.

So, to everyone who stuck with me, whether from the beginning or just recently—thank you for being here. Thank you for caring. Thank you for making this so special.

I love you all. Truly.

[rizzanon]

Ages and background info

m.list

Current timeline:

Bruce - 42

Dick - 25

Jason - 20

Cassandra - 20

Tim - 17

regressed!reader - 16

Damian - 11

Alfred - 64

Barbara - 28

Stephanie - 18

Duke - 15

sadly Duke won’t be making an appearance anytime soon because I think he only comes around in the timeline when reader is like 17/18¿? 😔

Background info (Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Jason centered)

You don’t know who your mother is. You were left at the doorstep of Wayne Manor the moment you were born. (don’t ask how she managed to get through Wayne Manor’s cutting edge and state-of-the-art security system..) Bruce took you in and became your parent after getting a paternity test that proved that he is your father. At this time, it was Dick’s first year of being Robin.

You’d be initially taken care of by Alfred during your early years. When Bruce was busy fighting crime or with board meetings at Wayne Enterprises, it was Alfred who rocked you to sleep, tended to your needs, taught you how to read and draw. His soft and steady preference was reader’s anchor in that big, lonely manor.

Growing up, you constantly heard about your father’s brilliance—Bruce Wayne, the untouchable billionaire philanthropist, praised for his endless contributions to Gotham. The public’s expectations for you, his daughter, were impossibly high, and your every achievement was either dismissed as trivial or compared to his legendary feats.

You worked tirelessly to prove yourself worthy of the Wayne name, pouring everything into becoming the perfect daughter. But no matter how hard you tried, there were always people who’d be better than you in certain aspects, you can’t always win, can’t always get the top place. And that was the only thing the public focused on.

It hurt, but you buried the pain, telling yourself to try harder. Because that’s what it meant to be a Wayne—always striving, even when it felt like no one cared. You hoped till the very end that one day, your achievements would actually mean something to your family. To your father.

And mind you, this was before you found out your father was the Batman. And when you did, that’s when you changed trajectories and tried becoming a vigilante just like your father, like your siblings. You took up the mantle of Batgirl at 13, you trained hard, trying to hone your skills. But you weren’t meant for this life of crimefighting. You were always sidelined, and at every moment, it felt like your family was waiting for you to fail badly, so that they’d have a reason to prevent you from picking up the mask ever again. You could never be good enough, strong enough like your family. But you still pushed through, tried to prove yourself, and that was ultimately the cause of your demise.

When Dick was still in his pre-teens, I would think that he liked the idea of having a baby sister. Whenever he wasn’t off at school or out being Robin, he’d always come and play with you. But as he grew older, his teenage years, Dick would spent less and less time around the manor, and more time with his friends and the Teen Titans. He’d be consumed more and more by his missions and bonds with his teammates.

At first, you didn’t mind of course. He was your big brother. He always promised to make it up to you, he’d always promise to come back. But as the days stretched into weeks, and then months, his time spent with her became shorter, and his attention became more divided. He still loved you of course—he always tried making that clear—but his life was no longer centered around the manor, around Gotham. And by extension, that meant you too.

But that changes when you find out about your family being vigilantes. You’d feel betrayed at first upon finding out, especially because they hid this from you for so long, and if you hadn’t found out when you did, you doubt they’d even tell you.

And that makes you want to prove yourself to the family, and that’s what makes you pick up the mask and become a vigilante as well. Dick was definitely against this, and that’s what initially causes your relationship to strain with him. After all, this was when Jason had just died not too long ago. But you were adamant. With that, he did try to train you for a bit, but he ultimately ended up focusing more on Tim, who was the next Robin, and Bludhaven. He “left” you to figure out the ropes of this yourself. He was sure that Bruce or Barbara would train you.

This widens the gap between you and Dick, and at first, you ruled it off as him gaining control of his life and trying to figure out what he plans to do with his responsibilities. But then as the years go by, you notice the blatant distinction between the way he acts around you versus your other siblings.

He kept his distance from you, his interactions were friendly, but always brief. He didn’t exactly linger to check on you or talk to you after patrols. At first, you thought it was Jason’s death that was making him distant, that he was just coping in his own way. But as time went on, it felt like he didn’t see you as worth the effort. Or maybe he just thought you were fine. When he did make plans with you, most of the time, it’d get postponed, or it would slip his mind. He never really thought it was a big deal, and what made things worse was that you never pointed it out as well.

You didn’t want to confront him about this. Maybe you were just afraid to break that loose strands that was holding your relationship with him. Your bond with him. Or maybe you did not want to admit that the bond was basically non-existent.

Whereas Dick remained blissfully unaware of the way he’s treating you. Did he notice that he doesn’t spend as much time with you as he does with the others? Maybe. But did he choose to do anything about that? Not really.

Maybe one day he’ll come to realise the consequences of his actions. That maybe, he wasn’t the best big brother he could be for everyone. Dick Grayson was a man who cared about many things, a man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He was fiercely loyal, protective, and deeply committed to the people he loved—whether it was his adoptive family, his friends, or the people of Gotham. But that didn’t include you.

Dick’s commitment to his own life and responsibilities, both as Nightwing and as a person, pulled him further away from you. He was no longer the older brother who would spend hours with you, teaching you how to be better, how to be a hero. Instead, he was often wrapped up in his own struggles—focusing on Bludhaven, or dealing with the aftermath of Jason’s death. Even when he did offer advice or training, it always felt half-hearted, like he was only doing it because he had to, not because he wanted to.

There were times when you did try to approach him, to bridge the gap that had grown between you two. You wanted to confide in him, to seek his guidance and maybe find the comfort you desperately needed. But every time you tried, it was like talking to a wall. He was distant, distracted, and no matter how much you tried to show him how much you were struggling, he never seemed to truly see you.

The bitterness began to grow, and with it, resentment. Why didn’t he care about you like he used to? Why was it so easy for him to focus on everyone else while you fell to the wayside? It hurt more than you wanted to admit, especially because you still looked up to him, still wanted to be close to him the way you had when you were younger. But now, as the years went on, you realized that maybe the bond you once had was slipping away for good.

He was still the person you wanted to be, but in a way, he had moved on from you. And as much as you hated to admit it, it was easier to hide behind the mask and do things on your own. Because at least then, you wouldn’t have to face the painful truth: Dick Grayson, the brother you looked up to so much, no longer had time for you.

As for Bruce, I don’t want to make it seem like he didn’t care about you. Bruce loves his children, and I don’t want to take that trait away from him. But at the same time, you have to admit that he’s quite emotionally unavailable. From the moment you were brought into his life, Bruce is terrified. He doesn’t know if he can be a good father to raise you, especially with his line of work. And it’s not like you were like Dick. Dick was a growing boy, you were just a baby. Completely dependent on him. You were so and fragile in his arms, and he thinks you’d break if he held you any tighter.

Bruce wanted to love you the way a father should, but love didn’t come easily to him—not in the way most people understood it. His life was a constant battle, filled with shadows and danger, and the idea of bringing a child into that world felt wrong. He couldn’t protect you the way he wanted, not with Gotham always demanding more of him.

So, instead of letting himself get too close, Bruce focused on what he could control: providing for you. He made sure you had the best of everything—your education, your safety, and most importantly, Alfred.

In truth, Alfred did most of the parenting. Bruce rationalized that it was for your own good. Alfred was patient, kind, and steady in ways Bruce felt he could never be. Alfred would shield you from the darkness of the world Bruce inhabited. But deep down, Bruce knew the truth: he was keeping himself at arm’s length because he was terrified of failing you.

But with him keeping you at an arm’s length all the time, Bruce is unaware of the repercussions of his actions. That in a way, he was in fact failing you. Just, not in the way he thinks. He doesn’t necessarily realise how much of your life he’s missing. Sure, he knows he misses out on some of your events, but he tries to make up for it by gifting you more toys and clothes.

Though, that could only work for so long. By the time you were in your pre-teens, you needed more than just trivial gifts.

You needed your father.

But Bruce couldn’t see that. He never did. He only just checked in on your well-being through Alfred. And everytime Alfred tries to tell him about how you needed him in your life more, Bruce always ends up brushing it aside, claiming that you only just need Alfred.

And then comes Jason’s death. That puts a huge hole in Bruce’s heart. The death of his son is something that will haunt him forever. He vows to never fail like that again, not with anyone else he cared about. This was the whole reason why he kept his vigilante life in the dark from you. But you found out anyways. And when you did, you wanted to follow in his footsteps.

That was the last thing he wanted you to do. He tried to dissuade you from this path, but you were determined. Stubbornness was the one trait you did share with him. And eventually, he relented.

He always assigned you cases that he thought was “safe”. Cases that he knew you could handle. But everytime, you demanded more, and each time, Bruce always said no. You were his daughter, he couldn’t risk putting you in dangerous situations. He knew what you can or can’t handle. And unfortunately, that did not change over the years. He was fixated on the very fact that you weren’t cut out for this life of crime-fighting. And you never will be.

Which is why he only watches from afar, the gap between you and your father growing too far apart for any of you to try and bridge it. He only gets updates about you from Alfred, and even that was rarely asked about. And eventually, you just fade into the background, into the shadows of the family.

As for Jason, I believe there would be two parts for him. Before his death, when he was first brought into the family by Bruce, he was this small, energetic boy who had a certain sass to him. He was only 4 years older than you, and that allowed you to build a fairly close bond with him. That is, before he suddenly becomes “busy” with other stuff. Though he spent lesser time with you, he always did try and check in with you when he could. You two always read together in the library, he’d tell you all sorts of stories about Crime Alley.

But that all changed when he died. Jason’s death left a void in everyone, including you. You didn’t understand why he died, what caused his death, and you were literally heartbroken. You saw how his death destroyed your family, and you tried desperately to fix it. But nothing ever worked. Which is why you shifted your grief towards your studies, trying to make sure that you could be the perfect daughter that could fill the emptiness Jason left behind. But nothing worked. You wanted to heal, wanted to help your family move forward, but without their support, it felt impossible.

When you take up the mantle of Batgirl, part of the reason is because you wanted to honour what Jason did. His time as Robin. You thought that maybe he’d be proud of you, for stepping up and doing this. And maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to become half the hero he was.

But no, Jason was far from proud. And you only know that once he is revealed to be Red Hood years later. Jason is furious. His fury cuts deeper than you expected, not just at the fact that you’ve taken up the mantle of Batgirl, but because of the underlying betrayal he feels.

He looks at you, his younger sister, the one who was supposed to be protected, and sees someone who is willingly stepping into the very nightmare he couldn’t escape. The life that broke him, the endless cycle of violence and pain, and the years of grief and rage that had consumed him. He sees you and wonders: Why? Why would you choose this path, knowing what it did to him?

His anger isn’t just about the mantle—it’s about the idea that you’re following in his footsteps, as if you’re willing to become just like him. Worse, you’re doing it without understanding what it costs. He doesn’t want you to end up like him, as someone who can’t find redemption, who is trapped in a life of revenge. He’s already lost so much—first to the Joker, then to Bruce—and now it feels like he’s losing you too. The only family he has left.

But for you, the choice to take up the mantle was about honoring Jason. You didn’t want to replace him. You didn’t want to erase the pain he went through. But as much as you wanted to fight for the family, you couldn’t help but feel like you needed to prove yourself in a way he never had to. Your family was broken, and you thought that maybe, by stepping up, you could fix it. Maybe you could become the hero Jason never got the chance to be.

But that’s not how Jason sees it. He’s angry, and hurt, and feels betrayed—because he knows what you don’t fully understand yet. This life doesn’t fix anything. It destroys. And if you keep going down this path, you’ll end up like him—scarred, alone, and full of rage that will consume you, just like it did him.

The tension between you two becomes unbearable. The sibling bond you once shared is strained beyond repair, and Jason makes it clear that he’ll never accept you as Batgirl. He’s no longer the brother you knew—the one who once taught you how to laugh, how to stand up for yourself. Now, he’s just a stranger, a man whose hatred for the life he was brought into has twisted him into something unrecognizable. And you? You’re just another casualty of it.

No matter how much you try to explain, no matter how much you try to reach him, the gap between you two widens. He’s Red Hood, and you’re Batgirl. The two identities, both born from tragedy, will never be able to coexist peacefully. Every time you suit up, every time you fight to prove yourself, you feel the divide grow stronger. You’ve both chosen your paths, and with that choice, you’ve irreparably lost each other.

For a while, you only ever saw Barbara as the GCPD commissioner’s daughter, Dick’s friend. She had always been around, and was a frequent family friend. You never really understood why she was so deeply tied with your family until you found out the truth.

When you found out that she’d been the first Batgirl, you were amazed, and frankly, you wanted to be just like her. She, who has done so much and fought alongside your family in many battles, who has done so much to protect Gotham. Maybe this was the way for you to get close with your father and older brother. You had to prove yourself through this. That’s what you thought.

Which is why when you approached Barbara one day with the idea of being Batgirl, you expected support, encouragement, maybe even a bit of excitement. After all, she had once worn the cape and fought crime in Gotham’s shadows. But no, apparently you were getting in over your head.

Barbara’s face hardened the moment you mentioned the mantle. Her mantle. She immediately refused, telling you that it was dangerous. At first, you thought she was being protective. Jason had died not too long ago doing this, so maybe that’s why. Which is why you relented. But as she continued, you saw the weight of her words—the deep, painful truth that came from experience.

She recounted her time as Batgirl, her fight against the criminals of Gotham, and how the Joker had shattered her body and soul in a way that no physical injury could ever heal. She spoke of the night she was shot, of how she had lost everything—her mobility, her sense of security, and even a part of her identity. It wasn’t just the pain of what happened to her body—it was the mental toll of knowing that every choice she made brought her closer to losing herself.

You were taken aback, shocked by how strongly she felt. Was she really trying to stop you from becoming Batgirl? After everything she had endured, you couldn’t fathom why she wouldn’t want you to follow in her footsteps. But Barbara wasn’t just speaking from a place of worry; she was speaking from experience. She had seen firsthand how dangerous this life was, how it consumed you piece by piece, and how it left scars that would never fade.

But even as you understood her perspective, the desire to prove yourself still burned fiercely inside of you. You wanted to be more than Bruce Wayne’s daughter, more than someone who had to hide in the shadows. You wanted to stand beside your family, to help Gotham in the only way you knew how. You wanted to honour Jason for what he did for Gotham, and continue it for him. Which is why you relented, and eventually, just like everyone else, Barbara gave in. Because she knew couldn’t change your mind no matter what. Which is why she takes you on and helps with your training.

However, just like Bruce, she too only assigned you cases thst she knew you could handle. Even though Barbara had reluctantly agreed to help you become Batgirl, it was clear from the start that she wasn’t going to make it easy on you. She trained you relentlessly, teaching you the ins and outs of combat, tactics, and the stealthy finesse that Gotham’s criminals required. But even in her guidance, you could feel her hesitation. She never pushed you too far, always stopping just short of testing your limits, as though she was holding something back.

She would assign you cases, but they were always ones she knew you could handle—petty thefts, low-level gangs, the type of cases that wouldn’t put you in direct danger, that wouldn’t challenge you too much, and that she could step in and call someone else to take over if things ever went south.

At first, you didn’t mind. You were just glad to be training, to be doing something. But as time went on, the restrictions started to chafe at you. You could see how Barbara’s protective nature was keeping you in a bubble—one that was too small, one that didn’t prepare you for what Gotham truly was. You didn’t want to be stuck fighting the small-time criminals; you wanted to face the real threats, the ones that could change Gotham for the better after being dealt with.

The frustration mounted. Every time she handed you a case, every time she stopped you from pursuing something more dangerous, you felt your desire to prove yourself slipping further and further away. You knew you couldn’t keep doing this forever. Gotham was too big, the stakes too high, and you were capable of so much more. You had to break free from Barbara’s shadow, from her protective grip, and finally prove that you were ready for the challenges that came with being Batgirl—not just in name, but in action. Which is why you started doing more. Did more than you needed to, took one too many unnecessary risks.

But everything shifted when Barbara took in Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown, both taking up the mantle of Batgirl at some point. It stung. The sense of being sidelined was undeniable, and it hurt more than you had expected. Were you really that replaceable? Did you being Batgirl mean nothing?

Barbara’s training shifted with the new additions. She wasn’t the same mentor to you as she had been when you first started. She had become consumed with building Cassandra and Stephanie up, preparing them for the same Gotham streets that had torn her apart. Except, it was obvious that Barbara saw then as more capable, more stronger to take on the streets. More prepared than you’ll ever be. You were no longer her first priority. In fact, you were hardly a priority at all.

The worst part was how Barbara handled it. Instead of talking to you, explaining her choices, she just… distanced herself. There were no more long training sessions, no more subtle encouragement. Your bond, the one that had felt so strong when she first took you in, weakened and thinned, becoming strained and distant. It was as though she had replaced you with them. Maybe she had.

It wasn’t just the feeling of being replaced by two new recruits; it was the complete lack of acknowledgment of everything you had sacrificed, everything you had worked for. You had pushed through every painful night, every bruise, every tear, just to earn your place. But now, it seemed like all that hard work meant nothing. You were left alone in the shadows once again, watching as the people you cared about, the people who had once been your mentors and family, moved on without you.

The rift between you and Barbara widened with each passing day. You tried to hold on to the hope that things would change, that things would go back to how they were before. But deep down, you knew they never would. Barbara had chosen her new proteges—her Batgirls—and you were left to try to make your own way in a family that no longer felt like your own.

And as the years went by, you still held onto that mantle, and Barbara grew more distant. She checked in on you doing patrols and missions as Oracle, but that was that.

Part 2 (Tim, Cassandra, Stephanie, Damian, Duke centered)

lmk your thoughts on this because this has been on my mind for so long <33

taglist (open): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 | ask to be added <3

(idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓)

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Wearing C.C.’s Clothes

That’s it. Well, not really. My C.C. is from the 20’s to late 50’s. (Born in 1919 and died in 58 which means he died at 39 years old.) Now, here’s the thing, C.C. just gives off fashionable man vibes to me. Same with Marilyn. Or at least, the man’s wife knew how to dress them both well. Now, I’m pretty sure archeologists are rich, seeing as Lara Croft lived in a manor owned by her dad(who also an archeologist). Not only that but didn’t Billy have a trust fund before Ebenezer stole it all? Point is, we’re gonna pretend C.C. and Marilyn were at least wealthy for this post. Now back to the part where I was talking about the two being fashionable. I like to think they had a huge closet full of suits and whatever else people wore as adults in the 40’s to 50’s. They were dripped out. Sorry. Also, what exactly happened to all of C.C. and Marilyn’s stuff? Did Ebenezer sell it all? If not, and he just put it in his basement or something, Billy stole it all. All of it. He snuck in, humming the mission impossible theme, and either put it in the Rock or put it in a pocket dimension. Now, in the Rock, I like to think he has some magical closet. Like the Barbie closet. The closet is chock full of things his parents used to wear. Every now and then he puts on C.C.’s clothes and stares at himself in the mirror smiling like his dad used to when he particularly misses his dad. Then, Mary found out about this. He took her to the closet and she soon found herself doing the same thing Billy did, except with their mother. Though, sometimes she simply wore the dresses when she thought they were cute. They would even sometimes recreate photos of their parents. None of the romantic ones though. Billy vomitted all over Freddy’s shoes when he jokingly suggested that. I can even see Mary magicking up necklaces and earrings her mother once wore. So imagine, one day, Marvel gets invited (forced) to go to movie night with the leaguers, but Billy doesn’t have clothes for Marvel, except… So Billy pulls up in mid 40’s casual wear, which nowadays looks pretty formal.

“Dude what are you wearing?” Flash asked, one brow raised so far up it reached his hairline.

“Uh… these are the only casual clothes I have.” Marvel replied looking slightly embarrassed.

Wonder Woman stared at him for a couple moments before speaking up, “Are you wearing vintage?”

“I guess.” He said with a little shrug. “These haven’t seen the light of day since like… almost the sixties.”

”Wait, really?” Green Lantern asked, looking Billy up and down. Which admittedly made Billy a little self-conscious.

“Cap, do you not have modern clothes?” Superman asked.

“No…?” Billy said, though it sounded more like a question. He had modern clothes, just none that fit Marvel.

All of them looked to immediately looked to Batman, who shrugged, “I’ll finance it.”

They then proceeded to drag Marvel to the mall and buy a bunch of clothes, said clothes also going in his magical closet.

[yowumi]

CONSUME ME.

— pairing. osamu dazai x reader x chuuya nakahara [bsd]

✧˚ · . warnings. minors do not interact! 18+, they are all old friends who worked for the port mafia, teasing, they have to work together for a mission, teasing, hinting of past sexual encounters, yes chuuya and dazai are on that gay shit, all characters are in their 20’s, smut.

✧˚ · . a/n. hey guys it’s aries! i just started watching bsd and i love it so far and came up with this idea while making mac and cheese so here we are lol ^-^

pt. 1 // pt. 2 (coming soon)

getting out of the port mafia is hard, but not impossible.

that’s the words you repeated to yourself the day you left, while you ran through the streets with only a bag of weapons and one spare of clothes, as you wiped out hundreds of men chasing after you with bullets shooting over your head, as you ran away from that place for good.

it’s a vivid memory, one that should be celebrated on yet it felt more like a loss, grief. as a stray away young teenager it felt like home but as you grew and matured, you couldn’t help but hate what you were doing. — did you really want to be controlled by him your whole life?

after countless attempts of leaving the port mafia in your earlier years from rebellion and wanting to ‘make a statement’ on how much he really needed you, none of your attempts had ever worked. or more so, you never let any of them work.

the acting out played out for a while, that was until new recruits joined the port mafia. two boys, one named dazai, a tall man with chocolate hair, he had such a boyish demeanor at times, yet his eyes always felt so dark, deprived of the light. the other was named chuuya, a blunt man filled with pride and slight temperament when accompanied dazai. you can’t deny they complimented each other well. despite the circumstances of the port mafia’s harsh nature, seeing the two bicker and argue like teenagers felt refreshing. It was something you hadn’t experienced in a long time.

the two boys were accompanied by you after then, you three became quite close over time, sharing teenage memories with each other as you grew stronger, complimenting each others abilities in combat. although dazai rarely participated in hand to hand, unless necessary.

it wasn’t until a drunken night on chuuya’s eighteenth birthday that the three of you had played a spicy game of truth or dare.

“is it true that your wearing a wig” chuuya grins at dazai with a teasing expression as he sips the cocktail in his hand.

you’d laugh playfully pulling on dazai’s hair, earning a small wince from him.

“you can find out if it’s the real thing tonight when your pulling on it” he cheekily remarks.

“yeah right as if” chuuya rolls his eyes.

and it didn’t take long before the little brain cells left inside you from the alcohol began forming like a lightbulb turning on in your head.

“let’s spice this game up a bit, truth or dare but if you chicken out, you’ve gotta strip!” you presented to them excitedly and dazai claps with approval. chuuya on the other hand sighs in approval.

let’s just say by the end of the night, the three of you were stripped down to your undergarments, after many requests of pranking the boss, which no one had the balls or idiocy of doing even while drunk.

“truth or dare?” you asked chuuya.

“truth”

“is it true that you’re a virgin?” you blurted out without thinking, you were all very close so you didn’t think much of asking personal questions.

unexpectedly, his cheeks turned a light shade of red as he looked away huffing as he stared at his underwear being the only piece of clothing left on his body. “dazai close your eyes, don’t wanna hurt your ego” chuuya snarks at him implying he doesn’t want to answer which only makes dazai’s eyes widen.

“wow, with someone with such a big talking game, you still haven’t managed to get your dick wet yet?” he teased.

“wait you’re being serious chuuya?” you furrow your eye brows at him.

“i’ve done other things, don’t go pinning me as a plane jane alright, i just haven’t had sex that’s all” he admits, “dazai are you even one to talk! i doubt any women would want to do anything with you considering how much you rant about suicide!”

“perhaps your right” he says casually before his eyes lighten with an idea, “y/n, truth or dare?” he asks, suddenly excited making you worried. dazai thinking was never a good thing.

“fuck it, dare”

a smirk appears on his face as he looks at chuuya and you, “I dare you to take his virginity”

chuuya and your face widen as a blush creeped upon the two of your faces. suddenly feeling a bit nervous, “I, uh-“ you stutter, not knowing whether that would be okay to do with your friend. you wouldn’t mind, and of course you knew the two of your friends were very attractive so can’t deny sexual thoughts have crossed your mind late at night when you laid alone in bed but this all seemed so fast, faster than your brain could keep up.

dazai leans into you, slightly holding your waist firmly and pressing his lips near your ear whispering, “oh and let’s not forget that whoever chickens out has to strip” he emphasizes the word strip. “and from what i see, you only have your bra and panties left, i don’t think it’s smart to leave yourself vulnerable like that in front of two men…especially in this state…” he turns his gaze down to his briefs making you look down with him, noticing the bulge popping out against his leg while he looks back to chuuya who’s noticeably hard. you hadn’t even realized it before.

that night you had took chuuya and dazai’s virginity, and they took yours. it was a day you couldn’t seem to forget no matter how drunk you were. the line between the three of you was crossed and it never went back, making it ritual that the three of you were together in all ways.

that was until dazai left a few months later.

after he left, he didn’t leave any trace, no warning, nothing. if it weren’t for a report sent back after weeks of looking for him that he was surely alive but he didn’t want to come back.

chuuya and you grew distant after the fact. instead of the light mood and energy that you two were usually surrounded by, it felt as if the two of you were grieving dazai. not just as a friend, but as a partner.

for the last year you stayed in the port mafia, which was about a year after dazai had left, you and chuuya would spend nights together in your shared apartment, the apartment all three of you used to share.

it always hit the two of you at night that he wasn’t there, that’s when you and chuuya were brought together. silently, whether it was searching for comfort as you held each other as you slept, or angry sex from the frustration of work and the loss of dazai, or looking at each other with understanding, understanding of the same feeling brought upon both of you.

you had made a promise that you would tell him if you were planning to leave the port mafia.

you broke that promise when you had proceeded in refusing to help bomb an orphanage, not wanting to cause harm to children, that was always where you crossed the line. that was always the hard topic for you and you had thought that was something you and the port mafia had agreed on. you were wrong and no isn’t an answer in the port mafia. you were informed by one of your colleagues that they planned on assassinating you, for your disobedience as it was a very important mission needed to be done, something only you could pull off with your strategic planning and stealthy combat skills.

you had no time to leave, it was urgent and non negotiable. if you hadn’t left at that exact moment, you were surely going to be executed.

so you ran.

and you didn’t stop until you knew you couldn’t be found. you tried to find comfort working underground, doing some dirty work, something you were already familiar with. you worked for a on the low agency that helped take down dangerous organizations. it was like the fbi except…the government was some of the people you were mainly trying to take out…

after time of building a name for yourself in the under world, being the go to for underground highly advanced assassinations on huge corporations, ones nobody could dream of touching. your ability allowed you to remain invincible, not physically but not a single soul has been able to sense your presence, you didn’t have any fingerprints or bodily identification that could be left behind. you were the definition of stealth which made you dangerous yet wanted by many.

it didn’t take long for you to have everything you wanted, from where you sat, the port mafia couldn’t take you down unless they gave it their all, same as dazai. they knew it would be a means to war if they were to force us back. a war they wouldn’t be able to win.

you couldn’t deny that it felt lonely, the years you spent alone. you tried looking for chuuya, you watched over him, sometimes you would even stalk him trying to figure out what he was up to these days. dazai on the other hand, you somehow couldn’t find yourself to look for him.

dazai was being looked for, they were trying to bring him back, they wanted him. If he left, it was only because he wanted to.

there was always something so distant about him, he kept up such an act that made him seem okay constantly, never letting his guard down. yet, something about him always felt distant, as if he was right there yet meteors away.

for years, the silent distance between the three of you marinated, not having any connection between each other, no communication, nothing.

that was until 3 years later, you were informed that chuuya and dazai had a little reunion, without you.

you stared blankly at the report given to you of the information, not knowing how to feel towards the situation. pictures were provided and you can’t deny that they aged well. dazai grew a few inches, he wore lighter clothes now, taking on a more casual look rather than the edgy one he wore as a teen. chuuya on the other hand hadn’t grown much since, although his face matured more and his hair grew out a bit, you also recognize he took on a better sense of style.

you put the paper down and threw it in the trash.

their reunion had nothing to do with you, therefore you should be kept uninterested. the past is in the past.

a few days later you had received a visitor at home in the middle of the night, which was rare because you didn’t receive house visits. you grabbed your gun from your night table making your way towards the presence you heard near the kitchen. looking around for any sign of life, you pointed your gun up before being blinded by the lights turning on in the darkness of the night. you quickly gained your composure before you felt a warm body behind you and a hand coming towards yours which was holding the gun.

bandages.

you knew who’s hand that was, you knew that hand all too well. your legs felt the sudden urge to weaken and your breath hitched as you felt him inches away behind you. feeling his breath against your ear as you felt him lean in, “you didn’t think i’d forget about you, did you?” he let out a soft chuckle against your ear as he took the gun from you.

“how did you get in here dazai” you say bluntly not daring to turn around to look at him, in fear of losing your composure, or perhaps your sanity in this case.

this seemed funny to him and you realize how stupid the question is. — why wouldn’t he be able to get in here?

you grew with annoyance swiftly pulling a move fast enough for you to take out a small knife from under the small shorts you were wearing and backed him into a corner, pointing the weapon towards his neck.

“why are you here.” you finally look him in his eyes for the first time in years, taking in the close proximity between the two of you.

“would you believe me if i said a friendly reunion over some drinks?” he teased, “i came back because…” he leans in closely knowing you wouldn’t kill him, “i need you.” he whispered in almost a whine, one you were familiar with.

you were taken by surprise by his words about to kick him in the nuts for his stupidity before a voice comes out from the back.

“you shouldn’t tease dazai, you know that only results in punishment” chuuya’s voice echoed out from the couch that he sat splayed across on. you look up at him feeling immediately guilt in your stomach remembering how you left him.

dazai quickly notices this trying to change the conversation with the mention of drinks. “you must have some type of alcohol in the house, right?” he starts searching and rampaging through your cabnits as he looks for any sign of alcohol.

“aha!” he lifts up an old bottle of wine that hasn’t been opened pulling the lid off effortlessly as he cheered.

you go sit down on the couch next to chuuya where he stares silently at you, “been a while” he says barely making eye contact with you.

“yeah..” you say awkwardly, not knowing what to say. you figured you would tell him you were sorry now while you have the chance as dazai is distracted, “listen, i’m sorry about how i left, i just-“ you were cut off by chuuya.

“don’t worry about it, i’m not holding grudges” he says giving you a slight comforting smile in the best way he can considering his usual blunt and annoyed manner.

you smile back as you two sit in silence, taking each other’s in as you looked at each others new appearances with age and maturity.

looking at him from up close forced you to really look at him and his features, taking in the way his eyes slightly softens when dazai speaks to him from the kitchen or how he plays with the rings on his fingers as he speaks, when you really took the time to look at him, you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by him.

stealing you away from your thoughts, dazai awakened you from your gaze when he calls your name out for what must have been a few times now asking if you want him to serve you a cup, you nod in reply.

as dazai sits down, placing the cups filled to the brim with liquor on the small coffee table that laid in the middle of your nearly empty apartment.

“you should get plants or something ya know, it’s so depressing in here, your house looks like the inside of a grandmas vagina” dazai speaks freely — as always, when does he not?

“how the hell would you know what a grandmas vagina looks like?” you furrow your eye brows at a cheeky dazai, giggling in response.

“i’ve been around, the ladies love me ya know” he sarcastically brags, as chuuya shoots him looks of judgement with a small scoff, “you disgust me.” he takes a sip of his drink.

times like these reminded you of your teenage years, memories that made your time serving the mafia feel not so bad.

“you never answered my question…” you’re still curious as to why they came back to you after years, it was all so sudden. there had to have been a reason, right?

chuuya gives dazai a look emphasizing that he should tell her, dazai rolls his eyes in defeat. he really hated having to change the mood.

“the port mafia are planning to hunt you down so until further notice, i was informed that i needed to take you in so you can receive protection from the angency.” he says taking a sip from his cup.

you look towards chuuya, “and you?” you ask.

his face flushes just for a moment before looking down almost in embarrassment, “…i uh volunteered or whatever..” he looks away.

your face grew with concern coming closer to him, “wait? but that would be a betrayal to the port mafia, would it not?”

he looked up at you, “yeah but it’s fine.” he says plainly trying not to make a big deal out of it. “dazai dragged me into it anyways, pestering me and shit” he glared at dazai sitting next to him.

“hey! you joined without hesitation, it didn’t take much convincing out of him-“ his words cut off with the slap of chuuya pushing a napkin in his mouth left with a pouty dazai.

“well i guess i don’t have much of a choice in this, do i?” you ask.

“nope.” both of them say, dazai with a grin and chuuya with annoyance.

you get up and leave the room making your way to your own bedroom, receiving confused looks and ‘huh’s from the both of them.

you come out within a few seconds with a duffel bag filled with your belongings.

“you were trained well” dazai grins.

“so where are we heading?”

.

.

.

link to part 2 (coming soon)

[texasteaparty]

On a seemingly random Monday in '94 Ice asked Mav to marry him. It's asked so nonchalantly, like when Mav asks what Ice wants from the diner for dinner, that Mav almost loses his balance and grip on the coffee pot.

Obviously he says yes, because they have been together for almost a decade now and he's happiest with Ice by his side (down on the ground, in bed and especially in the air on his wing).

They aren't allowed to get married, for multiple reasons, but Ice still grips his hand and oh so gently places the simple ring on his finger followed by a sweet kiss to his hand.

When Mav gets his next orders, he carefully threads the ring on his tags (he got those stealth rubber tag covers as another gift for Ice) and finds his fingers reaching out for it during the entire deployment.

Whenever he's stressed he plays with the ring, or when he's lonely and misses his husband. By the early 2000's he's gotten so used to seeking out the rings secure weight on his tags chain that he doesn't even notice doing it half the time.

Ice has all but grounded himself as he rises in the ranks, and Mav can't be upset when his husband is just so happy.

(and so maybe he gets in a bit of shit just to get ordered to Ice's office to be reprimanded and walked out with kiss swollen lips and disheveled hair, well that's his business)

Their friends get married, have kids and retire. Slider has a daughter that's such a spitfire like her dad that Mav can't help but tear up a little. (He tries not to think of Bradley's back as he slams the door, shoulders tense and stomping feet loud.)

By the time 2011 rolls by and DADT is repealed, Ice and Mav are so used to the way things are that they don't really think about what they can do now. Still find time to sneak off to kiss clumsy in Ice's office, or to leave the house at different times so they don't get to the base at the same time.

It's goes like that for another decade or so before Mav is sent back to Top Gun to teach a group of top tier aviators how to fly an impossible mission.

During the two weeks Mav learns a lot about these kids, learns that Rooster is a damn good pilot but plays too safe. Learns that Hangman is a front and that Jake Seresin has a huge heart that comes out in small tasks. Phoenix is a firestorm with a heart of gold and a chip on her shoulder, and Mav is reminded of himself when he watched her and Bob. Coyote is almost the hardest hitter because he's so much like Goose that Mav almost has a panic attack after the g-loc fiasco.

In turn he tells them a bit about himself—simple, non-invasive stuff like how long he's had his bike (15 years, it was a gift from Ice when Mav went a full year without pissing off an admiral) and what his tattoo means (it's Morse code for the first day of TG and under it is a pair of gold wings with an embellished tiny goose). But when Payback asks the night before the mission what the ring on his tags meant—they all spotted it during dog fight beach volleyball —and whether he had a wife back home.

Mav sighed but smiled as he pulls his tags over his head to hold his ring in hand. His base reaction is to lie, to say it's from his mom and he's waiting for the right person to give it to. But the lie tastes like ash on his tongue and the weight of the mission sits heavy on his shoulders, so Mav does something he'd never done before.

He tells the truth.

"it's mine, from my husband."

The silence is almost stifling for a solid 20s before the chaos kicks in. They all holler questions at him like a snowball fight and Mav can't help but grin, cheeky and smug.

It's Roosters question after the others quiet down that startled Mav.

"It's Ice, isn't it?"

Mav doesn't even have to respond, just smiles so gently and stares down at the ring. It feels good to have it said out loud, even if this is their last night.

"Don't tell him I told you guys, we have a bet going on that you won't find out till after the mission ends and I want to win it." He smirks and winks when the daggers all groan and throw things at him, some cat calling him with wolf whistles.

He prays they make it to see tomorrow night.

—

They do, just barely.

Rooster is talking to him again. (And if Mav spy's the tender, newfound love blossoming between the two pilots, well Ice loves gossip)

And then 2 weeks after the mission from Hell, the daggers appear like a hoard of wraiths on his and Tom's house, arms clad with fairy lights and lace doilies and table cloths.

"you got married in secret almost thirty years ago, dad. Let us give you and Icepops the wedding you deserve." They clearly know how to get their way, since they sent Rooster to convince him, eyes so earnest and so much like Goose that Mav just barely avoids tears and allows himself to be ushered back into the house with Ice.

The tears don't stay away though when he steps out to the backyard when prompted and spots the absolutely breathtaking display of lights, flowers and Ice at the altar with the softest, sweetest smile Mavs only seen a handful of other times before.

...to be continued?????

Edit 19/04/25 — okay!!! So the poll is pretty hard in one direction so Imma work on this 🙏 probably will just write it out and post it on ao3 when it's done, so please watch out for it! Thanks guys for the love, I appreciate y'all 💖💖

[beanieable]

@kkobweek

Day 2 - Secret identity / Dropping the act

There needs to be an Akatsuki AU for any KKOB week! I love how Kakashi's secret identity is him removing his mask while Obito wears a mask for his.

I strongly believe that if Obito had come in and revealed himself to Kakashi when Kakashi was at his lowest point, Kakashi would have joined Obito. No matter how stupid the moon plan is.

When Obito - no his name was Tobi now.

When Tobi had ambushed Kakashi, barely 20 years old, on one of his missions. One he took to fill the void. The void he had gotten so used to. A void that would never fill again. Or so he thought. 

Tobi revealed himself to Kakashi, he shared his plan too. In all honestly it was a stupid plan. A world with no pain, something Kakashi had gotten so used to, it was impossible.

Yet Kakashi agreed. He agreed to stand by Tobi till the end. Not because of the plan but because it was Tobi. The only one that mattered now. 

Hatake Kakashi died that day, but in his place Sukea was born. 

The members of the Akatsuki were well aware of the two men and how odd they were. Neither seemed fit to be a shinobi but they were deadly. Especially when the other was in danger. If they weren’t a group of criminals, they would stick them in therapy. They need it. Only Itachi didn’t seem to mind, he never explained why. He just couldn’t shake the feeling he knew Sukea from somewhere. He was too familiar to the Uchiha.

[errantindy]

This meme again…a friend sent this to spin me up…and she was right, and I had fun. And here’s what they got in our Discord (don’t worry I’m having fun, I swear. 😅):

OKAY.

SO. Here we go.

Luke Skywalker was placed on a desert deathworld into the loving care of his aunt and uncle. Owen and Beru knew Anakin, even briefly. Owen felt Anakin’s loss, after his stepmother and then his father, in a couple of years. He had also lost his mother very young. Owen was devastated and traumatized by loss. As far as he knew, his stepbrother was brutally murdered by the Empire in the Purge.

SO, on that backdrop, we have how the Lars guarded Luke. They loved him dearly and did their very best to keep him close, keep him safe. By the shiny sun-dragons, they fought a Dark Jedi for him. They knew the dangers and felt the farm was the only safe place for him. They stymied every attempt at Luke leaving. Even as they knew, it hurt and disappointed the boy they loved, because they could see he was destined for the stars.

SO, we have two, let’s face it, parents doing the galaxy’s best job of keeping a Skywalker in one place AND almost entire out of galactic events, for 19 years mind you! And then in turn, Luke LOVES Owen and Beru, he keeps himself there on the farm as much as they do. They are sand poor moisture farmers. They can’t afford hands to help, they can barely afford a few inadequate droids, and Luke is taking the lion’s share of work as age and their harsh world grind his aunt and uncle down. He can’t leave them to the dangers and hardship. Presented with freedom and adventure as he’s always wanted….Luke refuses the Call, because his family NEEDS him.

Thus, all that established, how does a thoroughly bored Luke occupy his time? Being, undeniably, the best bush pilot in the galaxy. He and his friends challenge themselves to the most insane stunt flying and driving and skiing events that they can, that anyone could, on a world where everything wants to kill you, EVERYTHING. Your average hotrodder anywhere else in the galaxy isn’t learning to deal with incoming enemy fire as a matter of course.

Luke and his friends are regularly fired on by Sand People and criminals. That’s a fact of life.

And Luke is doing this poor as sand with food scarcity because that is his life.

And when the Empire murders his family and burns his farm, severing his only ties to Tatooine, Luke leaves immediately….and then acts out all that repressed Skywalker insanity in a week. He goes to the local hell hole, gets in an immediate bar fight, flees Tatooine as a fugitive, starts Jedi training and makes good progress IN A DAY, infiltrates the Death Star, frees a princess on a whim and no plan, nearly gets eaten by a monster, and escapes the Death Star, joins the Rebellion, takes their tests, achieves results that exceed their tests with no formal training, goes into battle with no more combat experience than his own hobbies, is more useful in his first battle than his father ever was, then achieves the impossible with a literally impossible shot only he could make, and survives.

THAT IS WHAT LUKE SKYWALKER DOES AT 19 AND ONLY GOES VRROOM VRROOM WITH HIS TOYS WHEN HE AND HIS FAMILY ARE HOLDING HIM BACK OUT OF LOVE.

By age 20, Luke is self teaching himself the Force and Jedi training from WHAT HE CAN SCRAPE UP IN THE DETRITUS AND DEBRIS OF THE PURGE, leading a new elite fighter squadron, and one of the Rebellion go-to operatives when they need difficult missions accomplished.

Luke has as most a couple of months formal training. He is that good in RotJ because he figured it all out by himself otherwise in 4 years.

Anakin at 20: “Boo hoo, they’re holding me back. I guess I’ll commit crimes against civilization…”

Luke at 20: “I wish there WAS someone to hold me back. I guess I’ll continue being a moral paragon with my entire lack of formal education unlike the rest of my family.”

OH and need I further expand upon the classism inherent in the meme?

Leia and Padme were both senators…how did they become senators and, in one case, queen? Hey, their families were wealthy and influential. Huh.

How was Anakin general and considered one of the most powerful Jedi in history? Huh, he was inducted as a member of an elite order of, face it, elite government agents with nigh unlimited funding, and the support of his unethically secret senator wife and the supreme chancellor (and galactic puppet-master).

What was Luke? A sand poor farmboy on a desert deathworld who worked tirelessly completing his chores so he could have some joy ‘midst his poverty level existence.

Huh. FANCY THAT, not having rich, privileged legs up in the galaxy makes it hard to have high social standing and power. WEIRD.

Guess he ought to pull himself up by his bootstraps….oh wait he doesn’t have any because of the oppressive Hutt “taxes.”

[lovesim09]

White Star

I know the fandom often makes fun of White Star. However, when it comes to power and influence, it is a terrifying opponent. It cannot be forgotten that in the original timeline, White Star first appeared 20 years after the beginning of the war in front of Choi Han. Nothing happened only thanks to regressor. We also saw the diary of the God of Death, a lot of people should have died. In the original timeline Roan kingdom would be destroyed, the Whipper kingdom would lose to the Empire. Jungle would be under the rule of Elisneh. It's likely that many places would be destroyed by dead mana because of the Empire. The dragons we met would be dead. Bud would probably have been killed too, after all, White Star was hunting him. The whales had a war with the mermaids, but it is possible that they later lost. White Star would have the most powerful ancient powers. After all, he was trying to obtain Sky Eating Water and we know how powerful this power is. It's better not to mention the balance of the 5 attributes. Additionally, it has races with a dark attribute on its side. He managed to gain a lot of sacrifice, so his Sky attribute would be more powerful than what we have seen. He has its own kingdom, and Kingdoms that work with him.He also got rid of two dangerous people, Saint and Holy Maiden. There is no one who can use the artifact left by the Sun God. The corrupt Church would realize too late how dangerous the enemy is, it is impossible for them to sacrifice their lives to purify dead mana. It was obvious what their reaction would be after we already seen their reaction when Prince Valentino asked for help. There is also no one who can use fire of destruction, because the person who took this power was an elf, a person with no money and without correct acquired power. The world tree would be destroyed and replaced by a new tree controlled by him. There would also be no weapon capable of completely destroying his soul.

There is something that seems interesting to me. The proposal the God of Death gave to Choi Jung Soo. Nameless 1 already had Choi Han, since a second Single Lifers is needed. That could mean Choi Han lost. It's possible that he didn't die, but something worse happened to him. From being controlled by illusions to becoming a Half Blood-like monster or becoming a demon. It is possible that hunters could have killed him later. CJS preferred to sacrifice his life to his closest family. KRS has become someone whose future cannot be predicted. Thanks to this, KRS has become someone who can change the future of others. KRS read the book with the necessary information. Besides, he had the power, intelligence, experience. It's not that WS was an idiot, this person was terrifying. He managed to guess that Cale was a transmigrator, that the person in this body wasn't the real Cale. Even if the other theories were wrong. We have to remember how unlikely it is that he is someone from another world. After all, he had too much information. While it is laughable to say that Cale works with the Gods, he was actually partly right. Cale was sent to this world by the God of Death, and the God likes him and offered him the position of a saint. Even thank to God he gained the power that allowed him to imprison White Star. White Star lost because Cale had help from God and was loved by nature. And so Cale is someone that nature likes, elementals are part of nature, the world tree has lost branches for him many times, even gave him the oldest root. Dragons liked him because of his power and character. Elves were interested in him many times because of 5 attributes, so different from each other. He did not discriminate against any race, so even the necromancers and dark elves cooperated with him. Of course, Cale is also someone who survived the apocalypse, he managed to become someone strong even in such circumstances. Even White Star who lived for 1000 years couldn't compare to how many difficult and demanding missions Cale completed while he was still in his old body. Because White Star has always had the power, he never had to fear that the monster would eat him, that if he lost, the people he protected would be next. I can say with confidence that Cale has a lot more experience even if he didn't live as long. Compared to White Star, Cale never took the easy path. I would also like to talk about the powers of these two, but that's for another time.

[aixeko]

-`♡´-≐ “ IF THE WORLD WAS ENDING, I'D WANNA BE NEXT TO YOU ” ≐-`♡´-

| Starring | Soft!Arlecchino x Harbinger!Reader

| Setting | Genshin universe

| Scenario | [ SHORT FIC ] FLUFF! Soft with a hint of angst. Pronouns are not used. A bit fast paced. Not proofread. 

► RADIO CHANNEL [Author note]

× This is so mid and I refuse to reread. I’m so sorry if the quality of the fic is not up to par with the others. × Fluff is so boring I'm sorry, It's not my cup of tea.

[ Word count: 2034 ] | Art credit: Blufyrein on Twitter & Instagram

August 20 XXXX…

“The house of the hearth has been blazing with activity ever since the children heeded the upcoming anniversary of my birth. Even with my reluctance, they insisted on celebrating this occasion, one in which I won't prevent seeing the amount of effort and enthusiasm they are collectively putting into this yearly ceremony.

It has been some time now since you last celebrated with us; in fact, it was four years ago exactly on this day, August 20th. Four years in which you had left for your mission issued by the Taritasa to Natlan, and four years since we last heard of your welfare. The children, in spite of the low possibility of attendance, still persist in accounting for your awaited arrivals, and I too bide my time for the day you return home to us.

If it isn't an inconvenience for you, please do not let their hard work wither into nothingness; perhaps even a response letter would be utmost appreciated by the children.

The hearth is set ablaze, anticipating your safe homecoming; the children miss you." 

Two days have passed since Arlecchino sent her most recent letter to you, and the day of her birthday has arrived with the expected ghosting from your side. Her hands focused on providing perfection to the barbecue, moving on their own like a second conscious being, while her gaze stared blankly at the grill, her mind stuck in deep thoughts.

Arlecchino is not one to sugarcoat or disprove the factuality of a situation, but with the lack of responses, or rather no response, over the past four years, the overwhelming, woeful truth has become more prominent than ever.

Her grip on the tongs tightened; with the amount of pressure she was applying, it could bend the steel into a useless apparatus. Furrowed eyebrows follow along with a frustrated sigh and a shake of her head. No, impossible. How can a Harbinger who is soon to be awarded the ranking just below her fall victim to the accursed consequence of life, such as death? It's impossible; the odds are practically none unless you have run into trouble with the almighty archon of Natan; then that is the only possible outcome that can lead to your ultimate demise. Even the mere thought of that possibility is unbelievable; the person whom Arlecchino has married is not one known to be the hostile type despite ranking as a highly potent Harbinger. To hell and back, your personality is enough to make even the devil himself view you as a passive mortal being; you are not married to a woman such as Arlecchino herself for no good reason.

"FATHER!" A young adult male screamed out in horrorstruck desperation.

The sound of her being called awoke Arlecchino from her trance; her head snapped to the young man, whose skin, once flawless, was now bruised, with short ash-blond hair and wearing magician-like clothing that was now dirtied with his own blood. The apron wrapping around her, along with the tongs in hand, was thrown onto the ground as she rushed to her bloody child. The other children near the area hurried to their brother, their expressions sharing concern and anger at the sight.

Arlecchino catches him once his body gives up; desperate, inaudible cries escape his mouth, with the only few words being coherent: Lynette—everyone—hurts!

Those words are enough for her X-shaped eyes to light up to a color akin to flame. Arlecchino's face visibly darkened at the announcement; from its tone, the situation was a lot direr than she could have expected. She gently but hastily lowered Lyney to the ground, her voice booming with command to the children to aid him while she raced to where he had come from. The children who specialized in combat rather than the medical aspects hurtled with Arlecchino despite not being in their Fatui attire; their bodies, enraged, moved on adrenaline alone.

Another one of the children who is limping sees the reinforcements approaching and points in the direction of the ongoing battlefield onslaught. Distant screams are heard, and Arlecchino has no time to properly bring her children to safety; thus, some of the others take charge in retreating the injured to let her focus on eliminating the source of the massacre.

Once she arrives at the cluster of her heavily wounded children and spots the suspect, who's draped in a dark cloak covering their whole body, Arlecchino takes no time transforming into her stronger form.

Arlecchino's scythe bolts at the infiltrator in synchronization with her body, whose speed could be described as quick as lightning. Arlecchino is left with constricted pupils as the mysterious figure dodges the attack with absolute ease, like they have just vanished into thin air.

"It seems like the great supreme Knave has gotten weaker."

The unrecognized tone of a whisper against her ears has her swinging her scythe at a 360-degree angle; this action causes the person to leap backward with a laugh. Arlecchino stands poised, her eyes scanning the figure to make out some sort of recognizable appearance. By the sound of their voice, Arlecchino feels a sense of familiarity coursing throughout all 206 of her bones, yet she can't place her finger on why the stranger is able to invoke such a feeling.

"You made a grave mistake daring to step forth against the House of the Hearth."

One of Arlecchino's hand ignites in a surge of power, and with that, she leaves no time for a response as her scythe hurls at the figure, with a burst of multiple flaming sword-like shapes surrounding the weapon.

Arlecchino's hand snaps out, catching the leg hurtling at her head. Her voice cuts through the air, sharp and full of mockery: "Too slow."

"Not bad!" laughed the person as they disappeared once more, causing a tsk of irritation to be emitted from Arlecchino.

Arlecchino figured that enough was enough and unleashed various attacks all at once, and not a single one landed; it was like this stranger had already calculated and understood every single little detail about her fighting style. The fact that they didn't actually attack but rather used dodge gave Arlecchino a bit of insight; they were playing a game of speed while she was playing a game of strength.

The gleam in Arlecchino's eyes intensified, sparking with otherworldly vigor. Her hand rose, mirroring the spark within as she muttered, "So be it." Her voice breathed life into a realm unseen by mortal eyes, with only an unlucky few witnessing its crimson moon.

The unidentified figure struggles in their stance, proving to be immobile. Play as you like, but to challenge a Harbinger of her standing is nothing to be confident about; daring to try to manipulate the outcome to your desire against another manipulator is pathetically laughable.

Or so Arlecchino thought, because what she didn't expect was for the stranger to be able to move of their own free will, but also to strike her domain as useless and nonexistent with a familiar style.

Her eyes narrowed once back to the real world, for there had only been one person who was informed about how to elude her realm, and based on the dependence on speed rather than strength, it was already a giveaway. Moments later, her suspicion proves true, yet not as anticipated as she presumes as she sees the stranger dashing towards her—well, not a stranger but the one who swiped her caged heart away into a loving shelter, you. You sprint towards her, shedding your cloak through the stride. In a heartbeat, you jump onto her, embracing her tightly with your warmth for an unexpected reunion, but one with no complaints.

"Peruere!"

Arlecchino freezes momentarily at the sudden action, but once recognition dawns, she returns your grip with an equal amount of fierce.

"You're home."

"I'm home!" You grin and draw back to study the face you longed for and missed for the past four years.

Her eyes, no more did they fume with fury; rather, in replacement of it, there radiated a tenderness shown to a small selected lucky few. A rare softness graces her features, an expression reserved only for children and, more intensely, for you.

"Happy birthday—"

You're interrupted by a peck on the lip; honestly, if it weren't for how unexpected it is for the likes of Arlecchino, it would have completely flown past you as some sort of dust.

"I figure the odds of you arriving today would be little to none, but nonetheless, welcome back home, my dear," she paused. "Although that little stunt of yours is not one easily forgiven or overlooked."

Arlecchino glances at the gathering that has formed all around her, more specifically at the young man who is hiding behind his twin sister with a nervous smile.

"Still as stone-hard as ever, I see, but I do admit my twisted plan for a reunion could have been alternated for a sweeter one," you give her an apologetic smile. "My sincerest apologies, Peruere."

"Why didn't you respond to any of my letters?" Arlecchino asked, turning back to look at you and settling you down to your feet to your dismay.

"I did!" you perked. "It just seems like Natlan is a horrible fit for communicating with letters since, somehow, it keeps getting lost and burned to ashes in the lava."

"Your face betrays you, darling." Arlecchino's fingers danced through your hair. "Your face says it all; it's a given that you know there is no hiding anything from me. Don't lie to me; you didn't know I had sent you letters."

"Haha... Look, in my defense, my mission was a mess, and doing anything is a whole other disorder; I'm thankful that the Captain is taking over because that region is a headache to deal with."

Arlecchino places a hand on your waist, pulling you close as her lips make contact with your head. "Setting everything aside, let us use our time together again to celebrate instead of bickering."

The children cheered at the public display of affection between their parents, and the one who was "tending the wounded" was, in fact, actually bringing the barbecue from the House of the Hearth to the large field.

"The children miss you," Arlecchino whispers into your ear, her head pressed against yours.

You wanted to laugh at the children's excuse; she really had not changed much in the past four years, still playing off a cold demeanor to hide the soft shell hidden beneath it, one you had already melted through.

Your eyelids lift, catching her smile, which reveals her pearly white teeth. Your gaze softens. In reality, many things have changed since you first met her, yet she refuses to give herself credit for it. She was once only known as Arlecchino or by her Harbinger title, The Knave, but over the past years, the facade has lowered greatly to divulge the true identity of Father, The Knave, Arlecchino to just Peruere.

"I miss the children too."

For the rest of the day, that smile didn't leave; no, it was displayed for the whole world to see and ravish in. Nor did she leave your side once, insisting on even public displays of affection in spite of being surrounded by the children, and in her own words, "It's to make up for all the time that has been lost."

If only she knew that in the far future, when all of her hair turns white, with yours matching hers, she would realize it was the worst lie she had ever spoken.

If only she knew that in the future she had accidentally made an unspoken oath with herself to spend the rest of her time loving you to make up for the other half of her time that was spent hiding how much she loved you.

The smile, unbeknownst to both of you, would be a permanent fixture. It would endure through your remaining years, brightening each day until your final moments together, when life's inevitable decline finally claims you both.

Even when the world was ending, at least you both would be next to each other, dying with a smile stretching across your features.