#and I think about who might want to get up and talk about me and what I want them to be able to say

[markrosewater]

I want to speak out against the whole push towards DEI. I feel that ever since you made the push to make identity the forefront of a character it has hurt the stories you tell. Captain Sisay's race was never the focus of her character and she was a complete badass! And I fear if you did it over again Gerrard would be trans, black and disabled just because. It also cheapens the stories of world devastation when characters worry more about their gender than Bolas destroying everything.

The reason I started this blog is so we can have frank conversations about things, so please let’s talk about this.

Imagine if every time you turned on the TV or watched a movie, no one looked like you. For some of us, that’s never happened. We see ourselves constantly, so it’s hard to truly understand what not seeing yourself represented in media is like.

I do have a personal window to this experience. While I am white and male, there’s an area where I am the minority - my religion. Jews are just under two and a half percent of the US population. I have had many experiences where I’ve been in situations where everything is geared towards a group I do not belong to, and zero consideration is given that not everyone at that event is part of the majority.

You just feel invisible and like an outsider. It’s not a great feeling. And I just experience it a tiny portion of time, only things that are geared specifically towards something religious. Most minorities have this feeling all the time, whenever they’re outside their personal community.

Now imagine, after years of not seeing yourself ever, you finally see someone that looks like you, but nothing about the character rings remotely true. They don’t sound like you, they don’t act like you, the facts about their day-to-day life are just wrong. It’s clear whoever wrote the character didn’t truly understand the lived experience of the character, so the character feels fake.

You bring up Sisay. Michael Ryan and I didn’t technically create Sisay (she played a small role in the Mirage story), but we did do a lot to flesh out her character as the creators of the Weatherlight Saga. We turned her from a minor character into a major one.

And while I’m proud, in general, of our work on the Weatherlight Saga, I don’t think we did justice to Sisay as a character. Neither Michael nor I have any knowledge of what it’s like to be a black woman. Nor did we ever talk to someone who did.

And if you’re someone like us that has no knowledge of that experience, you probably didn’t notice. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.

Imagine if we made a movie about your life, and we just made everything up. We invented people you never knew, we gave you a job you never had, and we had you say things you’d never say. The movie might even be a good movie, but your response would be, but that’s not my life - that’s not me.

Now imagine we put the movie out, and people that never met you assumed that was what you were like. When people met you for the first time, they assumed things, because, you know, they’d seen the movie.

That’s what misrepresenting people does. It not only makes them feel not seen, it falsely represents them, spreading lies, often stereotypes, making people believe things about them that aren’t true.

Our move towards diversity is just us trying to better reflect the world and the people in it. We’re trying to do to everyone else what a certain portion of people get every day without ever having to think about it.

But why are we “making it the forefront of their character”? We’re not. We’re making it a part of their character. But in a world where you’re not used to ever seeing it, it feels louder than it is. Things that are a natural part of the world that you’re used to feel like the background of the story because you understand the context to it.

If a man kisses his wife before going off to a battle, that’s not a big deal. It’s just a thing a husband might do to his wife when he leaves. It’s not the forefront of his character. It’s just part of his life. But you’ve seen it hundreds of times, so it feels normal.

When someone does something that isn’t your lived experience it pulls focus. It seems like a big deal, but only because it’s new to you. It’s just as mundane a thing to that character as the man kissing his wife is to him.

Even the turn “pushing” implies that it’s unnaturally here, that we’re forcing something that naturally shouldn’t be. But why? That thing exists naturally in the real world, and it doesn’t make the real world any less. Maybe you’re less aware of it, but is making you aware of how others live their life “pushing” something on you?

How you live your life is represented constantly, everywhere. Why isn’t over-representing your experience at the expense of everyone else’s “pushing” it? Why is media only being the experience of those in power the “proper way”?

Having more depth and variety doesn’t lessen stories. It makes them deeper, more rich, more nuanced. In short, it makes them better stories. In my former life, I was a professional writer. I took a lot of writing classes. One of the truism of writing is “speaking truth leads to better stories”.

There’s another famous quote: “When you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression.” You’re used to being over-represented, so being a little less over-represented feels like something has been taken from you. But really it hasn’t. Having a better sense of the rest of the world comes with a lot of benefits.

I’ll use food as an example. Let’s say all you were ever exposed to was the food of your heritage. Yeah, that food is really good, but sometimes isn’t it nice to eat foods of other nationalities? Isn’t your life better that you have a choice? Isn’t your exposure and access to the food of other nationalities a positive in your life?

Exposure to variety is a positive. It allows you to learn about things you didn’t know, experience things things you’ve never experienced, and get a better sense of understanding of your friends and neighbors.

Our actions are not to harm anyone, and if you think that’s what we’re doing, please take a minute to actually absorb what I’m saying. You’ve spent your whole life metaphorically eating one type of food, and we’re just trying to show you how much you’ve missed out on.

And while this might not impact you directly, we’re making a whole bunch of people felt seen. We’re bringing joy. Think of it this way. We make a lot of cards. Not every card is for you. But if it makes someone else happy, if they get to include it in a deck, and it makes Magic better for them, how is it harming you that we include it? You have so many cards that you can play.

To this poster or people that share their viewpoint, the narrative that a gain for someone else is an attack on you is just not true. As I just pointed out above, you play a game all about personal choice, about players getting to choose how they play and enjoy the game. Why should life be any different than Magic?

Thanks for reading.

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

i know nanami’s only 27, but i can’t help but think that he’s probably got a lot of “old man” traits that he’s acquired one way or another. maybe life made him that way, maybe he chose to act like he is in his 40s and not late 20s, but either way, having him around would be a very interesting experience to say the least because i’m pretty sure he…

he complains like a seasoned retiree. he’s got that heavy sigh, rubs his temple routine down to an art. the kind of man who mutters, “i’m too old for this,” when he’s only been awake for ten minutes. if you suggest staying out late, he just looks at you like you suggested committing a crime.

he has a very specific way of doing things. nanami doesn’t just go grocery shopping—he has a route. he knows which brands he likes, which cashier is the fastest, and he refuses to go on weekends because “that’s when the amateurs show up.” he folds his laundry a certain way, and god help you if you disrupt his system.

his idea of “treating himself” is so dad-coded. nanami doesn’t do impulse buys—when he does spend money on himself, it’s always something practical. “i finally got those orthopedic insoles” or “this is a quality briefcase; it’ll last a lifetime.” and he probably has one (1) expensive pen that he never lets anyone borrow.

he dresses like he’s ready to scold someone for stepping on his lawn. pressed slacks, polished shoes, dress shirts with the sleeves neatly rolled up. casual wear? good luck catching him in it. even his loungewear is suspiciously put-together—like, who wears an actual button-up pajama set in 2025? nanami kento, that’s who.

he drives like a dad. he never speeds, always uses his turn signal, and complains about “reckless drivers” while driving exactly the speed limit. the kind of man who refuses to start the car until everyone has their seatbelt on.

oh, and dating nanami as someone younger than him would be an experience. he already acts like he’s in his 40s, so the age gap (however small) feels so much bigger because he refuses to let loose. but deep down, he wants to—he just doesn’t know how. so to be in a relationship with him is to get used to stuff like this;

he sighs like he’s raising a teenager. if you stay up too late? heavy sigh. if you forget to bring a jacket? exasperated sigh while taking off his coat to drape over your shoulders. if you tell him about a reckless decision you made? pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs like you just told him you totaled his car. but beneath all that dramatic suffering, there’s genuine care. you might get an “honestly, do you have no sense of self-preservation?” but it’s followed by him adjusting your scarf, making sure your shoelaces are tied, and keeping a steady hand on your back when crossing the street.

he pretends to be annoyed by your energy, but secretly loves it. he acts like your enthusiasm exhausts him, but if you ever stopped being excited around him? he’d miss it desperately. when you drag him to try something new, he’ll complain the whole time (“this is a waste of money”), but afterward, he’ll admit—very quietly—that it wasn’t that bad. he likes how you remind him to enjoy life in ways he never lets himself. he’ll never jump in recklessly, but if you say, “just trust me,” he’ll hesitate… then sigh… then go along with whatever nonsense you’re up to, even if he acts like he’s suffering the entire time.

he acts like a responsible adult, but enables your habits in secret. “you shouldn’t be drinking so much caffeine.” and yet, the next morning, there’s an extra coffee waiting for you. “wasting money on little things adds up.” but somehow, that limited-edition item you wanted just magically appears on your desk. he talks a big game about being responsible, but when it comes to you? he has no self-control.

he takes care of you like an old-fashioned gentleman. he opens doors, walks on the outer side of the sidewalk, and insists on carrying heavy things for you. not because he thinks you can’t—just because he wants to. he likes taking care of you, even if he pretends it’s just out of obligation. if you try to carry something heavy, he just looks at you. doesn’t even say anything. just crosses his arms and waits for you to give up and hand it to him. if you call him a gentleman, he’ll scoff, “that’s just basic decency.” but if you really gush about it, you might catch the tips of his ears turning pink.

he thinks trendy slang is ridiculous. you use modern slang just to see his reaction, and it never fails to make him sigh like he just aged ten years on the spot.

“nanami, be so for real.”

“…so for real what?”

“you should just trust the process.”

“i’d rather not.”

if you ever jokingly call him “king” or “bestie” he’ll give you the look. he pretends he doesn’t care, but if you say something really out of pocket, you might actually get him to break character and let out a very exhausted, “what does that even mean?” (you’re keeping track of all the slang that makes him react the most so you can use it strategically. it’s your favorite game.)

he secretly likes when you cling to him. nanami acts like he’s too mature for overly affectionate behavior, but the first time you loop your arm through his or rest your head against his shoulder in public, he freezes. clears his throat. tries to pretend he doesn’t care—but his hand naturally comes to rest over yours, holding you there like it’s second nature. if you ever hug him from behind or whine “but i missed you,” he won’t admit how fast his heart is beating, but he will sigh and say, “i was gone for twenty minutes.” doesn’t matter. he still lets you cling to him as long as you want.

he plans the most responsible dates, but lets you drag him into chaos. nanami’s idea of a date? a nice dinner, a quiet café, maybe a bookstore. nothing loud, nothing unpredictable. your idea of a date? “let’s go to an arcade.” “let’s take a random train and see where we end up.” “let’s sneak into a rooftop at night.” he knows he should say no. but when you look at him like that? sigh. fine. but if you get into trouble, “i had no part in this.” (he’s definitely bailing you out of trouble five minutes later.)

he absolutely dads you when you get hurt. if you get a tiny scrape? nanami reacts like an overprotective father. “what happened?” “let me see.” “you need to be more careful.” and you’re like, “it’s a paper cut.” but he’s already pulling out a bandaid (which he definitely carries with him, because of course he does). if you ever get seriously hurt? he’s scolding you while carefully patching you up. “you’re too reckless.” “next time, call me.” but his hands are so gentle, and he won’t leave your side until he’s sure you’re okay.

he adores when you fall asleep on him. you knock out on his shoulder? he won’t move. his arm is numb, but he doesn’t dare wake you. if you fall asleep on his lap? his hand naturally comes up to run through your hair. if you curl up in bed and mumble “stay with me,” he’ll sigh, say something about how he has work in the morning… and then stay anyway. and if you ever catch him staring when you wake up? he’ll immediately look away. “you were drooling,” he lies. (he was watching you like you hung the stars.)

he acts like he’s too old for all this, but deep down? nanami loves you more than anything. and if loving you takes years off his life? so be it.

[niwaart]

FAMILY WITHOUT LIGHT

[#part1 #part2 #part3]

Dick panicked, he gripped his phone tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.

《This number is unreachable, please try again later.》

Dick let out a scream of anger and impatience, he had been trying to call Y/N for over 5 hours, just to get an answer. Why did she leave the house?… All this happened when he was in his Nightwing costume doing a normal nighttime mission after tying up criminals, a newspaper with Bruce’s picture caught his attention, Dick wondered what new drama the journalists were talking about this time, as soon as he grabbed the newspaper he felt like the air was being sucked out of him. It took him over a minute to process what was being said…

##Bruce Wayne and Y/N Wayne divorced after more than 15 years.##

No... that's a lie, just another rumor, it can't be true, maybe Bruce doesn't care about Y/N but Y/N wouldn't leave the house... after all he saw her love for Damian and Tim, and how she cared for them... so this is just a rumor... right?....

Dick took the newspaper with him and quickly ran to his apartment... He needed to make sure.. He had to get to his apartment to call Y/N.. She would tell him the truth, reassure him, tell him that everything was okay.... As soon as he got to his apartment window, he opened it and entered after entering the access code. His dog Haley approached him, he gave her a few pats before he reached his phone and called Y/N... But she didn't answer his calls.... He tried and tried and tried... But no answer... Could it be true?... Did Y/N leave the house?... Why?....

He was going to call Bruce but he was mad at him for not stopping Y/N from leaving and that he might be the reason Y/N left. So he decided to call Alfred who immediately answered, "Mr. Dick, how may I help you?" "Hello Alfred... Sorry to bother you now... The thing is... I..." Dick hesitated... He was afraid to hear the answer...

“I just called Y/N and she didn’t answer… so I was wondering if everything was okay…” Dick answered, praying with all his might that there was an excuse other than the divorce… “Oh… Mr. Dick… I don’t know how to tell you this… but… Y/N and Bruce have been divorced for three months now…” Alfred’s answer was like a knife slicing into his chest… well maybe deep down he knew the divorce was real… but… three months ago?… and no one told him?… “How… why?… why the divorce, and why didn’t anyone tell me?” Dick’s voice was muffled, he tried not to cry, he tried to control himself a little… “I’m sorry Mr. Dick… it was such a shock to everyone that I forgot to tell you… as for the divorce, Y/N chose that herself… unfortunately…” Alfred’s voice was filled with pain, making it even harder for Dick to hold back his tears… Y/N had left them… she had left them…

Dick hung up the phone after thanking Alfred and collapsed on the floor crying… His dog Haley was beside him trying to comfort him… But it didn’t work… It took Dick maybe half an hour to calm himself down… He tried to take deep breaths in and out… Then he hugged his dog Haley who had already settled happily in his lap. Dick was sitting on the floor leaning his head on the bed behind him while looking at the ceiling of his apartment. He couldn’t help but remember all the memories with Y/N. Dick may not have said it out loud before, but he considered Y/N as his mother… She always took care of him, he still remembers the first time he came to Wayne Manor after his parents died, he was full of anger and wanted revenge, Bruce was trying to channel his anger in a good way to fight the bad guys, but Y/N allowed him to vent his anger, by crying and getting all his feelings out and not holding them in, he remembers that he was mean to her at first, thinking that she was trying to be his mother, but after a while, it turned out that she was just trying to help him, she helped him decorate his parents' grave, buy new things, and when he fought with Bruce she took his side… and even now she still against Bruce and side with Damian, he loved the stories she told, she helped him and encouraged him to speak his mind and thoughts and not hold them in… even when he had a big fight with Bruce and decided to leave the house to be independent… She called him every night, asking him how he was, and if he tried to lie she would know and ask him to tell the truth, which he actually couldn't resistance, so he was always honest with her, Dick was used to being a leader and a good big brother, everyone depended on him… and Y/N was the one he could count on, she was the light of his life, she was family, until recently she used to call him and check on him, now he knew why she hadn't called in three months… He sighed and looked down to see that Haley was asleep, he picked her up and put her in her bed. Even if Y/N had left the house, she still loved them, he was sure, maybe if he went back to Gotham and talked to her he would understand, yeah, maybe she had left the house, but she wouldn't leave them, she still loved them. He was sure

In Gotham... specifically at Wayne Manor, Tim was suffering from a headache and back pain, he was lying in his bed... well maybe not his bed, but in Y/N's bed and room. His work and the pile of papers were almost competing with the towering mountains... when did paperwork become so stressful and tiring? He didn't remember this ever being a problem for him, he wouldn't lie to himself, he knew that Y/N's departure was the reason for the work to be doubled, the sleep to be less, and the pain to be more, Y/N used to do almost all the work for him, so he could rest, but now he couldn't balance his sleeping time, eating, doing all the work, solving cases, and becoming Red Robin, it was too much, Y/N was managing it so well, she did his work, made sure he ate and drank enough before she literally dragged him from the Batcave to the palace to sleep against his will, she always carried him like a baby, he always wondered how she could carry him so easily, okay he'd admit that when he first came to the palace he was a very skinny baby, but he grew up and became muscular, maybe not like Duck or Jason but he sure wasn't light, anyway that didn't concern him now... The problem here is that he hasn't slept in... two days? He doesn't know, maybe it's been three days... He hates that Y/N used to carry him to his room and stay by his side until he fell asleep, and he hated that she knew that sometimes he pretended to sleep, so she wouldn't leave until Tim was completely asleep... Sometimes Tim couldn't sleep easily, like when there was a mission or a case on his mind but Y/N carried him to his room before he could finish it, so he would complain and sometimes beg Y/N to finish the case, that it wouldn't take long, but Y/N always refused... And he couldn't sleep because of the case that consumed his mind, so Y/N would sometimes tell him stories... And it worked to make him sleep... He wondered if Y/N's stories were real, because they didn't seem imaginary at all, her stories were strangely realistic, to the point that all Tim's attention was only on the story until he fell asleep. And so Tim became forced to sleep because of Y/N, food and water, when he should take a break and when he should finish the case, Y/N was organizing his life, he didn't remember getting tired or exhausted from this organization, on the contrary, he was getting enough sleep and food to renew his energy, and even after he came back from his break he would come back with more energy and his solving of cases was at an amazingly higher rate than before, it was very useful, Y/N was the only one who knew how to organize him amazingly with all the work he had. But Y/N wasn't just organizing his life, she even hid his mistakes. Sometimes he would come back from missions with some wounds. Tim didn't like to say that he was injured, it made him weak, and he didn't want to be weak, but Y/N would discover every wound he had, even if it was hidden. The good thing was that she never told Bruce about the injuries, and if the injuries were serious, she would make an excuse for Tim not to go on the next mission. She would cover up all his failures and mistakes in silence... and he was grateful to her. He still remembered when Damian first came and took the Robin costume from him, she would comfort him and stay by his side and tell him that Robin wasn't the one wearing the costume, Robin was the one who protected the children of this city.

It really helped him… he remembered when he asked her advice about his new costume and name, and she encouraged him… she was proud of him, he saw it in her eyes, and when Batman disappeared and everyone thought he was dead and Dick was about to put him in Arkham, Y/N was the first to protest and the first to hit Dick… well that problem was solved a while ago and Y/N was so mad at Dick, it took Dick over three weeks to try to get her to forgive him… it was funny to Tim. She got mad for him. For him… he missed her… she was his whole life, now he couldn’t sleep or work, even his appetite was gone… he could barely survive on coffee now. That’s why he moved into her room a few weeks after she left, he wouldn’t say he slept well, but at least he did, now her scent, her warmth, even her voice and her look at him were gone. When he moved into her room he had a fight with Damian about it, that was the first and last fight they had since Y/N left. Damian wouldn't like it if Tim was the one taking over Y/N's room, and it was a long, tiring fight, in which Damian gave in for the first time ever, letting Tim sleep in Y/N's room. Tim knew very well why Damian was angry, that he missed Y/N too, Damian had changed dramatically after her departure, he barely spoke inside the house, and even on missions he didn't have the same enthusiasm as usual, and he didn't blame Damian for that, he missed her himself... but he had to thank his position as CEO of WE for that which helped him see Y/N a lot, he had multiple meetings with Y/N's family company under the pretext of resuming relations again, just to see Y/N, and one of the meetings was always cancelled due to circumstances, whether from his side or Y/N's, and the first meeting that finally happened was last night, and after more than three months he saw Y/N again, when she entered the meeting room she automatically patted him on the head and asked him how he was and that his appearance looked bad and he should eat and sleep well... Tim was silent, he felt a lump in his throat, if there weren't other people in the room he would have collapsed and hugged her and asked her to come back, but he remained silent looking down Trying to breathe slowly, after the meeting ended he wanted to catch up with her, and talk to her alone and tell her that he needed her back, he hadn't slept in a long time, but because of some old businessmen that Tim was planning to throw out who blocked his way with some questions, invitations and failed offers that caused Tim to be late to catch up with Y/N, but it's okay, he will have another meeting with her, and he will ask her to go home.

Tim sighed as he tried to sleep for the sixth time and was about to fall asleep this time but the knocking on the door woke him up. He grumbled and cursed under his breath at the person at the door unless that person was Alfred, Tim got up lazily and opened the door to be surprised by Damian standing at the door... "Oh? Damian? What's wrong?" Tim noticed Damian's eyes were puffy from crying, he wasn't surprised, ever since Y/N left Damian had been crying a lot, not that anyone would tell him that was obvious. "I want you to find me two people, they're from my school, and they call Y/N my aunt." Damian said calmly without any arrogance. Tim looked at him in confusion for a while, could it be that Damian was after Y/N now? "And before you say anything I know that you're trying to get Y/N back through the meetings you request from her family's company." Damian continued crossing his arms. Tim tensed for a moment, he didn't know that it was obvious, then sighed in surrender. "Okay, come in."

@itsmadamehydra @sirenetheblogger @insomniaccorner @nommingonfood @supernaturalmarvelfan @moe-moes-stuff @stickyricewithmangosauce @emeraldcutie44 @randomlyappearingartist @type-ink @kittzu @west-c0ast-00 @hjgdhghoe @sweetconnoisseurgardener @bat1212 @wassupbroski55555 @purplelady22 @c4xcocoa

@sillyheartmoonnyx @hearts4mica

@qardasngan @randomlyappearingartist

@pink-jello-fish @kore-of-the-underworld

@00hellohello00 @superstarbucks

@rue-eru @middevil465 @devils-blackrose @crazycaoticsimp

[gf2bellamy]

Hi hi hi!

I just want to say that I love your writing so much. The way you write Spencer is just so cozy and feels like a warm hug, if you get what I'm saying?

Anyways I'm wondering if you could write Spencer reacting to his non-bau/fbi girlfriend sending him handwritten love letters to his cubicle at work? With something extra like a bouquet of flowers or little care packages? And Derek being all 'the two of you are completely whipped' but is so happy for the both of you.

I just love it when boys are the ones being dotted on because yes - boys love getting flowers too and they should because they deserve them!

presents — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think a/n: thank you so much that's so so so sweet <33 that means alot to me !!! <3 i hope you like this ( i'm craving cookies now )

The BAU bullpen was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon. The team was scattered—some at their desks, others in the briefing room—but Spencer Reid was buried in a mountain of paperwork.

His desk was a chaotic mess of case files, books, and scribbled notes, his mind fully engrossed in the task at hand. He barely noticed the soft hum of conversation around him or the occasional footsteps echoing through the room. 

Derek Morgan leaned against his own desk, sipping coffee and glancing over at Spencer with an amused smirk. “You know, Pretty Boy, if you keep staring at those files like that, they might just combust,” he teased, breaking the silence. 

Spencer didn’t look up, his pen still scratching across the page. “That’s highly unlikely,” he replied absently. Derek chuckled, shaking his head.

Just then, Anderson walked into the bullpen, holding a small bundle of items. He made a beeline for Spencer’s desk, his expression neutral but he still looked slightly curious.

Without a word, he dropped the items onto the corner of Spencer’s desk, right next to a stacked pile of books. 

“This is for you,” Anderson said simply before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving Spencer blinking in confusion. 

Spencer finally looked up, his brows furrowing as he took in the items now sitting in front of him. There was a small, neatly folded letter sealed with a sticker, a single flower tied with a delicate ribbon, and a tiny care package wrapped in brown paper.

His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the handwriting on the envelope.

Derek pushed off his desk and sauntered over, his smirk widening. “What’s this? Secret admirer, Reid?” he asked, his tone playful. 

Spencer ignored him for a moment as he picked up the letter. He carefully peeled back the sticker and unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning the words written.

The letter was filled with warmth and affection, each word carefully chosen to make him smile. You had written about how proud you were of him, how much you had missed him during his long hours at work, and how you couldn’t wait to see him again. At the end, you'd included a little doodle of the two of you holding hands, complete with a heart around it. 

Spencer’s cheeks flushed as he read, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He set the letter down gently and reached for the care package, unwrapping it to reveal a small box of his favorite tea, a bag of homemade cookies, and a tiny note that read, “For when you need a break.”

His heart swelled with gratitude and affection. You always knew exactly what he needed, even when he didn’t. 

Derek, who had been watching the entire scene unfold, let out a low whistle. “Man, you’ve got it bad,” he said, shaking his head but grinning. “The two of you are completely whipped, you know that?” 

Spencer looked up, his smile widening despite himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, though his tone betrayed him. He couldn’t help the way his chest warmed at the thought of you, the way your gestures always made him feel seen and appreciated in a way no one else ever had. 

Derek clapped him on the shoulder, his grin softening into something more genuine. “I’m happy for you, man. She’s good for you. And hey, if she ever wants to send some of those cookies my way, I wouldn’t say no.” 

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, though he had no intention of sharing. These were his cookies, a gift from you, and he planned to savor every last one. 

As Derek walked back to his desk, still teasing him, Spencer carefully arranged the items on his desk. He placed the rose in a small vase he kept in his drawer (a gift from you, of course), set the tea and cookies within easy reach, and tucked the letter into his bag to read again later.

For the rest of the day, every time he glanced at them, he felt a little lighter.

[whoopsyeahokay]

Boyfriend Wally Clark (NSFW)

Wally Clark x fem!reader

___________________________💦

Wally is exactly the type of romantic who sweeps you off your feet. He's goofy, charming, affectionate. Always finding ways to touch you when you and he are with your friends. Holds you close and keeps you in his arms, on his lap, against his body on the couch that you and he usurp for yourselves at Movie Night. He's all about forehead kisses and laced fingers and cradling your cheek as he tells you how much he loves you. Brushes your hair out of your eyes and smiles at you like you're the only person in the world he can see.

Wally is exactly the type who soaks up compliments like a sponge, has both an ego and an insecurity that needs attention. He revels in your praise and devotion. He's attentive and loyal, there when you need him at the drop of a hat. Pulling up in his Mustang, ready to dote on his passenger princess, hand on your thigh as he drives one-handed, fingers digging into your flesh while he watches the road. He's into sweet gestures and reassurances. Respect. Thoughtful gifts just because and more thoughtful actions when you're not feeling well.

But Wally is also the type to whisper dark promises in your ear when you and he are surrounded by people in the hall, pressing against your back as you rummage through your locker, his hand roaming under your shirt to smooth up your stomach, fingertips teasing the edge of your bra. He wields his self-control like a weapon off the field as much as on it, grinding his hard cock into your palm through his jeans, his hand tight around your wrist—"Do you like what you do to me, baby?"—after he drags you into an empty classroom because he spent lunch watching Jackass Jake Tremblay flirt with you for your vote. "You like how hard I get just for you?"

Wally is also the type to get possessive, hard bites on your neck, sucking a necklace of bruises into your collar that you can't hide under your shirt. He wants everyone to know you're his. He makes you remember with his fingers in your pussy, dragging them in and out as he nips your ear, "No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else can see you like this." And you whimper and beg, writhing beneath him, legs spread wide to accommodate him. He eats you out, lips and tongue and light grazes of teeth, staring at you through his lashes, memorizing every sound you make as he edges you for longer than you can handle, fucks you with his tongue, tastes you like a feast made just for him.

Wally is exactly the type to fuck you until you scream. He starts slow when you're already on the brink, cock thick and heavy, teasing himself against you as he kisses your breasts, sucks your nipples, one hand on your throat—a reminder, a promise—while he strokes himself with the other, flushed tip against your entrance. "You need me right here, don't you baby?" And then he rocks into you in one deep, grinding motion, stuffing you so full you might burst. "I'm gonna fuck you 'til you scream my name, baby girl." It's rough, hard, he grips your thigh tight enough to bruise as he bites your bottom lip, licks into your mouth, makes you squeeze around him. "So tight, baby, so good for me. You want me to make you come? You think you earned it?"

Wally is definitely the type who fucks like an animal after he sees another guy talk to you, but he's also the type who gets off on making you wait for that sweet release when it suits him. But even he has his limits, begins to pant and groan, hips moving faster, hands around your wrists where they're pinned above your head, his other hand between his body and yours, spit-wet thumb rubbing your clit as he watches your face, wants to see the moment you fall apart for him and when you do, "Good girl, baby, fuck, that's it, let me feel it, baby, make me come" and you convulse around him, your pussy gripping him so tight as you come that it milks his climax from him. He moans, lips crashing against yours.

Wally is exactly the type to cuddle after sex. Gentle touches and soft kisses and loving words, fingertips grazing your cheek as he stares into your eyes in the afterglow. "I love you, baby," in a low, husky voice, forehead pressed to yours, his hand gliding down your body to your side, waist, hip, ass. He pulls you tight against him, already half-hard again, because, Jesus Christ, he's insatiable when it comes to you.

💦___________________________

[rachetmath]

Nora's Plan B

Hey Nora.

Nora: Sup Em, whicha want?

Emerald: Say if Ren doesn’t work out would you date Jaune?

Nora: Yes.

Emerald: What?

Ruby: What?

Weiss: What?

Nora: What? Is that a big deal?

Emerald: Explain.

Nora: I mean I call Jaune a fearless leader for a reason.

Weiss: But Cardin-

Nora: Let’s break it down. Jaune let Cardin get away with what he did was because of his transcripts however that’s also because Jaune was used to situations like because no one has ever helped him with that. Think about it, how many friends Jaune had before Beacon?

Ruby: Hm.

Nora: Plus the moment Cardin threatened Pyrrha his attitude took a whole 180. Shoot after the Ursa he was ready to fight Cardin again.

Ruby and Weiss: Yeah, she’s not wrong.

Nora: Next, Cinder would have to watch Jaune’s progression in order to set up a good team for us to fight. Didn’t she?

Emerald: Yeah.

Nora: And Jaune stood up for Pyrrha when everybody was laying pressure on her. That’s something.

RWE: True.

Ruby: But Nora sometimes Jaune-

Nora: Hold on, yeah, Jaune has his hissy fits but then again, don’t we all grieve differently. Plus Ruby, Qrow waited until we were attacked by Salem’s forces to explain everything. Instead, he could have just told us from the start. He was doing unnecessary things. So yeah Jaune has every right to be mad. I say Qrow should have counted his blessings that Jaune was willing to help him at all if you weren’t around. Or Jaune kills him by his own hands.

Ruby: Oh.

Weiss: But then he- Oscar-

Nora: With Oscar, Jaune admitted he overreacted with him. But, again, understandble. We grieve at our own pace. And I mean seriously Ozpin hadyears to stop Salem and he hasn’t done it. Ozpin might as well be just as bad as Salem.  Also if you have not noticed back in Argus the moment he pushed Oscar to the wall none of us were ready. Remember how  Yang looked?

RW: 

Nora: That was fear. I will say that takes points away for being attractive but it also shows he has a breaking point. Which for most people needs to be avoided cause someone could end up dead. But again Jaune proves he has control of his emotions by letting Oscar go.

Yang: Yeah she’s not wrong. 

Ruby: Yang how-

Yang: Stay on topic. Look I’m cool with Ren and you know I- I understood why he was upset but the moment he realized his tone with Jaune-

Yang: He knew. He knew he f**** up but then Jaune’s response- Oh my god.

Yang: He maintained his composure. His behavior proves he learned from Argus with Oscar. He still was willing to talk with him.

Yang: If that’s not maturity then I don’t know what is. Just saying. 

Ruby: But Jaune in the Ever After was-

Yang: Okay let’s compare. Ren was upset about Atlas and Mantle. Instead of being upset about it and following orders, what else has he done to fix anything? Nothing. And when he finally expressed himself it was after Oscar got kidnapped. And we were stranded in the middle of miles in snow with no food or transportation. Meanwhile, leaving those thousands of people to die.

Me: But didn’t you start it?

Yang: Doesn’t matter.

Me: Yes it-

Yang: Shut up. And in the Ever After Ruby…. …. We were there for a day and we made Little homeless. Robbed the knights. Almost died playing a game of chess with a spoiled brat. Fought our inner demons. And destroyed a city market with people in it to save ourselves from Neo. In one day mind you we did all of that.

Ruby: Holy-

Yang: Now with Jaune he wasn’t dismissing our problem but we were contemplating at the wrong time. 

Yang: Mainly because a storm came.

Yang: He then brought us to his home.

Yang: And let's recall he was waiting for us. Something he didn’t have to do. At all.  And what did we do? Judge the man for taking care of a bunch of children who want to die.

Yang: Then we brought Neo to him.

Yang: And Ruby -

Ruby: No further comments.

Yang: And Ratchet.

Me: *sigh* Okay. Fine. If you have seen my list of Jaune ships or seen any of my post on Ren and Nora., my outlook on them is not good. But after thinking about the reason I hate Nora, I steadily realized, ‘man, what I am saying, she’s better than Sakura.” She doesn’t physically or mentally abuse Jaune like Sakura does to Naruto. And unlike the other besides Pyrrha she’s consistent with Jaune. So I'll admit I was petty with her in volume seven and eight. I can see Nora’s Arc happening.

Nora: Thank you. Anyways Emerald I would date Jaune as my plan B. Especially if Ren and I don’t recover from Atlas.

Emerald: Well damn. Too bad you got competition.

Nora: *laugh*

RWE: *shocked*

Nora: Let them come. But remember, team JNPR. And team JNRO. And team RNJR.

Weiss: What is that- oh my god.

Nora: That’s right. I’m number two. I’m the second. I’m always beside Jaune. Not Pyrrha. Not Ren. Me. He’s the leader. But the queen of the motherf***ing castle. Bye ladies. *leaves*

Yang: Damn.

Weiss: Oh no, I better act fast.

Ruby: I need Ren to clean up his mess quickly.

Emerald: She most definitely

[tooturtly]

Just so ppl know it does get better! I didn’t really have friends from ages 13-18, and even before then I always felt a little different (gay and neurodivergent). And yeah, it sucked. I thought I was doing everything right. I talked to people in class, I did extracurriculars, I was involved. But nobody was texting me unless it was about something school related. I wasn’t invited to anybody’s house. Twice the people I ate lunch with made homecoming plans but never invited me, I just showed up bc of how much they talked about it.

It finally took seeing the group of people I thought were my friends really overtly reject an openly neurodivergent guy from the friend group. Why? Because he talked too much, he was too sincere. It wasn’t any fault of his own. When I hung out with him in a smaller group, I had a blast. And I realized it wasn’t his fault or mine, but the people who I didn’t even like that much who were pushing me away. They were doing the same thing to both of us, and I should be pissed about it! (I still am, even know people change, it was still a shitty thing to do)

My senior year I finally put myself first and realized that having bad friends was worse than being alone. And I might as well be alone on my terms. I went to homecoming and prom by myself, I wore my own weird clothes and danced by myself just to have fun. I realized that going with those people had made me have less fun, because they hardly wanted to dance to the music if they didn’t know the song. I decided I was going to have fun and be my own person.

The only people I had who were friends were the older people at the game shop I went to. They were kind and patient with me when I didn’t know all the rules, and I’ve since lost touch with them but everyday I’m thankful that I had them in my life. Thank you for taking care of this weird teenager who was too loud and too pushy, and who you guided anyway! Thank you for humoring me!

And then I did find lasting friends. I graduated high school and found a group of amazing, nerdy, goofy people who I clicked with. We play D&D together, we eat together often, we share our stories, we talk and we laugh, we have inside jokes.

As I’ve gotten older I know I still have those moments. Even with my closest friends, I have doubts and anxieties about if they actually like me, if I’m a good and kind enough person to be able to sustain a friendship. Sometimes I think maybe I’m better off alone, because then any hurt I cause will only be me. I’ve never had friends before, I don’t know anything! Sometimes I think I’m too full of hurt to do anything but hurt. But I don’t trust those thoughts! My brain lies to me all the time! Those terrible twisted feelings never come from me, they come from a me that doesn’t know anything but pain and sorrow. I’m an entirely different person when the depression hits, and I’ve learned enough not to trust how I feel in those moments.

I know that I’m trying and my friends know it too. I’m not purposefully mean, I make amends when I make mistakes, which is all you can do because everyone makes mistakes. And I think about how much sadder my life would be without my support network. I would be miserable! Yeah I can do it alone, but I don’t want to! Doing it alone sucks! I love my friends! I don’t want to let them go, and they want me around. If my friends didn’t want me around, they’d tell me to pack it. Yet I’ve continued making friends, I find fun and weird people everywhere!

Fuck it, I’m gonna be me as much as I can! Life is terrible when you’re pretending to be someone else. And I’ve been lucky enough to find space irl where I can be me. If you can’t do that in person, go online, find community anywhere you can get it. I know I learned a lot from lurking online in high school.

My friends love me even though I have flaws, and I love them even though they have flaws. Including the anxiety and self doubt! Loving with flaws is human. Confidence is your armor against that self doubt. Even if it’s fake! Say fuck it and love your life, love yourself! The world is beautiful! Life is beautiful in those small moments laughing, in talking, in smiling.

Yes this is optimistic positivity! Because pessimism made me sad and being sad does not make you want to live! And I want to live. I made the choice once to live as much as I can. God’s tried to kill me twice and he has failed so far, so I will dance through life laughing.

I can still be depressed and I can still laugh! I can be lonely sometimes and still have friends! I can know that there’s always light at the end of the tunnel if I smile and greet the darkness as my friend.

On Isolation

[catiroll]

A Dance for Two °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Synopsis: When your daughter wants to attend the Daddy-Daughter Ball, Sevika reluctantly agrees to take her. What begins as a simple favor turns into something far more meaningful than either of you expected.

Warning: nothin rlly

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ The tiny bow on Mira’s dress had come undone again.

You knelt in front of her, fingers carefully retying it, making sure it was straight. She stood perfectly still, her small hands gripping the soft folds of her dress, eyes locked on your movements with unusual intensity. Normally, she would have been talking—about the colors, the music, the way her shoes made soft clicks against the floor—but tonight, she was quieter than usual.

You noticed.

You always noticed.

“There,” you said, adjusting the bow one last time before pulling back. “Perfect.”

Mira didn’t respond right away. She turned slightly, lifting her dress in her little fingers and watching how the fabric shimmered under the warm glow of the lanterns. You could see the wheels in her mind turning, but she hadn’t yet found the words she wanted.

Then, finally—softly, hesitantly—she asked, “Mama… do I get to go even if I don’t got a daddy?”

Your hands stilled.

It wasn’t the first time she had asked about fathers. It wasn’t even the first time she had noticed she didn’t have one. But it was the first time she had linked it to something she might be missing out on—something other kids had and she didn’t.

Your chest tightened, and you forced a small smile as you tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Of course you get to go, sweetheart. You don’t need a daddy to dance.”

Mira nodded slowly, but her grip on her dress remained tight. “The other girls said their daddies are taking them.”

Your throat constricted.

Before you could say anything, she looked up at you, something hopeful flickering in her wide eyes. “Could Auntie Vik take me?”

You blinked, caught off guard.

Sevika.

It wasn’t that the idea was bad—far from it. It was just… unexpected.

Sevika didn’t do things like this. She wasn’t soft, wasn’t gentle—not in the ways most people would recognize. But Mira saw her differently.

You saw it too, sometimes.

Sevika was the one who let Mira sit on her shoulders to reach the top shelf. The one who wordlessly passed her a piece of whatever she was eating, even if Mira never asked. The one who grumbled endlessly about how ‘kids were too much trouble’—only to let Mira fall asleep curled up in her lap minutes later.

Maybe… just maybe, this could work.

“You want me to do what?”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Sevika stared at you from across the table, one brow arched, her metal fingers drumming against the worn wooden surface. You’d just finished explaining the situation, and judging by her expression, she was either irritated or amused. Maybe both.

“Take Mira to the Daddy-Daughter Ball,” you repeated, this time a little slower, as if that would somehow make it sound like less of a ridiculous request.

Sevika let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You do realize I don’t fit either of those words, right?”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “You’re not an idiot, Sev. You know that’s not what this is about.”

She leaned back, exhaling through her nose. “Kid needs a dance partner? Take her yourself.”

“She doesn’t want that.” You hesitated. “She wants you.”

That got her.

Her fingers stilled against the table. Her jaw clenched—just slightly—but enough for you to notice.

“I don’t know how to do this shit,” she muttered, looking away. “Dancing. Balls. Dressing up like some… proper person.”

You took a step closer, lowering your voice. “She doesn’t care about any of that. She just wants someone who makes her feel safe.”

Sevika scoffed, shaking her head, but you saw the tension in her shoulders, the flicker of something you couldn’t quite place in her eyes.

“You’re good with her, Sev,” you continued, softer this time. “Better than you think.”

Silence.

Then, finally, a long exhale.

“Fine,” she muttered, rubbing her temple like she was already regretting it. “But you owe me.”

A slow grin spread across your lips as you reached up, fingers lightly brushing her jaw. “Oh, I’ll make it up to you.”

She shot you a look, but there was something warmer in her expression now, something less guarded.

She was going to do it.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ When Sevika arrived at the door that evening, Mira gasped so dramatically you thought she might faint.

“Auntie Vik!” she squealed, practically vibrating with excitement. “You look so pretty!”

Sevika grimaced.

She stood stiffly, dressed in a deep navy vest over a crisp black shirt, looking like she had been physically forced into it. Her usual rough edges hadn’t disappeared—the scars on her hands, the imposing metal arm, the ever-present air of someone who had seen too much—but there was something undeniably striking about her like this.

Sevika scowled, shifting uncomfortably under your gaze. “Don’t start.”

You only smiled, stepping forward to adjust her tie, fingers lingering just a second too long. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary before clearing her throat and looking away.

Mira grabbed her much larger hand and started tugging her toward the door. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late!”

Sevika sent you a desperate, help me look.

You just waved. “Have fun!”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ The ball was something out of a storybook—glittering chandeliers, soft melodies, rows of little girls spinning in their dresses.

Mira fit right in.

Sevika… not so much.

She was stiff at first, clearly uncomfortable under the warm glow of the ballroom. But Mira didn’t seem to notice. She grabbed Sevika’s hands, practically dragging her onto the dance floor, and demanded to be twirled.

And—surprisingly—Sevika did.

Not gracefully, not skillfully, but in a way that made Mira laugh, bright and loud and full. Sevika let her stand on her feet to waltz, rolling her eyes but not pushing her away. When the music shifted to something livelier, Mira pulled her toward the other children, insisting Sevika had to play tag.

And she did.

She let Mira sit on her shoulders to ‘catch’ the other kids, smirked when she won, and even—reluctantly—let her place a tiny, flower-shaped sticker on her metal arm as a ‘prize.’

It was a perfect night.

But then, near the end of the evening, as the last slow dance played, Mira—sleepy, warm, and utterly content—rested her head against Sevika’s shoulder and murmured, “I wish you were my daddy.”

Sevika froze.

Your breath caught.

Mira didn’t say it with sadness. There was no longing in her voice, no ache for something she felt she was missing. It was just a statement. Simple. Honest.

Sevika swallowed hard.

She could’ve brushed it off. Could’ve ignored it, changed the subject, made a joke.

But she didn’t.

Instead, after a long pause, she murmured back, “You don’t need a daddy, kid. You’ve got your mom.” A beat of hesitation. “And you’ve got me.”

Mira didn’t say anything else. Just snuggled in a little closer.

And Sevika held her a little tighter.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ When they arrived home, Mira was fast asleep in Sevika’s arms.

You expected her to pass the little girl off and leave. Instead, she carried Mira inside, walking straight to her room and tucking her in without a word.

When she turned back to you, there was something in her eyes—something raw, something hesitant.

“She called me her dad,” Sevika said, voice gruff, but there was something thick in it, something heavy. “Can you believe that?”

You smiled softly, reaching up to touch her cheek. “She loves you.”

Sevika exhaled sharply. “She’s a little brat.” But her voice cracked, just slightly.

You kissed her.

And when you whispered, “Stay?”

She hesitated.

Then—finally—she sighed and muttered, “Yeah. Okay.”

And just like that, she was home.

Masterlist

A/N: i havent made one in so long my bad sorry yall but here we go we got sevika with a duaghter cuz lowkey i can never see her with a son. have a good day wherever u aree

[yawping-poets-society]

we don't talk enough about cameron's first real scene, where he talks to neil outside his dorm before todd arrives. in case anyone doesn't know what i'm referring to, here's the dialogue from the scene:

Cameron: Hey, Neil, study group tonight?

Neil: Yeah, sure.

Cameron: Business as usual, huh? [turns to leave, then] Hey, I heard you got the new kid. Looks like a stiff. [laughs at his own joke] [Todd enters] Oops. [Cameron leaves]

so let's talk about it!!

cameron opens with the study group question. this is pretty straightforward to me-he knows he's none of the poets' favorite, and certainly not charlie's. neil is his foremost supporter, pretty much the only one who sticks up for him, so this makes sense. he's checking with neil, his 'in' to the group, to make sure he can hang with these guys. he wants to be part of their circle so badly, and that's pretty clear from the get-go.

and then he hits us with this whole "stiff" business. this is a major thing i've seen people use to justify their hate of cameron and i really struggle with that.

because, well...this is SO undeniably awkward. neil tells todd just a moment later not to mind cameron because he was "born with his foot in his mouth." so off the bat, that's not something you say about someone who's consistently rude or who you don't like. that's neil sticking up for cameron. he's saying, sorry todd, he means well, or at least, he doesn't have any ill intentions. cameron's just not got the best grasp of social cues, that's how he is. this is a pretty valid explanation in and of itself, but if you'll walk with me a little further, i've got a deeper theory about why cameron makes this comment.

more than just it being awkward, this casual friendliness, haha, new kid, a mild insult said with much bravado...this isn't really cameron as we see him for the rest of the movie. though he does remain relatively awkward, it doesn't really match his character of being cautious and trying to not stand out, to fit into the group (as we see in his first line). so how to explain this action (because i don't believe the explanation is just: cameron is being an asshole/being awkward)?

to me? this is what cameron thought charlie would say. isn't that almost exactly how charlie always talks about cameron, after all? for a great example, see later in the same scene:

Charlie, about Cameron: What's his specialty, bootlicking?

so maybe cameron believes that this is how friends treat each other. or at least, how they talk about other people to entertain their friends. charlie, while not a stellar student and clearly not liked by the administration, is the class clown, which makes him popular with students at welton. thus, cameron is probably jealous of charlie. he probably wishes he was more like charlie-confident, funny, well-liked, etc. and again, he clearly wants to be friends with neil, and part of their larger group, very, very badly. all of this to say:

i don't think cameron meant what he said about todd.

he's trying to get a laugh out of neil. so what does he do? he does what he thinks charlie-neil's funny best friend-would do. it's not a nice thing to say, but to me, it really just reads as someone who is trying to guess what the appropriate, funny thing to say in a situation is, but doesn't actually know. cameron might not have even really thought the 'stiff' joke was funny. but he thought neil would find it funny, which is really the whole point. cameron is, at the most fundamental level, an unpopular kid who wishes he was well-liked, and is fumbling around blindly trying to find his way there.

[twopoppies]

Hi Gina, hope you're doing well!!

I've sent you similar asks a couple of times before over the years, but everytime I see it I just can't help but express my frustration. As someone who works in marketing and hears the words "do something that'll go viral" almost everyday from different brands, I get so disappointed in Louis's PR.

Everytime he comes back in the news a little again I get my hopes up thinking that it might actually lead to something but then it just suddenly stops. I feel like his team doesn't actually have a marketing plan and they just wake up one day wanting to make Louis's name trend and then forget about it or get bored after a week.

Even now - going to Zayn's show (not saying it was completely for PR, but definitely planned), then the walls promo, collaborating with youtube and spotify instagram pages, and now going to the superbowl which will be filled with celebrities (you cannot make me believe ever that he's actually there for the American football) - it's all to get him in the news. But why? My guess it for absolutely nothing!!

As always he'll be active for a bit and disappear again, having done all this for nothing, because I don't see an album or even a single coming anytime soon, so this bit of PR will also be forgotten like everything else!!

It took me a couple years, but I've given up all hope in his team at this point!! I really really hope he meets some better people at some point who can position him better, because he definitely deserves and has the potential for it!!

Sorry for the rant. Have a great day!!!!

Hi sweetheart. I was actually just talking about this with @apparentlybychance yesterday. Ah was saying she was checking his social mentions (or whatever the hell it’s called) and he had a huge spike when he went to Zayn’s show, and then nothing. And he’s barely been mentioned in connection to the Super Bowl.

I have no idea what his team is doing. The meet up with fans seemed only for fandom. The Super Bowl attendance isn’t making a blip outside of fandom. It’s just weird.

[thedeadtalker]

-my grandfather was 8 when he and his family were rounded up on the Oregon coast, kept in a livestock pen for 3 very rainy days, then put into a cattle car to be carried out to the reservations in the east.

-my grandmother had two brothers and sister who were sent to mission school and never returned. They said they ran away. They lied.

-My mom remembers when Indians got enough citizenship to vote in Oregon. She describes her parents and their friends discussing if the should do it -vote -or if it was trick to register them.

-My friend took his grandmother out for her 100th birthday. He asked her what she thought were the most important things to happen during her lifetime. She told him: free wifi and the legal end of segregation.

-I remember those fucking nuns in mission school. I only went 1 year when the laws changed and we could go to other schools. We could live with our parents and ride a bus to school and back again and sleep that night in our own home. I remember that, you fuckers.

-I remember that my mom and two of her sisters gave birth in a hospital connected to the mission, and they didnt know for years that they'd gotten botched steralizations against their wishes and without their knowledge. I remember my parents desperatly trying to have more children. Theyd always wanted a bunch of kids. The house my dad built had many empty guestrooms. Eventually they sold it. I remember my mom having to have a hysterectomy 2 years ago because of all the health problems caused by the fucked up surgery. I remember sitting in a meeting and one of the nurses there having to put me through a fainting protocol because i got a text from my stepfather that during the hysterectomy they discovered one of mom's damned ovaries was just fucking gone. I wonder sometimes if some sick fuck retired doctor kept a genuine Indian ovary in a jar in his office. I wonder if his nazi kids and grandkids pull it out to show to guests as a conversation point. I think about how whites were paid piecework for Indian scalps amd seeing one dried out and leathery in an antique store in a small town in Idaho. There is evil in the Americas. The nazis were here long before they were ever in Europe.

- I remember my highschool history teacher showing us the number tattooed on his wrist. I remember him showing us all these recordings of ordinary German citizens talking about how they didn't see anything wrong happening. How there must have been some sort of perfecrly mundane reason for the endless smoke pouring from the ovens in the camp up in the hill. How it was all just politics. How they were reassured that all the people who were taken had just moved in the night, or were much happier wherever they'd gone to. "But you saw them all: the Jews, the other prisoners going into the camp. But you never saw them leave. Didn't you think that was odd?" "We just figured they'd moved from the camp in the night while we were sleeping." "Where?" "What do you mean?" "Where did you all think they went -in the middle of the night?" "Oh. We didn't know." "Didn't you wonder?" "Why would we?"

- I remember that same teacher explaining how the nazis had gotten a lot of their ideas from the US government's Native American policy. The death camps were modelled after our reservations. The dehumanizing and the stories of savages/gremlins that ate white babies and were less than human were based on the clever marketing campaign set up to not just enable the settler take over, but used to unite the fragmented people of newly forming colonial nation. He fucking showed us. There is publically available documentation of all of this.

-I remember getting put on the no fly list. I remember finding out about it because when we tried to buy tickets for the whole family to travel down to New Mexico for my granduncle's funeral the whole purchase was bounced. We were told why that might be the case so we tried seperate purchases for everyone. Me. It was me. Several years later my roommate's family friend -an old white guy with some pull, found out why. I was teaching K-3 and moonlighting as a computer programmer back then. And I'd printed some photos of holidays around the world to share with my students on the same computer I wrote code from. My own computer, in my own office, in my own home. He said it also didn't help that I wasn't white.

-I remember that fucker's first time in office: I remember seeing my coworker snatched from the elevator by ice agents and shoved into an unmarked van. He was a 3rd generation American.

-I remember having to warn the non-white, non-abled, non anything a nazi would want to gas you for residents of the dvsat shelter we worked with to not go out at night, not go out alone, not walk on these specific streets or go into these specific shops. I remember the time a native Hawaiian chick on my caseload didn't come back when expected and everyone was out of their mind with worry. She came back, tear-streaked and shaking, and told us about how she'd gotten lost (not in Hawaii any more, Dorothy) and ended up in one of the neighborhoods she was supposed to avoid, and being chased by some of the proud boys that patrolled our city streets in their ridiculous be-flagged pickups, and how some nearby restuarant diners had rushed her into the restuarant, and the staff there had hid her in the pantry, and all the diners lied and said they hadn't seen her. My teacher read Anne Frank to us in 6th grade. Do they still read that in schools?

-I think about that time I went into a DMV and the woman behind the counter told me to "sit over there," next to two men, and well away from the other patrons. Then a highway patrol officer came over and told us to go with him. In the parking lot he explained that he'd been called to take us to an immigration detention center. But instead he directed us to a "safe" DMV 40 miles away and walked away muttering about having had it up to here with those idiots in there. The two American Samoan men started laughing. Honestly, I didn't feel like laughing. I didn't feel like anything. I was thinking about the mission school and wondering if the detention center looked like it had.

-I've spent the last couple of weeks handing out flyers in different languages. I don't use an interpreter. I have no way of knowing if I can trust them. But somehow I manage to convey to the people I visit in field hand huts and steamy laundries that they are in a sanctuary state and what that means. That no one in our offices will turn them away or turn them in. At least I hope Im conveying that. Then I tell them, using paper language dictionaries if needed (librarians are superheros) how to get away, who to talk to, how to find the big dipper. I think a lot of my high school history teacher and those faded numbers on his wrist.

Oh I know they're coming for me first. Im your canary.

[mrspiastri]

I would like to request a desi girl x lewis fic

desi munda 🪅

pairing: lewis hamilton x desi!reader

cw: fluff, lewis being a bit negative etc etc

wc: 2k words

an: thanks anon, hope u like my first lewis fic!

.° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡

“The last time I felt like this before a race was probably in 2008. It’s madness,” Lewis lamented in his driver’s room as he put on his fireproofs, getting ready to review the final data before hopping into the car.

“Well, it probably has to do with the fact that you’re racing in India after more than a decade. Unfamiliar track and all that jazz,” Y/N responded from where she was seated on the couch, filing her nails and adding the final touches to her makeup.

“I think it might be more because my gorgeous girlfriend won’t even look at my face,” he commented with a slight grin as he shimmied into his race suit.

She playfully rolled her eyes, snapping her compact mirror shut and stuffing it into her purse before looking at him. “There, now I’m all yours.” She smiled up at him as he walked across the room, towering over her.

“I think you’ve got a lot of pressure on you today, and not just from Fred and the team,” Y/N stated, making Lewis groan before plopping down next to her on the couch in a less-than-graceful manner.

“If you’re talking about your family, then yes, it’s probably that. I think I saw all your cousins and your aunts in the first three rows of the grandstands,” he muttered pitifully, pushing his face into the crook of her neck. She took pity on him, wrapping her arms around him as he continued ranting.

“I know they’re excited to see their future son-in-law doing what he does best—” Y/N let out an incredulous grunt at this—“but this is INSANE! I might die of stress, honestly.”

She laughed at him before holding his chin and making him look up at her. “You’re going to do wonderful, Lew. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. They all know you’re the best damn driver on the grid; they’re just excited to see you in your element.”

“But if I don’t win, they’re going to think I’m useless. A washed-up, no-good idiot who can’t even win a stupid race,” he sighed, slumping further down, letting his negative thoughts take over.

Y/N sat up straighter at this. “I know you’re not talking about yourself like that. Lewis, you are an amazing driver, and you know that very well,” she said firmly, leaving no room for hesitation.

“Besides, my whole family loves you! You could come dead fucking last, and they’d still cheer. Heck, you could DNF, and they’d cheer as you brought your car into the pits to retire from the race.”

Lewis let out a dry laugh at that. He couldn’t exactly deny it.

“I just... I don’t want them to think I’m a loser. I want them to see me as a part of their family—as your future husband. If they see me lose, they’ll think I’m not good enough for you,” he finally admitted, revealing what had been weighing on him ever since Y/N told him her family would be attending the race.

Y/N was silent, emotions warring inside her. On one hand, she was shocked he thought so lowly of himself and his reputation in front of her family. But on the other hand, the fact that he had thought so far ahead about their future made her want to grab his face and kiss him until he forgot every single doubt in his head.

“Lew, I promise you—whatever happens today won’t change their perception of you. To them, you are the coolest, most enigmatic person ever. And you’re *definitely* the best catch out of all the other partners my family members have brought home. I mean, come on, who can beat a seven-time Formula One World Champion?”

A knock at the door interrupted them, a staff member reminding Lewis that he had to check the final corrections made to the car after qualifying before the formation lap started in 15 minutes.

“I’ll meet my parents in the garage; you go on ahead,” she said, standing up and adjusting the red dress she wore, showing her full support for the Ferrari driver.

Lewis got into the car, checking if the throttle and steering were working fine. “Seems good. Wanna start the lap?” he asked his engineers, receiving an affirmative response.

Y/N leaned down and kissed his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark on his skin. “A kiss for good luck—and to remove the stupid thoughts in your head.”

“I was hoping for a proper one,” Lewis playfully pouted up at her.

“That’s for after the race. You gotta have something to look forward to, na?”

He simply laughed before putting on his helmet. The sound of his car revving up echoed in the garage as he exited. Y/N, meanwhile, made her way to the back where her parents waited for her, smiling at the conversation she had just had with Lewis.

“He seems stressed. Hope it doesn’t affect his performance,” her dad pointed out, making her sigh in worry.

“He is. Honestly, he’s more worried about disappointing the family than he is about losing,” she confided.

“I hope you told him he’s crazy for even thinkingthat,” her mother gasped.

Y/N winked while putting her headphones on. “You know it.”

🪺🪺🪺

It was the final lap of the race. Lewis had overtaken Max at the start of lap 37, after tailing him for more than half of the race. In the Ferrari garage, tensions were high, with both drivers in podium positions.

As the checkered flag waved, Lewis soared past it, clinching victory in front of his girlfriend’s home crowd and further cementing Ferrari’s Constructors’ Championship title contention.

The announcers’ voices boomed throughout the grandstands, the crowd erupting into cheers. Everyone at the Ferrari garage ran out to celebrate with Lewis and Charles in parc fermé, the latter having placed third. Y/N and her parents were escorted to where the podium finishers had gathered their cars.

Lewis stood on his car, bowing to the roaring fans with his palms pressed together in a namaste pose—just like she had taught him.

The team cheered him and Charles on, with pats on the back and massive hugs. Lewis was all smiles, scanning the crowd until his eyes found Y/N, waving at him from behind the barriers.

He ran up to her, lifting her off the ground in the biggest hug he could manage without hoisting her over the barrier. She hugged him tighter, his helmet getting in the way.

He pulled it off, handing it to a team member before pulling her in again. “Now, about that kiss you mentioned earlier...” he grinned.

“You are impossible!” Y/N laughed, playfully pushing his chest.

“Good thing you love it.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t let him suffer for long. She leaned in, closing the distance between them. Her lips met his in a kiss that was slow and lingering, as if they wanted to memorize the feel of each other. His hand slid to the nape of her neck, fingers threading into her hair, while his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

She melted into him, gripping the front of his race suit, anchoring herself in his warmth.

The crowds, the cheers, the cameras—it all faded into the background.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, their foreheads rested together, the air between them thick with unspoken words.

She let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I forgot we were in public for a second.”

He chuckled, fingers tracing her back. “Me too. Hope your dad doesn’t beat the shit out of me.”

Her parents decided to turn a blind eye to the couple, instead focusing on congratulating Lewis on his win. However, he couldn’t help but notice her father slapping his back just a little harder than necessary, a certain look in his eye that made Lewis straighten up.

🪺🪺🪺

Later, in the Ferrari hospitality, Y/N groaned as Lewis reached for her.

“Please shower! The champagne and sweat combined make me want to puke.”

Lewis, of course, ignored this, chasing her around until he finally caught her in his grasp—sweat, champagne, and all.

“You’re so disgusting. I just washed my hair, yaar.”

Her smirk, however, gave her away.

“Well, Lewis,” her cousin quipped, “you’ve definitely earned your spot in the family now.”

Lewis grinned. “Well, I’d hope so. It was very nice of you all to come out today—really motivated me. And scared the living shit out of me.”

The whole room burst into laughter. Her father cleared his throat, eyeing the two of them. “You’ve done well today, beta. You’ve got speed, skill, and determination—but most importantly, you make my daughter happy.

Lewis straightened slightly, sensing the weight of the moment. “That means the world to me, sir.”

Her father studied him for a beat before nodding approvingly. “Good. Now go shower before you suffocate us with that champagne stench.”

The room erupted into laughter, and Y/N rolled her eyes fondly. “I told you.” Lewis laughed, pressing a quick kiss to Y/N’s temple before heading off. “I’ll be back—don’t have too much fun without me.”

🪺🪺🪺

The afterparty was in full swing by the time Lewis and Y/N arrived. The upscale venue was buzzing with energy—team members, rival drivers, and VIP guests mingled over glasses of champagne, the hum of conversations blending seamlessly with the music playing overhead.

The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, celebratory drinks, and the undeniable electricity of victory.

When the doors opened, all heads instinctively turned toward the couple making their entrance.

Lewis Hamilton, still glowing from his win, walked in with Y/N by his side, her right arm slotted in the crook oh his left one. They were well dressed as always — Lewis in a well-fitted, deep blue kurta, a nod to Y/N’s heritage, and Y/N in a breathtaking red saree that shimmered under the golden lights. The rich fabric draped over her in a way that left little to the imagination, her bangles softly jingling as she adjusted her hold on his arm.

“Well, don’t we look like a power couple?" Charles teased, raising his glass as they approached.

Y/N smirked. "You’re just jealous, Charlie."

“Of the matching outfits or the fact that you two have already stolen all the attention?" Carlos chimed in with a grin.

Lewis chuckled, placing a protective hand on the small of Y/N’s back. "Can’t blame them. My girl does clean up pretty damn well."

Y/N turned to him, eyes dancing with amusement. "Only fair, considering I dressed you."

Lewis leaned in slightly, voice low and teasing. "And here I thought I was doing you a favor by looking this good." She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, she tugged him toward the bar.

"Come on, Mr. Race Winner, let’s get you a drink before you get too cocky." The bartender barely had a chance to ask before Charles called out, "A whiskey for the champion and—Y/N, what are you drinking?"

"White wine," she replied.

Lewis took the glass from the bartender and handed it to her before raising his own in a silent toast. "To surviving your family’s initiation," he joked.

She laughed softly, clinking her glass against his. "Oh, you’re not done yet. This is just the beginning. But let’s talk about that later, because the only thing I’m focusing on is how good you look in this kurta.”

He laughed, “Well you’re the one who said I should wear this instead of the red one I wanted to go with.”

“It’s called contrast, and we’re pulling it off well. Besides, you look much more handsome in this, like a proper desi munda.

Lewis narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "That sounds both adorable and terrifying. Should I be worried?"

Y/N smirked, "Don’t worry about it.”

Before he could question her, the music shifted to something slower, more sultry, and Lewis took that as his cue. Handing his glass to Carlos, he turned to Y/N with a familiar glint in his eye.

"May I have this dance?" Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You? Dancing at a public event?"

Lewis smirked, pulling her toward him without waiting for an answer. "For you? Always."

And just like that, in the middle of the celebration, the world shrank down to just the two of them—spinning, laughing, and getting lost in each other, a champion on the track and in love.

never written for lewis before so hope this is nice anon. honestly not very proud of this one but like fuck it we ball <4

[drdemonprince]

(i'm not great at wrapping words around my thoughts, so i hope this makes sense!) i like the phrase 'sex exceptionalism,' it really makes me think. this morning i also had the thought: 'youth exceptionalism' -- i have a feeling you've already thought about this, about how we sort of treat children/youth as both sacred and subhuman.

i get this hard-to-describe unease whenever i see signs saying 'protect trans youth.' like changing words doesn't actually change actions, but i wish it said something more like 'defend trans folks.' without trans elders, trans youth don't have a future modeled for them. and we lose the wisdom and insight of people who transitioned in politically tumultuous times, when doing so was at least as stigmatized and difficult and dangerous as it is now. people with the benefit of seeing changes come and go, who have the lived experience of survival-pending-liberation and trans folks helping trans folks through direct immediate action and support.

youth exceptionalism -- it gets in the way of thinking clearly and critically whenever it pops up. it seems more emotional and ingrained than conscious. i feel it around programs aimed at giving youth opportunities, with cutoff ages. which to some extent makes sense, but not to the degree of fetishization of youth & kids our culture hangs on to. one too eager to discard humans as soon as they age (or rage) out of this impressionable, doll-like imposed role.

i think it also puts unconscious stress on youth, a sense of adults/power-havers heaping dreams & expectations on the next generation. and claiming all the sacrifices they chose to make were for the children/next generation. but at the same time expecting a specific outcome, a specific return on that transactional investment.

anyway, that's my jumble o' thoughts.

I think you're getting at something real. I have never liked the "Protect Trans Youth" shirts and banners, the way that certain supportive and well-intentioned parents cling to an identity for themselves as parent to a trans kid (often putting their kid's trans status out into the open and denying them the chance at ever being stealth, should they want to be), the advocacy that gets too perversely focused on the threat of a trans kid killing themselves (as if that were the only reason to give young people rights), the fixation on protection and innocence rather than on liberation... the heart is genuine that is driving a lot of this stuff, but it still sees children as the helpless precious object of their parents, a proto-human that has to be shielded from the world rather than a human of their own, with their own right to make decisions. it still treats transness as a rare fringe case; we might as well be talking about child cancer patients, for how focused the language is on protection and death. everybody's debating about what is best for the kid, and how to best prevent harm, and nobody is letting the kids speak for themselves. there's something so cloying and inert about it. even if the Protect Trans Kids group wins every political battle they get involved in, all they've done is provide children with one exception from the usual denial of body autonomy they live with. and they only get that exception because supposedly death is the alternative and they're that rare and sick. it's not good when you really drill into it.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Hello, I hope you are well.

eI'm thinking A LOT about a reader who is completely obsessed with Logan, like they're in a relationship, and she doesn't hide the fact that she's completely in love and compassionate with him because she knows everything this poor man has been through and just wants to take care of him and make him happy, and Logan is kind of lost because no one has ever done this for him and he feels very loved and wants to reciprocate. anyway it's just an idea, thankssss :)

Hello! I'm doing well and I hope you are as well. Thank you for this request! I loved writing it and I hope I did it justice and that you enjoy it!

At first, he would get flustered when you openly showed how much you loved him. He knows you loved him, obviously you did or why else would you be with him? But he wasn't used to someone being so open with PDA.

The two of you had planned a night out with some friends. The plans were simple, a dinner and some light shopping. Logan wasn't expecting you to still stick to him closely as you do when the two of you are alone, but he wasn't upset about it either. The two of you sat on one side of the booth while your friends sat on the other. Light conversation was flowing with ease as you began to cuddle into his side. He just wrapped his arm around your shoulder as he continued talking to your friend about the latest hockey games score when he felt you twiddle with his fingers. He froze mid-sentence and looked down at you to see what you were doing, and his heart skipped a bit when he noticed you were talking to your friend, and you were completely playing with his finger absentmindedly. He never truly realized how easy it was for you to love on him openly until this moment.

He also wasn't used to someone putting their life on hold to do something for him.

He was having an awful day, and he just couldn't find it in himself to function properly anymore. He knew you had a busy day today so he was planning on going to bed to sulk until you got home and then he would make dinner for the two of you. As he got home, he was taken back by the sight of you already there. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't going to be home until eight?" He asked in a hoarse tone. Your heart ached for the man as you took in his beaten down form, "I took the rest of the day off, you sounded off earlier on the phone, thought you might need someone." You went to him and stood on your toes to kiss his cheek. "Want to help me make dinner?" He could feel his heart swell with the amount of love you give him. "I'd love to" He muttered with a soft smile. As the two of you danced between one another in the kitchen, he felt his body finally ease from carrying all the tension he collected throughout the day.

The longer Logan is with you the easier it is for him to open up, to love freely, and there isn't a day that goes by that he isn't completely and utterly in awe by you. You chose him, something he'll never be able to wrap his head around, but he never wants to witness you loving someone as easy as you love him.

Taglist:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

@aoi-targaryen

@eyes-ofhell

@sad0ni0n

@fries11

@slowlikehoneyyy

@brisinggamenwearer

[seattlesuicide]

**Title:** *Grunge Miracle: Kurt’s Pregnant Adventure***Genre:** Surreal Comedy/Drama**Plot Summary:****Act 1:****Introduction:***Scene: Early 1990s Seattle, Nirvana is performing in a packed club. The energy is raw and electric.***Inciting Incident:***Kurt stumbles upon a strange artifact backstage after the concert.***Kurt:** (holding up the artifact) "Hey guys, check this out! Think it’s a new kind of guitar pick?"**Dave:** (laughing) "Looks like something out of a sci-fi movie. Be careful, you might summon aliens."**Krist:** "Or maybe it’s some weird fan gift. Just don’t break it."*Kurt shrugs, putting the artifact in his pocket.***Reaction:***A few days later, Kurt starts experiencing symptoms. He’s at a band rehearsal, looking uneasy.***Kurt:** (grimacing) "Man, I feel weird. Like, really weird. My stomach’s been doing flips all day."**Dave:** "Maybe you’ve been hitting the Taco Bell too hard."**Krist:** "Or you’re just pregnant, dude." (laughs)**Courtney:** (overhearing, teasingly) "Well, weirder things have happened."**Act 2:****Acceptance:***Kurt visits a doctor who confirms the unbelievable news. He’s now sitting with Dave and Krist, trying to process it.***Kurt:** "So, I’m... pregnant. Like, actually pregnant."**Dave:** (jaw dropped) "No way. This is insane."**Krist:** "Does this mean we need to start a nursery in the tour bus?"**Media Frenzy:***News leaks, and Kurt is swarmed by reporters. He holds an impromptu press conference.***Reporter 1:** "Kurt, how does it feel to be the first pregnant man?"**Kurt:** (smirking) "Weird. But then again, what about my life isn’t?"**Reporter 2:** "Is this a publicity stunt?"**Kurt:** "I wish. But no, this is real. Guess I’m just full of surprises."**Emotional Journey:***Kurt’s at home, talking to Courtney.***Kurt:** "This whole thing... it’s making me think about what I want to leave behind. Not just music, but something real, you know?"**Courtney:** (smiling) "You’re gonna be an amazing dad, Kurt. Weird, but amazing."**Act 3:****Climax:***Kurt goes into labor during a major concert. The band tries to keep playing as chaos ensues.***Kurt:** (between contractions) "Guess this is the ultimate stage dive, huh?"**Dave:** (panicking) "Someone get a doctor! And a camera, this is rock history!"**Resolution:***Kurt holds his newborn baby, exhausted but happy. The band and Courtney surround him, sharing the moment.***Kurt:** (softly singing a lullaby) "Hush little baby, don’t say a word..."*The movie ends with Kurt on stage, holding his baby, the crowd cheering, blending the rawness of grunge with the tenderness of new life.

heye every one.

[terrestrialnoob]

A Crow Delivers a message

DPXDC Demon Twins AU fic prompt

Damian glared out the window. An odd activity even for someone who seems to always be glaring, but there are several people who can recognize the difference between a resting glare and an active glare.

“You okay there, Dami?” Dick finally decided to ask for the good of the family. Tim trailed behind him, having noticed Damian's mood first, but not wanting to do anything about it.

Damian glanced over at them then back out the window. “It's nothing.”

“It doesn't look like nothing,” Tim commented.

Damian's glare shifted to Tim, but – it might be good that he's here. Dick will try to convince him he's imagining it, but Tim tends to believe Damian when it comes to this sort of thing. He sighed in defeat, “There's a crow following me.”

“A crow?” Both his brother's said at once.

Damian nodded and pointed out the window at the offending avian. “It's been following me since this morning.”

“Are you sure it's the same bird?” Dick asked, leaning over the couch in front of the window.

“Certain.”

“How do you know?” Tim asked as he took Dick's place looking at the bird.

“It doesn't stop looking at me.”

“And, when was the last time you slept?” Dick walked closer to Damian, looking for signs of exhaustion.

“Last night.” Damian answered against the accusation. “You can ask Pennyworth.”

“Birds usually means Penguin.” Tim commented, “Has it done anything but watch you?”

“I don't think...” Dick started but Damian spoke over him.

“It attempted to get my attention. Twice now, it's tapped on the nearest window if I was alone. It was tapping but stopped moments before you two arrived and flew off to that tree.”

Tim hummed, then opened the window.

“Whoa, hang on a second.” Dick took a quick step over but not fast enough to stop him. “I don't think we should be letting strange birds into the manor – if only for Alfred's sake.”

“I don't think it will enter while you two are here.”

“We'll stand right outside the door,” Tim said and started to walk off, “Let us know when it comes in.”

“No? No!” Dick shouted, “We can't-” He seemed to realize he wasn't going to talk reason into either of them, so leaned out the window and shouted at the bird, “Hey, we know you're waiting for something, can you just do it?”

“Don't tip it off!”

“It's a bird!” Dick countered, but then, it flew in through the window.

The three of them stared at it as it seemed to take in the room and the boys. It stared at Damian, almost like it was waiting for something, so Damian nodded at it?

It puffed up with a deep breath and spoke to them. “Your mother lied, your brother survives, though not for long. Sent to the care of Madeleine, dead and revived times over again, returns him wrong. A soul cannot last, so broken and patched, he will be gone.”

“What?”