Questionable Thoughts

20 years old

goes by any and all pronouns the public feels like using

Multi-fandom

SFW Blog

And yeah that is all hi hello and farewell

Masterlist So Far:

Honkai Star Rail

DC

He would be consumed by the guilt and think that he was the one who caused thier death, if he wasn’t with them, if he wasn’t selfish and wanted to be loved by them, they would still be alive.

Maybe in some extreme scenario he would revive them, but he can’t bear to be with them after, and they’d be left to deal with the Pit’s madness, maybe they’d forget about they’re death because it was fast and unexpected, so all they know is that Jason dumped them and suddenly they’ve started feeling more cynical and tense, having thought and tendencies they never had before.

And god, just imagine after doing all this how poor Jason would feel…

Oh my god I love the way you think.

Try as he might to protect them, Jason has more enemies than allies in his life. He surrounds himself with death and destruction, so who would be shocked that eventually he would infect the Reader with it too?

Imagine if it wasn't even some large villain like the Joker who got to them, instead just some goon of a gang that happened to have it out for the infamous Red Hood. A nobody that Reader happened to run into in a dark alley of Gotham. Simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.

It would be utterly laughable. The partner of the legendary Red Hood, taken down by an easily forgettable foe.

"If he wasn't with them, if he wasn't selfish and wanted to be loved by them, they would still be alive" that LINE IS CHEF'S KISS.

Just once, just for once in his life Jason wanted to have something sweet. Something warm, caring, untouched by the darkness of the world. To come back home late at night not to the cold, empty loneliness of his grungy apartment, but to the Reader's light that they brought to his life. How utterly naive and selfish of him.

The idea was rash and unthinkable. If it was selfish of him to love Reader, then it would be even more selfish of him to want to rip them out of Death's tight grasp to continue loving them even more. It was in a moment of utter desperation that he decided to use the Pit. In a crazed state of mind, not caring what his family may have to say if they ever found out.

Yet, as he delicately dipped the Reader's body into the poisonous pool of green, reality would hit him. The weight of his actions would tug at his consciousness. The realization that he was about to inflict the very pain he had nightmares about on his love would hit him like a truck. It was too late to turn back, though. Too late to turn back time and be forced to listen to their pained screams as their soul returned to the living. So, what would he do instead of living with the embodiment of his sin? He would run.

And the Reader? The poor, poor Reader, scared and alone as they took in their first breath of air since death. Choking, throat burning, their own body feeling unfamiliar to themself. Their first thought would be of Jason, for their last memory was that of fear and despair. Why? They couldn't seem to remember, the Lazarus Pit removing any and all memory of their death like you said. Yet, Jason would be nowhere to be found, and they would be stuck in an unfamiliar place. Miles upon miles away from where they called home.

Now how they get back home is up to interpretation. Maybe Talia, who allowed Jason to use the Pit in the first place, realized what happened and took pity on the partner of the sibling her dear son was so fond of. Or maybe the Reader somehow managed to find their way back to Gotham all on their own. Either way, there is one similarity to these two scenarios.

Jason is nowhere to be found.

No longer did he return home. No longer did he answer his phone, in fact he had their number completely blocked. Even interrogating the Bat family would prove to be useless, their lips sealed with grim pity in their eyes. It sickened them.

Then the Pit madness...

It starts small at first. Assuming the Reader wasn't a very violent person before their death, they would be shocked at the thoughts that would pop into their head. Simple inconveniences, such as a stranger shoulder bumping into them on the street, would brew irritation and anger like nothing they've ever felt. Conversations that felt meaningless would be cut off with swiftness they never had the courage to muster up before. Then, as the day's passed, urges would be felt. The need to hurt. The urge to punch, slap, throttle, anything. Anything to release the newfound instinct to harm. It terrified them.

And Jason? Jason would live with the guilt knowing that they were out there somewhere, scared and alone, dealing with it all alone. Just as he did. Living with the guilt knowing that he just inflicted the greatest punishment there was on his lover.

Every night he remembered the burning pain in his lungs, his chest, his very soul. The way he was stolen from death’s hands and shoved back into his broken body to be used and abused once more.

And you, his love. His fragile, sweet love who lay dead in his arms. It wouldn’t feel right to rip you away from your newfound peace like he was. To inflict the same suffering that he would only wish upon his worst enemies.

Long, black hair similar to that of silk lay tangled and matted upon tiny shoulders. The braid woven into it did nothing to protect it from the onslaught of rain and mud buried deep into it, instead making it worse with a huge knot at the base of her head. You didn’t even want to imagine the work it would take to scavenge it all.

“We got a little too enthusiastic outside,” Iroh chuckled, but even he could not hide the nerves in his voice as he too looked upon the state of your daughter's hair. He was in no better state than she was, clothes dripping on the palace floor and mud footprints trailing behind him. He, however, had the luxury of lacking any hair that could have suffered from the outdoor activity he and Izumi insisted on.

Jumping in mud puddles amongst the rain. You cursed yourself for begrudgingly allowing them to do so.

“I can see that,” you hissed, though the older man took no offense to it. Not with the years he spent with his nephew, your husband, in his teenage youth. “What I mean is the obvious tornado in my daughter’s hair!”

“Don’t be mad!” Izumi pleaded, trudging in her robes that now weigh down on her heavily. You rushed over to peel off the outer layer, leaving her in her underclothes, to prevent any further accidents. Like her tripping over her now heavy clothes. “We had so much fun!”

“Yes!” Iroh repeated, smile not budging at the glare you threw at him. “That we did, little Izumi. Tell them about that large puddle you found.”

“Oh yeah! It was,” she expanded her arms out as wide as she could, ignoring your fussing as you evaluated how on earth you were ever going to fix her hair, “thiiiiiiis big! I almost slipped at first, but I made the biggest splash ever in it!”

“I can see that…” you nervously chuckled. “Sweetheart, what about your hair?”

“What about it?” She innocently blinked.

She would soon realize just what you meant.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Izumi shrieked, pulling forward and placing a hand over the spot of hair you pulled on. “You’re doing it too hard!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” you said between clenched teeth, grimacing as you looked at the comb you were using to attempt to pick apart the huge knots in her hair. There was dozens of accidentally ripped hairs, and your heart broke at the pain you knew you were causing your daughter.

“I truly am sorry,” Iroh apologized for the hundredth time. “I didn’t realize that her hair would suffer such,” he lifted the half of the hair he was helping out with, “travesty in this weather. I never had to worry about this with my son or my nephew.”

“It’s fine,” you sighed. “I know you meant no harm by it. I’m just worried we might have to cut it at this rate.”

Izumi let out a loud gasp, wretching away from you both as if you burned her. “No, no, no!” She shrieked, protectively covering her hair while she was at it. “I don’t want it cut! No cut!”

“I know you don’t, baby, but we might have to. I don’t want to spend hours pulling on your hair if it’s only going to hurt you.”

“But…” Your daughter sniffled, and she allowed you to coo and reach over to wrap her in your arms. “But I like my hair…”

“It’ll grow back,” you attempted to reassure, but the tearful look in her eyes made even you feel doubtful about the idea. “It’ll be nice and long again in no time!”

“Your father once cut his hair, you know,” Iroh piped in, catching the younger one’s attention. “For him, it meant a new beginning. A new path in his journey for honor.”

“New beginning?” Izumi repeated back.

Iroh nodded. “Yes, and it could mean the same for you. Plus, I think you’ll look cuter than he did.”

That got a giggle out of her, finally, and you sent a grateful smile over her head to the older man. He gave a playful wink in return.

“So, what do you think? Can I cut your hair? I think you’ll like that a whole better than us tugging on your head again.” You gently ran a hand up and down your daughter’s back as she thought about your suggestion.

“I guess…” she pouted.

And pout she did as you got up, grabbed the scissors, and proceeded to chop to her shoulders.

. . .

“What happened?” Zuko gasped, gazing at the disaster sitting in the middle of your’s and his room.

Your daughter sat in your lap, teary eyed, surrounded by remnants of her once luscious hair, while Iroh attempted to cheer her up with all the cheesy jokes in the world.

“We had to…” you winced, allowing Izumi to scramble up from your lap and run to her father’s open arms.

“Papa!” She cried, sobbing once more as Zuko brought her to his chest. Ever her father’s little girl. “My hair was a big mess and they tried to fix it but it hurt so they had to cut it but I didn’t want to cut it but it was gonna hurt again,” she took a deep breath to finish her ramble. “And now it's short!”

“I see…” Zuko consoled, looking to you and his uncle for confirmation. At your nod’s his face softened, although he still appeared slightly awkward at all the sobbing Izumi was doing. Ever the socially stunted man he was. “I think you look very pretty, though.”

Izumi sniffled. “Really?”

“Really,” Zuko nodded, waddling over to your spot on the floor and plopping down next to you. “The prettiest. In fact, I think it looks a lot cooler than mine.”

She gasped, touching the ends of her hair. “Really!” She repeated yet again, this time with a squeal. Her face turned red at the compliments from her father, but then she gasped for what felt like the hundredth time and pointed at Zuko. “You should cut your hair too! Then we can match!”

The speed at which your husband’s face was laughable. “Oh, I don’t think-”

“Yeah, why don’t you?” You giggled, waving around the scissors you still held. “I think you two would look adorable with matching hair.”

Amber eyes whipped over to Iroh, pleading with him, but alas the older man simply laughed. “The young lady,” he waved over to Izumi, “has spoken. I think it’s in your best interest to listen.”

“It’s just hair, it’ll grow back!” She repeated your earlier words, seeming more confident in herself knowing her father would look just like her soon enough.

For love?

(Baby, join me

In death…)”

Warnings: Heavy angst, character death, just lots of death talk in general

A particularly bad attack on Earth leads to hundreds of casualties around the world. Many lives are lost…including that of beloved superheroes and their loves.

Bruce Wayne

He dies with you in his arms.

No one ever expected Batman, the Dark Knight renowned for escaping death, to ever take his last breath. It was impossible. Improbable. The Angel of Death themself struggled to collect.

And yet, the time came.

No one was worried at first. Batman, Bruce Wayne, always prevailed. He always had a plan A through Z, and a second set if those ones somehow failed. Nothing could surprise him whether it be ghosts, aliens, even Dracula himself. It was almost as if the universe itself bent at his whims.

It was Clark who found you and him.

He didn’t register it at first, didn’t even think about it. There were mass casualties from the devastating catastrophe. Many had not survived, a fact that he was personally forced to face as he listened to each and every civilian heartbeat cease to beat. It wasn’t until they began the city cleanup that he realized he failed to hear that of a familiar one.

He didn’t want to believe it at first. There was no way the man closest to him, the man whose intellect rivaled that of even the smartest villains, was just…gone. So, he went searching.

Lord I’m Two…

Lord I’m Three…Lord I’m Four…

Lord I’m Five Hundred Miles From My Home…”

In your restless dream, you see your mighty village. The Northern Water Tribe. A nation built upon frigid ice and snow, yet carried the warmth of union and community.

Late at night you delude yourself into thinking that the hot wave of heat that the Fire Nation brought was really the icy wind of the North. Where the constant sweat and heat stroke was actually the familiar threat of frost bite. A place where you could eat all the seal jerky you craved, instead of having to settle for burning your tongue off with chili covered komodo chicken.

A land where you could freely love and express your culture with those who loved and understood it just as much. Yet here you were, seemingly five hundred miles from your home. In a nation where yours might as well have been a stain on the prideful grounds of the fire country.

The people didn’t say it to your face, but you always had a keen sense for others. You could hear the mutterings under the breath of servants. The scornful looks the ambassadors gave you when you sat in meetings with Zuko, the way they eyed you with distrust. As if you were a spy sent by the Northern Water Tribe to infiltrate the newfound patriarchy of the Fire Nation. 

That one was one of your favorite rumors there were.

Your husband had tried soothing your worries, tried reassuring you that it was because fear still lingered within people from the old ways. But, you couldn’t help but be spiteful of the fact if it were true. Why did you have to bear the scorn of people unwilling to change their hateful ways?

And as you stood in the balcony of the palace, gazing down into the distance where you saw the bright red flames celebrating the upcoming new year of the mortal world, you wished for nothing more than to be home.

“I’m so sorry,” Zuko had sighed, regret shining in his eyes that you oh so loved. Yet, at that moment, they scorned your person like the embers they resembled. “We won’t be able to travel up North this year.”

“But…” you pathetically stuttered, feeling your heart sink into your gut. It had been a particularly hard month, the holidays bringing forth a newfound wave of disgust from the fire citizens rather than the hearty cheer and love you would have known back home. The one thing pushing you to get through it was Zuko’s promise that you would celebrate in your home land this year. “...but why? You promised me we would.”

The sound of your voice cracking practically punched the air out of the Fire Lord’s lungs. “I know, I know my love but…the Chamberlain said-”

“Oh, so we’re listening to the Chamberlain for once now?” You accidentally snapped. “What? Any other day you would brush off whatever nonsense he has to say but now he suddenly speaks the truth?”

“The Chamberlain,” Zuko raised his voice, fighting over yours, “has mentioned that tensions are rising within the dozen towns still loyal to my father. If we were to prioritize celebrating with the Water Tribe their distrust will only boil over!”

“So you agree with them, then? That there’s an ‘us and them’?”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you don’t see it,” you yelled, waving an arm out, as if waving to the nation as a whole. “This place, it’s people, they see me as an anomaly. As a threat! They don’t see me as a person like they are, and here you are about to prove their point!”

Irritation flashed upon Zuko’s face. “I didn’t say that! You’re putting words into my mouth!”

“But it’s the truth!”

“No it’s not,” Zuko finally yelled. “You’re being ridiculous! This is why they all hate you!”

That silenced you. The fact that your own husband, your other half, your only anchor in a foreign country that spited you, had thrown such a statement in your face. It proved the irrational fears that you didn’t dare say, the ones that lay deep down within your soul, correct. That maybe the illogical thoughts of the people would eventually get to him. That eventually, he would see that they were right to hate you.

The hurt must have shown on your face, for Zuko’s face dropped and suddenly he was at a loss for words. “W-wait…wait, I didn’t mean it like that-”

You hadn’t the heart to listen to his excuses, though, and turned around without a word and left.

That was two days ago, and since then neither of you had shared a word with one another. You slept in one of the many guest rooms the palace held, and kept your eyes down on the rare occasion you walked past each other. Zuko never attempted to initiate any conversation when you did anyways.

You didn’t expect him to try today either. New Year's Day. A large celebration was to be held in the ballroom of the palace, but you couldn’t stomach the thought of attending. Not today. Not when you would only continue to prove that out of the hundreds in attendance, you were the only odd one out.

So, it came as a shock when you heard footsteps coming up behind you. You nearly jumped in surprise when a body came up next to you, but then you recognized the scent of smoky wood. It was unfortunately comforting, creating a relaxing reaction within every inch of your body. Spirits, you hated him for it.

For a few minutes you stood in silence, neither of you able to find the words you needed to say to one another. In the distance, you could hear muffled shouts and cheering from the festivities, and suddenly you remembered just what Zuko was missing.

“Don’t you have a celebration to attend?” you muttered, looking down at your hands clenching the banister.

“You weren’t there,” he said back, staring ahead. At what, you had no clue, but if it helped him to think so be it.

“Didn’t think I was wanted. You know, with how much your people hate me and all that.”

Zuko let out a heavy sigh, finally turning his head to look at you. “I didn’t mean that and I shouldn’t have said that. It was wrong, and it was hurtful, and I never mean to hurt you.”

“It was,” you nodded.

“And I didn’t just hurt you, but I also broke a promise by unfair means.”

“You did.”

“What I mean to say,” he took a deep breath, “is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I behaved, I’m sorry for what I said, and I’m sorry for breaking my promise again. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

It was your turn to sigh, looking up from your hands and into his eyes. “You hurt me. You really did hurt me…but, it’s not your fault. You’re the Fire Lord, it’s your duty to look out for your people and if being with me-”

“Don’t,” he rushed to interrupt, stepping forward and grabbing your arms. Despite his alarm, his grip was gentle. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. I love my nation and its people, but I will never love it more than I love you. Never. In no life, this or the next, will ever choose it over you. You will always be my number one, my light, my fire, my very soul. You hear me?”

“Oh Zuko…” you breathed, blinking back tears at the confession. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” he said, pulling you into a hug and tucking your head into his neck. “I’m sorry I allowed any doubts to fester in your mind. It’s my job as your husband to quiet those, and I now know I need to do a better job at it. Which brings me to step one of that.” He pulled away but only slightly, body still desiring to be near yours. “Would you like to join me in the ballroom?”

Your face dropped in a frown once more. “Zuko, I don’t know…”

“Trust me,” he said, bringing up a hand to your face and gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Please.”

How could you ever say no to a face like that.

. . .

It was the scent that knocked you back first. For months you’ve had to adjust to numerous spices used in every dish. The chili pepper gave you insane allergies and burned uncomfortably in the back of your throat. Yet, as you entered the large room…

“Is that arctic hen I smell?” You nearly shouted, whipping your head around to look at your husband in awe. All you got back was a smug smile in return, and with a roll of your eyes you evaluated the large banquet before you.

Instead of the dishes you’ve acquainted yourself with in the past year you see all of the very ones from your homeland. Seal jerky, seaweed, giant sea crab, and so much more. And there, at one half of the table, were the familiar blue colors of your people.

“What…what is this?” you breathed, mouth agape at the sight.

For a moment Zuko looked sorrowful, before he shook it out of his head. “I meant it when I said we couldn’t go to the North this year. Not just for…” he grimaced, “what I said earlier, but because we just have too many things on our plate to make the trip. So, I thought to bring the North here instead.”

For a second you couldn’t find any words to respond with, shock overtaking your entire being at all the sights, smells, and your mouth watering at the potential taste of it all. At your silence, Zuko seemed to get a bit uncomfortable. “Do…do you like it?”

“Like it? I absolutely love it!” You cheered, throwing your arms around him and bringing him into an embrace. “Thank you so much!”

He chuckled. “Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t tried the food yet. I don’t know if the chefs made it all exactly up to par.”

Ever since the tragic passing of Thomas and Martha Wayne the manor garden had become nothing but a ghost of the past.

What was once the pride and joy for Bruce’s mother was now over-run with weeds, vines, and deceased plants. With the death of the Waynes came the death of some of their legacy, one being the garden you stare upon.

Rustic statues that were once a spectacle to behold looked as if they would crumble with a mere flick. Cobble pathways were cracked and was more dirt than once polished stone. And the great fountain in the center of it all was now covered in dust, leaves, and filled with what looked almost like sewage water from the constant rain in Gotham.

You certainly had your work cut out for you.

https://www.tumblr.com/imnasamu/817430029067763712/summer-dream-phainon-x-reader-summary-in-which?source=share

Have it

THANK YOU???

You couldn’t bring yourself to mutter anything back, the pressure in your head basically incapacitating you. It started off small. An annoyance but not enough to prevent you from doing the household work you promised yourself you would get to. Phainon was at work and the house was a mess from the procrastination of you both. However, as the day progressed, the ache in your head grew worse and worse until you decided to settle for a small nap. 

What a joke.

The thirty minutes you promised yourself turned into an hour, and then another, until you woke up hot, sweaty, mouth dry, and head absolutely pounding. Time was an illusion, reality was abstract, your mind in a haze.

And that’s how Phainon came back to you.

“Shh,” he comforted when you let out a pained whine, a sharp ache striking you right between the eyes. If you had the strength to look at him you would see his face crumpled in such agony that you would think he was the one suffering. And in a way he was. Seeing you writhe at the torture your own body subjected you to while he could do nothing but comfort you brought him more pain than anything else could.