#I’ll kill a conservative

[antis-hero]

Finding all the names of women who supported the anti-suffrage cause is really important to me because I can sometimes hunt down more information on them and learn about their lives. Many suffragettes have books on books about them, but sometimes all I find on antis are their writings and then a gravestone. The main figures have whole Wikipedia pages on them, but even then there’s less information than I’d like to see.

When I find more about these conservative women, I can see the lives of what Laurel Thatcher Ulrich called the “well-behaved women” that don't often make history. It looks like the antis who held local, non-political positions to help working moms and children, support victims of WWI, encourage historic preservation, and much more.

Others focused heavily on education, whether it be receiving an education, becoming teachers, or writing many, many books. Some others lived a bit more quietly, educating their children themselves or supporting them as they went to public school, caring for or working alongside their husbands, and managing their home while supporting antis as a hobby of sorts.

I’ve also learned about how odd these women could be, given that all I known of them before was the assumption that they were all old, stuffy, and quiet. Many antis could be reserved, like Madeleine Dahlgren, who once only sent a written letter to Congress on the issue of suffrage while suffragists were there to speak. But other antis, like Mary Wilson Thompson, were much more outgoing and aggressive in their activism. Thompson once asking a politician she knew to send out 260 thousand pieces of anti-suffrage literature to West Virginia and chased down a politician demanding he sign a statement that would let her act on his behalf during the attempt ratification of the 19th Amendment. When speaking for her cause against suffragists, which would end in her victory, as Delaware would not ratify the 19th Amendment, antis lifted her chair and paraded around with her when they won two decisive votes.

All I knew of these conservative women were their “negative” and “weak” qualities. Because of that, I couldn’t have seen their conditions as anything other than sad and powerless. But the truth is that whether they were “well-behaved” or ambitious, lived quietly or did much, conservative women of the past were just as unique, influential, and happy as we consider the average woman today. Our standards back then may have been different, but that doesn’t mean women lived the uniform lives we assume they did.

[miraclemaya]

MADOKA - “I’m thinking I’ll order a beef udon bowl, since Sayaka-chan told me that they make those really good here. What about you, Homura-chan?”

CONSERVATION OF ENERGY - Food needs can be met with an expenditure of 1.23% of total magic. Proceed?

GRIEF SYNDROME [Trivial: Success] - MAGICAL GIRLS THAT IGNORE FOOD ARE OFTEN MORE PRONE TO GRIEF ACCUMULATION. MY ARMS WILL ALWAYS BE WAITING FOR YOU, HOMURA, BUT IT’S IMPORTANT TO BE HAPPY UNTIL THAT DAY. BESIDES, MADOKA WANTS TO EAT WITH YOU. DISAPPOINTING HER WILL FILL YOUR SOUL GEM WITH A HALF A GRIEF SEED WORTH OF DESPAIR.

TEA WITH MAMI-SAN [Legendary: Success] - Sayaka says the beef bowl is good? Maybe go for that. She knows Madoka’s tastes better than anyone — and if Madoka likes something, you will certainly like it too.

“I will have the same as you, Madoka.”

“I’m not feeling very hungry.”

[CALL AND RESPONSE - Medium 10] Come up with an order on your own

CALL AND RESPONSE - [Medium: Failure] - You’ve eaten here before, you’re pretty sure. Was it Loop 32… no, Loop 12..? No, wait, it was on the first Friday of Loop 68. No… that’s not right. You’ve never eaten here before. In a stunning display of incompetence, you have taken Madoka on a date to a restaurant that you have never experienced before.

THE ANGEL - It’s okay, Homura-chan! I don’t mind if you haven’t eaten here before. Remember what real me said, Sayaka thinks this place is good! And even if it’s not perfect, that’s okay, just spending time with you makes me happy.

THE CRAVEN MASSES - Sayaka has raised her blade against Madoka 16 times before. You should leave this restaurant and kill her. It would only take-

FALLING SAND [Trivial: Success] - 1528 seconds on average.

CONSERVATION OF ENERGY - It can be cut down to 1243 seconds with an expenditure of 2.7% of total magic pool.

THE CRAVEN MASSES - Exactly. Do it in front of her family and make it bloody. Kyoko would likely try and stop you, but even she isn’t immune to bullets. And if Mami comes for revenge, well, you know the exact words you could say that would destroy her, don’t you?

THE ANGEL - A-Ah, I think that’s a bit of an extreme reaction, Homura-chan!

HUMAN SHELL - Your heart rate is increasing. Stop that. You have absolute control over your flesh. Act like it.

MOE INSTINCT - AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH WHAT ARE WE GOING TO ORDER MADOKA IS GOING TO LAUGH AT US

WITCH’S NIGHT - Is… is this a trap? Walpurgis may be defeated, but you know that the stage witch never truly ceases its show. Perhaps this restaurant is a part of the stage?

MADOKA - “Um, are you okay, Homura-chan?”

MOE INSTINCT - OH GOD SHE HATES US

“I’m going to kill myself.”

“I’m so sorry. Would killing myself make you feel more comfortable?”

Isn’t there anything else you can say?

YOU - Isn’t there anything else you can say?

THE DEVIL - Come on, Homura. It’s high time you do it. Really, this is just another in the long, long chain of failures that make up your life. The only way to fix it is to kill yourself.

CLOCKWORK PRECISION - Target: Located on right ring finger. Target is not moving. Chance to hit: High. Plan: Retrieve pistol. Aim pistol at ring. Pull trigger.

THE ANGEL - Oh my god, please do not do that!

"I am going to kill myself."

"I'm so sorry, I'll kill myself if it makes you feel better."

"I'm so sorry. Should I kill myself?"

There. There has to be better options than this.

YOU - There. There has to be better options than this.

MOE INSTINCT - I CAN’T TAKE IT ANY MORE. THE ONLY RECOURSE IS IMMEDIATE SUICIDE. THAT’S THE ONLY WAY MADOKA WILL LOVE YOU AGAIN.

"I am going to kill myself."

"I'm so sorry, I'll kill myself if it makes you feel better."

"I'm so sorry. Should I kill myself?"

YOU - “I’m going to kill myself.”

MADOKA - Madoka’s face twists, her eyebrows raising slightly in shock. Whatever response she was expecting, it was clearly not this.

GRIEF SYNDROME [Challenging: Success] - IF MADOKA WAS A MAGICAL GIRL, HER SOUL GEM WOULD FILL BY A QUARTER HEARING YOU SPEAK THOSE WORDS. THAT WAS CRUEL, HOMURA.

MOE INSTINCT - WHY DID YOU SAY THAT?

MADOKA - “I’m so sorry, Homura-chan. Please don’t do that. I… I really care about you and so does everyone else.” Madoka’s eyes fill with tears as she speaks. She hugs you.

DAMAGED MORALE -4

CALL AND RESPONSE [Trivial: Success] - Quick, tell her you were making an edgy joke that didn’t land. You’ve gotten away with that before, you’re pretty sure.

SPACE-TIME MASSACRE - Twelve quarter shifts left and two up from your current space-time position, and there’s a Japan that it’s actually illegal to not commit suicide in.

FALLING SAND - You’ve been seated for 5 minutes and 32.5 seconds already and still have not ordered. Mami has requested your presence at her apartment in 3.4 hours from now.

TEA WITH MAMI-SAN - She wants to help you find a hobby. She’s really worried about you, you know.

STRINGS OF FATE - You can feel Madoka’s heart beat in sync with yours as she holds you. Everything will be alright, as long as you follow the beat.

THE ANGEL - Yeah! It’s okay Homura-chan. Just explain what’s been going on and Madoka will understand. And then order something, it’s important to eat a full meal!

YOU - “Ah, sorry Madoka. I was… overwhelmed with choice, and my… brain spit out the first thing it thought. I am not planning on killing myself.”

MADOKA - “Um, I think we should probably talk about this more, Homura-chan….”

CALL AND RESPONSE - Ask her a question to change the topic. It’s worked in three different loops, it should work here.

RATIONALITY COMPLEX [Trival: Success] - Ask her if she wants to try anything else and then order that for yourself. This will accomplish your goal of deciding on what to order, as well as showing Madoka that her desires are important to you.

YOU - “Is there anything else you’d like to try, Madoka? We can share our dishes.”

MADOKA - “Uh, okay Homura-chan. Maybe get some tempura?”

Order 10000 yen worth of tempura

Order 1000 yen worth of tempura

Order 100 yen worth of tempura

YOU - “Excuse me waiter, give me 10000 yen worth of tempura.”

HUMAN SHELL - Calories and magic are just two different types of fuel. Feed me and control me.

THE ANGEL - T-that’s probably too much, Homura-chan. Maybe you can sneak some into your cool shield, though!

MADOKA - Madoka doesn’t say anything, but her eyes do bulge out slightly. She gives you a gentle pat on the shoulder and smiles at you.

HEALED MORALE +1

RATIONALITY COMPLEX - Displays of wealth like this can broadcast value to potential mates. This will increase your value in Madoka’s eyes, furthering along one of your goals.

THE ANGEL - I think you should just focus on enjoying the food, Homura-chan. Take a break, everything is okay.

Thank you.

Why don’t you hate me?

YOU - Why don’t you hate me?

THE ANGEL - Because I care about you, Homura-chan! And besides, you hate yourself far too much already.

Thank you.

THE ANGEL - You’re welcome! Now, please, enjoy your meal with real Madoka. She loves you a lot too, you know.

[candycandy00]

The Doll House - A Toji x Reader Fanfic Part 3

You’re in love with Toji, even after finding out he trains sex dolls at the Doll House. Taking a chance, you sell yourself to the Doll House so he can be your trainer, and you bet him that you can make him fall for you by the end of the training.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Geto’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Sukuna’s Part Here!

Read Gojo’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Toji’s. I’m not sure how many parts it will have. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored! I’m keeping the same tag list as Geto’s part. If you’d like to be removed, please let me know!

Note: Consider these parts AU’s within an AU. So you might see Geto with a different doll from the reader in his part, but just consider this an alternate timeline lol.

There will be one more part after this! I thought about just doing one big long part 3 but when I got into it, I realized the story flows better this way.

Smut. 18+. Short Fem Reader. Cock drunk reader. Age difference (Reader is 20, Toji is 38). Size difference kink. Rough sex. Use of aphrodisiacs. Divider by @benkeibear!

A few days later, you wake up to Toji’s voice speaking somewhat harshly. You spot him across the room, holding his phone to his ear. 

“This is short fucking notice!” he says, his eyes narrowed angrily. A pause, then, “Alright! Fuck it, I’ll pick him up myself! …Am I still on the list? You know what I mean, the list of people they’ll let pick him up at school! They don’t just let any rando show up and grab a kid! … Yeah you do that. Okay. Later.”

You raise up in bed and he looks over at you as he drops his phone onto the dresser. “Sorry about that. Looks like you’re gonna meet Megumi after all. My uncle has something to do today.”

“Really? That’s great!” You can’t suppress the excitement in your voice. You  get to see Toji in “dad mode”. The thought has you giddy. 

He gives you a flat stare. “You’re gonna be disappointed. That kid isn’t cute at all. He’s a sarcastic, rude little brat.”

Despite his words, you could sense a feeling of affection that Toji seemed to be trying to hide. “He sounds like his father,” you say teasingly. 

Toji frowns, feigning offense. “Excuse me? Do I have to put you in your place? I can probably borrow a belt from Nanami.”

You laugh, pulling the covers off yourself, showing him your nude body. “You don’t have a belt?”

“Not like his,” Toji says, crawling onto the bed. “His are all Italian leather. You’ve seen my wardrobe. It’s ninety percent sweatpants.”

“You look good in sweatpants,” you say as he climbs on top of you, kissing your face and neck. “What about picking up Megumi?” you ask. 

He doesn’t bother looking up, his face buried in your chest. “School lets out at three. We have a few hours to kill.”

All at once he rolls over onto his back, pulling you on top of him. The way he can just sling you around turns you on so much. He’s so much bigger than you, so much stronger. The fact that he could easily break you in half, but instead is surprisingly gentle with you, makes your skin tingle with delight. It’s like you’ve tamed a great beast. 

He’s lying flat on his back, and he puts his hands behind his head in a relaxed pose. “I gotta conserve my energy if I’m gonna be taking care of a kid today,” he says with a grin. “Why don’t you do all the work?”

You get to your knees, straddling him. You bend down to kiss his lips. “Such a lazy trainer,” you say, sliding your hands down his soft cotton T-shirt, finding the bottom hem and then pushing the fabric up to reveal his muscled abdomen. You pull the front of his sweatpants down far enough to free his cock, already hard and ready for you. 

As you scoot back down a bit, you lock eyes with Toji as you lean forward and run your tongue over his dick, letting your saliva drip all over it, getting it nice and wet. Then you straighten up, get in position, and sink down onto him. You don’t go all the way down at first, only halfway. Toji groans and gives you an exasperated look. 

“You teasing me now?” 

You smile as you move your hips in a circular motion. “I don’t know what you mean,” you say playfully. “Is my big strong trainer feeling frustrated? Does he want to be buried all the way inside my wet little pussy?”

His eyes are gleaming as he looks up at you, his hands finally moving from behind his head to grip your waist. It would be so easy for him to pull your body down, completely shoving himself into you. He doesn’t, but the thought that he could at any moment, his strong hands firm on your skin, thrills you. 

“I can hold back if you can,” he finally says, a smirk on his face. “But I know this needy little cunt is hungry for my cock. You’ll never be satisfied until I’m all the way in.”

He’s right of course, but you feel like teasing him a bit more. You roll your hips, making shallow thrusts, as you use one hand to play with your nipple, the other moving down to rub your clit. You moan, arching your back, giving Toji an incredible view. You’re trying to goad him into pulling you down, holding your hips in place while he fucks up into you so hard you cry. Glancing down at him through half-closed eyes, you can see the unbridled desire on his face. He wants to absolutely rail you, that much is obvious. 

But he’s holding back, waiting for you to be the one who gives in first. So it becomes a game to see whose desire wins out. You want to be stuffed full of him so badly, but you stay at the halfway point, moving slowly, touching yourself, watching the way his eyes rake over your form. 

“Toji… Toji!”

His name is delicious on your lips as your eyes close, your head tossed back. His cock is twitching inside you, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. He’s close to giving in, but so are you. Several more minutes of this, and your legs are weak, shaky, aching to collapse. Just when you’ve decided you can’t wait any longer, Toji’s grip tightens and he yanks you down, plunging his entire length into you. 

For a moment, you see stars. His tip has crashed against your cervix, leaving you gasping. Toji grins beneath you as he thrusts up once, going so deep, tears spring to your eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “My little doll gettin more than she bargained for?”

You clench tightly around him, drawing a grunt from his mouth. Your hands are on his stomach, feeling the taut muscles under his skin. “S-so deep…Toji!” 

He waits, not moving, just watching you. Then, you begin riding him, moving up and down, moaning each time you slide all the way back down, relishing the way he fills you so completely. His large hands glide up from your hips to grope your breasts as you bounce on his cock, crying out his name like a mantra. 

After some time passes, maybe a few minutes, maybe an eternity, you climax with a loud wail of ecstasy. You slam your body all the way down, taking him as deeply as possible, and clamp onto him. You look down at him with dazed eyes. “Please shoot your cum inside me,” you say in your sweetest voice. “My womb is thirsty.”

Toji rises up suddenly, now holding you firmly in his lap as he presses into you, burying his face in your neck. He kisses the warm flesh there first, then bites it, his teeth not breaking the skin but grazing across your neck hard enough to leave a mark. It surprises you, but the animalistic way he growls as he does it sends you to a higher plane of existence. Almost simultaneously, he cums directly into your deepest place, coating your insides. 

Your arms are wrapped tightly around him, as if you can meld into him if you hold him close enough. You’ve never loved him more. 

Later in the day, Toji leaves the house to go pick up Megumi at school. You’re so excited that you can’t sit still. You move from the kitchen to the dining hall to the common room, occasionally running into other trainers or dolls. And when Toji finally returns, there’s an adorable little boy with unruly black hair trailing behind him. 

You meet them in the welcome room. Toji is carrying a dark blue backpack in one hand, and with the other he lightly pulls the boy forward. “This is Megumi,” he says, then he gestures toward you. “Megumi, this is-“

“Your sex slave, I know,” the boy says. He wears a somewhat sour expression as he glares at Toji. 

Toji sighs. “See? I told you this little brat isn’t cute at all.”  As he says it, Toji lays one large hand on the boy’s head and ruffles his hair. Megumi jerks away and starts trying to smooth it back down, but it was already messy to start with, so he isn’t having much luck. You can’t help smiling at their interaction. 

Stepping forward, you grin down at Megumi. “I’m your dad’s friend. We’ve known each other for a long time now. We met at the convenience store.”

The boy looks at you suspiciously, as if he doesn’t entirely believe you. “But you’re still his sex slave,” he says matter-of-factly. 

Toji frowns. “Please stop saying that. You don’t even know what that means.”

A smug grin appears on Megumi’s cute face. “Yes I do! It means she has to do whatever you say! And you make her kiss you! And… do other stuff!”

Toji bends down to face him. “What other stuff?”

Megumi’s face reddens, and you feel certain that the boy only has an extremely vague idea of what that other stuff might be. Thank goodness. “W-well, I’m not gonna say it out loud! I’m a gentleman!”

You can’t suppress a laugh as you watch them. You step closer to Toji and put an arm around his waist. “I can promise you, Megumi, your dad and I are friends. He doesn’t make me do anything. I hope you and I can be friends too.”

Megumi stares at you, and you notice that he has Toji’s eyes. “Why bother? You’ll be gone by the next time I come here. Then there’ll be another girl here.”

You know he’s just a child, and what he’s saying is probably true, but those words cut you deeper than he could imagine. Still, you kept your friendly smile plastered on your face. 

Toji put a firm hand on Megumi’s shoulder and ushered him down the hall. “Don’t be rude, Megumi. You’re never gonna have any friends if this is how you talk to people.”

You heard Megumi’s voice responding, but they had already went into one of the unused rooms so you couldn’t make out what he said. 

***************

Toji walks into the dining hall at dinner time and does a sweep over the room to make sure all the dolls are dressed and nothing obscene is going on. He told the other trainers that Megumi would be here, and they’re normally good at keeping things decent when the kid is around, but Toji still likes to make sure. 

Everyone appears to be on their best behavior. None of the dolls are naked or have tails sticking out of their asses, and Sukuna never brings his doll to the dining hall so Toji doesn’t have to worry about him. 

Once everything is clear, Toji goes to get Megumi from the room he’d left him in to play video games, as well as his doll, so they can all three eat together. He doesn’t really get why his doll wanted to meet and spend time with Megumi. In Toji’s experience, most women are turned off by the fact that he has a kid. A son is just walking baggage to them. And the few that do take an interest in Megumi quickly lose that interest after meeting him. Megumi has a prickly personality, probably because of the way he’s being raised. Toji is acutely aware that he’s to blame for that. Shuffling the kid around to different relatives can’t be good for him. 

But despite Megumi’s hurtful comments earlier, the doll still wants the three of them to have dinner together. So when they all walk in together, Toji groans when Megumi immediately runs over to Nanami’s table and sits with him. Nanami’s doll, sitting in her own seat instead of Nanami’s lap, seems amused as Megumi begins chatting with the other trainer. Toji usually doesn’t mind that Megumi speaks more to Nanami over dinner than he does to Toji in a year, but just this once, he hoped the boy would sit with him. If only for his doll’s sake. 

Toji gives her an apologetic look as she takes a seat, but she smiles and shrugs. “It’s no big deal. If he likes sitting with Nanami, let him.”

Toji fixes plates for himself and his doll, then watches as Nanami goes with Megumi to the food table and fixes the boy a plate. Toji often wonders why Nanami doesn’t just settle down and start a family. The man is a natural born father. Hell, sometimes he even thinks about asking if Nanami wants to adopt Megumi. The kid would be far better off that way. 

During dinner, Gojo walks over to chat with Megumi, who always pretends to find Gojo annoying. Toji can tell, though: Megumi likes Gojo a lot. Probably because the white haired trainer acts like a big dumb kid half the time. Geto and even Choso go over to briefly talk with Toji’s son. He’s never said anything to them about it, but Toji is extremely grateful that they treat Megumi so well. Sukuna, at the very least, doesn’t complain about Megumi’s presence. 

At some point Toji glances at his doll, who is watching Megumi with a warm expression on her face. He nudges her playfully with his elbow. “What are you so happy about?” 

She looks up at him. “I was just thinking he looks a lot like you. I can’t help picturing you as a kid. I bet you were cute.”

Toji snorts. “Me? Cute? Never. I was a mean little shit.”

She gives him a pouty look. “Whaaat? But you’re cute even now!”

“And you need to get your eyes checked,” he says with a laugh. 

His doll is quiet for a moment, then her face looks serious for once. “I wish I knew more about you,” she says, her eyes lowered to her plate, where she absently stirs some mashed potatoes with a fork. “I don’t want to pry too much, and I don’t want to stir up any painful memories… But if there are any good memories, any happy stories you can share… I’d love to hear about them sometime.”

He looks away from her, to his own plate as he stabs a piece of steak. “I’ll think about it,” he says as he begins chewing. 

Later that night, Toji’s doll steps out of the room to grab a snack in the kitchen. When several minutes pass without her returning, he goes looking for her. On the way to the kitchen, he stops outside the room Megumi is using. He hears voices, so he cracks the door open and silently looks inside. His doll is sitting on the edge of the bed beside Megumi, playing a game with him. Their backs are to the door, and they’re focused on the game on the screen in front of them, so they don’t notice Toji at the door. 

“Oh, come on!” his doll says. “That’s not fair!”

“It’s part of the game,” Megumi replies smugly, “of course it’s fair.”

“How are you so good at this?”

“I play this a lot. It’s the only game here.”

“Really? Your dad needs to get you some new games.”

Megumi snorts the same way Toji did at dinner. “I’ve told him that before. He doesn’t listen, or he doesn’t care.”

“I can bring a few of my old games here and leave them,” she says. 

Megumi’s head turns slightly toward her. “Okay. Thanks.”

There’s silence for a moment, then Megumi speaks again. “I feel sorry for you. Having to do whatever that guy says.”

It hasn’t escaped Toji’s notice that Megumi very rarely calls him dad. It’s always “that guy” or “old man”. 

The doll doesn’t seem fazed. “I told you already. Your dad and I are friends. And I’ll tell you a little secret: I’m in love with him.”

Megumi pauses the game and looks directly at her. “Are you joking? Why would you love him?”

Toji feels his heart beating faster for some reason. Megumi just straight up asked the question he’d been wondering about for weeks now. He supposes kids can get away with being so direct. 

“At first, I just thought he was handsome and cool,” she says, turning slightly to face Megumi. “He came into the store where I worked a lot. And he was fun to talk to. But then one night a bad man came into the store and tried to hurt me. Your dad saved my life. And when I was scared and didn’t know what to do, he stayed with me and made sure I was okay. He showed me so much kindness, even though he didn’t really know me that well.”

Megumi stares at her for a moment, then looks back toward the tv and unpauses the game. “I still think he’s a loser,” the boy mutters. 

Toji figures he deserves that. He hasn’t been much of a father to Megumi. 

The doll is looking at the tv as well, the controller gripped tightly in her small hands. “I don’t know enough about the relationship between you two to comment on it. It’s not my place to say you’re wrong or you’re right. But to me, your father is a great man.”

Megumi glances at her again, this time his face looking slightly uncertain. After the match is over, with Megumi winning again, the boy gets up and goes to turn the PlayStation off. He looks back at the doll and says, so quietly that Toji barely hears him, “I hope you’re still here next time.”

Toji steps out of sight before Megumi can spot him, continuing down the hall and leaving the door slightly cracked. In the kitchen, he grabs a bottle of water and a bag of chips, just to have something to bring back in case his doll beats him back to his room. 

As he leaves the kitchen, he bumps into the owner, who stops him in the hallway. 

“Oh, Fushiguro, I wanted to talk to you.”

“What’s up?” he asks, cracking open the water bottle. 

“It’s about your doll,” the owner says in a smooth voice. “We have a potential buyer. He’d like to meet with her this week.”

Toji’s entire body freezes in place, the water bottle inches from his open mouth. He blinks, then slowly lowers his hand. “Already?” he asks. 

The owner gives him a strange look. “It’s been four weeks. That’s when we usually start interviewing buyers. …Is everything alright?”

Toji nods. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. I guess I just lost track of time.”

The owner is still looking at him as if he might be sick. “Take care of yourself,” she says before disappearing down the hall. 

Toji heads back to his room, suddenly feeling irritated. 

Tag List:

@suguguro @kaedear @onyxsphynx @poopoobuttsy @butterskyy @collectionofdolls @akaotv @witchbybirth @bloofinntoona @wasurenagusaa @tclbts @tojirin @lucyrocks86 @badbyeyoongi @97britt @aydene @lzaj19 @lyn-lotte @missthatgirl @peachedtv

[dira333]

OOOO YOUR SUMMER EVENT SOUNDS SO CUTE!!!!

hmmmm I’d love to go to a conservation area with atsumu and have a picnic or do some walking around in the woods :3

Hello my love, absolutely!

Daily Adventures - Atsumu x Reader

The sun’s not yet up by the time you shake Atsumu awake.

Yes, this is how it goes. No, you’re not making this up.

“Five more minutes,” your dear lover groans, going so far as to pull you back into bed.

“Babe,” you tell him, “you told me to set the alarm this early!”

“I take it back.”

“But we want to get there early, start the trek while it’s still cool out.”

“I take it back,” Atsumu repeats stubbornly, ghosting his lips over your neck, the hint of a beard ticking your skin.

“How about…” you think for a second. “How about you get up now and I’ll let you play passenger princess.”

He stills. One eye peeks open to muster you. “Promise you’re not telling Samu?”

“No,” you giggle, “I’m not telling Samu that you’re napping in the passenger seat of your beloved car. Now get up.”

“Fine,” he huffs, swinging his legs out of bed before trying to turn back.

“No,” you push against him. “You’re getting up.”

“But the floor is cold! And I’m on vacation!”

“I know,” you laugh at his antics as you pull the blanket away. “And it was your idea to visit this Park!”

“I take it back.”

“No take-backsies.”

“Rude!”

-

Atsumu rarely sleeps in the passenger seat. Not because he doesn’t trust you at the steering wheel of his new car, but more so because he loves driving you around. He can’t often feel like the man in the house, since you’re the better cook and Kita’s banned him from touching a drill after he managed to break one - how, he still does not know. 

Not that you mind having him nap next to you, his hand protectively curled around your thigh as if you could get up and leave any second. 

“Baby,” you press a flurry of kisses against his cheek. “We’re here.”

“Five more minutes,” he groans but you giggle and dig your fingertips into his sides until he squirms awake.

“You’re brutal.”

“You love me.”

“That I do,” he sighs, blinking awake. “I’d kill for a cof-” He trails off when you hand him the cup.

“What about crea-” “Inside.” “Oh.” He takes a sip, lighting up at the taste. “Wow.”

“I know.” You grin. “Now get going, Mr. Athlete.”

“You’re going to regret your teasing when I’m fully awake.”

“No, I don’t think so.” You wink at him, grabbing your things. “Also, you’re carrying the heavy backpack.”

Atsumu pouts at that. “Why do we even need a heavy backpack?”

“Because we like to eat?”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense.” He grins. “Well, leave it to me, honey, I’ll carry this, no problem.”

-

“How much longer?” Atsumu groans behind you. “This backpack is heavy as f-”

“We’re almost there.” You dance back to kiss him, grinning against his lips when he immediately perks up. “Think you can go on for a little bit longer?”

“Baby,” he hums against your skin, “I could go all day.”

“Good to know.” You let yourself get lost in the moment, pressed against his chest in the golden morning light.

The air is still cool around you, the breeze just soft enough to caress your skin. Or maybe that’s Atsumu, who’s humming a low tune as he kisses you.

-

“What about this place?” You ask, patting at the ground. “No ants, no bees, and we have fresh water.”

“I’m game,” Atsumu drops the backpack and groans. “But don’t expect me to go skinny dipping. I bet the water’s ice-cold.”

“Like that ever stopped you,” you joke, already unpacking.

There’s the giant blanket you always bring for Picknicks, gifted to you by Atsumu’s mom. Onigiri that Osamu made - you’ll have to thank him for that later - and some other snacks you managed to hide away from Atsumu.

Speaking of the devil. “Are you nibbling on me now?” You ask, laughter trying to spill out. 

“I’m hungry,” he whines, pulling you back against him. “And you taste good.”

“Not as good as actual food.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Come on,” you giggle, try to get off him. “The food’s ready.”

“Five more minutes.”

-

The sun’s high in the sky now, insects buzzing around as you daze on the blanket, the nearby trees throwing a lovely, evermoving shade. 

You’re not sure how, but somewhere along the lines Atsumu has lost his T-Shirt, so your head is resting directly atop his lazily thumping heart. 

“We should do this more often,” you whisper into his sunkissed skin. His left hand rubs his agreement into your spine, up and down, up and down.

-

“Do we have to go back now?” Atsumu asks as you move to pack up your stuff.

“Not right now,” you tell him, “but I know your stomach. You’re going to be hungry soon and you already ate everything we’ve brought.”

“Come on,” he whines playfully, picking you up with ease. “Five more minutes. We could go skinny dipping!”

You laugh. “I thought you didn’t want to.”

“Ah,” he bites your nose. “Like I’d ever decline an offer from you. Come on!”

He walks the short distance toward the stream, not caring that he’s still wearing shorts and you’re still fully dressed. 

You can tell the exact moment he steps into the water, panic flashing behind those gorgeous golden eyes. 

“Cold?” You ask, giggling. 

“Not at all!” Atsumu bites out and you nuzzle against his neck, feeling safe in his grip. He might be a tease, but you know he won’t drop you. Not if it’s really as cold as you suspect it to be.

“You know,” you hum against his ear, “if you decide against skinny dipping I could be persuaded to cuddle for another half hour on the blanket.”

Atsumu purses his lips as if deep in thought. You kiss along the line of his jawbone, feel his resolve soften everytime your lips come into contact with his skin.

“Fine,” he agrees. “But don’t tell Samu.”

“You think I tell him all about our adventures?” You wrap your arms around him fully. “Those are my favorite secrets!”

[yourlocalgaymafia]

The A in LGBTQIA+ standing for Ally has an important place in queer history, by standing for Ally it provided protection to queers in the closet, allowing them to attend events and rallies under the guise of allyship, keeping them and theirs safe.

Ok this is gonna be a bit of a longer response but I hope you choose to read this.

I am in no way denying the importance of allies but the point I was trying to make earlier is that being an ally should be basic human decency. It’s sickening that we live in a world where being an ally is something that warrants praise and congratulation in the first place because it should be the bare minimum. In theory everyone should be an ally.

That’s like someone saying “hey I’m NOT a serial killer” and everyone else congratulating them for not killing others. You get what I’m saying?

Of course I’ll always be incredibly thankful for allies existing especially because I live in a very conservative/homophobic country and it’s nice to feel supported. That still doesn’t mean that allies need to be part of the LGBTQ community, because allies are not queer themselves.

The entire point of the LGBTQ community is to welcome queer people, not allies who aren’t at all queer themselves. The A exists for actual queer identities such as agender, aromantic and asexual, it should not be made to accommodate to people who aren’t queer at all, and aren’t even a part of the community.

What’s more a lot of actual aspec identities such as aromantic and asexual don’t get a lot of attention drawn to them in the queer community because of people who keep insisting that A should stand for ally.

I hope I managed to explain my reasoning in a nice way, and although I’m grateful for the existence of allies, it should not be the queer community’s responsibility to count them as a part of the LGBTQ itself.

[preciouslandmermaid]

🕸🕷 my heart is a hornet's nest 🕸🕷

Pairing: Insomniac Peter Parker/Spider-Man x Fem!Reader (code name: “Huntress” + she is Kraven’s daughter)

Rating: T

Summary:  It's been thirteen months since Kraven was killed by Venom. Despite everything, you're still in the city and helping a nerd - named Peter - in his garage try and save the world. It's hard to ascertain where your old life as a hunter ends and your new life begins. Somedays you can't even tell if you're moving forward or not. But, the pull you feel towards Peter is magnetic. And it's bound to end in catastrophe if you pursue him.

Even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around. He can't risk it. He can't risk you. And the long nights in his garage are really, really starting to wear at him.

Prompt: "Are you afraid of me?" / "Do I look afraid?"

tags: enemies to Lovers/enemies to friends to lovers, no use of y/n, secret identity, unresolved romantic tension, first kiss, light angst, slow burn, mutual pining !!

🕷🕷 ( read on ao3 ) 🕷🕷

Kraven snaps your name like a whip.

“You’ll oversee this one, huntress.” he says without looking away from the screen.

A mixture of pride and trepidation curdles beneath your skin. Kraven is trusting you, but he trusts plenty of his hunters. You lick your lips. The transfer of Martin Li. You promise Kraven that you’ll put the team together and leave before the hour.

No one questions Kraven’s decision. You don’t get special treatment purely because you’re his blood. In fact, if you look closely (which you won’t), you’d say that Kraven treats you worse than his other hunters. He expects—he demands – more of you.

There will be a target on your back when Kraven completes his hunt and finds a worthy enough predator to kill him. But that’s nothing new. You’ve had a target on your back since you were young enough to understand the way of the world; predator and prey, hunter and hunted, kill or be killed.

You lift your arm-- THUNK!—the throwing knife hits its bullseye.

“Huntress,” a hunter named Erik approached you, “you want five VTOLs?”

THUNK! This one is a little off-center and you blame Erik for distracting you. You exhale, balancing your weight, and lining up your shot. Erik is bold. Kraven named you the leader of Li’s abduction. He shouldn’t be asking questions. Your eyes narrow.

You pivot on your heel, fast as a viper’s strike, and flashing silver spins through the air. It’s beautiful.

Erik makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

Your throwing knife wobbles from where its pinned Erik’s hood to the wall. His eyes flick to the blade. He’s lucky you didn’t miss. Otherwise the blade would’ve sank into his throat or he would lack an ear for the mission ahead.

“That’s what I said,” you yank the knife from the wood, freeing him, “wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Erik says, voice tight and clipped, and his eyes darken. You know he is loyal to Kraven, not you. If he managed to kill you – Kraven would be disappointed, but he wouldn’t mourn you. Nature is cruel and so is your father. You sheath your throwing knives while keeping one eye on the hunter.

Erik hasn’t left which means he could be planning his next move. You tense and wait for the inevitable blow. Come on, you think, try it. You’d be happy to fight off your frazzled, nervous energy. You should probably conserve your strength in case things with Martin Li go bad.

Erik nods, “huntress,” and leaves.

You roll your shoulders and return to the weapons cache. I’ll bring Martin Li to Kraven and he’ll have his wonderful fight. He’ll achieve his dream.

Nothing will go wrong. Nothing could. You’ve been planning this for months.

******

Peter wobbles to his feet, his head ringing. Whoever these guys are—they’re serious. The tech they’re using is insane. Invisible drones. Laser swords. What’s next? A few giant mecha-robots intent on crushing Harlem? He shouldn’t think about it – he doesn’t want to jinx it.

He stares into the face of the capable, dangerous stranger with smoke burning his nostrils and scalding his throat.

Dark soot clings to your clothes, your expression venomous and focused, furrowed and tight. The light frames you, bouncing off the east river in sparks, and refracting over the small throwing knives clutched between your knuckles. She’s fast, like really fast. Fast enough that he’s concerned you have a spider-sense of your own. Who the hell are these guys? Miles kicks a drone in mid-air and metal-on-metal crunches together like a compacted soda can.

Peter jumps before the blade can slice through him. It whistles through the air, hits and – literally bounces! -- off a metal pole. His lenses widen. He twists his body. His nerves ignite with impending danger, but he’s in the already dodging the first blade.

He’s Spider-Man.

He can’t stop physics.

Your second blade cuts through the air and burns when it cuts his shoulder. He lands on his feet, a sharp inhale drawn through his teeth, and resists the urge to check the injury. She can’t have that many knives on her!

Your lips quirk, “are you afraid of me?”

“Do I look afraid?”

“Hard to say,” you make a gesture around your face, “with the mask and all.”

“Where’s yours?” he propels through the air with his webs slung behind him, “I thought--” you deflect his punch, “most bad guys—” you stumble backward when he kicks your chest, but recover quickly, “want to keep their identities a secret.”

“I have no shame in who I am,” your leg swings over his head.

“So uhhh...who are you?” he quips. His palms land flat on the cold, metal surface and his spine curves, his body moving like a question mark, and avoiding the onslaught of your assault.

“Serious question!” he says a little louder this time while your silver knife dances through the light as it carves his webs into flimsy pieces.

A burst of green flares flash against the gray smoke. His heart flips. The raft jolts to the side. They’re going to drag the ship underwater! The heavy-duty spears punch through the metal as if it was made of tissue paper.

“We gotta get this ship free!”

Peter spares a final glance over his shoulder and you leap from the other side. Are you landing on another boat? A life raft? Are you going to swim away? He has no clue. He can’t spare any further brain cells on it though. He slides down the tilted raft toward the giant spears that function like fish-hooks into the industrial, military transport raft.

***

It’s been approximately thirteen months since Kraven met his end.

You’ve found that keeping count provides some strange, twisted comfort. You wake up, check your calendar, and strike another tally mark into the wall. It feels good to carve the line into the sheet-rock, little flecks of white catching on your thumb and falling like cremated remains onto the hardwood floor and clinging to your socks.

Sometimes you run into old hunters, vying for territory, and hoping to claim some scraps that Kraven left behind. Many, however, fled to Kraven’s homeland to play out the tragedy of a power vacuum and continue Kraven’s legacy.

None of them have impressed you. Not the ones that have sought you out, hoping to kill Kraven’s kin, and earn glory. And definitely not the ones who you’ve run into accidentally. Those are the worst. They’re cowards. They’re mice. You stumble upon them, trying to eat the crumbs off Kraven’s table, and your retribution is swift and bloody and a pain in the ass to clean up.

You wonder what Peter Parker would say if he knew. You pull your sweater over your head. Peter, the nerd running a research foundation out of his garage, happens to be your only...well, friend is the wrong word...but he’s your only something in this city.

You aren’t supposed to have ‘somethings’. Attachments, as Kraven would call them. Attachments made you weak. You thought it was hypocritical for your father preach this advice when he had a wife and multiple children. Not anymore though, you finish lacing up your boots, everyone’s dead now except for me.

The cassette clicks with a satisfying ‘CLUNK’ into the player and you slide your headphones over your ears. The player was a gift from Peter. No. Gift is the wrong word. It’s on a loan.

“What’s this?” You cradled the cassette player, “it looks ancient.” You twisted the sharp-grooved circles. They remind you of strange teeth. You click the play and pause button. It’s clunky. It’s right-angles and lackluster chrome and the buttons make noise.

It’s the antithesis of the technology you grew up with around Kraven.

You love it.

Peter rolls his chair over to you, “it’s not ancient. Maybe vintage. God, do we call it vintage?” he sounds so baffled that you almost smile, “you know, record players and vinyl are making a big comeback so it’s only a matter of time before Walkman do too.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, “do you want it?”

“Huh?”

“I’m not using it obviously.” He smiles, “I think I have a few cassettes lying around and there’s no shortage of music shops in Brooklyn.”

Your fingers tighten around the device. The wild part of you, the part that Kraven nurtured through violence and toxic loyalty, wants to throw the device on the ground. See how sturdy it is and compare it to the tactical, military-grade equipment you grew up with. How many pieces will it break into? A dozen?

You gaze into Peter’s earnest face. His eyes are warm, light mahogany. There are soft lines that kiss the corners of his eyes. You think when he is old, he will have many wrinkles around his eyes, and it takes a second longer than normal for your lungs to refill.

“I’ll borrow it,” you say, unable to accept his random kindness, “and return it before our work is done.”

“Great!” Peter coughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean, that sounds good.”

The cassette clicks, whirring warm in your palm, and switching the song. The subway rushes past in a gust of tepid, moist air that smells both stale and greasy. You scan the crowd. The citizens range from individuals wearing jean jackets with sewn patches, to baggy street wear, to plastic bags on shoes, to gym athletics and smart watches.

Someone gets on the train wearing a camouflage parka. Your spine stiffens. Your fingers twitch to the weapons hidden inside your coat. Do I know your face? You shift your body and peer at the subway windows, allowing the ghostly transparent reflection to reveal the stranger’s face.

As you wait for the right angle, the right lighting, you consider your options. Tail them out of the train—could be a trap, but their numbers are never that high. Get close, press the blade to the artery in their thigh, let them see your face before you sink the blade in and leave on the next stop. The timing would be tricky, but not impossible. Not for you. Bail on Pete and spend the next several days tracking the stranger until you’ve found and confirmed their hideout. An ambush. Quick and silent.

The stranger coughs into their sleeve and your fingers fall away from your knife.

You’re glad Pete isn’t here. You’ve never traveled together and you likely never will. It’s safer that way. It keeps him out of your personal life.

“That’s the problem with attachments,” you mumble to yourself, “you start wondering what they might say if they knew you.”

*****

Pete rubs his eyes with his fists, “do you hear birds or is that just in my head?”

You don’t lift your head from the microscope, “it’s birds.”

He yawns. There have been plenty of late nights in his garage shared with you, but this one feels different.

Maybe it’s because of the mercurial light flickering along the planes of your face.

Maybe it’s the notes by your hands, the edges of your fingers smeared black from ink.

Maybe it’s the unplugged headphone wire dangling from your throat and brushing ever-so-often against your exposed collarbones.

Shit. He blinks, looking away. He can’t get mixed up. He’s grateful to you. You donated the notes first, but then pieces of Kraven’s equipment, and then...you came around more and more. You wanted to see what he was doing, wanted to see his progress, or ‘see how helpful your notes are.’ He likes it. He likes having you around.

But, even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to risk you too. And it’s not because you can’t fight. To him, you’re finding your place outside of Kraven’s shadow and he doesn’t want to mess that up. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around.

The sequences before him blur into gibberish. He peeks up through his hair back to you.

Your name is the first word out of his mouth, followed shortly by “you’re bleeding!”

“I tried to catch the sample,” your voice is laced with frustration, “I can’t believe I dropped it.”

“It’s fine,” he opens the first-aid kit that’s stowed beneath the desk, “let me see.”

***

You blink at Peter. Earnest, helpful, kind Peter. You cradle your hand to your chest. It stings, but you’ve faced hornets stronger than this. The tiny shards of glass bounce colorful reflections from the holiday lights strung around Peter’s garage. The wild voice tells you to dig the shards out with your nails.

The blood is starting to stain the hem of your sweater.

Peter doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch away. His offered hand holding the gauze doesn’t shake.

You swallow. Why isn’t he shying away from the woman made of shrapnel? Doesn’t he know you’re lethal?

“What?” his eyebrows lift, “are you afraid of me? Or is it medical care in general?” soft humor folds into his brown eyes, “I promise my co-pays are reasonable.”

His words shatter the stiffness of your muscles.

You say, “do I look afraid?” you extend your bloody hand to him.

His fingers curl lightly and gently around your wrist. He flushes the wounds with water before plucking the glass out with a pair of tweezers. His brow furrows in concentration. Your neck prickles and a tingling sensation travels down your spine.

You’ve seen his furrowed brow a hundred times. However, you’ve never experienced it as the subject. Peter holds an antiseptic wipe between his long fingers. His touch is unbearably gentle and you wish you had something to compare it to.

“This might hurt a bit,” the soft, low rumble of his voice is strangely intimate.

The words fall out of your mouth, “I’m used to it.”

“Are we going to unpack that?” He slides the wipe across your angry, throbbing skin.

“No,” your lips twitch, “unless you have a psychology degree I’m unaware of.”

You’re fascinated by the way his fingers move along yours, light and precise, carefully wiping away the blood and wrapping your hand in gauze.

He says, “maybe it’s time for a career change.”

You smile. “What career?”

Peter chuckles, “okay, I walked into that one.”

His eyes lift to yours and his jaw slackens, like he’s finally caught the creature stalking him in the woods, and his fingers twitch on your wrist. The charged moment hangs undisturbed in the air, sending signals through the ether and rearranging the flow of blood in your veins.

His cheeks flush rosy and sweet. The pink hue reminds you of that pivotal morning a few months ago when Spider-Man gave you a sunrise and Pete’s number and a hope for a different future. Your fingers curl into his. And the carefully wrapped gauze prevents you from feeling the warmth of his palm. The wild voice tells you to rip the bandages off and run home. Your knees bump into his.

There’s always so little distance between you.

It’s a small garage, after all.

You tilt forward and hear Pete’s sharp inhale. There isn’t a moment of hesitation. Not for you. You know when to strike, when to move, and when to hide. It’s been drilled into you since birth. Hesitation is a lack of courage, in confidence, and you’ve never lacked either of those.

Peter’s mouth collides with yours.

Your ever-present and paranoid guard slips and you close your eyes to savor it—savor him.

The pliant softness of his lips melds into yours and your exhale shudders between your lips. His hand slides from your throat and holds your cheek, his thumb pressed into your cheekbone, and your hip bumps into the side of his workbench when you stand.

Peter remains on the stool, his neck arched, and his lithe legs part for you to enter the space between them. The thrill illuminates your chest like a red flare against a black sky. His lips play against yours, eager and a little clumsy, and you clutch the front of his wrinkled cotton shirt.

He mumbles your name.

“Shh,” you nose skims along his, recapturing his lips, because you think words might ruin it. The hanging lights flash their merry little dance. There’s fragments of glass under your boots. Ink stains your fingers, blood stains your sweater, and Peter’s tongue stains your lips.

You’ve experienced blood lust. You’ve felt it pounding through your ears and sharpening your focus into razor-thin virulence. You’re familiar with the excitement of a good hunt, a worthy opponent, a well-matched fight. Spider-Man, you think, I’ve felt this with him. But those were mixed with violence, and blood, and bruises.

This – this moment with Peter – is wholly different. Your heart pumps the same blood, pushing it through arteries and valves, but your hands move to caress, to clutch, and stroke through the fine strands of his hair. Your lungs tremble, not in pain, but in elation. The passion rolls through you in waves of syrup and brushes your skin like branches of fir.

Peter’s phone buzzes – loud and incessant – and he groans before tearing his mouth from yours. His cheeks are ruddy, eyes bright, and his chest heaves with hungry gulps of air. You’re glad to know you aren’t the only one affected by the strong pull of – whatever this is – between you.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta--” he lifts the phone from the table, “hello?”

You watch Peter’s face while he talks on the phone. He’s too expressive. He’d make a terrible hunter. And probably a bad poker player, too. You want to kiss him again just for the hell of it. And feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms, feel his breath mingling with yours, his tongue and the blunt force of his teeth.

“I have to go out, um, do you want to come with?” he tilts his chin toward the garage door, “we could – uh – get something to eat along the way?”

You hands twitch at your sides. Your coat, draped on the desk chair, is laden with hidden pockets for knives and darts and small vials of poison. An arsenal for protection, an arsenal for vengeance, the truth of your soul. A soul that Peter cannot – should not – bear witness to.

“Can’t.”

His expression deflates, but he recovers with an easy-going smile.

He shakes his head, “that’s cool,” and says, “another time then.”

You make a noncommittal sound.

***

You finish setting up the tripwire at your apartment door and wipe your palms on your sweatpants. The windowpanes glisten with raindrops, painting the empty corners dark blue, and blurring the myriad of ever-changing traffic lights.

You scratch beneath your ear, upsetting your headphones, and flop onto the couch. The cassette whirs like a little hamster running through its wheel as the song fills your head and blocks out the honking below. You’ve grown to like the city of noise, the city that never sleeps. It’s a concrete jungle. A unique hunting ground.

Tap, tap, tap --

You jerk upright and your head whirls to the noise. Spider-Man perches on the ledge of your window, his red and blue suit shiny and dripping. You cautiously close the distance and begin to disarm the trap before unlatching it. It creaks noisily as it slides open and old paint chips cling to the windowsill.

The cool wet air is tinged with the scent of exhaust fumes.

“Weird time to visit,” you say.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He slips through the window like a salmon and lands soundlessly on the hardwood floor.

You’re going to have to move. You don’t want Spider-Man keeping tabs on you.

“But this isn’t a social call,” he continues, “I need your help with something.”

You lift one eyebrow, “I’m not a mercenary,” then you add, “and even if I was, I doubt you could afford me.”

Spider-Man laughs. “It’s nothing like that!”

You fold your arms across your chest. Spider-Man gives you the vague details of a criminal that he’s had trouble tracking down, could use your expertise, and fighting skills, and so and so forth. It’s a good pitch, you’ll give him partial credit for effort, but you’re not interested in becoming a vigilante – or a hero.

“So, what do you say? We’ve teamed up before.”

Against the symbiote. But, your motivations were selfish. You weren’t helping Spider-Man or trying to save the city. You were weakening Venom.

“No thanks.”

“What?” His lenses widen, “seriously? After my whole speech and everything?”

“Try a power point next time.” You shrug, “I’m retired. No more fighting for me.”

Spider-Man glances around your apartment and there’s evidence of your hypocrisy across every surface. A case of black, tactical arrowheads sits on your coffee table. There’s several target posters hanging on the wall across from your couch with pockmarks embedded into the paper. There’s unfinished gadgets and an open toolbox on the floor near the kitchen where you like to eat breakfast and tinker.

“You’re a bad liar,” there’s a smile in his voice, “just this once, huntress, that’s all. For old times sake.”

You muster the energy to glare at him, but it lacks true heat. “You mean the old times when I was actively trying to kill you?”

Spider-Man shrugs languidly, “we all have bad days.”

That wildness, the hunter that lives inside you, under your skin and in the marrow of your bones is grinding its teeth and trashing into your ribs. It’s hard to determine where you begin and the hunter ends or if they’re destined to forever be intertwined.

You’re a wildcat, unable to be truly domesticated and all your attempts have been in vain.

But, then you remember the warmth of Peter’s lips, his gentle hands, and genuine laughter. You tell yourself, there is room for softness inside of me, for even tigers can purr.

You tell Spider-Man to wait while you get dressed.

“One time,” you hold up a finger, “that’s it.”

“One time.” he agrees with a nod.

Together, you rush into the monotone rain-soaked evening for your first hunt since Kraven’s death.

[enc95]

@dirtytransmasc put this idea in the world with their permission this was the story I wrote.

“Spider no.” Kiri says as her mother pulls her. “No let me go.” The girl says pushing against her mother. “Let me go, I can lose anyone else.”

Neytiri pulls her back putting her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “Stay here above the water, I will get them back.”

“I don’t trust you.” Kiri hissed at her mother. She watches her mothers face fall into shame. “He saved my life and you still held the knife to his neck.”

“I know I…I will find him, this I swear to the great mother.”

That gets her nod. “Okay.”

Tuk shivers as the water fills the void. Her ears twitch as the sound of another person falling causes her to hide against the wall. The person falls. “Tuk?Tuk?”

“Spider?” She swims over into him. He was her size but like Dad and Neteyam she felt safe in his arms. “Spider, I’m scared.”

“Shh,” he coos. “It’s okay i know this ship we’re.” Spider looks around. “This is mid ship; the galley is just a few meters up. From there we can get to the launch bay.”

“Spider I can't, I can't move.” Her voice quivers as her heart beats against his chest.

“Take a deep breath from your belly to nose.” He takes a breath. It was a skill he learned to conserve his air. Tuk does so she was really good. Spider smiles as her heart returns to normal, “You're a fish girl now aren’t you?”

She nods a weak smile. “I’m learning.”

Checking his pack it was waterproof but too long in water is bad. Also the ship was sinking they needed to get out quickly. “Take a breath and follow me.”

“Who died?” Tuk asks. The monster said Dad lost one kid. She hadn’t seen Lo’ak or Neteyam, just Spider. “Tell me!”

He can't, it would cause her to panic and she wouldn’t be able to hold her breath. Her freckles are bright unlike her face. It's tight with worry, fear with pain for a loss she doesn’t know yet. “When we make back to the surface I’ll tell you. Now take a big breath.”

Tuk hugs him again. “I wanted to go back for you, we all did. I missed you more then even Kiri.”

“I missed you to Tuk-Tuk.”

He feels her stomach as she takes the breath he nods, taking out his flashlight to guide them. Under water the creaks and groans of the ship are eerie. He stays in front just because he doesn’t know who or what is in the galley. The call to abandon ship means it should be empty. He needs to get her to the surface. Then he can process that happened no he knows what happened more like he can figure out what to do since she didn’t kill him. Where could he go and would she try to kill him again?

They make it up to the air pocket Spider being filled with adrenaline holds onto the chair Tuk lets out her breath. “Good, you did so good.”

The ship turns and Tuk falls sliding down the row. “No.” He lets go following her down as they crash back against the floor. Thankfully the ship stabilized he grabs Tuk pulling up the side wall back to the air. “Tuk are you okay?”

She nods, holding out her hands feeling the water. “Someone is coming.”

Spider his knife pushing her back. If it was him then he would have to fight. “Stay behind me.”

His knife hand is out while his other hand reaches out to Tuk. When the head comes up he feels his heart pounding. “Mama!” Tuk swims over, Spider shrinks back.

“Oh Great mother, you are safe.” Neytiri couldn’t lose another child.

Tuk reaches out to the water where Spider was. Her ears fall. “Come on Spider.” She turns back to her mother. “Spider is gonna show us the way out.”

Neytiri looks over at the boy his breathing is more like heaving silently. Holding the knife out he shakes. He never could take a Na'vi, not a full grown one, definitely not her. She had Tuk she could leave the way she came. “You know the way you came you can go that way.”

“What?” Tuk pulls out of her mother's embrace to tread over with Spider. “No you promised.”

“I know.” He looks at Neytiri her face twisted into rage. “I know I did and I will go with your Mom. I’ll leave my way and meet you up top.”

“No , no we split up last time they took you.” She looks back at her mother. “Please Mom didn’t want to hurt you. Right Mom you just wanted Kiri back.”

Neytiri looks at her daughter who is holding Spider's shoulder. If she pulls her daughter out she’ll lose her trust like she’s lost Kiri. “Right Spider come with us.”

He looks at her holding her eye for just a minute before looking away. The boy was terrified of her and he holds his knife. Seeing that fear in his eyes makes her sick. She never hid her disdain for him but to see the deep far. He was so afraid that he was willing to stay on a sinking ship. “I…you go ahead I’ll follow.”

“Follow me.” She takes a breath.

Tuk pulls him along. “Come on, I'll protect you.”

Spider follows behind Tuk as Neytiri leads them up to an exhaust vent. It was open but a large piece of turbine was stuck now. She turns swimming back to Spider, her face clear with worry. “I know a way from here.”

He didn’t want to be in the lead with Neytiri and her knife so close to his back. Spider peeks back they were still holding, he moves back along the halls. At a large door he and Neytiri pull it open. The room was air filled and the water rushed in.

The three of them are pushed up. Spider holds onto Tuk as the water pushes them down the hall. They are pulled into a conference room. The water was coming in but the air was good enough for breathing.

Tuk holds onto a bar for comfort. “How far it is?”

“Not far.” The room was filling. “I’ll scout ahead to make sure it's clear.”

“No.” Tuk says in a whine. “Sully’s stick together.”

He nods he wasn’t a Sully, that much he knew. “Then stay with your Mom I’ll be back.”

“No you stay with us.” She holds his arms. “Stay with me?”

Neytiri stays off to the side. “Tuk is right, we are stronger together.”

Spider sighs as the light flick off. “I’m sorry.” He says to the woman. “I’m sorry they came back for me, it was stupid. I shouldn’t have let them. I should have led the recoms away.”

When she moves over to him it makes a soft whimper escape his mouth. “It wasn’t your fault.” A muffled groan makes them all clutch to each other. Tuk holds Spider Neytiri with her arms and pulls them both in. She asks him with her eyes. He has head dips; this was the place they would meet fate. “Stay close to Mama Tuk.”

“Please let me try.” Spider didn’t stop them from killing the mother Tulkun. “Please.”

Neytiri feels guilt in her stomach. How did she comfort him? They were about to die and he was scared. “You always did and I didn’t see. I see now.”

Tuk leans on her mother. “Mama?”

“It’s okay prrnen tsmuke.” Spider says, rubbing her braids. “We’ll see him soon.”

“Oh great mother help us.” The woman says. Help my children help the boy they are children. I will gladly meet my son but let them live.

The water ripples around them as the tiny glow fish enter the room. A figure pops up. “Kiri!”

The two sisters hug. Spider breathed out, she came back. Kiri swims over. “Mom I’ll let you have this.” She transfers a fish that looks like wings onto the woman’s back. “Are you okay Monkey Boy?”

All he can do is nod. It was a long day he was exhausted every part of him was ready to let go. “I’m good.”

The fish must give some kind of boost as Kiri pulls on his arm. “Come on, we're getting out of here.”

They all swim and the little lights guide them out. Neytiri feels her legs give out so she can’t do it. Kiri would get them out. They would be safe if she lets the water take her. Spider turns back seeing the mother lang. “Fuck.” He pulls on her arms and they were on the decks. All she had to do was swim up. “Come on, you're a warrior!”

Even that does nothing. Kiri and Tuk look back, the fish detached itself. Without thinking Spider pulls on the life vest the first day he was put on the ship Quraitch gave him a thick manual on the life vest as well as proper evacuation instructions. He holds onto her arm inflating the vest. The pair shoot to the surface slower with the weight of a Na’vi but they make it up to the surface.

Still holding on he maneuvers her to a piece of metal. Checking her heart it’s beating but she isn’t breathing. A dangerous thought enters his mind; he could just let her die. “ No .” He turned the voice carried on the water but he was alone. The wind was heavy with smoke, oil and death. It was still the battle over. “You aren’t one of them.”

“Who am I then?” He was tired of people telling him what or who he was.

The little fish with the soft light surrounded him. With a firm but still caring tone the voice says. “Your mine.”

Spider watches the fish return to the deep to lead Kiri up. Turning back he starts to beat on her chest. “Come breath you can do it. Be mad that I’m touching you.”

That much do it as Neytiri’s eyes shoot open. The yellow orbs zero on his hands. Immediately Spider slides back into the ocean. “Spider?”

Whatever she was about to say was lost as the Tulkun breaks the surface. Jake and Lo’ak breathing heavily on the fin. “Lo’ak?!” The boy calls the sea beast glides over.

“Spider!” The two reach over brothers.

“Daddy!” Tuk says as soon as is back above the water. Kiri swims over half carrying Tuk. Neytiri reaches out for Jake, her other arm around Tuk. Kiri holds Spider who exatends his arm out to Lo’ak. The two can’t reach the space that would be filled by Neteyam was just water.

“Oh children, you are safe.” Neytiri says, looking at each of them, even Spider.

Tuk looks at Spider. “You promised.”

He knows she knows but the little girl can’t bring herself to say it. Spider understands it all too well he’d never said about himself because it was too painful. There were plenty of people all too happy to say he was an alien or a disappointment or that he didn’t belong. “Neteyam. I’m Tuk it was my fault.”

With those words he lets the last engery he had slip out. He was tired of being tough, of being alone he wanted to savor this moment where for once he felt truly seen.

[ipushedthewrongbutton]

Imma do this final vent and then I’ll shut up about it.

This was a dumb move, from every possible perspective.

In the og goodbye video, they really made it sound like they were doing the streaming service because they wanted to go bigger, make cooler videos, really see what they could do and let their creative vision take the lead.

Growing as an artist is what you do when you Already Have The Money To Do So. You don’t tell your audience “give me money and then I will use to it to make cooler bigger things”. That’s not a streaming service, that’s a kickstarter.

They didn’t have the numbers to pull a streaming service off either. “We think we’re ready for television quality content” no you don’t. Sorry, no you do not. Television quality content means 30-50 crew per project, means at least 4-5 production being worked on at the same time, and at least 4-5 productions being broadcast at the same time. Watcher has maybe 2 series they upload simultaneously and they have 25 employees TOTAL. Not even CLOSE to tv levels of content, who the fuck do you think you are???

Did they really think all 3 million of their subscribers were going to follow them on this? Including kids, whose spending is dependent on their parents? Including the casuals, who only subscribed for the occasional video? Including people for whom $6 dollars on another streaming service just isn’t an option? Why DIDN’T they poll this, was this being a surprise really that important??

AND why would you completely cut off another revenue? Even if YouTube is restrictive, it’s still another source of income. Cutting that off completely is… bold.

Especially since in the apology, they let it slip that no, actually, it’s because Watcher is on the brink of having to close up shop because they’re not making enough money with just the patreon, the merch sales, the ad reads, etc.

So… one of those is a lie. Or at least part of the truth.

But let’s assume they are in financial trouble, then this was still the dumbest they could’ve done.

Welcome to the entertainment industry where we follow 1 giant fucking rule: Kill Your Darlings.

Fellas, pals, amigos, bros, dudes. If your projects spend more than what they make, it’s time to downsize. Not upscale. Cut the shit that’s spending the most money, start concentrating on how you can conserve without having to fire your crew. Put the projects where you have to fly out and buy new stuff all the time on the back burner, you can get back to them once you actually have the money for them. Work with what you already have. You have a MASSIVE studio space, fuckin use it. You HAVE sets, you HAVE props, you HAVE talent and you have ideas. Start workshopping all the crazy and shit ideas you thought weren’t gonna work and start thinking how you could make them work with the lowest possible budget you can have. Your audience is there, they’ll watch whatever you throw at them. Now is the time to go crazy and see what sticks. You HAVE viewership. Collab. CONSTANTLY. Get it the fuck out there that you exist. A lot of people had no idea a patreon existed, mention it ALL THE TIME. To the point that it becomes annoying. Do it!

If your studio is becoming too expensive, get rid of it. Sorry, kill your darlings. Move some shit around in Steven Lim’s tesla garage, put up some green screens, this is where you work now until you can afford a studio in LA again, you dipshits. Editors can work from home, sound designers can work from home, writers and researchers can work from home, meetings can happen in someone’s kitchen or living room.

And finally: be transparent. Be honest to your audience and communicate. “We’re sorry to put Ghost Files on hiatus, however we can no longer justify the cost of traveling to locations.” The majority of your audience will understand and show patience. The part of your audience that matters will wait and enjoy your other wacky shit in the meantime. Hell, they might spontaneously start their own kickstarter because those who can, will want to support you financially, if you’re just hONEST WITH THEM.

As a business, you constantly have to choose between your financial stability and that of your employees, your vision and the future of your company and what you Want to do with it, and your integrity, the trust between you and your audience. (Especially that last one, businesses can’t pretend they don’t have a relationship with their audience, that’s not how business works, guys.)

When you’re in financial straits, one of those has to go. Watcher chose the latter, they should’ve picked the middle. Their grand television quality ideas can fucking wait, if money is a problem.

Look, I’m an artist too. I had a vision too. But it was either my creative vision or being able to afford food and rent. Creativity can wait, creativity will always be there once I can support it. Living comes ALWAYS first. Asking my audience to fund my huge artistic dreams though, with only the promise of something cool, NEVER even crossed my fucking mind. That’s what donations are for, that’s what the patreon is for.

They apologised. And good. But this was a dumb decision from the goddamn start. There were like 500 steps in between and they skipped all of it. And for what? For money? For grand ideas? For greed or for hubris? How many of their original subscribers are actually gonna come back? How much money did they lose with this stunt? If they really are in financial trouble, this MASSIVE risk -which is what it has always been- might just be their downfall. And it’d be 100% their own fucking fault.

[specialagentlokitty]

Master chief x reader - my blood, your blood

Part 3:

You stayed there for a few hours like that, every time John began to speak you shut him down immediately.

Getting up, you jumped down from where you had been laid, and you stuffed your hands in your pockets as you began to leave.

John got up to follow you.

“Don’t even fucking think about it or I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“I’ll stay for however long it takes.”

“I don’t care, just stay away from me.”

You walked away, not even bothering to look back at him, but you knew him, you knew he wasn’t going to leave you alone, and you knew he was going to stay in the city.

So you avoided it for a few days, you didn’t have to go back for anything yet, so you stayed at your home, just doing some small repairs.

John had set up his own camp in a sturdy looking building, but it didn’t do anything for the need for food.

You had already had time to go through the place and take what you wanted, so after a few hours of searching he gave up.

He was debating hunting, but he didn’t know much about that, and he didn’t know anything about the animals on this planet whereas you did.

You had been here for years, you would’ve had time to learn the ins and outs of this place.

You had been away for nearly a week, he was living off whatever rations he could find in the ship, but he was running dangerously low.

Finally you made your way back to the city, and he watched you from where he was poking through a few shops looking around.

You tossed a bag at him, and stuffed your hands back in your pocket.

“Can’t have you rotting up the city and attracting attention.”

John picked up the bag, and he looked inside of it.

“Thank you.”

He set the bag down, and he went through his pockets, pulling out a vile, and he held it out to you.

You narrowed your eyes a little bit.

“I don’t know if it would work, but Halsey mentioned there was a cure to whatever she made me do. Miranda gave it to me.”

You gestured to the window and he set it carefully on the window ledge, taking his bag and he took a few steps back.

You held your knife carefully as you walked closer, and you picked it up, carefully inspecting it.

Putting it in your pocket you left again, heading towards the hospital where you could find the equipment you needed to check it.

All you had to do was draw some blood, put a drop of the substance on it and see what happened, and that’s what you did.

You carefully did a few tests with what you had, and when you deemed it was safe to drink, you did.

You weren’t sure how long you had to wait for the results, so you had to keep checking.

Walking over to a gap in the wall, you grabbed the scope you kept in your pocket and used it to look around, finding John was still here you had left him.

He was looking up at you, and he didn’t seem to bothered by the fact you were watching him, so you put it back and walked down the chunk of the wall that led to the ground.

Jumping down, you walked over and stopped next to him.

“You should seek higher ground, it’s flood season.”

With that, you left again, making your way back to your cabin.

A few hours later rain began hitting the roof, and you laid next to your fireplace, blanket over you to try and conserve heat.

When you woke up, it was sunny again, and you made your way back down to the city.

A lot of the streets were flooded, in some places the water came up to your knees, it made you wondered why they thought this would be a good place to build a city.

You trudged through the way, and you walked over to one of the barrels scattered around.

Nodding your head, you set the empty jugs down, and you began to fill them up.

You heard a splash, and the sound of somebody walked through the water, and you turned around to see John walking forward.

“Just leave. Most of the city will be flooded by the end of the week.”

“I’m not going anywhere until we talk. I saw visions, when I was a boy. I saw a happy family, and I saw Halsey there as well. I know she took us all away from our families.”

You stopped what you were doing and you turned around to look at him.

“I know what they did, you know too. That’s why you were so angry right? The reason why you were always furious with them all?”

You nodded your head.

“Why could you remember but I couldn’t?”

“Because of my species Halsey couldn’t erase all my memory like she did with you, she wanted me to remember what I could do, and she wanted to see if she could transplant my blood into somebody else and if they would be able to do the same thing. They wanted to turn me into a weapon.”

“But you were part of the Spartan programme.”

“They wanted to make me stronger than anything else.”

He nodded his head, and you went back to filling up the water jugs, setting one aside so you could take another one.

“How did you remember?” You asked.

John took one of the empty jugs, walking over to another barrel so that one could be filled with water as well.

“I touched an artefact, I had a vision, and I kept having it. It wasn’t a vision, it was a memory.”

You nodded, and you stood up, putting the kids back on the jugs, tying them together and you picked them all up.

“They’re going to try and silence you.”

“Why?”

“Because they won’t want to admit to anybody else what they had done, that’s why there’s no records about it. There’s nothing on the Spartan project, because they’re trying to keep it covered up.”

“What about you?”

You stopped walking, turning around to look at him.

“People know about me, people know what I can do, they want me dead. The only reason I wasn’t killed is because Halsey was using me as her little pet project.”

You carried on walking, and John walked alongside of of you.

“What do you know about the Spartan project?”

“A lot more than people think. Just because of my attitude they thought I wasn’t listening, but I was.”

You stopped by the building John was using as his own home, and you turned around to fully look at him.

“I’ve told you what you wanted, now leave me alone. If you come back I will kill you this time John, make no mistake about that, I will do it without hesitation.”

“I’ll go when I know if the cure worked. Miranda said it will take a few days.”

“Fine. I’ll come back in a few days if it worked or not. Then you leave.”

You left again, and for the next few days you kept trying your power.

It didn’t take long for the cure to work, and though you weren’t as strong as what you were, it was progress at least.

So you went back to John, blood sword in your hand, and you pointed it at his chest.

He stood there, not moving, hands raised slightly.

“Now leave me alone. I was never part of your team, don’t start treating me like one now.”

“Okay, I’ll go.”

You escorted him back to his shop, and you watched as he stood on the ramp, looking down at you.

“Thank you.”

With that, he left, and you went back to your peace, practicing your fighting everyday, getting stronger and stronger so if they did come back you were ready.

You weren’t afraid to hurt anybody for your freedom, and if that meant you had to kill the marines they sent, if you had to kill the Spartans, you would.

They knew that.

Your planet was one of their next missions, and he quickly stood up.

“(Y/N) will kill anybody that steps foot there.”

“The Coventry are after something on this planet, you’re to find it, keep it safe until we can retrieve it. I do not care what (Y/N) thinks, and if they intervene you arrest them. Am I understood?”

“You don’t understand (Y/N) can take over other people’s bodies, they will kill every marine you send there.” He argued.

“You are going on this mission, you are taking the marines with you.” The admiral warned.

John clenched his jaw slightly.

You just wanted your peace, and he had a feeling this mission was more than whatever was on your planet, there was some other reason they were being sent there.

If you saw them you would attack, and while the Spartans stood a chance, the marines didn’t.

It was only a few weeks after he previously left that he returned to your planet, and there was no sign of you where they were.

He made his way to the city, hoping to find you there and maybe talk it out with you before anything happened.

“(Y/N)?!” He called.

John stood in the middle of the city where you frequently went, and he looked around, calling out your name once more.

He felt a tight pain in his chest, and he placed his hand over it as he dropped to his knees.

“Wait! I’m here to tell you the Coventry are coming!”

The pain lessened slightly, but he was still being held down.

“There’s a Coventry artefact here in your planet, a team has been deployed to try and retrieve it before the Coventry get it. Do you know where it is? I swear we’ll leave right after.”

“You swore you wouldn’t come back.”

“I tried to tell them but they wouldn’t listen. You need to leave before the Coventry come, you know what they’ll do to this planet.”

You didn’t reply.

“If you know where the artefact is tell me where to find it, I’ll take you somewhere else.”

A map was tossed in front of him, and he could see where you had circled.

“I found it months ago. Take it and leave.”

You released your hold on him, not before opening a series of small but painful cuts along his skin as a warning.

“Let me take you somewhere safe.”

John waited for a reply but he never got one, he tried to scan the area but he couldn’t find you.

Grabbing the map, he made his way back to the others and handed it over, and he began to escort them to the location, because no doubt you were waiting, you were waiting.

There was a sense of unease among everybody know that not only were the Coventry going to be on their way, but you were around somewhere, and you had no qualms about hurting them.

John was looking for any indication that you were nearby, or where you would be hiding, because he needed to get you off this planet as well

[toastedkiwi]

Bruce bringing along intern!reader as his date to this medical conference at an aquarium. She brought their son and wandered off. Bruce followed from a distance.

Y/n: look at that, Dami, it’s a sea turtle!

Bruce: *smiles*

Y/n: and look! that’s a stingray! It’s cousin killed Steve Irwin. We don’t like them.

Damian: don’t *shakes his head in disgust*

Bruce: *chuckles*

Y/n: *looks over her shoulder*

Bruce: I don’t think Steve Irwin would approve of the hatred against stingrays as he was big into animal conservation, my love

Damian: booo!

Y/n: well, I guess I’m not the bigger person then and neither is Damian

Bruce: I’ll be the bigger person for you two *wraps his arms around them from behind*

Damian: no!

Y/n: yeah don’t be the bigger person.

Bruce: you goofballs

[squirrelwithatophat]

Wynne defending children from the Templars

It’s interesting to reflect on Wynne’s Establishing Character Moment in Dragon Age: Origins, especially in light of the strange whitewashing of the Templar Order in Inquisition as well as her apparently conservative politics.  When we encounter her in Broken Circle (our first interaction with her since the brief chat at Ostagar), we see her fighting to protect a group of young children not only from demons but from the Templars -- the very military force that claims to protect them.  If she is recruited into the party, in fact, we discover that she had already sacrificed her life for them.  She is technically dead/undead and only kept standing due to possession by a spirit of Faith.

As soon as the party enters the door, she’s fearful that the Warden has come to kill them all on behalf of Knight-Commander Greagoir, and depending on player choices/intentions, she may in fact be correct.  

Wynne: It’s you!  No... come no further.  Grey Warden or no, I will strike you down where you stand!

Warden: Wynne - what are you doing here?

Wynne: I am a mage of the Circle.  More importantly, why are you here?  The templars would not let just anyone by.

Warden: You have children with you.

Wynne: The tower is a place of learning.  Young apprentices are always here.  Why is that surprising?

Wynne: But this is no time to discuss that.  Why are you here?  Why did the templars let you in?

Warden: I am helping Greagoir resolve the Circle’s difficulties.

Wynne: Then you do serve the templars as I feared.  Do they have the Right of Annulment?

Warden: The Right of Annulment?

Wynne: The order from the grand cleric allowing the templars to completely annul a Circle.  Do they have it?

Warden: No, but Greagoir expects it to arrive soon.

Wynne: So Greagoir thinks the Circle is beyond hope.  He probably assumes we are all dead.  

Wynne: They abandoned us to our fate, but even trapped as we are, we have survived.  If they invoke the Right, however, we will not be able to stand against them.

Warden: It’s nothing less than this Circle deserves.

Wynne:  Do these children deserve death too?  Will they die by your hand?

Warden: Mages are a danger.  If I had a say, you would all be culled.

Wynne: Killing us solves nothing, but with training and education, mages learn to control their powers.

Wynne: You’re mad if you think I’ll let you lay a finger on these children.  If will fight you if you won’t listen to reason.

Wynne: I am not afraid of you.

Warden: This Circle must be destroyed, for all our sakes.

Wynne: If you insist on making war on the Circle, we have nothing more to discuss.  It comes to blows, then.  I will stop you or die trying.

BONUS - terrified child fleeing from being murdered:

Commentary

While Wynne can be condescending and sometimes preachy in her support for the Circle, her dialogue both here and elsewhere indicates that she has no illusions about the Templars keeping them locked inside.  

After all, they imprisoned her in Kinloch Hold since she was a young child, took her own child away from her forever, and threatened to slaughter both her and the other children she was mentoring in her son’s stead.  If recruited into the party, she opens up about the despair she felt as a girl when she realized she would be trapped there forever, and it was only by turning to the religious faith that was being forced on all mages in the tower that she began to make peace with her fate.  She knows that if the Libertarian Fraternity successfully leads a vote for independence from the Chantry, the Templars will simply kill them all.  She even uses the term “genocide” to describe what will happen.  She explicitly cites this as the reason why she opposes the independence vote. 

The mages will never be free! The Chantry would never allow it. Our only hope for survival is to show them we can be trusted! Don’t you remember what happened to the Circle in Ferelden? Do you want to give the templars another excuse to call for the culling of all mages?

She doesn’t reject freedom for her fellow mages for any personal advantage, throwing others like her under the bus to reap the rewards of brown-nosing.  If she wanted any semblance of power or status, after all, she would have accepted the post of First Enchanter (or second-in-line to it) a long time ago.  As of Dragon Age Origins, she has consistently rejected the opportunity to become Irving’s successor.  As of the end of Broken Circle, if she joins the party and defeats Uldred’s rebels, she still needs to ask for permission just to temporarily leave the tower, despite having proven her loyalty and competence beyond any reasonable doubt both here and over the past thirty or so years of incarceration.  It takes helping the Hero of Ferelden save the entire country by defeating the Archdemon to convince the Templars to allow her to come and go freely - an opportunity that, as her own son later points out, no one else has had or probably ever would have in their lifetime (and one, as the only the player knows, that is entirely conditional on player choices).

The only context in which she ever even considers fighting the Templars is when she has no other way of preventing the Templars from killing them all anyways - both during Broken Circle and in the climax of Asunder.

Her politics are, in the end, based on fear.

Not the usual fear of the Other or fear of social change that hamper normal politics, but the completely rational fear, as someone at/near the bottom of the social hierarchy, about what the authorities will do to her and everyone like her if they step out of line.  As it turns out, she’s not wrong about what the powers that be are and how they will react - she’s only wrong about the potential for a better future and the rewards of fighting for it.

[bookishzelda]

I Think We're Alone Now

Marty McFly x reader

This is a small, very fluffy Y/N fic inspired by the song I Think We're Alone Now by Tiffany! Hope you enjoy it!

"This is a wonderful dinner, Mrs. McFly," you say, poking at the last few bites of lasagna on your plate.

"Thank you, Y/N," Lorraine replies, giving you a small smile. You return it, glad to be on her good side for now.

You glance over at Marty, who’s working on his third helping. His blue eyes meet yours with a smirk; then under the table you feel him reach to touch your leg, squeezing your knee gently. You smile down at your plate until you hear Lorraine clear her throat. You look up to see her glaring at Marty, and he withdraws his hand, resting it on the table instead. You sigh mentally. How does that woman always know?

Marty was always complaining about his conservative parents, but it wasn't until recently, when you had started coming around to his house for dinner or homework, that you had been on the receiving end of his mother's disapproval. While Lorraine had never been overtly mean or rude to you, there always seems to be a tension between the two of you; and although Marty doesn't say anything about what she says about you at home, you get the impression that its not particularly positive. As a result, displays of affection between you and Marty are always clandestine, snatched in moments when Lorraine's back is turned. More often than not, you get caught by someone.

You throw a sideways glance at Marty, who rolls his eyes and shrugs. You smile back and return to your food.

When everybody’s finished, you stand up, saying, “I’ll help with the dishes, Mrs. McFly.”

“Thank you, Y/N, that would be great,” she replies.

“Aw, Mom, come on; she’s a guest,” Marty protests.

“I don’t mind, Marty,” you say.

“I know, but you shouldn’t have to.” Slipping an arm around your shoulders, he says, “Hey, Dad, Y/N shouldn’t have to wash dishes, should she?”

George looked up from where he was staring at the TV. “What? Oh, oh, no, it’s fine, it’s all… fine.”

“All right, then you’ll help me, George?” Lorraine says.

Marty slips out of the room, leading you by the arm down the hall. “What are you thinking?” he hisses, pulling you into a corner of the hall.

“I’m trying to stay on your mom's good side,” you whisper. “I figured I could earn some points with her.” “Yeah, but if you’re in there doing dishes,” he argues, brushing a lock of hair from your face, “we can’t do this.” He brings his lips to meet yours, letting his hands rest on the back of your neck. You shut your eyes and bring your hands to his sides. His touch is gentle, making you melt.

You hear someone cough pointedly behind you and immediately break away from each other, whipping around to face whoever caught you. Linda is watching you, arms folded.

“Do you mind not doing that where I have to see it?” she drones.

Marty narrows his eyes. “Then don’t look.”

“I need to get into my room, but I’d prefer to know you two aren’t making out right outside my door.”

“Come on, Linda, you know Mom would kill me if I had Y/N in my room,” he whines, rubbing your shoulder. “There’s nowhere else to go.”

“Not my problem,” she shrugs.

You sigh, grabbing Marty’s hand. “It’s okay, Marty. Maybe we can slip into the garage.”

“Don’t bother. Dave’s having some friends over in there.”

You let out a grunt of frustration. Why does it always seem like his whole family is trying to keep you apart?

Marty leads you to the other end of the hall, shoving past Linda. Once you’re out of her line of fire, he looks down at you and whispers, “Well, Y/N… it looks like we’ll just have to find our own place.” His eyes twinkled eagerly, like a little boy’s, bringing a smile to your face. Although you’re not entirely sure what he’s talking about, you squeeze his hand and say, “I’m in.”

You follow him through the house, letting him open the front door as he yells, “Mom, Dad, we’re going for a walk!”

You’re both out the door fast enough that you can pretend not to hear her call, “Just a minute, Marty!”

Marty grabs his skateboard, which is leaning against the wall of the front porch, along with a spare, which he had used to teach you how to ride. He tosses one to you, and you run down to the street, laughing. You both drop your skateboards on the asphalt and push off, heading for the gate. You’re not quite as fast as Marty, but you push furiously as you grab onto his hand, feeling the wind in your hair.

You let Marty lead the way, trusting that he had an actual plan. He keeps a grip on your hand the whole way, leading you along sidewalks and through intersections. You close your eyes for a brief moment, relishing this spontaneous escape.

When finally he lets go of you and cruises to a stop, you realize you’re at the entrance of Hill Valley’s main park. After hiding the skateboards, he grabs your hand again, and says with that same eye twinkle, “Let’s go.”

You have no choice but to follow as he takes off running. Your legs pump furiously to stay beside him, feet pounding on the grass. You both run toward the middle of the park, finally coming to a stop at the top of a low hill. As you stand there to catch your breath, Marty throws his arms around you and pulls you both to the ground so that you land in a heap. You laugh, rolling off of him and onto the ground. You face him and he puts a finger to your lips.

“Listen,” he says.

You obey, trying to pick out the noise. You can hear cars in the far distance, and a dog barking somewhere in the park, but that’s about it. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly,” he grins, pulling you closer. “I think we’re finally alone.”

You smile, draping an arm over his shoulder. “Finally,” you echo.

“No more of my family watching our every move… no one to tell us what to do… no one to keep us from doing this.” With those words he brings his lips to yours. You let yourself get lost in his kiss, putting your hands on his shoulders. His hands wander to your waist, gently pulling you closer to himself, letting your kiss become heavier.

When finally you break apart, you’re breathless. You gaze at him to see his beautiful, blues eyes shining in the evening light. You smile through a blush and say, “I’m glad we could get away.”

“Me, too,” he says, cupping your cheek with his gentle hand. Your eyes flutter closed as his fingers stroke your skin.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he whispers.

You flush so hard you worry he might burn his hand. “So are you.”

He smirks. “I’m serious. I think destiny brought us together.”

You plant a kiss on the tip of his nose. “You’re adorable, you know that?” you say, rubbing your nose against his.

Marty weaves his fingers through your hair and closes the small space between your mouths with a soft, slow kiss. The tenderness in his touch makes your whole heart melt. When he lets you go, you touch your forehead to his, running your hand through his unbelievably soft hair and breathing in his familiar cologne.

“Marty,” you whisper. That’s all you can think to say before he draws you in for another kiss.

The two of you lie on the grass for nearly an hour, his arms wrapped securely around you, exchanging kisses and caresses as night begins to fall. At last he kisses the top of you head and says, “We should probably leave.”

You pout dramatically. “I don’t wanna leave,” you complain.

Marty chuckles, kissing your hair again. “Come on, Y/N, I’m probably in trouble as it is; I don’t need to get deeper in for staying out too late.”

You gaze at his face, lit by the last rays of sun and the florescent streetlight overhead. “Fine,” you say, rolling away from his embrace and standing up. The sudden separation from his body heat makes you acutely aware of the chill in the evening air, and a shiver runs through your body. You’d forgotten to grab your coat when you rushed out.

“Cold?” Marty asks.

You shrug. “Maybe a little.”

“Here,” he replies, slipping off his denim jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders. You slide your arms through the sleeves.

“Thanks,” you say.

“Of course,” he replies, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and squeezing you to his side. As you walk, he lightly kisses your hair and rests his cheek against the top of your head.

When you reach the park’s exit, you both grab the skateboards that you had stashed in a bush. However, you don’t put you’d on the ground. “No reason to rush,” you say, taking his hand again. He smiles down at you, squeezing your hand tenderly.

The two of you walk home in comfortable silence. All too soon the lion statues marking the entrance to his neighborhood come into view. Stepping up into his porch, he finally lets go if your hand and turns to face you. “Ready to go back to reality?” he asks.

You sigh internally, depressed that the spell is about to be broken. “Yeah.”

Marty reaches to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Your breath catches as his hand lingers, before he lifts your chin and softly touches his lips to yours.

All too soon he pulls away and opens the front door, ushering you both back into the real world of noise, scowls, and judgmental family members.

[pineapplerightsideupcake]

You can tell a lot about a community based on their reaction to any pushback or debate. Every radfem I see rebuttals using logic and facts in a calm manner.

TRAs on the other hand, threaten violence, tell radblr blogs to kill themselves after seeking out their page, and have yet to use actual scientific fact. Not only that, when someone detransitions, they silence and deny their existence. These are all the things they claim conservatives are doing to them. It’s also not surprising that the loudest and most aggressive of the TRAs are white man who are foaming at the mouth to have an oppressed identity that they made one up.

I’ll never forget the tumblr post that made me decide to check out r/gendercritical which led me to radical feminism.

It was one of those “hey bigots, snails have 8 sexes so there” posts and I just remember sitting there thinking “but this is nonsense. People aren’t snails”. And I was reading people saying “hey this is BS” and the only retort was “die bigot”.

And then through gender critical I saw the first feminist analysis. At their recommendation I went and started looking at trans subreddits and I couldn’t BELIEVE the level of porn addiction and misogyny I witnessed.

I’m almost embarrassed to admit I was as shocked as I was that liberal media sources were actively silencing any objections to gender ideology.

That made me ask even more questions. What else was being hidden from me? Now I’m a socialist man hating terf. Lol

[sunflower1experiment]

He is not

“What do you mean!?”

“I’m telling you Mey-Rin, Sebastian is not all that. If that were the case then I’d probably be more meticulous with his wants.” [Name] rubs the bridge of their nose while listening to their associate whine about this so called ‘handsome’ butler.

Meanwhile they were still stuck on the fact that they as a human with some peculiar qualities had to be stuck with that man. [Name] dislikes Sebastian, he knows that based on how curt [Name] is with him or how they’ll inadvertently avoid being touched by him.

[Name] would listen to Mey-Rin compliment the tall male, sure his black hair and red eyes were beautiful but want to know what also has those eyes?’: Demons! [Name] just wasn’t having it and the fact that Ciel even ordered them to work with Sebastian was obviously cruel.

‘Master Ciel if this demon kills me, I'm not coming back until I feel he is far away from me.' [Name]’s ability was that they could die and come back, however the only way they’d actually die is through the brain. Luckily no one knew, except the demon, so they can’t trust him.

“My dear please, you work too hard. Here, I’ll handle the rest.”

“I’m alright sir, if you don’t mind opening the door for me please…?”

He chuckles before thinking to himself, without a doubt he held the door, and [Name] was casually carrying the boxes, following them, he grew to admire how easily they go with the flow. Especially with their behavior they display. As they place the boxes down, [Name] starts fixing a few of the materials in the room while Sebastian dusts, wipes and sweeps the room.

At first, [Name] was adamant with the idea of him helping and to be precise he wouldn't comply so [Name] just allowed the demon to invade their space. "[Name] my dear, you've been silent this whole time. Tell me, do you happen to dislike my presence."

"Not really, you're absolutely creepy, you give the vibe that you have ulterior motives. Plus, many women are known to fawn over you. During these past missions together, I've seen your style and I also know you do not find yourself keen with humans."

Sebastian could only close his eyes with a smile, he agreed that his motives were different, but he did intend to serve his master. Even in his past he was known for his intent and died with the said mindset, being called out for it however was amusing. "I guess we both as the supernatural know that humans enjoy the company of something alluring."

"Indeed..."

Continuing with their task they felt him gently brush on their shoulder and [Name] eyes the butler. It was quiet, they enjoyed quiet.

He maybe a demon but he tolerated their existence, and so did [Name]. Not long after they were carefully studying each other's entity being. Sebastian knew he couldn't kill [Name] but to see a being who wasn't attracted, afraid or desiring to kill him. It was rather enjoyable, it felt like a duo pair that understood one another's flaws and motives.

Sebastian not long after was sleeping soundly to conserve his energy, while [Name] stayed awake to crack and pop their bones. "Maybe you aren't so bad.."

As they pop their body to a comfortable standard, the Shikabane Hime lays back to rest their eyes. Feeling the demon hold them close, they return the hug.

[natalievoncatte]

This isn’t really a ficlet. It’s more of a screen test. If I like it and you like it, this might be my next project after my SCBB fic is done. I’ll start posting excerpts of that soon!

CW: Mentions of death and dying, and loss.

Of all the things to kill Lena Luthor, it was a heel shearing off her shoe. It wasn’t even a proper high heel, just a two inch rise on a pair of rather stately shoes from a designer of no particular note. Lena had since passed on the Louboutins, and had long adopted more conservative cuts for her suits and dresses. She’d given up her title as CEO decades ago and now fulfilled the role of director emeritus of L-Corp’s research and development division.

It had been a good life, except for one glaring exception. She’d cured over twenty types of common cancers, developed vaccines, and almost personally reversed global warming. She had only one regret as the heel sheared off her shoe and she went tumbling down the stairs to the floor of the L-Corp lobby.

Curiously, she was only dimly aware of the pain. It was something distant, like it was happening to someone else. She heard more than felt a crushing blow to her hip and when the marble rushed up to fill her vision, the world simply went explosively white and the only thing she felt was cold.

The world stayed white, which had perplexed her. Lena had never believed in any sort of life after death, even though she had a vague sense of the supernatural. Her mother was rumored to be a witch in the Irish village where she grew up, and she’d been told as much when she visited as an adult to seek out her roots. She expected, well, nothing. Not even an awareness that there was nothing, just an absence. As she grew older, on those nights when her mortality came crashing down around her in the fitful depths of the early morning when sleep rejected her, she would rationalize death as simply not having to get up tomorrow.

She did not expect to find herself standing in her old office, the one from a lifetime ago. Her stark minimalist desk dominated the room. Without knowing why, she ran the pads of her fingers along its cool length, a ghost of a sad smile dusting her lips.

The sofa was there, too. She could barely bring herself to look at it. After Kara’s betrayal, she had disposed of it thoroughly and rearranged the office. She’d eventually be driven out of the room entirely by grief and settled into another office on a lower floor and began spending more time at home, but the penthouse gave her no solace, either, and she ended up selling it and ultimately moved the research and development department back to Metropolis and worked there.

Lena’s breath caught at the sight of a familiar photograph on one of her bookcases. She took it in trembling hands, knowing then that this must be an illusion or a dream, because she’d smashed the frame and shredded this photograph in her own two fingers.

It was her and Kara, faces pressed together and grinning, their eyes so radiant with joy that it burned Lena’s heart to see and she immediately hurled it across the room, hurling it at a vase of rare plumerias that Kara had brought for her, leaving behind a full belly and a soaring heart.

A hand plucked it casually from the air and set it on an end table near the sofa. Lena stood her ground, though her legs began to tremble.

Standing in her office was a man she didn’t know, dressed smartly in a black suit that would have been in fashion all those years ago. He had a curiously calm air about him, reserved and almost peaceful.

“Who are you?” said Lena. “I’m dead, right? Are you God? The Devil?”

“I am not a god, nor am I one of the true immortals, though it is said that in strange æons, even death may die.”

“Then who are you?”

“My name is Mxyzptlk. Kara might, perhaps, have told you of me.”

“No.”

He snorted softly.

“Typical. I am a very long lived being, Lena Luthor. My kind measure our lives in eons, and as a wise human once said, a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. For the last ten thousand years, I have been a troublemaker and an imp. Now I shall be something else. I have decided I shall be grand and wise.”

“What does that have to do with me?” said Lena.

“Not you. Kara. I still owe her a debt, and I must balance myself before I truly transition into my next iteration. I am here to balance that debt.”

“How?”

“By giving you the opportunity to give love one last chance.”

“I was never in love with-“

“Do not lie to me.”

Lena took a half step back, grabbing the desk for balance. Mxyzptlk took a few steps closer.

“I am as far beyond you as you are beyond an ant, the very forces of chaos and entropy heed my command. All time is an open book to me. Whether you admit it to yourself or not, you never married because you were hoping they Kara would stop giving you space and time to heal like you said you wanted, but never did.”

“How dare you? You don’t-“

“What Kara did to you, the way she manipulated her identities to confuse you, was cruel. Lying to you for so long was cruel.”

“Then why should I take you up on whatever this is?”

“A do-over. You’ll go back with your memories intact. You’ll have the chance to set right what once went wrong, and so will she. Or you can avoid her entirely and seek happiness elsewhere. You can leave National City behind or refuse her lunch invitations or whatever it is you think you wish you’d done. I’m not here to force you to love her. I’m giving you another chance, in truth, on her behalf. One she would pigheadedly refuse out of some misplaced sense of morals or decency.”

“Have you offered this to her?”

“No. Where she has gone now, I cannot follow. I can’t even show you where she is: her god has taken her home to his warm light. She rests in the lush fields of a prehistoric Krypton she never knew, spending eternity with her family. Rao has even used his strength and purpose to talk Mother Sol into allowing the Danvers into his domain.”

Lena’s voice cracked. “What?”

“Kara passed earlier today on Argo, from old age and cumulative injuries from her time as Supergirl, without a yellow star to protect her from them.”

“It sounds like she’s happy,” said Lena, turning away. “I… I still want her to be happy.”

“Rao is a bold god, a strong and protective one, but he is an honest lord. He does not give her the gift of forgetting, and perfect memory of love lost can be make a hell of heaven.”

“She loved me?”

“As much as you loved her. Enough to let you go.”

Lena’s hands began to shake. “It’s been so long. How-“

There was a knock at the door. Lena jumped, almost falling.

Mxyzptlk flashed to her side, crossing the space without moving.

“Choose now.”

“Who’s out there?”

“I don’t know. Whoever has the strongest claim over your soul, I suppose. You must choose now; to delay a true god is beyond even me.”

Lena swallowed, hard.

“Do it,” she whispered.

The world went mad. Everything was spinning, and trying to throw her stomach out of her body through her nose. The acrid smell of jet fuel and burning electronics stung her nose. The pilot beside her was unconscious.

And then…

The spinning slowed, and she was no longer falling. A gentle sense of lift raised her into the air, the city falling away from the cracked glass in front of her. Very gently, the helicopter came to rest on the roof, and she glimpsed a familiar figure in a cape and skirt, and her heart nearly exploded in her chest. There was a gust of wind that rocked the chopper and ice crystals crawled over the glass, crackling in the National City sunshine.

Then, she was there. Kara tore the door loose in a single, fluid motion and climbed inside, pausing to check the pilot, peering through flesh and bone to asses his injuries.

Then she looked at Lena.

Kara’s breath caught, and her pupils blew wide. Kara stared at Lena like she was something knew, unknown and wondrous, the edges of her lips curling just so despite the self serious tone as she asked if Lena was okay.

It was her. Alive, here, now. Lena couldn’t help herself; she lifted a trembling hand to cup Kara’s soft cheek, without thinking. Her throat nearly closed and no words escaped her lips. She just felt that warm, soft skin and stared right back into Kara’s otherworldly eyes, savoring the tickle of Kara’s loose honey curls slipping over the back of her hand.

“Miss Luthor,” Kara said. “Your heart is racing. We’d better get you an ambulance.”

“You saved me,” Lena whispered.

“That’s what I do,” said Kara, winking at her.

Lena almost died again.

[darkbluekies]

List of characters!

CHARACTER MOODBOARDS

WHAT THE CHARACTERS LOOK LIKE

Facts

The origin of the characters

Disclaimer: my character's occupations have nothing to do with people who have them in real life! This is just for entertainment and to create innteresting stories! <3

Silas

Mob boss, condescending, belittling, taunting half-gentle half-violent yandere. [Male]

"The reason I put you down here, Y/N, is because you're my family, someone I care very much about. I have to teach you a lesson to make sure that you don’t do anything dumb. You’re a danger to yourself. You need me to take care of you, to teach you what is right and wrong. If only you didn’t do such stupid things I wouldn’t have to do these hurtful things. You know I love you. Say it back, Y/N. Say that you love me. Good girl/boy' — Silas "in the basement"

Dr Kry

Doctor, manipulative, violent, cold, stoic, modest, kind of conservative. Gets what he wants and does what he likes. [Male]

"Deep down, I know you're scared of me. You can pretend as much as you want, but you forget that I'm a doctor. I can read your body language better than anyone else. And do you know what I can read? That you're absolutely terrified of me" — Dr Kry "deja vu / welcome home"

King Edmund

King of a fantasy kingdom, lovesick, ruthless, selfish and entitled. He will burn down this world to get what he wants — you. [Male] (platonic with males)

"Keep your eyes on me. There's only you and me in this world — in our own world — no one else. The guards, they’re looking at you. Gawking even. Wishing that they had what’s mine. Pretty pathetic, don’t you think? To be jealous of me? As if they could ever be on my level. You must have hit your head or something with all the absurd questions you’re asking today. No one is on my level — of course — but you’re far, far better than any of the other people in this kingdom. Don’t try to insult yourself by saying that you’re like them ever again, Y/N. I don’t like that. I’m so fucking obsessed with you, Y/N. You make me crazy. I can never let you go. You’re so perfect" — Edmund "in our own world"

Jerry

Mafia right hand (wo)man, flirty, sexual, dirty minded, sarcastic, ruthless, tsundere. [Female]

“My stupid, little boy/girl. You don’t know anything, do you? You need me to think for you, hm? Don’t worry, baby, I will make sure you never dare to do any of these stupid stuff again. I’ll break you until there’s not a single thought in your head” — Jerry "Break you"

Hedwig

Lovestruck, stalker, delusional, manipulative, clingy, rich girl, typical yandere [Female]

“Y-You think I’m wasting my time with you? Please don’t say that! I really love you, Y/N … a lot. Much, much more than you could ever imagine. I-I’d bring down the moon for you! I’d give you every diamond in the world! I’d … I’d kill for you! Please don’t leave me. I-I don’t care what other people say! I’ve never been happier than when I met you! I want you. I don’t want anyone else. Please … please don’t let this end. You love me too, don’t you? We don’t need other people’s approval. We only need each other, right?” — Hedwig "I'd kill for you!"