bruce: [gesturing to a broken bank vault door] who broke it?
bruce: i’m not mad. i just wanna know.
selina: i did it, i broke it…
bruce: no. no, you didn’t. harley?
harley: don’t look at me, look at riddler.
eddie: what?! i didn’t break it!
harley: huh. that’s weird. how did you even know it was broken?
eddie: because it’s sitting right in front of us and it’s broken!
eddie: no it’s not!
jon: if it matters, probably not… ivy was the last one in the bank.
ivy: liar! i don’t even need money!
jon: oh really? then why were you and harley in here earlier?
ivy: harley has an account here and i tag along sometimes. everyone knows that, crane!
selina: alright, let’s not fight. i broke it, let me pay for it, batman.
bruce: no! who broke it!
harley: [whispering] batman, two-face has been awfully quiet…
harvey: really? really?!
harley: yeah, really!
[everyone starts arguing]
bruce: [off to the side] i broke it. i threw a grenade and it ripped the door off its hinges. i predict 10 minutes from now they’ll be at each other’s throats with war paint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. good. it was getting a little chummy around here.
hey would you ever do a "what if harry potter had been a girl" story? or a trans girl? i don't know how much gender would change things except other people's perceptions but...
Hermione went to the library, when Harry first confided in her. Whatever the faculty, the administration, or the Ministry believed or didn’t believe, the Hogwarts library gave the children what they needed and always would.
Hermione came back with books and books on gender in wizarding history, on the spells and words wizards had used for centuries or decades or mere years, and she and Harry bent their heads together and figured out what words Harry felt best told her story. From her hometown library, after that first summer, Hermione brought back memoirs and brightly-colored pamphlets that Harry read through instead of finishing her Potions homework.
When Harry looked in the Mirror of Erised, she still saw her mother, her father, all her gathered, lost kin. The specter of her father gathered up her hands in his. Her mother pushed back the long dark hair Petunia had always made her cut short and she called her beautiful.
When she looked into it again, after Devil’s Snare and winged keys, giant chess and Ron lying prone on the floor, Hermione wringing her eleven year old hands in the potion riddle room– When Harry looked into the Mirror again, she saw herself, just herself. The girl in the mirror winked and smiled and slipped the Stone in Harry’s pocket. No matter what other wishes and want laid on her narrow shoulders, at the end of the day the thing Harry wanted most was to help. Harry brushed one hand over the lump of rock in her robe pocket, and then brushed her other over her mess of hair, which was feet shorter than the girl in the mirror’s.
She woke up in the hospital wing, bedside table piled high with candy.
Once Harry and Hermione had sussed out between them what the words were for what was going on here, they had explained it to Ron. Harry didn’t come out to anyone else until partway through second year, though, at the height of the Heir of Slytherin nonsense.
She was fed up, then. She just wanted to be left alone, and this wouldn’t help with that, but they were all already staring. Keeping this to herself felt like a vice around her chest. Hogwarts was supposed to be better.
After, Ron came almost to blows with anyone who goggled or sniffed or rolled their eyes. Seamas learned to swallow his tongue. Draco Malfoy didn’t. Hermione wrote up an explanatory note about appropriate pronouns in her best penmanship and then copied it with flicks of her wand. With Harry’s embarrassed permission, she gave it to every professor Harry had or would ever have.
Colin Creevey stopped her in the Great Hall with a tug on her sleeve. She turned, shoulders rising, and the kid said in his piping voice, “You’re still my hero.”
That was better than it could have been, but she wasn’t sure she liked the “still.”
Peeves, though he was nasty about everything else–ickle firsties and orphan girls–got it immediately. For all six years of her Hogwarts tenure, he dropped water balloons on the heads of anyone who misgendered her. Professor Binns never quite figured it out, but he didn’t know any student’s name. Nearly Headless Nick gallantly and somewhat awkwardly called her lady and tried to hold open doors for her, despite the fact that he couldn’t open them.
Snape called Harry “Mr. Potter” for all seven years that he was in Harry’s life. Around year three, Ron stopped counting the detentions he got for his increasingly sarcastic responses to this.
The whispers about the Heir of Slytherin grew louder and louder, keeping pace with “Uh, I thought it was the Boy Who Lived?” Fred and George Weasley took it upon themselves to walk Harry to and from class when they could, talking loudly enough to drown everything out.
Then Hermione got Petrified and the Heir whispers stopped abruptly. Harry, if she hadn’t been busy with Ron trading off reading their assigned textbooks aloud to Hermione in the infirmary, might have felt gratified that the whole school knew how much this bushy-haired kid meant to her. Alright, so they thought she might murder Muggleborns with a mysterious monster, or sic a snake on her opponent in a dueling club? But they knew she wouldn’t hurt Hermione for anything.
In the Chamber, she met Tom Riddle. He was supposed to be her mirror, though she didn’t quite know that yet. He was supposed to be her shadow, the chain around her ankle, the other half (or another eighth) of her story and his soul.
Ginny had been trying to speak for months– to tell someone, to open the diary and the bag under her bed full of chicken-blood-stained robes and to thrust them into the light. But Percy had shushed her, all his assumptions orbiting his own importance to her story. The teachers had patted her on the head. She had been frightened, eleven years old with Tom whispering in her ear, guiding her hands.
Harry had been trying to speak for years– to explain to someone the way she did not feel like Dudley, like Vernon, like the boys in the locker room at school. Hermione had listened. Hermione had given her books and books of people who felt like her. Ron had listened, and taught her wizard’s chess, and kicked Draco in the shins.
But here Harry was, standing alone– a red-haired lump at her feet, dark robes sodden with moldy water. Hermione was frozen. Ron was trapped behind a rock fall and Tom was pacing, gloating, glowing. Ginny was breathing. Ginny had to be breathing. Harry was going to save her. She had to, because no one had listened to the kid, not even Harry.
The phoenix tears left no scars on Harry’s arm. Riddle, the Chamber, the life going out of her, everything that had happened in that long year– none of it left scars on Ginny, or at least none that anyone could see.
When Harry got back to 4 Privet Drive that summer, she suffered through Aunt Petunia’s annual hair cut and then she curled up with Hedwig and wrote a letter. She wrote about the Muggle candies she missed when at Hogwarts, and how her cousin thought she was weird for being excited about summer homework. She asked Ginny how she was.
Ginny wrote back after a long week. She didn’t answer the question, but she wrote about helping Dad on the car, about the apple harvest coming, and Fred and George playing pranks on the ghoul in the attic.
Stewie: Please tell me why you have it?
Brian: I said I don’t want to talk about it.
Stewie: But I want to know. Just tell me, come on.
Stewie: Come on, please.
Brian: [sighs] I keep it in case… I ever want to commit suicide, ok?
Stewie: Wow. Oh.. oh my God you’re serious, but why Brian?
Brian: You wouldn’t understand. You’re just a kid.
Stewie: Well… I could try.
Brian: I don’t know, sometimes it’s… all too much.
Stewie: What is?
Brian: Life. Everything. Just having the gun here, knowing there’s a way out… it helps.
Stewie: Yes, but a gun, it’s so messy. What about pills? Even hanging yourself is better, at least then you might grow an inch or two while you’re hanging there. Of course when they find you, you might have those Illeana Douglas eyes.
Watch the little grimace Bucky makes after he says, “But I knew him.”
And then watch his expression after he says, “My name is Bucky.”
It’s harder to see in the CACW scene because he’s looking down, but it’s the same expression.
In the bank vault, he has a question… he knew that man on the bridge. He heard the name Bucky
and he felt reality as he knew it shift and he’s still trying to lock
onto fleeting images in his mind, images he doesn’t know are actual
memories. He only knows he wants an answer and is willing to endure pain
from a beating to get it.
That’s Bucky, quietly, stubbornly, adamantly refusing to be denied.
And with Zemo, Bucky knows a lot more about who he is and
what he chooses to call himself, and it’s not James, at least not as
this little pissant of a psychiatrist is using it. Again, that’s Bucky, quietly, stubbornly, adamantly refusing to be denied.
Seb knows this character, down to the smallest detail.
lms if you think the federal government should fund research on how to get the city of boston to float four inches above the ground and make it so “lightning crashes” by live plays on an infinite loop from speakers so loud no bostonian can ever escape it, even if they trap themselves in the thickest bank vault
Ok. Here we go. Let's do... avengers x reader? I guess specifically Bucky x reader What if... avengers find reader amongst Hydra files and locate her only to find out she has no memories of her own, but has all Bucky's memories. What if there was no machine and she was the memory eraser and the more she erased Bucky's memories, the more she lost her own and gained his?!! Angst, some fluff, I think you can cook something up MCU of course ;) Ooo this is gonna be fun
Hi, dear! Thanks a lot for taking part to this celebration, and
sending in such a marvelous idea!
I hope you’ll like how it came out in the end.
Soldier and Eraser
Pairing: Avengers x reader, Bucky x reader
Warnings: oh well, this is difficult… there are so many bad things in here; I’ll
try but I’m sure that I won’t be able to name everything, so just be cautious. Lots
of angst, some fluff, violence (mostly mentioned more than depicted), manipulation,
messed up minds and induced way to think, stealing, passing frontiers
illegally, swearing and bad language, allusion to sex and to the use of it as
part of a conditioned behavior, guilt feelings, … and probably something else.
Notes: this is quite a mental trip, sorry. The story begins soon after the
events of CA:TWS; and X-men and the Avengers coexist in the same universe, but
normally they mind their own business and do not really interact much, unless
they are interested in the same thing. (I have heard that in the comics they
should live in the same universe, but that in the movies they are apart because
of licenses or something like that. By the way, I haven’t read enough comics to
have an idea of their coexistence there, I have mostly just watched the movies.
And I’ve thought that for this fic it would have been useful if they lived in
the same universe. That’s all.) I’d really love if you could leave some
Word count: 7094 (Yep, this is much longer than my usual.)
Steve reviews the files of the folder Natasha has given him. It has
been weeks and not him nor Sam have been able to find any good lead on Bucky.
He absentmindedly turns page after page. His eyes fall on something handwritten
on a corner.
‘Always keep the eraser to hand.’
Few pages later another note.
‘Keep the eraser out of cryo as long as the soldier.’
Steve frowns. There are mention of the ‘eraser’ through the entire
dossier and until now, he has supposed that it should be some kind of machine,
but a machine would never be kept under cryostasis. The ‘eraser’ must be some
kind of living being.
Steve updates Sam on the new piece of info he has just discovered.
“Wait a minute.” Sam hums on the other hand of the line.
Few seconds of silence follow. “I knew it! Meet me by my house in an hour.
We can have a lead.”
PHASE I: In the beginning, the INTJ is extremely wary of you, both as a person and as a potential partner. They will seem cold and aloof, even if they like you. It will feel a bit like trying to crack into a very complex bank vault - you really have to work for it. You may be drawn to them because you can sense that despite their outwardly cold appearance, you detect a subtle hint of sensitivity hidden beneath layers and layers of protective sarcasm, irony, and well-practiced apathy.
PHASE II: In the second phase, you have stuck around for long enough, and the INTJ likes you enough, to allow you into their inner circle. They’ll still be closed off, but they’ll be more relaxed around you, more open to divulging their thoughts and details about their private life, more willing to be the one who initiates social interaction with you. If you’re consistent enough in your behavior over time, and the INTJ develops romantic feelings for you, then towards the end of Phase 2, you will begin dating. This could take anywhere from a couple of months to a couple of years.
PHASE III: In Phase 3, you’re dating, but you haven’t been dating for long enough to convince the INTJ to let their guard down fully. You’re privy to information about the INTJ and their thoughts and feelings that nobody else is. They’re beginning to open up to you, and you get the feeling that you’re being entrusted with information that nobody else has been trusted with before. At the same time, you can sense that they’re still holding back a little bit, perhaps waiting to see what you do with all this information you’ve accrued about them, figure out whether or not they can trust you. Tossing out one piece of the puzzle at a time, just to see what you’re going to do with it.
PHASE IV: Eventually, you will get to Phase 4. This phase by itself could take anywhere from a few months to several years. Sometime during this phase, the INTJ will come to trust you completely. Instead of carefully and meticulously crafting every word that comes out of their mouth, they will treat your relationship like a nonstop stream-of-consciousness exercise, where they will freely open up and share all of their thoughts, dreams, ambitions, desires, and emotions with you. Being with you is just as rejuvenating as being alone (which is the highest compliment one could ever hope to be paid from an INTJ). And once you get to this point with an INTJ, you’re in for life. They will trust you completely, and they will go to the ends of the Earth for you. But you can’t force the timeline of this process - they have to come to it in their own time, because the reason that INTJs are so cautious is because once they’ve let you in, you have the power to damage them tremendously.
An INTJ may allow only a small handful of people to wield this amount of power over their emotions in their entire lives. Not many people will ever make it to Phase 4.
SSSSHHHHHCKKKK This is SquSHHHCKKKKKK-In pursuit of-SHKKKKKSHHHHH All units converge onSHHHHHHH-
Lena bought a police radio, which wasn’t as hard to get a hold of as she originally thought.
“What do you think?” she casually asked over her shoulder as she tweaked the knobs, searching for a channel to listen into while holding the old headphones that were probably used on a much larger head as she needed to keep a good grip on it to keep it from falling right off her ear.
Amelie had just silently slipped in through the window, gently closing it shut behind her. She was just about to admire the brand new window as it closed without a single squeak or struggle, (Not that this had stopped her before but that gesture was nice) but upon entering the dark apartment save for the small light by the kitchen counter, there was Lena, sitting with complete concentration on the bar stool with a radio on the table.
She couldn’t believe it.
It had only been a few days since they made official arrangements to be partners and Lena was all in.
She continued to work as a deadbeat waitress despite now receiving a cut of Amelie’s “profits” which was more than what she made in a month. She put it in her savings account in bits at a time to not raise any suspicion and made purchases in cash.
She stocked her fridge with drinks and snacks of Amelie’s choosing, leaving them out on the new table, in front of the new couch with new blankets and pillows. All of it would be at the ready when she returned from a successful haul, she could kick off her shoes and relax while the police scrambled to search the city for her. The situation couldn’t have landed in a more perfect place for her.
“Why does it feel like you’ve done this before cherie?” she laughed, playfully plucking the unfinished bottle of hard cider that sat beside the radio, taking a quick swig.
The Joker has never been around a pregnant
woman before. Actually… just once, during a robbery and the poor thing fainted
even if he didn’t do anything to her. You
thought J would be bored with the whole process, but all he says is that
he wants to see her NOW. Well, it
doesn’t really work that way and your boyfriend is not famous for his patience.
– At night, J likes to rest his head
on your legs, face turned towards your huge bump.
“When is she coming out? I wanna see
“Soon J, be patient.”
Joker and patience don’t go in the same sentence.
“But I wanna see her now, I’ve been
“It’s happening soon enough.”
“Hey, Doll, do you think she already
looks like me?”
“No, not yet.”
“Do you think she knows I’m her dad?”
“No, not yet J.”
“Do you think she has green hair?” he
snickers, walking his fingers on your tummy.
“No, baby, no toxic green locks.”
“Do you think she has bright red
“No, I dye mine; if anything, Emma
will have dark blonde hair, my natural color. Or maybe she’ll have your natural
color. Is it brown or…?”
“No, it’s a dark blonde too,” the Joker blurs out and after a few seconds he
gasps. “Did you just…did you just make me tell you another one of my secrets,
“Nooo, I didn’t make you do anything,”
you smirk, trying not to laugh, all innocent and sweet.
“You’re sneaky, Y/N, stop it!” he pinches
your thigh, aggravated you took advantage of him being smitten with the unborn
baby. “Oh my God!” J shouts when he notices the small hand moving right under your
skin. “There she is!” he excitedly touches her, sensing the shift. “This is so
cool- cooler than being chased by Batsy,” he admits, huffing. “Jerk!” The Joker
mutters, then pays attention to you again. “Does it hurt when she does that?”
(he asks this very often and the reply never changes).
“No, handsome, she’s just wiggling
around. Anxious to get out, I’m sure. Have you ever been around a pregnant
“Once, during a bank robbery. I
decided to do it in plain daylight and this lady was there. She fainted.”
“What did you do to her?” You try to reach him but can’t bend at all.
“Nothing, she just passed out when me
and my men took over the place. There she is again!” he grins and one of Emma’s
tiny feet stretches out pretty high this time. “Do you know what this reminds
“No, but please do share,” you sigh,
curious to hear about another crazy idea for sure.
“Aliens movie! You think she might
just burst out of there?” J pokes your bump, then caresses the skin to feel his
daughter once more.
You start giggling, amused:
“I think we’re good on that one. She’ll
come out the right way, no worries.”
“Oh, I forgot I got her something,”
The Joker suddenly realizes and jumps out of bed.
“More stuff?!” you tease since the
unborn has a room full of baby things.
“This is better than any of them,” J
fumbles inside the closet and finally brings over the shiny diamond tiara he
places on top of your tummy. “Here, a Princess should have one,” he excitedly brags
and goes back to his favorite spot on your legs.
“Where did you get it from?!”
“Gotham’s Bank vault,” he winks, proud of his achievement and scoots closer so
you can touch him since you look so pathetic when you keep on trying and fail.
“And I was thinking you bought it,
baby,” you wrap a strand of his hair around your chubbier than usual finger.
“I did, just forgot to pay,” he
mocks, making sure the sparkly crown stays in place.
And you both have a good laugh about
it - your boyfriend can be so funny
sometimes, even if he thinks he’s funny
all the time.
The Joker closes his blue eyes and
you brush your index finger against his long eyelashes.
“What is it, Pumpkin?” he yawns,
opening one eye.
“Could you please bring me a sliced
cucumber and chocolate syrup?”
“Yuck, I don’t know how you can eat
that disgusting combo,” he shivers, grossed out by your choices in food lately.
“I’m craving a bunch of weird snacks,
I can’t help it. Remember last month when all I wanted was apple sauce with
radishes and cinnamon powder?”
“Ewww, yes. I guess this is an
upgrade, Doll. Can’t you go in the kitchen and make your own plate? I’m tired.”
You point out towards your diamond
“I can’t move or this will fall.”
“Uggghhh, fine, I’ll be back,” J
agrees, dragging his feet on the carpet because he’s not in the mood for too
much except staring at your belly to see Emma move.
– He feels nauseated watching you
munch on your repulsive late dinner. J would love to fall asleep but the damn
cucumbers are so crunchy when you bite out of them.
“Are you done, Y/N? I wanna sleep.”
“Done, the last one!” you shove the
slice in your mouth and lean over him to place the bowl on the nightstand.
“Jesus, Princess, how much do you
weight??!!” J puffs under your heaviness, over exaggerating, of course.
You’re a delicate little flower that doesn’t need negative comments.
“Whatever!!!! This is your fault!”
you give him a sassy gaze, pinning him under you for a few more seconds this
way he learns his lesson.
He just can’t talk like that to delicate little flowers.
“ I didn’t do anything,” The Joker pulls
you in for a kiss, purring. “Just had some fun with my girl, the rest… you’re responsible
for!” he taunts, delighted you can’t do too much but squirm on top of him.
“You’re so…so…so,” you stutter, outraged,
not being able to find the word.
“What is this?!” he puckers his lips,
intrigued when he feels it.
You try to look down in between the
two of you without success.
“I think my water broke!”
– “Pumpkin, are you gonna die?” he
growls, checking you out worried sick; he’s been asking this every 5 minutes in the last six hours.
“For God’s sake,
I’m not dying !! I’m
giving birth!”, you shriek through your clenched teeth, breathing in and out in
“Are you sure?” J triple checks
“Yes, I’m sure,” and you squeeze his
hand so hard you hear a few bones crack.
“Auuuchhh, don’t break my hand!” he
whines, taking a step back.
“Take your rings off!” you urge him,
panting. “It makes it worse.”
He hurries and does it, dumping them
in a cup on the table.
“Give me your hand!” you shout,
feeling the strong contractions hit your body with paralyzing strength.
“Ummm, don’t break it, OK?” he hesitantly
gives it back, hoping for the best.
a delicate little flower as yourself can have so much
“Where’s my daughter?” The Joker
stretches his free arm to lift the sheet covering you from the waist down and
regrets it in the next moment. He’s seen
a lot of messed up shit in his life but this takes the cake.
“Pretty soon, Mister J,” the doctor
replies, wishing the Clown Prince of Crime would just behave and wait.
“ Kitten,” J gulps, even more tense. “Are
you sure you’re not dying?”
“I’m sure, stop asking!” you groan,
resting your head on the pillow. “This is your fault!” you blame J again,
annoyed and in so much pain you are seeing red spots.
Your boyfriend completely ignores
your outburst, tilting over to peck your forehead.
“Hurry up, Princess, I need to see
“So sorry about the inconvenience!!!”
you scream, muttering something else under your labored breathing. It wasn’t a
“Yuck, Doll, you’re all sweaty!” he
complains, wiping his lips.
Huh??! ! Delicate little flowers don’t get sweaty!!!!
“J, you’re not helping!” you state
the obvious and push again, exhausted and anxious in the same time. You
crush his fingers so hard J thinks his arm fell off. He wants to object but the
doctor finally articulates the words he’s been craving to hear for so long:
“Alright, here she is!” and the
crying starts after a few seconds.
– First time The Joker held Emma, he
forgot to breathe.
“She looks like a little doll,” he
whispers, mesmerized on how cute she is. “How long do you think it will take
before she resembles us?”
“A while,” you take a deep breath and
blink slowly, so jaded you can hardly speak.
The little one fusses and
he almost panics, not knowing what to do but she calms down when he gently
“I think…I think she smiled at me!” J
exclaims. You doubt it, but can’t spoil his joy:
Delicate little flowers don’t do such things to a man they love.
“That’s because she knows you’re her
dad,” you utter, making it even better for the new father.
“Really?” he kisses her cheek with an
almost childish curiosity. ”You think so Y/N?”
“Yeah, now that you have her in your
arms, she knows,” you rub your face, fighting to stay awake.
The Joker feels so many emotions at
once and has no clue how to handle any of them. He’s not the one to analyze himself
but damn, it’s just so overwhelming his chest hurts. Can’t be a heart attack,
he’s too young.
He paces alongside your bed, careful
not to wake the newborn.
“Hey, Pumpkin, when can we have sex
again?” he bites his lip, eager to go back to fun stuff.
“It’s gonna be a while, baby. Not too
much, ok?” you quickly add when notice how disappointed he is. “ I just basically squeezed
a watermelon through a prune so give me some credit. Be patient, please.”
Joker and patience don’t go in the same sentence.
“Just hurry up and get better, I have
needs!” he sulks but winks when he realizes you don’t look too excited at his
Ahhh, such a charmer.
But you can’t rush this process on delicate little flowers.
Let me show you what is being hidden, Ms Grey. I have here a list of names of identified mutants… living right here in the United States. Senator Kelly– Now here’s a girl in Illinois who can walk through walls. Now, what’s to stop her from walking into a bank vault or into the White House or into their houses? Senator Kelly– And there are even rumours, Ms Grey, of mutants so powerful that they can enter our minds and control our thoughts, taking away our God-given free will. I think the American people deserve the right to decide whether they want their children to be in school with mutants, to be taught by mutants. Ladies and gentlemen, the truth is that mutants are very real, and they are among us. We must know who they are and above all, we most know what they can do.