#bring your mother to justice I swear it

[evil-swedenish]

It is such a precious thing to be loved

Here’s the edit if TikTok gets deleted next week 💀💀

[vantetaes]

BOOK WORM 🫧🥂

BOOK WORM! ARMIN X BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!! yn helps her friend relieve some stress.

WARNINGS!! 18+!! mentions of oral (f receiving), alcohol consumption, pet names, honestly just smut

the door creeps open slowly, revealing a figure illuminated by a laptop screen and a faulty led lamp. the faint clicking from the keyboard and sound of papers ruffling were the only sound that filled the room.

you peer around, the cluttered desk told you everything you needed to know: scattered papers, a coffee cup that looked like it hadn’t moved in hours, and a faint shadow under his eyes that screamed exhaustion.

“armin. what the hell?” walking over to the boy, gently placing your hand on his shoulder. the bag you came in being placed on the only clear spot of the desk. he leans into your touch a little, enjoying the warmth you never failed to bring, but snapping out of it quickly, rearing back up to continue typing.

“finals are in two weeks and if i don’t get my scores perfect i’ll have to hear about it for ages with my lawyer brother, attorney sister, my supreme court justice father, and my doctor mother.” he never once stopped typing. bending down to your knees, he gives you a small glance before reaching for a stack of crumbled pages, shuffling the sheets in confusion.

“i know it’s arou- ah! okay good.” he picks up a half ripped sheet, copying down the data from the sheet onto his laptop. lips in a tight line, you stand back up, digging through the tan tote bag. a small case of flavored beer and a couple of shooters make their way onto the desk. he looks over at the spread, immediately shaking his head.

“hell no, yn! are you crazy? i have class in the morning.” you throw you hands up in defeat.

“can we make a deal ‘minnie?” he ignores you, still typing. fed up, you finally unzip your jacket, tossing it on the extra chair. throwing one of your legs around the boy, he rears his hands up , scared to touch you. you’re straddling him, pushing the blonde locks out of his face, tucking a few of the longer pieces behind his ear. his ice blue eyes stare up at you in confusion.

“what are you doing, yn?”

“drink one beer with me. not! while doing homework. just enjoy a full beer and maybe a shooter and i’ll leave you alone afterwards! swear.” holding your pinky out to the male, he bites the insides of his cheek, thinking really hard about your opposition.

“just one?” waving your pink acrylic back and forth between your bodies, he finally latches on with his.

-

PARTYNEXTDOOR plays in the background, filling the void of quiet. the entire six pack was now just one. the one you and armin were currently sharing. he takes a swig from it, grabbing your chin with his thumb and index finger, he places the bottle to your lips. his blue eyes stare as you gulp down the last of the liquid catches you off guard, causing you to cough up a little, accidentally getting it on his white shirt.

“oh shit. im sorry.” you try to wipe it off with your sleeve. he just laughs, moving your arm a little.

“it’s okay. i’ll change.” he moves from his position on the bed, hand gripping the shirt from behind his head, pulling it over, stripping himself of the shirt. you couldn’t help but notice the way his back was sculpted.

since when does he work out? is that a tattoo?

“i didn’t know you had a tat, minnie.” slurring, he turns around to look at you sprawled out on his bed. your body waved hair sprawled out everywhere, sweater falling off your shoulders and shorts riding up your thighs.

he knows, you’re only his friend and he had no chance with you. hell, your ex is onyankopon. what could armin give up that he wasn’t? but shit, the way he thinks about you. the way his eyes can’t help but to feast on your appearance when you’re near him. he wanted to ruin you. to cherish you. to make you his.

“yeah it was an old friends idea. he passed not too long ago. still miss the kid.” he just hangs his head before going back to look for another shirt.

“come here.” you say assertively. armin turns around, the front looking just as good as his back.

he drunkenly waddles back to the bed, climbing back into his original spot. your finger traces over the abstract tattoo, inspecting it closely.

it was a sigilism tattoo that started below his ribs and extended up his left pec, to his bicep.

your other hand rested on his abdomen, laying up against the man.

“how long did it take?” you quiz.

“it was honestly two full sessions since im a pussy. so about five hours a session.” he laughs, face turning a little red.

“i think it’s so cool.” you say still studying the ink. look over at the man you see his eyes directly on you, then a quick glance down at your lips.

“i think you’re cool.” you say, feeling his body inch closer, gradually changing your position. his hands wrap around your waist, slowly shifting him under you. eyes never breaking contact.

“i think you’re-“ he leans down, eye to eye with you. his lips plant down firmly on yours. moving in sync, you could feel him relax into it, tongue occasionally swiping across your bottom lip. you’d never been this close to him. he smelled like coconut and dior cologne, hair dangling above your face.

“what about onyankopon?” pulling away from the heated kiss, he asks, worry filling his eyes.

“mm- what about him?”

“right. if you want me to stop, let me know pleas-“ throwing your arms around his neck, you pull him back down. his lips were so soft. his breath tasted like fresh peppermint, completely baffling you since you both just drank alcohol. he was intoxicating.

moving your lips in unison, there’s no rush, no urgency—just the gradual deepening of the kiss. the way his lips part slightly against yours, inviting more. his fingers slide gently along your jaw, tilting your face toward his, eager.

he forces himself to break away, whining at the loss. his lips move to your neck, hands wondering every inch of your body, trying to stimulate you every way he can. sucking and leaving marks all over your collarbone, he finds himself helping you remove your sweater. revealing a pink lace bralette.

“fuck, everything about you is so beautiful.” you whine, tugging at his sweatpants knot.

“well get there princess, lust let me make you feel good please. it’s the only thing i’ve wanted to do. let me eat you.” you could damn near see the fire that burned behind his eyes. his large hands slip under your bra, gently massaging them, using his index and thumb to roll your nipples in between. a gasp escapes your lips.

“armin- fuck.” he gets impatient, lifting your bra up to your chest, mouth immediately attaching to the swollen bud. your mouth forms a small ‘o’ shape, gripping at the man’s golden locs.

he leaves them both a few kisses before peppering your stomach with a few kisses.

staring down at the man, you see him kissing at the inside of your thighs, humming after every kiss. he finally gets impatient, gripping the shorts by the waistband, yanking them off your body. you giggle, being tugged a little.

wasting no time, he pins your legs back to the bed and starts eating you like he’s starving. his tongue dragging back and forth over your clit, saliva and spit mixing to create a glisten on the man’s face. his lips attach to your swollen clit, sucking soft while he reaches up to play with your matching swollen nipples, sliding his hands all over your exposed body.

“oh armin please!” you could feel him getting hungrier by the minute, his grip on your legs getting tighter as he rubs his tongue up and down your pussy. he stuffed two long thick fingers into your cunt scissoring them, ultimately touching your g-spot. you tried moving, your body tingling, but armin was so drunk from you, he couldn’t tell. his finger hooked into you, slowly stroking the spot, his tongue still abusing your nub. you were seeing stars at this point.

“fuck- minnie im gonna cum!” without fail, you released all over the man’s hand, fluid shooting out of your throbbing cunt, all over his face.

but he didn’t stop. his tongue continued its dance around on you.

“fuck me, i can’t take anymore, please armin.”

without saying anything, he pulls you closer by the waist. coming out of his sweatpants, his hand pumps a few times while he reaches in his side desk to grab a condom.

you also never knew how big he was. you stare at his length as he hovers over you, a little confused.

“where was that at?” you point, he laughs, pushing your legs apart again. looking down, a string of saliva falls right onto your slick, mixing in with the rest.

“was savin him for you, baby.” the tip slides in with ease, armins head throws back, already in love with the way you were sucking him in.

“give me all of it, please.” hips bucking up, trying to get the entire length into your throbbing core. his hands dig into your hips, pressing your down into the mattress, slowly sliding fully into you.

nails on his back, you let out the most nasty moan.

“shit, you feel so good squeezing around me.” pulling out, his body shakes a little, unable to control his whiny moans.

he keeps his strokes gentle and paced, still holding your body deep into the bed. hands pressed to the back of your thighs, he pushes down more, spreading yourself open to take more of him.

his throbbing cock continues slow and teasing, building a fire in the pit of your stomach. pulling your legs together, feet towards his face, his mouth kisses your pedicured toes.

the paces quickens, causing your body to forcefully move up and down. he snakes his arms around your legs, locking them in place with a bear hug, still pounding against you.

“armin! im cumming againn-” before you could catch yourself, you’re squirting all over his dick. he laughs at you, removing his arm, using one of his hands to play with your clit.

“ feel so fucking good. i don’t wanna stop fucking you. please, give me one more.”

he didn’t care that he hadn’t finished, all he wanted was you and all he could give you.

his pace slows down, the look on his face in pure bliss. your hands come up, caressing his face, tears brimming your eyes. the words wouldn’t even form.

“i want it baby, please cum with me.” your voice broken and low, his body lowers, connecting with yours and he slides his arms under your body, slowing down to a good pace. the unforgettable feeling of that tight coil in your stomach shows again as his cock digs at your spot relentlessly.

“im gonna cum, fuck-“

“me too, give it to me, ‘min!” your bodies clash against each others, sweat collecting on your chests, finally reaching the climax. his hips slow down, trying to catch his breath. pulling out, you both groan.

“i hope you know im not letting you fuck anybody else.” he saying rolling over, fixing your hair. your head falls over in direction.

“you too baby.”

with a few more laughs, he stands from the bed, trashing the condom before walking to you. his large arms scoop you up into a cradle.

“let’s get you in the shower.”

© vantetaes. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. ageless/blank blogs dni.

[inotakumagf]

look out for the little guy

✶ jason todd x gn!reader

word count ✺ 6.8k

summary ✺ there are three times you’ve gotten yourself into trouble, and one time that Red Hood is late.

warning ✺ blood, death, murder, corruption, etc etc in a level that is appropriate for Gotham. Jason is in vigilante limbo here. soooo angst heavy, you might hate me. there’s hurt/no comfort & character death so proceed with caution. also Gotham is in NJ i will die on this hill

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Your mother always tells you that your nose will lead you right into trouble. You’ve always been too curious as a kid, and that hasn't changed at all as you got older. It’s worse, even, because you’re a journalist in Gotham of all places. There’s always trouble brewing just under the skin of this city, and the corruption, the evil…it all drives you crazy. Every rich asshole in this city has their teeth dug into some drug ring or money laundering scheme or world-ending villain plot. And it's personal, because one of those rich assholes is the reason why your family fell apart. 

They’d wanted to bulldoze the apartment that you grew up in to turn it into some million dollar project and your mother had been adamant that you stay put. Rich people don’t like taking no for an answer, and they’d made it their mission to tear your family to shreds, like you were ants under their gold-plated boots. No one cared, no one ever stepped in to bring justice to your family, because the corruption ran so deep. It pushed you to journalism, so that you could document and show people the truth. It’s not your fault that the stories you were chasing went from regular corrupt assholes to superpowered and Arkham-worthy ones.

Like the story you're pursuing now, about the uptake in missing person reports across Gotham. The pattern of the kidnappings has been…weird, and—as your contact at GCPD was hesitant to reveal to you—it’s left the detectives stumped. But you’d been studying the disappearances and the victimology, and you think you’ve tracked a lead. Really, it only took a bit of effort—effort that the GCPD can’t bother to spare. Rather than hand this information over to the very incompetent and lazy police department, you’d decided that you were just going to find out what was happening to these people on your own. 

An evident similarity between all of the kidnappings is that each missing person had reportedly last been seen on fairgrounds or in parks, and you’d found similar missing reports out-of-state. In your research you’ve discovered a travelling circus group that had very conveniently travelled and performed at these locations, and it explains the pattern in which these people are going missing. And the circus leads right back to Gotham, because all things do. The Circus of Strange is very illusive on Google, but you’d found one name in association with the group. The owner of the circus, Lazlo Valentin, owns a boarded up beauty parlor right in Gotham, and—against your better judgement—you’re going to do some sleuthing.

You stare up at the sign that’s falling apart, that claims that this building is the Pretty Dolls Parlor. You take an unconscious step back. This building looks like it walked right out of an R. L. Stine book, and you’re starting to regret your “run in now, ask questions later” mentality.

“You look lost.”

You jump, fumbling with the pepper spray in your coat pocket. “Get back, or I swear I’ll…oh. It's you.”

Red Hood is a terrifying sight, and you should be more scared, but he’s kind of reformed? Maybe? It’s shaky territory, but between the creepy building and an anti-hero/vigilante/Bat-associate, you’d prefer to stay on his good side. 

“You sound very excited to see me,” he says in a deadpan. “Is there a reason we’re standing outside Stephen King’s wet dream, orrrr…?”

You straighten your back out. “Actually, I’ve been tracking the missing persons case that the GCPD has been neglecting, and I think it has something to do with this building. Lazlo Valentin…does that name mean anything to you?”

“Might,” he says. “How did you connect him to those missing people?”

You explain your theory to him, and to his credit he listens to your whole spiel, even though you’re totally rambling. When you’re done, you spread your hands out to the still-very-creepy building. “Ta-da! That brought me here. You know what, your timing is actually perfect, ‘cause this place is really freaking me out.”

He huffs and steps forward towards the building. “That’s great. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a deranged scientist to stop.”

He gets up to the entrance before he notices that you’re trailing behind him. “What are you doing?”

You give him a side-eye. “I’m coming with you.”

He turns so that he’s facing you head-on. “Uh, no the fuck you’re not. Look, I don’t know if you’re looking for a thrill or if you think you’re Sherlock Holmes, but you are most definitely not coming with me.”

You frown. “I’m a journalist at the Gazette, and this is my story. Everyone thinks I’m making this up, but if you’re here then that means this is real. I want to help.”

He sighs. “You can help without putting yourself in danger.”

“But I need to know what happened to those people. If I walk away now, I’ll never find out. Please, I’ll be so quiet, you won’t even know I’m with you.”

“Not happening. But,” he says over your sounds of protest, “if you give me your contact information, I’ll give you my report of events. How does that sound?”

You want to argue, but that actually sounds like a good deal. You get your story and you don’t have to go into the creepy building? “Deal. Here.”

You dig through your wallet and pull out one of your business cards. “This is my email. And I swear your source will stay anonymous. Scout’s honor.”

He nods in appreciation and pulls off the wood plank that keeps the door boarded up. “You should head home now. Oh, and before you go…”

“Yeah?” You ask.

“Stay out of trouble.”

You grin and give him a two-fingered salute. “No promises, but I’ll try.”

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You do try to hold yourself to his request. Especially because the report that he’d emailed you had been flawless, and it had gotten you a stand-out story. Terrible for all the people that had been turned into Valentin’s deformed puppets, but at least it got the GCPD to get up and do something. Although it had really been Red Hood that brought him in to Arkham. So, how else do you thank a vigilante that you’ll never see again, other than ensure that you never have to bump into him while following a sketchy lead?

Well. 

You swear you did try. But sometimes...life happens. It’s not like you were trying to get caught in the middle of a robbery.

You were minding your business grabbing some crappy late night “dinner” from your favorite bodega, when some guy decided that this was a great time and place to interrupt your very precious schedule to rob the store at gunpoint. You’re tucked behind in the candy aisle as this is all going on, and you can probably sneak right out the back if you had a pinch of self-preservation. But this is your favorite store on this side of Gotham,, and you'd feel really bad if you just left Angel to fend off the robber by himself when he always turns a blind eye if you're a few cents short.

You sneak up behind the guy as Angel is emptying the register into a pillowcase for him. “So…are you expecting me to roll all these coins? Because it'll take forever if I do. And this has already made my day ten times worse.”

The guy is getting impatient. “I don’t care, just put the money in the damn bag.”

You can hear Angel grumble his complaints as he complies, and that’s the distraction you need to tip toe behind the robber. Once you’re close enough, you jump onto his back. You take advantage of the loose grip he has on the gun to smack it away. It clatters as it lands somewhere near the entrance. The guy turns, trying to knock you off. Aside from getting the gun away from him, you hadn’t really thought this far. He almost knocks you off balance, and you have to tighten your arms around his neck. You kick and bite and scratch where you can, screaming up a storm. 

You and the robber tumble to the ground as he loses his balance, and you roll around so that he’s face down and you’re sitting right in the middle of his back, facing Angel at the counter. He tries to push you off, but you’ve finally pulled out your pepper spray, so you give him a taste of it to placate him. You huff and puff, trying not to look as much of a mess as you feel. Angel is already on the line with 9-1-1, and he shakes his head as you stare up at him. 

“Man, you’re fucking crazy. You sure you’re not one of those circus freaks that are always swingin’ around this city?”

You laugh. “If I was, I think that would have looked a lot cooler.”

The bell rings as the front door is pushed open. You can hear heavy boots stomping your way. 

“Wow. GCPD actually showed up to an emergency, and we didn’t have to wait an hour. Got any lottery tickets for me, Angel?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” a strangely familiar voice says.

You turn your head. Of all the vigilantes to intercept this call on the police radio, it had to be Red Hood. Goodbye to that lottery ticket.

“Oh. Hey,” you try for a casual greeting. Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

“Was I talking to the air when I told you to stay out of trouble? Or are you crazy?” He walks around so that he’s right in front of you. He disarms the robber’s gun and tucks it away in a quick movement. He crosses his arms, and even though you can’t see his face, you know he’s disappointed in you.

“That is not fair, man. I didn’t ask the universe to put me right in the middle of a robbery. Do you think I do this to myself for fun?” You’re still sitting on top of a pepper sprayed robber, so you don’t exactly sound sane right now. 

He extends a hand down to you, and you take it. You let him pull you off the guy, and Red Hood is quick to handcuff his arms behind his back, leaving him on the ground to groan and moan about your roughness. 

You peer up at Red Hood. “Look, I wasn’t just gonna sit back and let him rob the place. Also, he was taking change. Do you know how stupid that is? I really don’t think he was going to do serious damage.”

You don’t wait for his response, grabbing the microwave dinner, the can of Arizona, and a few snacks that you had left on the ground and placing them on the counter for Angel to ring up. You drop a few crumpled bills on the counter to pay, but before you can grab your things and head out, Angel stops you.

“You’re short a dollar seventy-five.”

You look down at the counter and wince. “C’mon, Angel, cut me some slack here. I just saved your ass.”

He snorts. “You call that saving? You looked like a cat getting sprayed with water. Besides, I’m already gonna be on thin ice from this, I don’t need to give my boss any other reason to nag me. Sorry, kid.”

You groan and dig through your bag for some more change. You grin when you find a handful of quarters in a pocket, but a very muscled arm reaches in front of you as Red Hood places a folded 5 dollar bill on the counter.

You open your mouth to thank him, but he grabs the plastic bag that Angel has placed your things in and guides you out of the bodega. 

“It was nice knowing you, kid,” Angel calls out as you leave. Very funny.

“It doesn’t matter if you thought he wasn’t gonna hurt you. You can’t throw yourself into danger based on what you think someone will do. Especially not in Gotham.”

He hands you the plastic bag, and you take it hesitantly. “Isn’t that hypocritical, though? You jump into trouble all the time.”

He shakes his head. “I’m trained, and I know what I’m getting into. You either have a death wish, or you think none of this can touch you.”

“I…,” you trail off, not sure what he wants you to say. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to wait for the GCPD to do something. I just knew that if I didn’t do anything, it would be my fault if Angel got hurt.”

Red Hood’s shoulders drop, and he lets out a soft sigh. “It’s not your fault when people like that do what they do. Just…don’t put yourself on the line like that. That’s what I’m here for.”

You laugh. “Well, you can’t exactly be everywhere, can you?”

“You never know. C’mon, let me take you home.”

You let out a low whistle. “Woah, how ‘bout you buy me a drink first?”

But you tell him your address anyways, and he walks with you the whole way back. You spare glances at him every now and then, straightening your head forward when he catches your eye.

“So,” you start, unable to stand the silence, “why do you do this? I can’t imagine it pays well to run around in spandex.”

He snorts. “First of all, I don’t wear spandex, I’m not a freak. I’m…I’m not the kind of person you think I am.”

You roll your eyes. “This is where you tell me you’re a dark soul and you hurt everything you touch. I’ve had enough ex-boyfriends, I don’t need that speech from you too.”

“This isn’t a joke. I’m not a good person. I don’t do this because I think I can change Gotham. Everything I do is out of anger and spite.”

You shrug off his words. “Well, yeah, I did report on your…debut as Red Hood. It was pretty fucked up. But I also wrote about your impact on Crime Alley. I’ve interviewed people that live there and in other parts of Gotham that rich assholes won’t go near. Whether you like it or not, people do look up to you. We—they see you as a symbol.”

Red Hood stares at you, shaking his head. “A symbol of what? That murder is always the answer?”

“That we can—should fight back. Maybe not to such extremes, but you’ve shown us that we don’t have to roll over and beg when rich men tell us to. I think that counts for something.”

“I don’t know if you're the best judge of character, trouble. Not if you think there’s any good in me.”

Your face scrunches up. “Trouble?”

He laughs. “That’s what you are. I think it's a fitting name.”

You grumble, but you can’t exactly argue against his point. You get to your apartment building then, and you turn to Red Hood one last time. “Thank you for walking me home. I’ll try not to run into any burning buildings or chase after cats in trees.”

He nods in approval. “That’s a good start. Let me see your phone.”

You comply, and he spends a few minutes on it before handing it back. “I added a number you can reach me at. It's a secure line, but if you share it with anyone I will know.”

“Oh, you like me so much you had to give me your number, huh?”

He rolls his eyes at your teasing tone. “If you think you’re about to do something stupid that I’ll yell at you for, just call or send me a text, and I’ll handle it, okay?”

You blink up at him. His shoulders are tense, and you get the feeling that he’s being very vulnerable right now. “Thank you. I’ll be sure not to abuse it.”

You scurry off into your apartment building, clutching your phone like a lifeline.

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A part of you hopes that you never have to contact him, but this is Gotham and you’re a journalist. Without intending to, you sniff out trouble like a bloodhound. You keep your messages to Red Hood as professional and concise as possible, laying out just the most basic information so that he doesn’t get annoyed with you. And you know he takes everything you say seriously, because you either write or hear about his activities all the time. 

It makes you happy to know that he takes your words and your concerns seriously. You haven’t had a lot of that all your life. 

Over time, your messages to Red Hood allow yourself to get more casual with how you message Red Hood, and as the months go by, you get to know him a bit better. His favorite book is Pride and Prejudice, though Frankenstein is a close second. He grew up in Gotham, and he’s spent almost all his life here. And the most surprising thing you’ve learned is that he likes to cook. You’d learned that accidentally. 

The first time he’d returned to your apartment since your initial meeting, he was injured and he’d hesitantly asked if you could help patch him up. After making sure he wasn’t going to die on you, you were reluctant to say goodbye. You’d just finished making your first actual meal all week, and you invited him to join you. You hadn’t expected him to say yes, but you’re glad he did. Because now, he stops by to make dinner with you every now and then. He still occasionally stops by for the purpose of getting your subpar medical attention, but most of his visits are specifically so that he can hang out with you. Red Hood might deny it, but the two of you are friends now.

You tell yourself that you’re friends, at least, because sometimes you don’t think you can chalk up how you feel about him as platonic. You stare at him far longer than is polite, but he doesn’t ever make fun of you when he catches your eye. And sometimes, he sits or stands so close that you think he might lean a little bit closer, before he realizes your proximity and pulls back.

You never thought you’d ever be close to one of Gotham’s vigilantes, least of all Red Hood. But despite all of his self-loathing, you see the sweetness that he hides under all that gruffness. He cares so much about this city, and it kind of scares you to see how much of his heart is laid out so plainly. To you, his anger and violence are evidence of how much he cares.

It makes you feel more guilty for what you’re about to do. You can’t get his face out of your head as you research and plan your current story.

You’ve heard chatter about something that the power-hungry billionaire Max Shreck is planning. It’s been very tight-lipped, especially to someone like you who is so far removed from what concerns Gotham’s elite. But you’re good at blending into backgrounds unnoticed, and billionaires sure get talkative at all the galas and charity events they attend. It sounds exactly like the kind of scheme that Red Hood would tell you to stay away from. If you bothered to tell him the hole you were digging yourself into. 

You should tell him what you’ve heard—that Shreck is working with the Penguin to drain Gotham dry. You don’t know enough about what they’re planning, but you know it will hurt regular Gothamites the most before it touches the rich parts of this city. And Red Hood would definitely take your concern seriously if you told me. But he would never in a million years let you be involved, and you won’t be able to walk away from this without doing something to help. People like Shreck are the reason why your childhood was so unstable, and you don’t want to stand by and let it happen again. 

Shreck visits the Iceberg Lounge every Thursday evening, and tonight is as perfect an opportunity as ever. Red Hood is busy dealing with an outburst from Condiment King, so you’re not worried about getting caught. 

The queue to get into the Lounge is long, and by the time you get to the front, your shoulders are shaking anxiously. You straighten out when the bouncer gives you a look over.

“Sorry, can’t let you in tonight,” the man says dismissively.

You falter for a moment before putting on your best condescending glare. “You can’t be serious. Do you know who I am? The Valestra family supports your boss quite generously, and I would hate to weaken our ties.”

But the bouncer just shakes his head. “I understand. But there’s business to be taken care of tonight at the Lounge, and we can’t let just anyone in.”

You gasp. “Just anyone? Who do you think you are? This is utterly ridiculous, and I–”

There’s an arm around your shoulder, and it distracts you enough that your entitled rant trails off unfinished. You stare at the man that has joined your side. He looks familiar, and it takes you a moment to realize that this is Thomas Elliot, the head of one of Gotham’s richest families.

“This is my guest for the night,” he says smoothly, pulling you closer to his side and walking through the entrance. He doesn’t even wait for the bouncer to let him in, he just…does what he wants. Is it that easy for people like him?

He gives you a sideways glance and a vicious grin. “You’re a pretty little thing aren’t you? Valestra, you say? Are you one of Salvatore’s pups?”

It takes everything in you not to shrivel at his words. “Third cousin actually. Sal promised me I’d have a grand time at the Lounge, and he said I must try the drinks here. If you’ll excuse me, I want to–”

The hand at your shoulder holds you close. “No need. I’ll get us a table, and the help will bring it to us. Come.”

He all but drags you to a table with velvet-cushioned seats. You curse your terrible luck for leading you right into deep shit, again. You look around for an exit from this ego-inflated idiot, but everyone is so wrapped up in their own worlds. You can see Shreck standing on the mezzanine above, having a very intense discussion with Cobblepot himself. You look away before they can notice you. 

Elliot draps a soft hand over your own as you wait for a waiter to bring over some drinks. “So tell me, dear, do you live in Gotham?

You laugh as obnoxiously as possible. “Oh, please, I wouldn’t be caught dead living in this rat-infested city. No offense, darling. I have a penthouse in Metropolis. I’d much rather be home, but you know how it is with Sal.”

He nods absentmindedly. “Hm, yes. Valestra has always been a sentimental man hasn’t he? I can’t blame you for not wanting to stay in Gotham. It's good land, yes, but as you said the rats make it so hard to enjoy it. Always complaining about their lives as if they haven’t dirtied the streets with their crimes. It’s disgusting, what they’ve done to this city.”

Your fist clenches under the table. Your vision goes white with anger, but you let out a breath to calm yourself down. You try to laugh with him, but it comes out half-hearted. Thank god, your drinks arrive, and you immediately lift the flute to your lips.

Elliot leans forward, running his finger along the rim of his glass of whiskey. “You know, you might actually be able to move back to Gotham soon.”

You smell an opportunity. “Oh? How so?”

He glances up at the pair still talking on the mezzanine. “I shouldn’t tell you, but…Salvatore’s a friend. Shreck’s investing in a pipeline through Gotham. It’ll get us a lot of money. And all those rats?” He chuckles.

He leans in closer, a weird, sultry tone in his voice. “They’ll do what they do best, and scurry far, far away. It’ll be impossible for them to afford even an inch of this city. Gotham will go back to what it was meant to be.”

Your heart thrums. You know that Elliot’s view is very misguided, because this city could never thrive without the working class. And with Arkham so out of control nowadays, landlords couldn’t afford to raise their prices. 

Still, building a pipeline through Gotham is worrisome, especially with all the toxic waste that has already been pumped into this city by the Joker and Scarecrow. The city couldn’t survive another biohazardous disaster. You need to know more if you’re going to tell Red Hood.

“Oh, that’s a relief. So this pipeline…”

You don’t continue, because a large shadow dwarfs your figure. You don’t know if you should be relieved or worried to see Red Hood standing over your table, beefy arms crossed over his chest in intimidation.

“Hood–”

“We’re leaving. Now.” He is pissed. So, worried it is.

Elliot tries to stop him, but he doesn’t stand a chance. Red Hood nudges you out of your seat. Before Elliot can protest, he places a gloved hand between your shoulder blades and guides you through the busy room until you’re out through a side door.

You try to say something, but you can feel his seething look through his mask as he holds a hand up and jerks his head towards his bike. He tosses a helmet to you, and you climb on behind him after securing it to your head. The entire ride is silent, and you know you're in for a lecture. But your mind is still so focused on what Elliot had told you. 

Red Hood lets you brew in your thoughts until he’s led you up into your apartment.

“What,” he seethes, “the hell were you thinking. Scratch that—clearly you weren’t thinking, because you were in the Iceberg Lounge. Are you serious? Is this what you call staying out of trouble?”

You try to calm him. “Hood, come on. I was fine.”

“Fine? The Penguin was there tonight. If he knew you snuck your way in—if he knew why you were there—he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you. And if I hadn’t been there–” he cuts himself off to shudder out a breath.

“This is my job, Hood. You can’t ask me not to follow a lead like this! The people need to know this, and if I can get it published in the Gazette–”

“No. You’re done. I tried to guide you away, but clearly you’re not going to stop. You will never stop putting yourself in danger.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I? I must be doing okay.”

He stares at you in disbelief. “And how long are you going to be okay when you’re acting like this? Do you know what they’ll do to you if you publish that story? They will find you, and they will tear you apart. I can’t lose you!”

You try to shrug off his confession. “This is my choice, Hood. You do what you do because you want to help people, and this is how I help people. You can't ask me to stop.”

He hesitates for a moment. “You’re right, I can’t ask you to stop. But I can make you, if you’re fired.”

You recoil, like he’d slapped you. “What? You can’t do that.”

He can’t even look you in the eye. “Wayne Enterprise owns the Gazette, and Bruce Wayne happens to owe me a favor. I can. But I don’t want to do that. I’m begging you to drop the story, to stop putting yourself in danger. Or I’ll be forced to make you stop. Please.”

You scoff. “Get out of my apartment.”

He calls out your name softly, taking a step closer to you. 

“Get the fuck out! Or I’ll call the police and tell them you broke in.”

“Thought you said the GCPD is useless.”

“They are, but I’m sure there are a few vigilantes who want to bring you in. You’re still a criminal.”

His hands hover before him, and he clenches his fists tight at your words. You hate to even say something like this to him, but you want him to leave, and this is the only way you can think to make him. 

He walks over to your window, pulling it open in a quick motion. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Please just tell me you’ll drop the story.”

You turn away from him to hide your tears. “I never want to see you again.”

He doesn’t say anything. When you turn back, the window is sealed shut and he's nowhere to be seen. It's like he was never here.

──────────𝜗𝜚──────────

GOTHAM, NJ — The Martha Foundation raises a startling 3.5 billion dollars at last week’s charity gala. Mr. Bruce Wayne, the Foundation’s primary benefactor, has spoken with the Gazette about where these funds will be invested. Notably, a large portion will be used to repair the Gotham Public Library, which was destroyed in a recent explosion that has left all of Gotham shaken. While authorities have yet to confirm the source of the explosion, rumors indicate that

You groan and backspace the entire paragraph. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Everyone knows who caused the explosion, but you can’t go around accusing people in the paper, not unless you want your head on a stick. Red Hood was right, you just can’t stop looking for trouble, can you? 

The thought of the masked man makes you lean down and press your forehead against your desk. You haven’t seen him since you kicked him out of your apartment, and you can feel the loss of his presence. You can feel the pang in your heart every time you think of him and remember how you ended things. You know you don’t have the right to, because you were the one to push him away. Still, it hurts to think of him, and you want nothing more than to see him again. Maybe you’re petty for not seeking him out, but you can’t bring yourself to call him. Next week, you promise yourself. Next week, you’ll apologize and promise not to do anything stupid ever again. 

When you spare a glance at your computer’s clock, you realize just how late it is. Your work day should have ended an hour ago, but here you are, wrapped in your thoughts. You save the scrap of a story that you’re working on and shut off the dingy computer. You’ll just work on it tomorrow. Or rather, you’ll write and rewrite it a million times over tomorrow. 

The streets of Gotham are strangely empty right now. Sure, people usually stay in when it gets dark earlier, but its especially quiet. It feels like the city is holding its breath as it waits for the ball to drop, and you don’t want to be out when that happens. After living in Gotham all your life, a person gets to know when something is undeniably wrong.

You don’t notice the men following you until you’re a few blocks away from your apartment. You knew, you knew something wasn’t right. And yet here you are, alone in Gotham at night. You ignore the sound of their fast approaching boots, staring straight ahead. But another man is walking in your direction, staring right at you. They pinch you in on either side, forcing you to stop at the lip of an alleyway. You know they’re from the Penguin. You’re sure you’ve been on his radar since Red Hood had to pull you out of the Iceberg Lounge, but also the penguin themed ski-masks kind of give it away. You hope it's not the last thing you see before you die, because that would really suck. 

You weigh your options really quickly. You wonder if you can make a quick escape. But a scan over the men surrounding you makes it clear that there is no way you can take a single step without getting shot in the back of the head.

“Hey, fellas. I’ve had a really long day, so if I could just be on my way–”

They step even closer. The man in front smiles at you with cruelty in his eyes. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice about messing with the Penguin.”

Before you can think, say, or do anything, he shoots you right in the stomach. You gasp involuntarily, as if surprised that a bullet was actually able to hurt you. It's a sharp pain that starts suddenly and then just doesn’t stop. You press your hand to your stomach, flinching at the contact your hand makes with sticky, hot blood. 

One of the men kicks the back of your ankles, sending you down to your knees. You wheeze, staring up as the man in front steps closer. 

He snorts. “Let’s see if your Big Bad Wolf can save you this time.”

You don’t want to just sit here and take this. You want to scream, kick, or curse them to hell and back. But it’s too late. They’re gone, and you’re bleeding out in an alley of Gotham.

Your brain scrambles up enough energy not to give up right away. What had the man said about a wolf? No, not any wolf—your wolf. Your Red Hood. You pull out your phone, trying to ignore how badly your hands shake. You find his contact on autopilot, heart clenching at the contact photo you have set of his brooding mask.

It rings once. You worry for a moment that Red Hood won’t answer, that he’ll ignore you like you did him. But he picks up after the first ring.

“Trouble?” You hate to hear the hope in his voice. You hate that you’re going to rip it away from him again.

“Red,” you say, trying not to choke on your own breath, “I need you. I can’t–”

You squeeze your eyes, trying desperately to block out your fatigue. You don’t want him to notice your pain. But of course he hears it.

“I’m coming. Where are you?”

You try to remember what street you were on, but all sense of logic has slipped your mind. You sob out, “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, I’ll find you, just hold on for me, okay?” His voice calms you, and you lean back against the wall. You vaguely register that he’s speaking again, but not to you. You can tell, because his voice is now erratic and demanding.

After a moment, his voice returns to its soothing rasp. “Okay, I have your location. I’m only a few minutes away. Can you talk to me? I need to hear your voice.”

You nod, then realize he can’t see you over the phone. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause on the other side before he says, “Don’t. Don’t apologize.”

“But you were right, I should have listened to you. I was too stubborn.”

“Then apologize when you see me.”

“I miss you.” The blood loss must really be getting to you, if you’re admitting something like that so easily. But you do miss him. You wasted so much time being stupid, and you regret it so much.

“I’m almost there. Please stop talking like you’re gonna die. You’re going to be fine, you hear me?” He sounds so confident, and you desperately want to believe him.

You press your head back against the brick wall behind you. A light drizzle of rain paints your face, and you shut your eyes and pretend that nothing is wrong and that you’re not scared that Red Hood won’t come.

You don’t wait long, and it feels like only a second before a gloved hand is cupping your cheek. Your eyes flutter open, and you stare into familiar, blank eyes. Red Hood is crouched down in front of you, staring right at the hole in your stomach.

You cough, which only causes you to hack up more blood. You wince as it splatters all over Red Hood’s mask.

“S-sorry,” you gasp out. You reach a shaky hand out to wipe away the blood, but you’d forgotten the small fact that your blood is already stained on your hand. You end up spreading more blood over his mask. It makes you want to cry. “Fuck. ‘M sorry.”

You pull your hand away so that you don’t make even more of a mess, but Red Hood grasps your hand in his, keeping your palm pressed against his cheek.

“Don’t you dare apologize, trouble. EMS is en route, can you just keep your eyes on me?”

You shudder out a breath, but do your best to nod. “Please don’t leave. Don’t wanna die alone.”

You can feel his grip tighten. “You’re not going to die, I’m not gonna let that happen.”

The fervor in his voice makes you smile. “You’re my favorite person, Red.”

He dips his head low for a moment. Then, he does something you never thought you’d see. He unclasps his half-mask and lays it beside him. Next goes his domino mask. You study his face, brows furrowing at the pain in his eyes.

“My name is Jason,” he says softly, and the sound of his voice without the modular voice-changer makes you shiver. How you have the time to be lovesick as you’re bleeding out, you’ll never understand.

“Jason,” you repeat, trying the name on your tongue. “Thank you. I’ll take your secret to the grave.”

Your eyes crinkle at your own terribly-timed joke, but you regret it when his face falls apart in anguish. It is worse, to be able to see him laid out before you like this.

He shudders a breath and leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m so sorry.”

You run your palm over his smooth cheek, brushing your fingers against an oddly shaped scar that cuts into his lips. “It’s not your fault, Jason. You were right. There’s so much in my life that I wish I could change. But meeting you? I wouldn’t change that, even if it kills me. You are–”

You cough weakly. You’re so tired, and your body is begging you to shut down, to give up. But Jason asked you to stay focused on him, and you don’t want to take your eyes away from him. “You are the best thing that has happened to me.”

Tears flood your eyes. The thought of leaving Jason all alone makes your heart clench.

“Hey, sweetheart, look at me, okay?”

Your eyes readjust, finding his face back in your view. You hadn’t even noticed that your head had dropped. You feel the fight in your body drain. Your hand flails out in desperation. “Jay–”

He takes your hand in his carefully. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

When you don’t respond, he cups your cheek in his strong hand. “C’mon, talk to me. What was that book you were telling me about last month?”

He searches your eyes desperately. Your face has gone blank, and your eyes have glazed over.

“No. Sweetheart, please look at me. Please.”

He cradles your face between both of his hands before pulling you into his chest. He sobs without caring if anyone will see him like this, on his knees and hunched over your limp body. He mutters apologies into your hair, running a careful hand over your back. 

He can hear his earpiece crackle to life, and Babs starts speaking on the other line. “Red Hood? EMS is nearing your location now.”

He lays you gently against the concrete, making sure the back of your head doesn’t hit the ground harshly. He stands and retrieves his domino and half-mask shakily, making sure they’re secure before addressing Babs. “Oracle,” he gasps out. “Tell EMS it's a 10-45D. The coroner…the coroner needs to be here.”

Her keyboard stops clacking. “Ja–Red Hood? Are you…should I call in Nightwing? I’m going to–”

Jason turns his comm off. He knows she means well, but Jason cannot listen to her right now. He doesn't want anyone to see or speak to him. He just wants you. He kicks a discarded bottle of booze further down the alley, causing a pack of rats to scurry away. He screams into the air. He doesn’t care that it won’t achieve anything. 

Jason sinks to his knees beside your body. “I told you to stay out of trouble,” he says weakly.

There’s no comeback from you this time.

──────────𝜗𝜚──────────

[batsandbirdbrains]

The one where Dick is actually the biological son of Bruce and Talia

So I like the young justice cartoon universe but I do love fucking with a timeline. So let’s say it’s set in season 1, perhaps just after that mission where Artemis, Conner, and M’gann have admitted to the rest of the team how they all had ties to various villains. And the whole time Dick feels like an asshole because he’s been keeping this secret that he’s actually the grandson of Ra’s al Ghul, but he’s been keeping it secret for so long and from so many people that even when he does want to tell his team, he feels like he’s choking and he can’t breathe and he panics, so he never tells them.

For background, Talia hides Dick away with the Graysons when he’s maybe 6 or 7 years old, faking his death so Ra’s can’t get to him. She still meets with Dick as often as she can, he knows his mother, he loves her, but his grandfather terrifies him. Then the Graysons die when he’s 8, and Bruce Wayne just happens to be there and see it and gets it in his head that he needs to take this kid in, and Dick knows he’s his father, but he can’t bring himself to tell him. He’s scared Bruce won’t want him, and then where will he go?

Only Alfred knows, because he found a 10 year old Dick having a panic attack over it and managed to get Dick to talk about what was wrong, but he swore Alfred to secrecy. Alfred tried to convince him to tell Bruce, but he doesn’t push too hard, seeing how much it freaks Dick out.

So now the team is on a mission but all their intel was a trap, and it becomes very clear very quickly that the League of Shadows brought them here for something nefarious. And the whole time in his head Dick is going “shitshitshitshitshitshit” and he’s desperately trying to keep his panicked thoughts out of the mind link but the others do catch on to the fact that he’s acting real weird and they’re like hey man wtf.

But then Ra’s himself appears and perhaps a memory from his childhood surfaces and slips into the mindlink and it’s a memory of Ra’s threatening to slit his throat and toss him in a Lazarus Pit if he doesn’t start fighting back properly during training. And everyone is confused about who had that memory because they still don’t know Robin and Batman’s secret identities and also Dick’s face wasn’t really shown in the memory ANYWAY-

Ra’s is just very calm while his shadows subdue the team, they’re all kind of at a standoff, and he says quite clearly something along the lines of “Grandson, it’s time to stop this foolishness.”

And everyone is so confused bc who tf is he talking to, but Dick feels like he can’t breathe. Ra’s starts ranting about family obligations and unruly children who run away and hide and yadda yadda bad guy monologuing.

But then one of the shadows gets closer to Ra’s, and he hands off a little boy. It’s Damian, Dick’s little five year old baby brother. And Ra’s is holding a knife to his neck, threatening Dick with, “Come with my now, Grandson, and your precious brother wont be harmed. But continue to cower, and his blood is on your hands.”

Talia had been living away from the League of Shadows since becoming pregnant with Damian, trying to keep her youngest from ever having to experience what Dick had grown up with, trying to hide him from Ra’s. And in that moment, Dick realizes that his mother probably was never able to actually hide either of them, that Ra’s probably knew all along where both his grandsons were.

And a calmness sweeps over Dick as he watches his grandfather hold a knife to his baby brother’s throat, watches his baby brother struggle and cry out for his big brother. And then all the previous terror is replaced with fury.

“Don’t touch him!” Dick snaps, his voice cracking.

All the other team members look at him, so confused, until they start to realize that Robin is the grandson Ra’s has been talking to this whole time.

“I’ll go with you, just let him go,” Dick tells him. “But I swear to God if you hurt a single hair on his head I will fucking kill you!”

Ra’s just laughs at the idea of this scrawny thirteen year old threatening to kill him. His laugh is cold, amused, and it rings in Dick’s ears until suddenly it stops, and Ra’s is seething at him.

“Time to say goodbye to your little friends, Grandson. It’s time you come home.”

And he pushes Damian towards Dick, who is quick to catch him and hold him close, whispering, “Everything’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here, brother’s here, I won’t let him hurt you I promise I love you so so much Dami, I’m so sorry.”

And the team is yelling through the mind link for Robin to explain what’s going on and telling him he doesn’t need to go with Ra’s, they can help, but Robin just ignores them. He knows they’re empty promises. They’re no match for Ra’s and a team of his closest shadows.

And as Dick carries Damian towards the helicopter Ra’s beckons them towards, he just chants over and over in the mind link, “Please tell Batman I’m sorry. I was going to tell him. I promise I was going to tell him. I’m sorry, I’m - I’m - tell him to find Talia. Please tell him to find Talia, she can explain. I’m sorry.”

And if they hear his last plea of “Please tell him I was scared” as the helicopter door slams closed, he doesn’t know. He just continues holding Damian close, hiding his face in his shoulder, not letting Damian even look in Ra’s direction.

And for three months, Ra’s all but tortures him under the guise of training. He’s barely allowed to see Damian at all, and when he does get to spend time with his baby brother, he’s always covered in bruises and he’s so sad and Dick can see him hardening and it kills him. Damian is only five. A five year old shouldn’t have that kind of look on his eyes.

But after three months of watching shift changes, tracking supply shipments, and putting together a go bag, Dick manages to smuggle himself and Damian away from Infinity Island on a tiny little boat he covers with a tarp to make it look like driftwood.

They spend weeks running from Shadows, constantly finding them on their tail, and Dick is trying desperately to get them somewhere safe. He’s scared to lead them to the manor though, not wanting to force Bruce to fight a hoard of shadows for kids he might not even want (and the thought of Bruce not wanting them makes his heart shatter, he tries not to think about it). But he’s running out of ideas on where to hide. He doesn’t know who his allies might be.

But after a grueling fight where Dick is pretty sure he broke a wrist and sprained a knee and has various other cuts and bruises at various stages of healing, not to mention a poorly bandaged stab wound from a couple days ago (a lucky shot, he’d been distracted), Dick finds a zeta transporter.

And he uses an override to beam him and Damian up to the Watchtower. It’s the only place he can think of that the shadows can’t follow them. Part of him is shocked an override Bruce gave him still works.

And they land in the Watchtower in a heap, their clothes dirty and cut up (mostly Dick’s, he’d be damned if he let them lay a hand on Damian), a domino mask hastily pasted to Dick’s face and a hand in the back of Damian’s head to keep his face pressed into Dick’s shoulder. Because as far he knows, Bruce still hasn’t revealed his identity to more than a handful of senior League members, and he refuses to be the reason his father’s secret identity is exposed. Even if Bruce decides he wants nothing to do with them, he owes him that much.

They’re both out of breath and panting and starving and dirty and as soon as Damian realizes they’re safe from the shadows, he cries into Dick’s shoulder, squeezing his arms tight around Dick’s neck.

And a bunch of League members are suddenly there, intruder alarms blaring and reverberating around Dick’s skull, and they’re telling him to stay where he is and freeze and tell them what he wants and what he’s doing there. And he realizes they think he’s a traitor, and his mind stops for a second.

“Where’s Batman?” he finally manages to choke out. “Please, where’s Batman? I need Batman.”

He can’t hear anything they’re saying, his mind preoccupied with trying to stay calm for Damian and comfort him as best he can while various heroes are pointing various weapons at them. He just keeps asking over and over for Batman until his mouth is dry and he feels like he can barely breathe.

And suddenly Batman is rushing in, cape billowing behind him, and he’s barking at the others to back off and what the hell do they think they’re doing, and he’s kneeling in front of Dick, his arms hovering, looking lost and like he’s afraid Dick will shatter if he touches him.

Dick looks at him, and he can see the way he hasn’t shaved and there’s lines on his face and he looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in weeks, months maybe. And he realizes Bruce has been looking for him - for both of them - and he still wants him and he isn’t sending them away or putting them in shackles or taking them to an interrogation room.

And finally, after months of having to be the strong one for Damian, Dick has someone who can be strong for him. Dick crumbles, letting out a strangled sob and falling into Bruce’s arms and not being able to do anything but cry. He’s hugging Damian so tight, and now Bruce is holding them both tight too.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cries, his breath hitching, “I couldn’t tell you, I couldn’t - I was scared you wouldn’t want me anymore. I didn’t think - I didn’t - he wasn’t supposed to-“

Bruce shushes him, calming him down, telling him in soft whispers that everything is okay, it’s okay, no one is mad at him, he loves him so much he could never not want him anymore.

After calming Dick down enough so he’s not on the brink of a panic attack anymore, Bruce picks up both his boys and holds them close, taking them to the med bay and basically telling anyone who tries to stop him that they can kick rocks.

[yall-batman-fanfic]

Trouble | Batfam x Batmom x Batsis

Synopsis: Vivian and Bruce get a call from Valerie's teacher and they are in it for a shock to know what their daughter and her big brothers’ did.

Vivian has been called by the homeroom teachers of Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian numerous times when they were still in school. Well, Damian is still in school and there are times when she would still get the call from them too for whenever he is a “smartass” (their words, not her, and she didn't appreciate the term too but they too claim that was what his classmates would call him). It was normal to be called for the antics they do and the words they use in school, they are exposed to many things at a young age with their duties as Robin. 

But when Valerie started school, while she did expect to get a call from her daughter's homeroom teacher once in a while, she didn't expect it to be something so serious that she would find her husband parking the same time she was at the school parking lot.

“You got the call too?” Vivian asked him.

“Yeah. Is it really that bad that we're both needed?” Bruce went to her side so they can head inside together. 

Vivian gave him an incredulous look, “What can a five-year-old do? This is preschool?”

“What did you do when you were five that got you in trouble?” 

Vivian shrugged. “I don’t know – I didn't stick around that much anyway, but I do remember telling my pre-school teacher to ‘fuck off’ and raised the middle finger at them too. And I remember biting my teacher's hand until it bled.”

“Any reason?”

“I was seven then, the school wouldn't admit it, but that teacher of mine was a creepy-pedo and he tried to touch me. My mom taught me a thing or two to spot them and when he got  a little handsy I bit it so hard the nurses said he needed stitches.”

“I don't think that's the case with Val, it better not be,” Bruce growled at the last part.

“If one of her teachers even touch her in a way they're not, I swear, they rather want Batman's justice than the Phoenix's.”

Bruce knew that to be true. In interrogations, Superman and Batman are called the good cop and the bad cop �� the carrot and the stick. But with tougher cases, he prefers to bring in Vivian; they were bad cop and bad cop. The stick and the crowbar. And both scenarios he was the stick.

Arriving at Valerie's homeroom, they found their daughter sitting at her desk, alone, while drawing on a pad with crayons. After greeting Valerie's teacher, Vivian and Bruce went to their daughter to greet her. Valerie smiled at the sight of them and welcomed the kisses they placed on her cheeks.

“What happened, baby?” Vivian asked.

Valerie pouted and went back to her drawing.

Vivian and Bruce exchanged looks in confusion and worry. 

“Val, what are you drawing?” Bruce asked.

“Nothing,” Valerie muttered and continue to color on her drawing. 

“Mr. Wayne, Mrs. Pryor-Wayne, why don't we head here to talk?” Val's teacher gestured to her table at the very front where two seats were.

Leaving their daughter's side, Vivian and Bruce settled at the seats and asked what happened. Valerie's teacher went straight to the story, how the class was doing their paintings, and then – while the whole thing did start with Dalton Fallbrook putting on her hair and Valerie responded to flipping him over her shoulder, then her saying…

“What?” Bruce said, completely in shock.

“I just have to know, does Valerie usually hear that language at home?” 

Bruce turned to Vivian. His wife glared at him and said, “You know I stopped when Valerie was born!”

“You sometimes slip, Viv.”

“I do not! Besides, I don't use those in one go.”

“No one is pointing fingers, Mrs. Pryor-Wayne –” Valerie's teacher began.

“Tell him that! He's pointing fingers at me!” Vivian pointed her thumb at Bruce. “You know what – Val, baby, can you come over here for a sec?”

“Okay!” Valerie got up and went to her mother's side.

“Your teacher said you said a bad word –”

“Stupid fucking bitch,” Valerie said.

Bruce groaned and ran his hand down his face.

“Yes, yes, baby, no need to say it again. Don't ever say it again,” Vivian told her in a gentle voice. “I just want to know where did you… did you get it from me? From Mom?”

“No,” Valerie fiddled with the hem of her jacket.

“Then who, Val?” Bruce asked.

Oh the names she gave…

It made Bruce and Vivian sigh loudly and call everyone in their group chat to come to the manor.

~*~

“What's with the emergency call?” Dick asked, arriving at the sitting room.

“Yeah, I was at a job,” Jason walked in, and he went straight to where Val was to pick her up and swing her around. “Miss you, baby bird!”

“Jay!” Valerie giggled, but when he stopped she pouted and said: “I got in trouble.”

“Really? What did you do?”

“That is exactly what we're all going to talk about now,” said Vivian, who was standing there with Bruce and Alfred with the very latter holding a jar. A very familiar jar to Jason.

“Hey, isn't that the curse jar we had back then?” He asked Alfred. “I thought that broke.”

Setting down Valerie, the girl ran to where her mother was and sat on the couch between her parents. With everyone gathered – Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Duke, Cassandra, Stephanie, and Barbara – Vivian got to the point.

“Bruce and I were called to Val's pre-school earlier because of an incident,” she began.

“Who's the kid who needs a beating?” Jason asked.

“No one… Val already beat him up.”

“What did he do?” Damian crossed his arms over his chest.

Valerie pouted. “He pulled on my hair.”

“That's it,” Damian was about to leave but Dick held him down.

“Like Vivian said, Valerie already handled the situation,” Bruce said.

“How?” Tim asked, very much curious, like the others.

“She flipped him over her shoulder,” Vivian answered. And before they could celebrate, she added, “Then she said a very very bad word which she said she learned from you all.”

“Which is?” Tim asked.

Before Vivian could say, Valerie said: “Stupid fucking bitch!”

Silence came to the room. One that was so fragile that a simple tap would break, and it did break when Dick and Jason laughed so loudly. 

“It is not a laughing matter, Master Dick, Master Jason!” Alfred told them.

“Come on, Alfred, it is a little funny,” Jason shrugged.

Seeing Dick and Jason were laughing because of what she said, Valerie repeated it: “Stupid fucking bitch!”

Dick and Jason laughed again.

“Val, let’s not say that word again,” Duke tried to get her to stop.

“Well, I think this answers the question we were going to ask on who taught her that,” Vivian crossed her arms over her chest.

“Come on! We're not the only ones who say that!” Dick said. “I use ‘Damian’ whenever I'm in deep shit.” And he does, Dick would always say: “You stupid piece of… Damian.” instead of shit.

“Hey!” Damian exclaimed.

“It's not like I taught her how to use it!” Jason said.

They turned to Tim. 

Tim sat up. “I would never! Sure, do I curse whenever the gremlin pisses me off, but that doesn't mean I would sit down and teach her how to use it.”

They turned to Stephanie, she said to all of them: “Hey! The only thing I taught Val is how to do puzzles and riddles!”

Then to Barbara. 

“No,” Barbara simply said.

Then to Damian.

Damian glared at them. “I wouldn't – not to Val.”

“Okay, so no one taught Val how to curse,” Bruce sighed in relief.

“Hey, how come no one questioned Cass and Duke?” Jason said.

“Do you really think they would curse around Val?” Tim raised a brow at him.

They were sure a halo appeared atop the heads of Cassandra and Duke.

“So, that means, she just learned how to use it after hearing us use them,” Vivian groaned. “Right, to fix this we agreed to bring back an old thing we had in the Manor… Jason is familiar with this since it was with him this started.”

“A curse jar?” Damian snorted. “Like that will work. I don't see Todd having the cleanest mouth of us all.”

“You have no idea the innuendo that has, do you?” Stephanie smirked.

“The what?” 

Before Stephanie could explain, Alfred coughed, catching their attention, and pointed to Valerie's direction. There was a child present!

Jason snickered. “Is it still a dollar per curse word?”

“I don't like that tone, wanna make it five per curse word?” Vivian raised a brow at them.

“No!” They all exclaimed.

“Sure about that, Ma? Last time, the both of us were neck-a-neck with our donations to the curse-jar.”

“And that money got us to buy the new television that broke down,” said Alferd. “And some items in our grocery list.”

It was in Jason's time in the manor that Bruce realized he was paying so little for groceries and wondered how much cursing Vivian and Jason do around the manor. So much that it could pay for groceries and a T.V..

“So, any more cursing, we put a dollar here,” Vivian pointed to the jar. “So, before we start, wanna get something out?” She covered Valerie's ears. “Now is the time.”

Damian raised his hand. “Who was the bastard who messed with Val? I'll fuckign kill him.”

“You're not going to kill anyone – besides, he's a kid!” Bruce told Damian.

Jason raised his hand. “Did Val really flipping off the fucker?”

“Yes, she did. And I'm proud of her for it. The little shit deserved it anyway,” Vivian said.

Dick raised his hand. “Can I go now? I need to take a Damian.”

“I hate you, Grayson,” Damian glared at Dick.

Tim raised a hand. “Shit. Fuck. Bitch… that's it, just wanna get that out.”

Vivian sighed. “Anyone else who wants to get it out of their system?” 

No one said they were good.

“Alright, from now on,” Alfred began. “If anyone curses, it will be fined a dollar. It starts now.”

Silence came to the manor.

Valerie got down the couch and went to Damian, “Play?” she asked him.

“Homework first then we play,” Damian told her.

Valerie huffed and agreed to his terms.

When they left, Jason turned to Vivian, “How come she goes to the gremlin to play? The little fucker knows nothing about playing house!”

Alfred and Bruce sighed and held out the jar to him.

Jason grumbled and shoved two dollars.

“That's a dollar too much,” said Bruce.

“Yeah, because I paid for the next one. This is a shitty plan, didn't stop me from calling you—” he dropped another dollar “— you a piece of shit, B.” 

Silence again.

“So,” Tim began. “Does this also apply to patrols?”

An idea popped in Bruce, Vivian, and Alfred's head, and the smirks on their faces made everyone else groan. Annoyed with the new rule. 

[aangarchy]

Ok but the fact aang is a child. And thinks u have to forgive someone who killed ur family. I bet Monk gyatso and the others were rolling in their graves devastated they can't ever tell Aang the real deal that he would've been told when he got older.

Monk gyatso probably: NO AANG. ITS JUST ABT LETTING GO

Ah, yet another shining example of someone who missed the entire point of the show.

If you think monk Gyatso would be "rolling in his grave" (which he doesn't even have, and i'm pretty sure air nomads don't do graves anyway) to see Aang grant Ozai mercy, you have completely misunderstood what air nomad culture represents. Air is the element of freedom. Yes, it's about letting go, not having any attachments. But not having attachments also means letting go of your feelings of hatred, letting go of grudges, and not letting your feelings consume you. Aang understands that remaining angry and bitter will not bring his people back. All he can do, is try his best to preserve and protect his culture, and part of that culture is an oath of pacifism. Aang choosing to spare Ozai does not mean he forgives him, or his predecessors for what they have done to the world. Instead, he lets go of his anger and hatred towards them so he himself can be free. Maybe eventually Aang will forgive them, but i personally don't believe it's then and there.

If anything, monk Gyatso would be proud of the decision Aang made in the end. It's the ultimate middle finger to the fire nation to show that they failed at destroying the air nation. Aang is not only a symbol of hope for the other remaining nations to end the war, but also for his own culture to prevail, and keep existing in whatever limited form Aang can preserve.

I think what you're referring to is TSR, with "thinks u have to forgive someone who killed ur family", when he tried to teach Katara about letting go and forgiving. Aang wasn't doing that bc he's against Katara getting justice. If anything, he agreed Katara needed to face Yon Rah for her own closure. But he's not trying to teach Katara forgiveness so he can save Yon Rah, he's doing it so he can save Katara. He knew that if Katara went through with this she'd get consumed by hate and anger for the rest of her life. Zuko even admitted in the end that Aang was right about what Katara needed, and it wasn't killing her mother's killer. And Katara did end up forgiving someone at the end of the episode, namely Zuko. Katara still learned and accepted Aang's lesson by the end, when at first she insisted forgiveness was impossible.

Also I think you're forgetting that Air nomads swear a non violence oath. Gyatso swore this oath as well. So again, idk where you're getting this idea that Gyatso would be "rolling in his grave" to see Aang stick to this oath.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Hi! I don't know if you already have an idea for the birthday post, if you do feel free to ignore this...my favourite trope is dad!harry too...what if H has to go for an emergency meeting somewhere else out the country even before his birthday and he has to spend his birthday there too and he is bummed about it...the fmc can fly out with their daughter/son and when he is back from his meeting his room is all decorated and stuff and she tells him she asked jeff to cancel everything...and they do a bunch of fun stuff but at night, after dinner she and the baby surprise him with another baby or something and he is like best birthday ever, 30 is already amazing

Happy 30th Birthday, Baby.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - thank you so much to @missbearforfun for sending in this request, ive had had a fun time writing this, ive changed a few things up, so i hope that ive done it justice.

i can’t believe that my boy is 30….like i swear he was just auditioning for the x-factor yesterday. 🥹

word count - 4.4k

in which, harry gets called to do a meeting in italy, two days before his birthday, which means that he’ll be spending his 30th out there with just his manager jeff, what he doesn’t realise is that you, his darling wife, fly out to surprise him and hopefully give him the best birthday he’s ever had.

You’ve been in Harry’s life for just over ten years.

You’ve spent five of those years as boyfriend and girlfriend, two of those years as his fiancé, and now, this year will be leading up to the third year being each other's husband and wife.

The first birthday of his that you spent with him, was his 20th all the way back in 2014. He had organised an intimate get together at a restaurant full of all of his closest family and friends, and it was the first time that you would be turning up together, as an official couple seeing as the only people who knew about the two of you were his band mates and his mother,sister, father and step father.

It was also the night that he confessed to you that he loved you, and that you were the one person that he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with.

From that moment on, every birthday became a cherished chapter in your shared history.

Waking up in each other's arms has become a comforting tradition, marking the beginning of a day dedicated solely to celebrating Harry's existence. The warmth of those morning embraces symbolises the depth of your connection, a connection that has withstood the tests of time.

As the years unfolded, you've witnessed the evolution of Harry, both in age and character, yet the love between you two has remained unwavering.

From his 21st to his 30th birthday, you've made it a point to spend the day in a way that brings him joy. Whether it's exploring new places, indulging in his favourite activities, or simply relaxing together, the focus has always been on creating memories that reflect the essence of Harry.

Each birthday has become a canvas on which you paint moments of happiness and shared experiences.

You had spent every birthday with him, but for this one, it appeared to already be turning out in a way neither of you had expected.

A mere few days before Harry's anticipated birthday, an unexpected call from his manager, Jeff, sent ripples of disappointment through his plans. The urgency of an issue related to his beauty brand, Pleasing, required Harry's immediate attention in the Italy.

The brand we’re thinking of opening a pop-up shop over there, seeing as the country held so much adoration in both of your hearts, it was the place where you got married, the place where he proposed and where he now wanted his fans over there to have access to him and what he had to offer.

With flights already booked, he faced the heart-wrenching reality of having to leave just over two days before his special day. Devastation etched across his face as he contemplated the unforeseen disruption to the birthday celebration he had eagerly anticipated.

In a desperate attempt to reason with Jeff, Harry explained his deep desire to spend his birthday with you, sharing the disappointment that overshadowed the joy of the impending celebration.

However, the urgency of the matter prevailed, leaving Harry torn between personal desires and professional obligations. As his best mate and manager, Jeff empathised with Harry but emphasised the gravity of the situation, reinforcing the necessity of this unexpected journey.

Amidst the disappointment, you stepped in to comfort Harry, assuring him that celebrations could be postponed but his presence and well-being mattered most. You offered solace, reminding him that distance could not diminish the love and connection you shared.

The promise of a belated but equally meaningful celebration upon his return brought a glimmer of hope to the gloom that hung over his imminent departure.

You had promised him, that you would FaceTime him on his actual birthday and that you would both order the same takeaway that night and have a little over the phone date, just to celebrate this big milestone.

On the morning Harry was set to depart for Italy, the anticipation of his journey hung in the air. Dressed for travel, he stood before you with a small suitcase by the door.

Shoes on, cap snug, and sunglasses concealing his eyes, he exuded a mix of excitement and reluctance. Despite the January chill in London, the promise of Italy's warmth upon landing prompted him to prepare for a contrasting climate.

Your eyes held a silent plea as you stood before him, sorrow evident in your gaze.

"I wish I didn't have t’go," Harry admitted, his voice tinged with regret.

You nodded, understanding the weight of the situation, your silence echoing the unspoken emotions in the room.

Milo, your ten-month-old Rottweiler puppy, sensed the sombre atmosphere, wagging his tail as if trying to infuse joy into the moment.

Unable to contain your emotions, you wrapped your arms around Harry in a tight hug.

"I'll miss you so much," you whispered, your voice betraying the ache within. Harry's embrace tightened, and he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I'll miss y’more, m’love," he murmured, the sincerity in his words resonating with the depth of his emotions.

Crouching down to pet Milo, Harry spoke to the pup with a soft smile, "Take care of mummy for me, little buddy."

Milo responded with excited barks, seemingly understanding the impending absence.

Standing up, Harry looked into your eyes, his own reflecting a mixture of love and longing.

Your gaze locked with his, finding solace in the promise of a future reunion.

"We'll have the most amazing belated birthday celebration," you said, trying to inject positivity into the moment.

Harry smiled, his eyes reflecting gratitude.

"I can't wait f’that. Until then, stay strong f’me," he said, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

As the door closed behind him, the echo of his departure resonated through the silent space. Left with the imprint of his touch, the memory of his presence, and the anticipation of his return, you and Milo faced a home that suddenly felt emptier without him.

"I'll make sure t’send y’pictures from Italy," Harry called out from the hallway.

"And don't forget to spoil Milo a bit extra for me!" he added with a playful grin, the reassurance in his voice providing a small comfort amid the impending distance.

The day of his actual birthday, you woke up at seven am, which meant it was eight am for Harry.

It was a nice early face time call, in which you had called someone from the town near your shared beach house and got them to deliver flowers so they we’re scheduled to arrive whilst the two of you were calling, so you could see his face when he received them.

Little did he know, as the virtual celebration concluded, that you were already en route to Italy to surprise the love of your life.

His manager, Jeff, had orchestrated the clandestine journey, booking a flight that not only allowed your presence but accommodated Milo, your loyal puppy companion.

On the fairly empty flight, with just a few scattered passengers, you found solace in the quiet journey across the skies. Milo, nestled on the seat next to you, peacefully dozed off, completely unaware of the grand surprise awaiting his owner.

The hum of the plane engines provided a soothing backdrop as you envisioned the joy that would light up Harry's face when you appeared unexpectedly in celebration of his special day.

Upon landing in Italy, you and Milo were swiftly escorted off the plane by a discreet security team. The importance of maintaining the surprise for Harry became evident as the team efficiently navigated through the airport. The mission was clear: to whisk you away from the public eye, avoiding any chance of word spreading that Harry's wife had arrived.

Passing through passport control with just a carry-on bag in tow, the security team ensured a seamless transition. The anticipation heightened as you and Milo moved through the airport, surrounded by the subtle hum of secrecy. Every step taken was a careful manoeuvre to preserve the surprise and shield the unfolding celebration from prying eyes.

Exiting the airport, you were guided to a waiting jeep. The security team orchestrated a smooth transition, knowing that time was of the essence.

Jeff:

H just left for a meeting, so you’ve got at least an hour to get everything ready !!

As the jeep sped toward the villa, Jeff's text notification illuminated your phone screen. His message revealed that Harry was currently engrossed in a meeting, providing a valuable window of time to set up a birthday surprise.

The prospect of transforming the house into a beautiful haven of celebration filled you with excitement. Knowing you had at least an hour before Harry's return heightened the anticipation, and thoughts of his surprised expression fueled your determination.

The journey continued through the picturesque landscapes of Italy, the half-hour drive feeling like both an eternity and a heartbeat away from reuniting with Harry. Milo, sensing the energy, shifted restlessly in anticipation, adding an extra layer of warmth to the already charged atmosphere within the jeep.

The realization that the culmination of meticulous planning was drawing near only fueled your eagerness.

The mere thought of seeing Harry after two days of separation fueled your determination to make this surprise an unforgettable celebration of love and connection. The countdown to the reunion had begun.

"Here we are," the driver announced as the jeep came to a stop in front of the villa. You thanked him and handed over a ten-euro tip, expressing gratitude for the swift and discreet journey.

Grabbing Milo's leash and your bag, you stepped out into the Italian air, the scent of anticipation mingling with the promise of celebration.

As you approached the door, the distinct aroma of Harry's aftershave enveloped you, confirming his recent presence. A pair of his white vans neatly placed by the entrance hinted at the intimate details of his daily routine.

With a smile, you inserted the key into the lock, unlocking the door to a space filled with the essence of the man you dearly missed.

"Milo, we're home," you murmured to your furry companion, who eagerly bounded into the living room.

The atmosphere inside resonated with familiarity, and Milo, seemingly aware of the joyous occasion, leaped onto the sofa, his tail wagging in sync with the pulsating excitement in the air.

Upon stepping into the villa, you wasted no time. The suitcase that accompanied you served as a treasure trove of celebratory delights. With swift precision, you unzipped it, revealing an inflatable 3 and 0, along with vibrant banners that spelled out "Happy Birthday."

The living room became a canvas for your creativity, and the decorations unfolded in a dance of colors and joy.

Inflating the giant numbers, you strategically placed them to catch Harry's eye the moment he entered. The banners crisscrossed the room, creating a vibrant tapestry of celebration. The atmosphere transformed with each decoration, turning the space into a haven of love and festivity.

The decorating didn’t take long, maybe around half an hour, so that left you waiting, and each minute felt like hell.

You so badly just wanted him in your arms.

Seated in the midst of the festive setup, you pulled out your phone, eager to share the news of your safe arrival with your family. Fingers danced across the screen as you texted messages of reassurance and excitement, capturing the essence of this special moment.

The living room, now a symphony of color and joy, served as the backdrop to your messages, each tap echoing the anticipation of the grand birthday surprise awaiting Harry.

As you sat in the living room, engrossed in your phone, the jingling of keys outside signaled Harry's arrival. Swiftly, you rose from your seat, Milo by your side, his tail wagging in silent excitement.

Attempting to be as quiet as possible, you made your way to the entry hall, your heart pounding with anticipation. The festive atmosphere of the decorated living room served as a backdrop to the impending surprise.

Harry entered, shutting the door behind him with a sense of routine. His tote bag dropped to the floor, and in his initial distraction, he failed to notice the pair of women's shoes by the entrance.

His gaze scanned the surroundings briefly before turning away, only to snap back with wide eyes when he caught sight of you standing there.

His mouth parted in shock, a mixture of disbelief and joy washing over his face.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment as Harry processed the unexpected presence before him. The shock gave way to a radiant smile, his eyes lighting up with genuine happiness. Milo's tail wagged furiously, mirroring the palpable joy in the room.

Harry's initial shock dissolved into pure joy as he stared at you standing in the entry hall. Without a moment's hesitation, he rushed over, gathering you into a tight embrace. The warmth of his arms enveloped you, an unspoken reassurance of the love that bridged the distance between you two. Your eyes welled up with tears, mirroring the emotion evident in his gaze.

"Happy birthday," you whispered, the words carrying the weight of your love and the joy of this surprise.

As Harry lifted his head, his lips sought yours in a cascade of affectionate kisses. Each press was a testament to the depth of the connection shared, a celebration of love that transcended the days of separation.

The room, filled with decorations and the silent witness of Milo, became a sanctuary for this spontaneous reunion.

In the midst of the kisses, Harry's laughter bubbled up, the sheer delight of the unexpected surprise washing over him.

"M’can't believe you're here," he admitted, his eyes sparkling with gratitude. Milo, sensing the joy, wagged his tail energetically, completing the tableau of love and celebration.

“I couldn't not see you on your birthday," you admitted with a warm smile, still wrapped in Harry's embrace.

"Milo missed his daddy so much that we had to come and surprise you." You winked playfully, a cheeky smile tugging at your lips. "And, well, maybe I missed you a bit too."

Harry's eyes lit up with a mixture of surprise and delight.

"Y’really came all the way here just for me?" he asked, his voice filled with gratitude. Milo, sensing the joy in the room, barked in agreement, tail wagging enthusiastically.

Cupping his face in your hands, you responded, "Absolutely. Birthdays are meant to be celebrated with the ones you love, and we couldn't let a few miles keep us apart, now could we?"

“But I’ve got meetings the entire day,”he pouted, head getting thrown back slightly. “But I wanna spend the entire day with you.”

You played with the peach fuzz at the back of his neck. “Well it’s a good job I’ve cleared your schedule then, huh?”

“Wait,”he snapped his head over to yours from where he was staring lovingly at Milo. “So I’ve got the whole day with you?”

“We’ve got the whole day together, baby.” You confirmed, watching as his dimples appeared on his face.

In need of a refreshment, you and Harry migrated to the kitchen. As he poured himself an ice-cold glass of water, you settled at the kitchen island, nibbling on a cracker slathered with butter.

Looking at Harry, you asked, "Any cravings for today?"

He grinned and replied, "Actually, I've been craving a nice stroll around the town with Milo. Maybe we can stop for some ice cream and, perhaps, a cheeky bottle of rouge."

Harry's eyes sparkled with the prospect of a leisurely day. He reached for your hand, fingers intertwining, and continued, "What do you think, love?"

You offered a small smile, well aware that your current circumstances limited certain indulgences. "Sounds lovely," you responded, playing with the cross necklace around his neck. "I'm up for a walk and some ice cream.”

The wine….not so much.

/ /

As the day wore on, bathed in the warm glow of the Italian sun, you changed into a pair of comfortable denim shorts and one of Harry's shirts, embracing the casual charm of the town. The borrowed shirt hung loosely on your frame, carrying the familiar scent that provided a comforting connection to Harry.

Together, hand in hand, you and Harry strolled along the old streets, a timeless backdrop for the unfolding birthday celebration.

Milo, ever the enthusiastic companion, trotted alongside, his leash held firmly in Harry's hand. The cobbled streets echoed with the gentle sounds of your footsteps, creating a serene melody as you explored the charming corners of the town.

The quaint architecture and rustic charm of the surroundings added a picturesque touch to the shared moments of the day.

The narrow alleyways led you to hidden gems and inviting cafés, where the scent of freshly brewed coffee and sweet treats filled the air.

Each step carried with it the promise of discovery and the joy of simply being together. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm hue over the town, and the leisurely pace of the day allowed you to savor the simple pleasures of the moment.

As you continued your leisurely walk through the charming streets of Italy, Milo suddenly stopped in his tracks, his nose diligently sniffing around the ground. With an amused grin, you watched as he searched for just the right spot to do his business.

After a moment of consideration, Milo found the perfect place, and you turned to Harry with a playful expression.

"Happy birthday to you," you teased, handing Harry the poo bag with a grin. He laughed and fake gagged, taking the bag with a theatrical expression of horror.

Milo, seemingly oblivious to the lighthearted banter, continued with his canine duties, contributing his unique birthday gift to the day's events.

Continuing your walk through the enchanting town, you and Harry engaged in easy conversation, the cadence of laughter punctuating the air. The narrow streets echoed with the shared joy of the day, every step deepening the connection between you two. Silly anecdotes and playful banter flowed freely, turning the casual stroll into a delightful journey of shared moments.

As you meandered through the old streets, each corner unveiled new surprises, and every twist and turn became an opportunity for discovery. The simple act of being together, immersed in the charm of the surroundings, fueled the laughter and strengthened the bond between you and Harry.

As you continued your stroll through the charming town, the sight of a small bistro with a quaint outdoor seating area caught Harry's eye.

"How about we grab a bite there? it looks like a nice spot," he suggested, nodding toward the bistro. You agreed with a smile, appreciating the thought of a cozy meal in such a picturesque setting.

Heading towards the entrance, you were met by a friendly waiter.

"How can I help you?" he inquired. Harry responded,

"Just a table outside, please." The waiter, with a welcoming smile, gestured for you to follow, leading you to a charming table nestled in the outdoor seating area. The sun cast a warm glow, creating an inviting ambiance for a leisurely meal.

Seated at the quaint table, Milo by your side, the waiter handed you the menus. "Browse through these, a waiter will be over shortly, and let me know if there's anything else you need," he offered before leaving you to peruse the options. The aroma of delectable dishes wafted through the air, enhancing the anticipation of a delightful meal in the heart of the town.

Harry, glancing at the menu, looked up at you with a playful grin.

"What are you in the mood for, m’love?" he asked.

You.

Wait what?

As you and Harry enjoyed the cozy atmosphere of the bistro, another waiter, a friendly woman with a welcoming smile, approached your table.

"Good evening! Do you know what you'd like to order?" she inquired, pen poised above her notepad.

Harry, ever decisive, was the first to respond.

"I'll have a glass of y’house red wine, please," he said, glancing at the wine list.

Turning to you, the waiter asked, "And for you, ma'am?"

You flashed a smile and softly shook your head.

"I'll just go for a fresh lemonade, please." Attempting to steer away any suspicion, you added, "Feeling like something light today."

Harry, catching the cue, chimed in, "Just a light and easygoing evening, you know?"

He winked at you, his eyes filled with playful complicity.

The waiter jotted down your drink orders and nodded. "Certainly, a glass of red wine and a fresh lemonade. Now, what can I get for your main courses?"

You perused the menu, deciding on a chicken salad, and Harry opted for the salmon antipasto. You exchanged glances, sharing a silent agreement on the choices. As the waiter collected your menu choices, she remarked,

"Excellent choices! Your orders will be out shortly. Enjoy your evening!"

With the waiter's departure, Harry leaned in with a teasing grin.

"A fresh lemonade, m’love? Feeling like a saint today, are we?" he quipped, his playful banter laced with affection.

You chuckled, playing along. "Well, saints need a refreshing drink too, don't they? Besides, I'm saving room for that delicious chicken salad."

Harry laughed, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion. "Alright, alright, I won't question y’saintly decisions. S’just enjoy this lovely evening and the meal to come."

The waiter returned with your drinks about five minutes later, placing a glass of red wine in front of Harry and a refreshing lemonade for you. As she walked away, leaving you two to enjoy your beverages, you lifted your glass and initiated a spontaneous toast.

"Cheers to your birthday, my love," you exclaimed, your eyes sparkling with affection. "I just wanted to take a moment to say how much I love you. I can't wait to spend eternity together, celebrating moments like these."

Harry's gaze softened, and he blinked his glass against yours.

"To eternity and beyond," he replied, his voice filled with warmth. "M’the luckiest person to have you by m’side. Here's to many more birthdays and unforgettable moments together."

The bistro's ambiance embraced the intimate exchange, and you continued to express your love and appreciation for Harry.

"You make every day special, but today, on your birthday, I want it to be extra magical for you," you confessed, your sincerity echoing in the quiet moments between sips of the refreshing lemonade.

Harry's smile widened, and he reached across the table to gently squeeze your hand. "Having y’here is the best gift I could ever ask for. Every moment with you is magical, and m’grateful for it all."

/ /

As the early evening settled around the villa, you found yourselves back in the comforting haven of your shared space. In the bathroom, bathed in a soft glow, you stood before the mirror, carefully removing mascara and eyeliner.

The simple act of cleansing away the day's makeup was a routine that marked the transition from daytime adventures to the quiet moments of the evening.

Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Harry lay on the bed, Milo nestled at his feet. He absentmindedly scratched at the short growth of hair on his head, a subtle reminder of a recent decision to shave it off.

The room radiated with a sense of tranquility as you each indulged in the rituals that marked the end of the day.

Wearing one of Harry's shirts that enveloped you in the familiar scent of him, you busied yourself in the bathroom, preparing a late evening birthday surprise.

The soft rustling sounds of your movements echoed against the backdrop of Harry's contemplative scratching, creating a harmony of shared space and intimate connection.

With a soft smile gracing your lips, you glanced at yourself in the bathroom mirror before deciding it was time to return to the bedroom.

Your hands were discreetly behind your back, holding a late evening birthday surprise for Harry. As you stepped into the bedroom, Harry, already seated on the bed, noticed your presence and sat up, beckoning you with open arms.

"I want a cuddle," he declared, his eyes twinkling with a playful warmth. Unable to resist his endearing request, you let out a soft giggle at his baby-like antics.

Playfully, you approached the bed as he beckoned you forward.

Crawling onto the bed next to him, you let yourself be enveloped in his arms. You laid your head on his chest, the rhythmic beat of his heart echoing comfort and love.

The anticipation of the surprise gift still hidden behind your back added an extra layer of excitement to the intimate moment.

"I missed you," Harry murmured, his voice a gentle caress. You pressed a kiss over his heart, savoring the warmth of the connection. His arms tightened around you, embracing the familiar comfort of being close.

Taking a deep breath, you looked at Harry with a warm smile, saying, "I've got one last present for you. Close your eyes."

Harry hesitated for a moment, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, before obediently shutting his eyes. With gentle steps, you moved towards him, the late evening's golden glow casting a soft ambiance around you.

In your hands, you held a delicate gift, and with a mix of hesitation and tenderness, you softly placed it in Harry's hands.

"Okay, open your eyes," you instructed, your heart fluttering with a secret that had the power to change your lives forever.

Harry blinked his eyes open, and as he glanced down at his hands, a flicker of confusion passed over his face. Then, his gaze landed on the small object nestled in his palms.

It took a moment for the realisation to sink in, and when he saw what it was, his eyes widened, and he gasped.

"What... is this?" Harry stammered, his voice shaky with emotion.

His trembling fingers picked up the small pregnancy test.

The room fell silent as the weight of the revelation settled in. Harry's eyes locked onto the test, and tears immediately welled up.

"S’this for real?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "This isn't some sick joke, right?"

You shook your head, a mixture of joy and vulnerability in your gaze. Leaning forward, you pressed your forehead against his, tears streaming down both your cheeks.

"It's true, H. I'm eleven weeks pregnant," you whispered, the magnitude of the moment engulfing you both in a wave of overwhelming emotions.

Harry's breath caught, and he pulled back slightly to look into your eyes.

"I... we're going to be parents?" he uttered, a mix of disbelief and elation in his voice.

A tender smile graced your lips, and you nodded. "Yes, Harry. We're going to be parents."

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he pulled you into a tight embrace.

"I can't believe it. M’going to be a dad," he mumbled against your hair, his voice filled with a joy that echoed through the room.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Harry leaned forward, his hand gently pressing against your stomach as if trying to connect with the new life growing within.

The tender touch conveyed a depth of love that words could only strive to express. His lips found yours in a sweet, lingering kiss, and as he pulled back, he whispered, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

“This is the best birthday ever,”he spoke, chocking out a soft sob. “Thank you m’love, thank you, thank you for making us parents.”

You softly placed your hands on his cheeks to get him to look at you, and when his green eyes met yours, you smiled at him tenderly.

“Happy 30th Birthday, Baby.”

[jamerasjournal]

This ain’t a poem. It’s a warning. A line in the dirt that you better not cross. A fist behind the breath. A siren inside my chest.

If you ever —and I mean ever, lay a hand on my little brother, if you look at him wrong, cock a badge-backed wrist, call his name like a threat instead of a song, I’m burning everything. I’m going full scorched-earth sorrow. No marches. No signs. No hashtags to follow. Just fire.
And fury. And me. Unholy with grief, possessed with love that bites back. Cause I don’t play about him.

That’s my blood before birth. My other heart walking around in sneakers. He’s laughter in human form. He’s trust before the world told us not to. So if you make him a headline, if you paint him as a danger to justify the danger you bring, if you silence his breath with the same script you’ve used on every Black boy you’ve tried to erase before— I swear.

You won’t know peace again. I’ll make mourning move. Make grief grow teeth. Make every mother of a badge feel what my mother can’t ever un-feel. This ain’t about vengeance. This is about survival. This is about how many of us have already swallowed too many names, too many candles, too many “why him?” and “what now?”

I’m telling you now, before you touch him, before you stop him, before you decide he looks like a threat instead of someone’s whole world. You better know who you’re dealing with. Cause I’m calm, until I’m not. I’m soft, until I’m the storm. And if he don’t come home… nobody sleeps.

I’ll raise the kind of hell you can’t legislate away. Turn my grief into gasoline, and this tongue into a match. You think riots are scary? You ain’t met a sister’s rage yet. You ain’t met mine.

I don’t want your justice. I want the echo of your boots to go quiet. I want the cuffs to rust in closets. I want your precincts to look over their shoulder every time a wind blows wrong— wondering if today is the day you pay. Get it back in blood. That’s the gospel now. No forgiveness for state-sanctioned slaughter. No peace talks for lynchings in uniform.

You take mine? I take yours. Not in secret. Not with shame. I say his name with steel in my throat and ash on my breath. So go ahead. Test me. Let that trigger slip. See if I don’t turn every tear into teeth. Every sob into strike. Every breath I got left into war drums. I am not Martin. I ain’t turning no cheek. I ain’t marching quiet. I’ll knock all this shit over.

Let it be known. If my brother don’t make it home, I’m not praying. I’m not waiting. Because my love when wounded becomes war. So I’m not lighting no candles. I’m lighting up the sky.

- jamera naquai, IF MY BROTHER DON’T MAKE IT HOME

[botlabyrinth]

ok i’m thinking many thoughts stick with me here yall

“power and glory and nothing else matters.”

and “olympians fight. we betray. we backstab. we will push anyone down a flight of stairs to get ahead.”

this is the essence of the gods’ way of thinking. which is why sally says about percy that:

“i want him to know who he is, before your family tries to tell him who they want him to be.”

she doesn’t want percy to be like that. she doesn’t want him to be ruthless and willing to hurt anyone just for personal gain. she wants him to be considerate and human and kind.

and now throw in annabeth saying: “it’s easy to forget what’s important when you’re alone.”

and how the gods, in a way, are alone. they are immortal, disconnected from humanity, millions of years old. they lose touch of what’s important because of their immortality.

and guess who else is alone. luke.

luke doesn’t get to figure out who he is before he’s thrown into the demigod world. he loses his mother, in every way that matters, so young. he gets thrown into being on the run, into fending for himself, into going to camp. he sees the way the gods are and he turns angry as a result. and in doing so, luke becomes who the gods would want him to be. “power and glory and nothing else matters” is what is eventually luke’s whole motive. he may have the same intentions as percy: to bring justice to demigods, to help the unclaimed, to get their parents’ attention. but he doesn’t go about it the right way. he does it the way the gods would. he lets kronos tell him who he should be. he chooses violence and anger and wants to take down the gods entirely. get rid of everything, good or bad, and let kronos take over.

but percy, because his mom didn’t send him to camp so young, does get to figure out who he is. he learns about unconditional love. he learns that there is more to life than power and glory. he isn’t that way. he’s better than that. because sally didn’t send him to camp at a young age. because he got to figure out who he is before the gods could tell him who they want him to be. because he has that humanity, that unconditional love, that support from sally. he still has the same idea as luke: the gods shouldn’t be allowed to birth a bunch of children just to ignore them and leave them to fend for themselves. but he is never swayed onto kronos’s side. he doesn’t think the destruction of the olympians is the answer to solve that. he works to dismantle the broken system. instead of taking immortality as the reward for saving olympus, he uses his reward to force the gods to swear that they will be different. that they will stop leaving their kids to fight for themselves. he does this because of his humanity, because of sally jackson. because he doesn’t become who the gods want him to be. because his mother raised him right.

[magical-girl-coral]

Caramelinda talking with Ruby about Lazuli a few years before ACOC just a small moment between the two of them.

your work is so freaking awesome.

trying to beat depression by doing stuff i like. FIGHT

Caramelinda knows that the key to good parenting is remembering that children at the end of the day are their own people who enjoy making their own decisions. You can guide them, help them, protect them from hardships they do not understand and teach them to know better, but at the end of the day, children are independent people who have their own personalities and deserve to grow slowly with the world around them.

But Bulb above, sometimes her Ruby acts so much like Lazuli that it hurts her in ways she never knew were possible.

Nearly all Candians believe that the twins take after their father solely, but no one catches the way sometimes his deceased sisters pick through them. Jet's sense of justice is so much like Rococoa's. Their kindness is so much like Citrina's, their acts of mischief that resemble so much of Sapphria's.

And Ruby's love of books that is almost exactly like Lazuli's.

Caramelinda doesn't know that in a decade or more her daughter will despise learning as a rebellion against her royal title. All that she knows right now is that her precious Ruby is climbing a staircase of books to get the one on the top shelf because the cover was "too pretty to ignore." In most cases Caramelinda would lose hairs over this little stunt, but something about how Ruby moves is so much like Lazuli whenever she makes a new discovery that she doesn't have the will in her to bring her daughter back to the ground.

Ruby thankfully grabbed the book with no problem and slowly returned to the floor with the grace of a professional dancer. At least there is one lesson she's giving all the attention too. 

She was just about to gloat in victory over her successful exploit when she noticed her mother standing by the entrance to the library. Ruby tried to hide her findings behind her back with an embarrassed smile. "Mother! What are you doing here?"

"Are you interested in stories of magic now, my little love?" Caramelinda asked, deciding to save her scolding for another time.

Ruby blushed and kicked an invisible rock with her foot. A habit she picked up from Liam. "Maybe so. I know it's forbidden and all, but story is about a princess saving her kingdom using her cleverness and powers and everyone is happy because she also used her magic to bring the harvest back and-"

"So you've read it before." Caramelinda laughed to herself. "Bulb above us, of course you have. I swear, you are just like your aunt  Lazuli sometimes."

Ruby's eyes widened. "I am? But I thought father's sisters were prim and proper."

Now that caused a belly laugh to escape from Caramelinda's stomach. "God, no, those women were sometimes worse than their brother. Rococoa would argue with her mother about everything, Citrina opened her own church because she disagreed with the main teaching of the bulb that much and Sapphria found every hidden tunnel within the castle because she was bored for a day. And Lazuli..."

A lump went up Caramelinda's throat.

Ruby reached towards her mother's hand, and grasped gently within hers. "And aunt Lazuli?"

"And your aunt Lazuli was the most reckless of them all." She said fondly.

Ruby gaped at her mother, obviously not believing her in the slightest.

Caramelinda laughed again. "I swear on our family name, what I'm saying is the truth. She was the most insane woman I've ever known. Her head was always in her work and never spent enough time on the ground to notice where she was going. More than once one of her siblings had to stop her from tumbling down the stairs because she was too busy talking about her latest work to notice she reached the staircase."

"And what else did she do?" Ruby asked.

"Oh, there were all those times she let experiments quite literally blow up in her face. She claimed it was for science, to see them until the end, but I personally think she just didn't want to admit she was wrong until it was too late to deny it. I swear, every member of this family is more stubborn than a bull."

Ruby bit her top lip. She pulled her mother by the hand, sat her down in one of the reading chairs by the window and sat on her mother's lap with the book opened right in front of them. "If aunt Lazuli were alive, how would she read this book to us?"

Caramelinda held her daughter as close she could without choking either of them, and read the lines in her wife's gentle voice. "Once upon a time, during an unfortunate time for an unfortunate kingdom, lived a very young girl with the entire world ahead of her..."

[iloveelvisss]

Hiiiii!!! If you have time, I would like to request a fic of cowboy!Elvis X shy!reader.

Now, this one can be a little blurb or a whole fic, I do not mind, whatever makes you comfortable girliee 🫶

Where reader is entering a bar(could be in modern times) from being on the road for 6 hours straight moving to a new house in another state and when she's walking around shyly, trying to be as small as possible, Elvis notices her and immediately becomes obsessed with her and decides to go flirt?

Kinda random but I think that would be so cute🤭

Take all the time you need!❤️

Awww, ofccc!!! Love this just like I love talking to you about our man💓. Hope I can do you justice with this!!!

Cute lil’ cowboy (Elvis fic)

Pairing: cowboy!Elvis x shy!Reader

Summary: While driving to your new home, you stop in at a small town bar, just wanting a break from the long trip. You catch the eye of a certain local cowboy and he tries his hand at opening you up.

Warnings/triggers: None, I don’t think. Mostly just fluff💓

At this point, you sort of wished you’d said no to the job offer. All it was, was a secretary position for some big company, and you thought now that you’d been on the road for six whole hours, that your old job was much better. And your old apartment was quite comfortable (it wasn’t, you just wanted another thing to complain about on this torturous car trip).

So as you pulled into the next town, you park your car outside a quaint little bar. The town is small, and it’s quite obvious, but you desperately need a break from this awful drive, so you get out anyways.

But your introverted self regrets it as you enter the bar, and the little bell on the door alerts every patron of your out-of-place presence. Every single pair of eyes zero in on you, and you suddenly feel as though you can’t breathe. You’ve always been shy— your mother always tried to get you out of such a habit. But in situations like being in a bar in a town you’ve never been before, with people that look like they’re judging your every move, you lose your ability to speak— or look up from the floor.

Unbeknownst to you, one particular pair of eyes can’t look away, even after everyone else has went back to minding their own business. Elvis just thinks you’re absolutely gorgeous. The way you so obviously feel uncomfortable is just adorable to him. He wants to talk to you— no needs to talk to you. He wants to know who’s under the cute little shy cover. You intrigue him in a way no other passing-through woman has.

He saunters over to you, and he’s keen on the way your eyes widen— it makes him smile. He tips his hat as he sits beside you. “Hi there. Ain’t seen ya before, what’s yer name, darlin’?” He makes sure to pile on the charm, putting on his most attractive smile.

And then there’s a large amount of time where he just gets to watch you sputter and act like a child that can’t speak yet. But all the while he’s smiling, finding your shyness endearing.

Finally, after what feels like an agonizingly long time, you sigh and find your words, “I- I’m… I’m Y/N. S’ nice to meet you,” you smile cutely and awkwardly stick out your hand, to which he presses a soft kiss to. “Aw, well that’s a pretty name for pretty lil’ thing like you. My name is Elvis,” he sets your hand down and then stuns you with piercing eye contact— his eyes are absolutely beautiful, so blue and electric. “Now, what brings ya in here?”

You look around before attempting to maintain eye contact again. “Needed a break from my road trip. I’m moving for a job.” You smile back at him and he swears it almost makes him drop dead. He nods along, “I see, I see. So ya wanna ‘nother drink, darlin’? S’ on me.”

It’s about then that you backtrack on your earlier thoughts, and are actually quite grateful you stopped in here. You also find yourself wondering what his pretty lips would be like to kiss. He seems to notice because a small smirk shows up on said lips. You shake yourself from your trance, “U- um, yes. Yeah, that’d be great, thank you so much.” You stumble over your words, embarrassed you’d been caught staring. He notices your blush, but it only makes him smirk even more.

He nods and asks the bartender, who you now know is Albert, for two beers. And then for the next thirty minutes, he pulls out all the tricks to get you out of your shell— it works. You’re giggling and talking and having an amazing time by the time you finish your beer.

You look up from a giggling fit to his eyes piercing into you with an expression you can quite place. All you know is that it sends butterflies flying through your belly. “What…?”

Your tone is nervous, thinking maybe he’s lost interest or something, or that your laugh has made him question himself— you’ve always been a chronic overthinker. But he makes you gasp as he reaches up and pushes some of your hair behind your ear.

His voice is gentle and sweet— reverent, “I wanna kiss ya. Would ya like that, honey?”

Your breath leaves you and you just stare at him with wide eyes for at least two minutes. He starts to pull away, second-guessing himself, as you begin nodding. He then smiles dazzlingly.

It seems like the world stops as he leans in. His lips feel plush and oh so amazing as they press against yours. You respond almost immediately, and fireworks shoot off.

When he pulls back, he’s already grinning. “How ‘bout ya jus’ get back on the road in the mornin’? My house makes for a great hotel.”

You find yourself giggling yet again as you nod, “I think that’s a great idea. Thank you, Elvis.”

I’ve come to the realization that I just don’t like any of my writing and I’m my biggest critic, but I wanted to get this out like I promised. Much love to all of you lovies, and I hope you might enjoy anyway?😋🤠 (also Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who celebrates).

Tags: @queenstarlight @jhoneybees (lmk if you wanna be added)

[spahhzy]

ArcFall Kid 3: Eldest Sister, your time on the Nintendo has expired...

ArcFall Kid 1: That's Hogwash, brother... your ambition is greater than a virgin in a brothel... find your entertainment elsewhere.

ArcFall Kid 3: You will allow me time on the Nintendo... or I will report your transgressions to mother.

ArcFall Kid 1: Over a silly game you would bring mother into this? You mad dog!

ArcFall Kid 3: The sweetest of dogs can turn to wolves when cornered! Don't make me bite.

ArcFall Kid 1: Very well, we can play together. uhm, here's your controller. *hands him a ps5 controller*

ArcFall Kid 3: My character will not follow my orders, sister...

ArcFall Kid 1: No, no, no! See, you're playing, you're playing, you're right there. *points to NPC*

ArcFall Kid 3 looks at his controller and at his sister's controller.

ArcFall Kid 3: Why is my controller a different color than yours? Is it a bastard?

ArcFall Kid 1: No, No! It's a very special handpicked from the gods, and it's better than mine!

ArcFall Kid 3: Sister, do you take me for a fool?

ArcFall Kid 1 realized she got caught.

ArcFall Kid 3: It's not even turned on!

ArcFall Kid 1: Brother-

ArcFall Kid 3: I have been hoodwinked...bamboozled...HORNSWOGGLED...RUN AMOK!

ArcFall Kid 1: Brother! I swear this was not of my knowledge!

ArcFall Kid 3 glares at his oldest sister before walking over to the outlet, where the switch was plugged to the TV.

ArcFall Kid 3: Then I have no choice.

ArcFall Kid 1: Brother....what are you conspiring?

ArcFall Kid 3: You're Tyranny has gone on far enough!

ArcFall Kid 1: What of my progress!?

ArcFall Kid 1: I have not saved this game! All of my work will be gone in the name of petty revenge!

ArcFall Kid 3: You call it petty, I call it justice. *unplugs game*

ArcFall Kid 1 stares darkly at ArcFall Kid 3.

ArcFall Kid 1: Brother, you've lost your head...*balls hand into a fist* But I can help you find it.

ArcFall Kid 3 inches to the door, ready to run.

ArcFall Kid 1: You have three seconds.

She holds up her hand.

ArcFall Kid 1: One...Two...Three

ArcFall Kid 3 was out the door as his eldest sister gave chase.

[korrahegao]

Mel Medarda is Kayle

Edit: This post does NOT contain spoilers or leaks for Arcane Season 2 Act 3. These are all just theories I have in regards to the season thus far.

The season finale is almost upon us, so this is my last chance to get this out. Allow me to explain:

When we last saw Mel, she had been captured by the Order of the Black Rose. While Arcane hasn't expounded much on this organization, we hear the voice tormenting her in her captivity call her: "Sister." I believe this is the voice of Morgana. More specifically, Blackthorn Morgana.

This Morgana skin shares so many design themes and even the color pallet of the thorny vines and spiked chains and even the rosebud motif of the Oculorum. Not to mention the obvious relation between Roses and Thorns (Black Rose and Blackthorn). Even her League of Legend Abilities; Dark Binding, Tormented Shadow, and Soul Shackles are comparable to their in game VFX.

Which brings us to Kayle. In the League of Legends lore, Kayle and Morgana are sisters with an animosity toward one another. Using this as a basis without diving into the deep lore, there are many aspects about Mel Medarda which lend some explanation to the events of Arcane.

At first glance, one can see the similarities in Mel's attire and that of Silver Kayle.

Moreover, Mel Medarda sports Golden filagree along her back and shoulders. These appear to accentuate (or perhaps inhibit) where Kayle's wings and pauldrons would be. Perhaps they are not merely decorative, but serve a deeper purpose.

As many who play LoL know, Kayle's Ultimate is Divine Judgement. Kayle protects herself or an ally granting them invulnerability before exploding in a luminous blast of holy fire.

Furthermore, In S2E1 when Jayce is explaining to Mel how he is trying to save Viktor, Jayce states:

"It should be me up there, instead of him. I still don't understand. He was right next to me. How does the explosion do that to him, and I just walk out without a scratch?!"

And perhaps more importantly, in S1E9, in the final scene, Mel Medarda is the one nearest to the window that Jinx's Super Mega Death Rocket shatters. Mel was in fact the one nearest to the epicenter of the Blast! But the penultimate image we see in Season one is... her golden filagree gleaming!

She and Jayce were unscathed because, perhaps subliminally or subconsciously, she was able to save herself and Jayce, the ally nearest to her, with her Divine Judgement. Councilor Salo lost his legs, and the other Councilwoman received scarring near her eye. And yet, Mel and Jayce were unharmed!

Lastly, the League of Legends wiki is undergoing an overhaul as Riot continues to implement the notion that "Everything is canon." There is a blurb on her wiki which reads:

This explanation is inline with Mel Medarda casting aside her humanity as pictured in the last scene we saw her in (S2E5) thus far. Historically, Kayle had been interpreted as an angelic figure. But the continually evolving lore of League of Legends eventually let to the implementation of her humanity. Further, the line about "her mother's mantle as the divine Aspect of Justice" does have a slight connotation toward Ambessa. At the end of S2E3, when endowing Caitlyn to her elevated position, she states:

"Your mother will have Justice. I swear it."

While this began as a gut reaction to Season 2 Episode 5, the more I delved into it, the more it grew into a coherent working theory. Now, I have no idea how the end of Arcane is going to play out, but there is an abundance of evidence here, and I actually am hoping this is the outcome!

Did I leave anything out? Anything to further prove this theory? Let me know! And thanks for reading!

[amaisms]

Miraculous Ladybug | Miraculous London Long Post !! Feel free to edit as needed

★ Listen, you still have one last chance before you do something irredeemable! ★ Once you transform back, you'll forget everything you've seen! ★ So don't read it and everything will be okay! ★ This… is the end. ★ I know what you're about to do because I've done it before. ★ Cuz I love playing with you! ★ You don't mess with the timeline just for fun. ★ When you're trying to solve a problem, don't go and cause more problems. ★ Nothing's changed. ★ There's nothing left, nothing at all! ★ I must've missed something! ★ We have... a huge problem. ★ So it's over? Over over? ★ You're blinded by love, _ . But if this is your wish, I'll honor it. ★ There's still one last problem. ★ She put the world in danger. ★ I should bring her to justice but I don't wanna make you suffer. ★ I've changed since I met you ★ Let me at least try. ★ Your father… your father… was… was… a hero. ★ Your father was a hero. ★ I fought as hard as I could but he was too mighty ★ He severely injured me. ★ That's when your father become a hero. ★ Why didn't you save him?! ★ This is impossible, you have to be wrong! ★ I swear I tried everything. ★ If he hadn't locked me in here, I could've saved him. ★ Believe me, there's nothing you could've done. ★ I'm so sorry, there was no good way of telling you all of this. ★ I wanted to be the one to say it before you found out some other way. ★ Surely you have many other things to deal with. ★ I haven't got a clue. ★ We'll never know about his secret identity. ★ I'm sorry but there's nothing more I can say. ★ I did the right thing, didn't I?

★ I had no choice, you understand, right? ★ I'm not sure we can answer your question truthfully. ★ I know it was for a good cause but I can't help but feel terrible about it. ★ Stop thinking and get some rest. You probably need it. ★ Someone's made a wish! ★ Not just any wish, this one will reshape the universe in a way no-one's ever seen before! ★ There's nothing more to see. ★ That's a bit dramatic but yeah. ★ We'll figure something out to fix this, don't worry. ★ I'm sure you will succeed. ★ Isn't this a bit… flashy? ★ Where, I didn't see anything! ★ Is that a ghost? ★ There's no such things as ghosts. ★ Okay stop, we've seen enough. ★ Watch out, here they come! ★ Someone who knows who I really am ★ Let's go back. ★ It's pointless. ★ We can chase that villain all we want but we'll never catch up to them, we can't even touch them! ★ So… what? Is this… the end? ★ No. Nothing's over 'til we've tried everything. ★ Sorry, that wasn't funny ★ It's gonna haunt you for a long time but it's too late. ★ He... gave up his life. ★ He... did that? ★ I'm not here to fight. ★ I should have stopped him. Years ago. ★ I tried to save him, I tried to reason with him. ★ Surely, we could've worked out a solution together ★ The wish... I should've made the wish. ★ And what would've you sacrificed? ★ They got away. ★ Do you know how to set them free? ★ We've gotta find the right moment. ★ Please come and get me out of here! ★ Are you sure it's the right moment? ★ Did _ know that you were… supervillains? ★ It's time to tell the truth. ★ If you do that, you'll go to jail. ★ Isn't the truth worth it? ★ If you tell the truth, _ will have no one left. He'll have lost his mom, his dad, you. ★ You're the closest thing to a mother he's got. ★ But that would be lying to him. ★ The truth would hurt him so much more, and for what? Nothing will repair what happened. ★ I'll just tell him half of the truth. ★ We're not supposed to know this. ★ All the damage has been repaired. This nightmare is finally over. ★ How could I have missed this? ★ You had other things to think about. ★ Always wash your hands before the world ends. ★ I'll be there, standing in your way ★ Listen, you still have one last chance before you do something irredeemable! ★ They finally realized there's no beating you! ★ The real danger is having you all here, together. ★ Spreading the power will make us stronger together. ★ Do you know what it's like to go so far, almost too far in order to protect someone you love? ★ You mean like sacrificing oneself? ★ A secret so heavy that you really wanna share right this minute because it's too much and you feel like crying and you just need someone to comfort you? ★ No, I'm the one who's sorry. And I can't even tell you about it.

[lunareclipse39]

The Princes' Whore

Finally, Aemond and Daemon agree on one thing: their desire and obsession to conquer Princess Sameria Martell, the Dornish beauty with rumored Valyrian descent, and a unique gift.

Warning: Smut, violence, swearing and graphic descriptions

Aemond

This is single-handedly the worst day of my life. I am to marry, not to my beautiful little sister Alyonna, but to a Dornish princess by the name of Sameria. She is the niece of Prince Qoran Martell, and daughter of Aran Martell, younger brother of Prince Qoran. I have never seen this princess, though they say Dornish women are renowned for their beauty, and their promiscuity.

"The Princess Sameria is almost here, Aemond. Be kind, be courteous, and attentive." My mother spoke, as we stood in the courtyard of the Red Keep, waiting for this Dornish girl to arrive.

I sighed. "Why am I even to marry her, anyway? Dorne has declared neutrality, so I do not see why this marriage is necessary."

"This marriage is not to secure an alliance, but rather to maintain the Martells' neutrality, to keep them from changing their minds and joining the war, and joining Rhaenyra's side." My mother explained.

I rolled my eyes. A guard screamed, "Princess Sameria of Dorne has arrived! Open the gates!"

The large, iron gates creaked open, as an elaborate carriage carried by the famous Dornish sand steeds marched through, more sand steeds riding behind. My poor sister Alyonna would have wanted to see this, but she is busy with her history lessons with her septa, and I am glad she is. I do not want her to see me court this princess.

The carriage came to a stop, the sand steeds, in all their bright white splendor, neighing at the sudden halt. A knight of House Martell opened the carriage's door, and held out his hand for the princess I presume. A golden tan hand grasped the hand of the knight, and a young woman carefully stepped out, dressed in a dark red gown embroidered in copper, and as her gaze lifted I nearly gasped. Princess Sameria was indeed an exotic beauty, her dark chocolate curls framing her heart-shaped face and bringing out her sapphire eyes.

"Princess Sameria of House Martell, it is a pleasure to finally meet you." My mother smiled.

"My Dowager Queen, I thank you and King Aegon for your welcome." The princess spoke, her voice velvety, and curtsied.

"This is my son, your betrothed, Prince Aemond Targaryen." My mother introduced.

"My Prince." The princess curtsied.

I offered her a smile. "My Princess. The rumors of your beauty do not do you justice." I flattered her, not an ounce of sincerity in my words, but hopefully she'd be foolish enough to believe them.

The princess turned pink, and smiled. "Thank you, my Prince."

I offered her my arm, her orange fragrance reaching my nostrils. Yes, Dorne, especially Sunspear, is quite known for producing blood oranges. I led her inside the Keep, her eyes admiring her surroundings.

Sameria

I am to marry Prince Aemond Targaryen, second son of the late King Viserys I Targaryen, brother to King Aegon II, although who truly rules the Seven Kingdoms is being debated, or more like warred, between two factions of House Targaryen, known as the Greens, King Aegon's faction, and the Blacks, Queen Rhaenyra's faction. It is all so stupid. Personally I do not care for this war, as does the rest of Dorne, so you may be wondering why I am marrying Prince Aemond.

My father insists we have the blood of Old Valyria in our veins, that we are descended from the extinct House Belaerys of the Valyrian Freehold, and that I must marry into our ancestry through the Targaryens, and perhaps even claim a dragon of my own. My father is crazy, but so am I for agreeing to this. I believe my father, strangely enough, and both of us speak High Valyrian fluently, as well as Dothraki, due to our many travels to Essos, where both languages are spoken in just about every city, but especially the Free Cities: Myr, Volantis, and Lys. Volantis is my favorite.

I was on my way to King's Landing to meet my betrothed, and we were almost there. I was accompanied by my cousin, Aliandra, whom I like to call the little fireball, my older sister Nerissa, and my brother, Ardan.

"I hear Prince Aemond caused the war." Aliandra spoke.

"How so?" I raised my eyebrow.

"They say he killed his nephew, the Prince Lucerys Velaryon." Aliandra gushed.

I snorted. "Please."

"No, she's right." Nerissa chimed in. "I heard the same rumors. Aemond chased Lucerys on his dragon through the skies of Storm's End, trying to get him to pay for taking his eye out."

"What a gruesome tale." I said, horrified.

"But no less true, or so they say. Honestly I do not blame Aemond." Aliandra shrugged.

"Killing Prince Lucerys was excessive, don't you think?" Nerissa gulped.

"Maybe, but I also did hear he never got punished, so Aemond's anger is understandable." Aliandra shrugged again.

We suddenly stopped, and I heard someone announce our arrival, followed by the sound of gates creaking open.

"We're here!" Aliandra squealed.

The carriage moved again, then stopped, and the horses neighed. One of our guards opened the door, beckoning me to step out. I grasped onto his hand and carefully stepped out of the carriage onto the courtyard of the famous Red Keep. I looked around, then my eyes met those of Prince Aemond, my would-be husband. He is terrifyingly handsome, the eye patch covering his wound making him look all the more intimidating.

Dowager Queen Alicent greeted me warmly, and introduced me to Aemond, who was rather cold but polite. He complimented my beauty, and I thanked him. I took his arm as he led me inside the Keep, while Dowager Queen Alicent introduced herself to my party, and welcomed them. They'd be staying with me for tonight, but would leave tomorrow afternoon.

"Is this your first time in King's Landing, my Lady?" Aemond asked.

"No, but it is in the Keep." I nodded.

"Do you like King's Landing?"

"I do, actually. Not more than Sunspear, but I do like it. It has its charm." I shrugged.

"And what is its charm?" Aemond wondered.

"It's lively, the people are kind, and there's a fair amount of entertainment." I said.

"Yes, and it's also filthy, especially Flea Bottom, and a lot of the people are dirty." Aemond scrunched his nose in disgust.

I gulped. "Well, you can't really blame the poor for not having access to cleanliness."

Aemond scoffed, about to retort, but that is when his demeanor changed suddenly. His face brightened, a wide grin stretching across his lips. I followed his gaze to a beautiful young girl, no older than thirteen, with wispy silvery white hair, round, bright violet eyes, her royal blue and gold-embroidered gown billowing with her as she ran towards Aemond, enveloping him in a hug.

"Aly!" Aemond purred, as Aly pulled away, turning to me.

"This is my betrothed." Aemond tightened, and swallowed. "Sameria Martell, a princess of Dorne. My Lady, this is Alyonna, or Aly, my little sister." Aemond introduced.

"It is so nice to finally make your acquaintance, princess. Word of you has gone around and no one can shut up." Alyonna gushed, beaming.

I grinned. "It is nice to meet you too, my Lady."

"Princess." Aemond corrected.

"It's alright. I am a lady, dear brother." Alyonna giggled.

"Apologies, princess." I blushed.

"No need to apologize. My brother is simply uptight." Alyonna teased.

"Am I?" Aemond frowned.

"Yes." Alyonna mocked. "Are you showing her around the Keep?"

"Indeed, sweet sister. She is to be my wife so she must know her new home. Where's Aerys, anyway?" Aemond asked.

"Training with Ser Criston." Alyonna shrugged.

"I see." Aemond turned to me. "Aerys is the youngest brother, and twin to Aly here."

"I look forward to meeting the rest of your family, my Prince." I nodded.

"Right. Aly, I will finish showing the Red Keep to Lady Sameria here. I shall see you at the banquet."

Aly smiled and nodded, running off. "She is lovely." I spoke.

"Yes, she is." Aemond nodded.

I was shown the dining hall, the banquet hall, the library, the armory, and of course, the throne room. The Iron Throne loomed menacingly in the distance, making me gulp. I dislike the sight of it. Such thing is the source of many tragedies and suffering, like right now.

Aemond proceeded to showing me his late father's chambers, where a model of clay about the Valyrian Freehold stood on a mahogany desk, making me beam.

"This is amazing! Who made this?" I wondered.

"My father, before he got sick and died." Aemond said bitterly.

"Oh. I am sorry." I looked down.

"Don't be." Aemond shook his head.

I see Aemond disliked his father, and thought it best not to ask questions. Not now anyway. I nodded. "Your father was quite a skilled potter. These figurines are very detailed."

"Yes. If only his skill at pottery had transcended into his reign, then perhaps we wouldn't be in this mess." Aemond spat.

"I take it you do not like your father." I mumbled.

"You're wrong. I hated him." Aemond shrugged.

This is getting uncomfortable. "I am sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. It is a good thing he is dead. He preferred to be shut inside here tending to his figurines and obsessing over Old Valyria than to his duties to the realm." Aemond said bitterly.

"He would have gotten along with my father then." I shrugged. "My father is also obsessed with Old Valyria, even claims our line is descended of Valyrian blood, the reason he agreed to our marriage in the first place. Right now though, his obsession has transpired to the Empire of the Dawn."

"And do you believe it? That you have the blood of Old Valyria?" Aemond mused.

"Not really, no." I admitted.

"And why did you agree to the marriage?" Aemond asked.

"Well, I am a highborn lady. I was bound to marry sooner or later." I said simply.

"You could have married a Dornish lord, or any lord." Aemond crossed his arms.

"Yes, but why have a lord when you can have a prince?" I winked.

Aemond did not return my grin, but his eyes did shine with amusement.

"Shall we? I will show you my chambers, then yours." Aemond extended his hand.

I nodded. Aemond's chambers were dimly lit, the decor quite dark and solemn, but he did have a beautiful view of the capital. We then stopped in front of a jade green door.

"These used to be Rhaenyra's chambers, but now they are yours. I do think you'll find them spacious and accommodating enough." Aemond said, pushing the door open to reveal a most spacious room indeed, furnished with a bed big enough for two people, the covers and decorative pillows emerald green in color with gold embroidery. The headrest and bedposts were made of dark oak, and I did have a large, arched window overlooking the gardens and the sea in the distance. My trunks had already been brought inside, making me smile. This was the room planned for me all along.

"Well, this marks the end of our tour. Do get ready for your welcome banquet, my Lady." Aemond kissed my hand and dismissed himself.

I blushed, and smiled. Perhaps marriage will not be so bad. Aemond may be cold and stern, but I believe a softer, more caring side of him lies beneath, shown towards his sister earlier. In time he shall show me the same side.

I opened my trunks, which were overflowing with my belongings. I will miss Dorne, and Sunspear, but I understand I am a highborn lady with noble duties, one of those duties being marriage, and later, heirs. I gulped. I am not sure I want children yet. I brought many dresses and gowns with me, as well as shoes, undergarments, and jewelry. A knock on the door startled me, and I yelled "come in!".

Nerissa stepped inside, marveling at the room. "You were given quite the room, sister."

"I know." I shrugged, choosing a gown for the banquet tonight.

"I shall help you get ready." Nerissa offered.

I smiled. "Of course."

I wore a cobalt blue gown, held by a copper necklace as the rest of the fabric flowed down, reaching my ankles. Nerissa slid two copper, snake-like bracelets up into each one of my arms, and then I slid my feet into copper sandals. She led me to the vanity, as I sat down and she brushed my hair, letting it down and adorning it with a wreath of sun roses, a flower unique to Dorne, but specifically Sunspear. Sun roses are gold, dark pink, and orange-hued, creating a dance of sunset colors in them. They are beautiful, and smell so nice.

Nerissa bathed me in blood orange mist, and I was ready.

"You look beautiful." Nerissa smiled.

"Thank you, sister."

Aemond

The banquet was ready, as all of us gathered in the dining hall, waiting for the princess Sameria to arrive. She did after a little while, wearing a most revealing dress that complimented her sapphire gaze. I see Dornish fashions are of a... never mind. Sameria will have to start dressing more modestly, and more like a princess and not a whore from the bowels of the capital.

My brother greeted Sameria, a brazen smile on his lips and lust shining in his eyes. Of course my brother will lust after the Dornish princess. He better keep his hands to himself and not humiliate me in public.

"Tonight we welcome the Princess Sameria Martell, as she will join our family soon by marrying my brother, Prince Aemond. May your union be one of love and laughter, and bring forth many heirs." My brother joked, making the others laugh.

"Let us toast to their union, and of course, to the princess." My brother raised his cup.

We all followed suit, drinking and setting our cups down.

"I thank you, King Aegon, for your most warm welcome. I am counting the days I pledge my love for Prince Aemond in sight of the gods, and that I finally join your beautiful family." Sameria smiled, turning to me.

I smiled back, not looking forward to our wedding day at all, and glanced at Alyonna. My beautiful, darling, sweet sister, whom my heart beats for. I have protected her since she was small, she has been my constant companion, she is meant for me, and I for her, and I would sooner burn every last bit of this world than see her marry another man. I will never forgive my mother for forcing me into this marriage. She knows of my feelings towards Alyonna, but dismissed me and insisted two sibling marriages cannot happen at once, due to fear of the gods. Fuck the gods I say.

The feast commenced, and I watched Sameria, who sat in front of me, chat with her cousin animatedly. Mother blames me for starting this war, and it is the true reason she is punishing me by forcing me to marry the Dornish girl. Her excuse of not wanting to anger the Seven is nothing but a farce. I still say fuck the gods. Nobody has ever been punished by them for misbehaving. They certainly didn't punish Lucerys for taking out my eye. No, I had to do the punishing myself.

Musicians came in, carrying lutes and a harp with them. My brother stood up as soon as music started playing, and he held his hand out to Helaena, who gleefully accepted. My mother and grandsire Otto watched them with amusement, and knowing how much Aly loves to dance, I stood up from my seat and offered her my hand.

"Care to dance, sweet sister?" I asked.

"Absolutely." She grinned, taking my hand as I led her near Aegon and Helaena.

We danced, slowly at first, then increased our speed a little. The music came to an end, and we all cheered.

"My sister here is an exceptional dancer. Sameria, show them. Go on." Nerissa beckoned at her sister, who blushed deeply and shook her head.

"Don't get all shy now. You dance very well and you know it." Nerissa nudged her sister, who sighed and nodded, standing up.

Alyonna went back to her seat as I hesitantly offered my hand to Sameria. The music resumed and we started dancing. Sameria was in fact a great dancer, moving along the music as though she could feel it, leaving me to look stupid alongside her. I am just not a dancer, only with Aly am I one.

The music stopped again, and everyone cheered for us. "Any other talents we might know in your possession, my Lady?" My brother wondered.

"Yes, your Grace. I am an accomplished cook, even more so than dancing." Sameria replied.

Impressed eyes went about, but mine were more curious. A noblewoman who cooks is certainly unusual. Helaena stood up from her seat, turning to Aly.

"Aly, dearest, you should bless us with your singing tonight. The princess Sameria and her companions would love to listen to you sing."

I smiled. Alyonna has the most beautiful, ethereal voice there is, and radiates the purest, most goddess-like energy when she sings. Aly stood up, and whispered something to the musicians, who nodded. 'Maiden, Mother, Crone' started playing from the stringed instruments of the musicians, soon joined by my sister's sweet, melodic voice. I closed my eyes, smiling. I could listen to her sing all day.

Aly finished singing, as all of us broke into applause. I stood up and hugged her, kissing her cheek.

"That was beautiful." Mother smiled.

"Your voice is a gift from the Seven themselves, darling." Grandsire complimented.

"Indeed it is." I agreed.

Sameria

After the feast, or banquet, was over, we all headed to our respective chambers for bedtime. As I walked towards mine, I heard the muffled voices of King Aegon and Aemond in the throne room. With my curiosity peaked, I hid behind a pillar, spotting King Aegon lounging on the Iron Throne, with Aemond sitting next to him in the seat of the Hand.

"Why are you even complaining? She's beautiful, and exotic." Aegon slurred, clearly drunk.

"I know she's beautiful, and exotic, but no woman compares to my Aly. She is a goddess personified, and meant to be mine." Aemond said, playing with the tips of his hair.

My eyes widened in horror, and a strange feeling bubbled up inside me. I had heard of the Targaryens' incestous practices, but to hear it firsthand... disgust welled up inside me.

Aegon laughed. "Brother, please. Marrying sisters is boring and devoid of life. Just look at me and Helaena."

"That is because you never make an effort to bond with our sister, your Grace." Aemond said sarcastically. "I bet if you did your marriage would be much different, and enjoyable. The bond Aly and I have is different, indescribable, but feels like home."

"You're being stupid, and ungrateful. What I'd give to have such an exotic woman as my wife." Aegon scoffed.

"If you like her so much you marry her." Aemond retorted.

"I would if I wasn't married to Helaena." Aegon shrugged.

"Besides, Dornish women are known to, you know, have sexual adventures before marriage." Aemond crossed his arms.

Aegon grinned. "Even better! You get a woman with experience. I bet the princess Sameria is a wild cat in bed." He winked.

I nearly gagged, and clenched my fists. I was listening to the king, or king presumptive, and his brother, my betrothed, say disgusting things about me. Even worse, my would-be husband was in love with his sister.

[djarinslover]

The Story Of Us

Here is the ask where this fic was born. Thank you to my sweet patient anon, you're the best. I hope I did your idea justice!

Pairing; Nami x Fem!Reader (no y/n, sliiight description of reader being shorter)

Warnings; canon violence, TW for queer being used as a slur, swearing

Word Count; 1.8k

You and Nami had been childhood friends, the two of you playing at the edge of the tangerine grove, making tangerine windmills with Nojiko and their mother. Unfortunately, everything changed when the pirates raided and killed Belle. Nami traded her freedom to Arlong, though that was something you didn't learn for a while. Once, when Nami came to collect the Berry the village owed Arlong, the two of you met each other's eyes and it seemed that sparks flew. It had been about six years since you truly saw her and she had grown into a beautiful young woman. She had the same thought about you.

The two of you danced around the feelings you had developed for some time before you made the first move and confessed. It was awkward and hurried but you were determined to let her know. You felt elated when Nami confessed she felt the same way, that she had a slight crush on you as kids. She never thought she would be able to have a chance with you.

But ever since you started dating Nami, all the people of Coco Village shunned you. You ended up keeping to yourself in your small corner of the village. They hated you because you were dating someone apart of Arlong's crew, Nami no less, who they believed betrayed them as well. After Nami had finally told you the truth, she swore you to secrecy. The townspeople wouldn't understand and she didn't need them possibly getting their hopes up and alerting the other fishmen to her plan. You ignored what the people had to say about you two - you were happy and in love with Nami. You didn't need anyone else.

Nami brought you all the supplies you would need whenever she came back home after her journeys. She didn't want you to have to deal with any harassment or ridicule the town would give you if you tried to go buy food or clothing. When Nami did come home, they would stare, glare and whisper about you two under their breath. Nami always glared back, making the cowards turn their gazes away in shame or embarrassment. You never knew which it was they were feeling but it didn't matter when you had your girlfriend back in your arms.

Having her in your arms at all times wasn't as often as you wanted, though. You weren't allowed to stay with her at 'Arlong Park', which honestly was fine with both of you. You weren't comfortable around all those pirates and Nami loved the privacy you two got when she stayed at your home. You just wished she could live with you, so you could say "our home". Someday soon, she promised, a kiss pressed so softly, so sweetly against your lips.

There were times you went to 'Arlong Park' to spend time with Nami though, like today. She was headed out the next morning on her next journey and Arlong wasn't letting her wander around. So he sent one of his men to bring you there. Nami had demanded to see you before she left and the pirate knew better by now than to deny her the privilege of being with you.

Nami was playing poker with the men, clearly winning. You stand to the side to not draw unwanted attention to yourself until she was done with the game. You never wanted to distract your beautiful girlfriend when she was focused. She shoved all her chips to the middle, as stone-faced as she could be. "I'm all in, boys."

Some of the fishmen grumble as they throw their cards down, giving up. One fishman was staring her down before throwing the rest of his chips into the pile as well. He set his cards down with a flourish and a wide grin. "Beat that, human."

There's a fake pout on Nami's lips. You knew what that fake pout meant - she tried to use it on you all the time when you wouldn't give her what she wanted. It usually worked. "Read 'em and weep." She lays down her four queens gently before standing, scooping up her winnings.

"Nami, that was so good!" you cry out, heading to your partner and throwing your arms around her waist.

"Hey, babe! I did it to show off," she says with a wink, arms wrapping around you tightly.

"Fucking queers," the fishman who lost grumbles.

You freeze, feeling fear grip your throat at his words. You feel Nami stiffen under your embrace, her hands shaking on your back. She gently shoves you away, head cocked to the side as she looks at the man who spoke.

"What was that?" she asks in a low, dangerous tone.

"I said, fucking queers," the fishman spits, a snarl on his lips.

Nami purses her lips as she nods, a hand rummaging around in her bag. She pulls out a knife and spins it around. "I'll give you a chance to take it back and apologize."

"Ha! You wish, princess."

"Your choice," Nami says with a frown.

She spins the knife again before stabbing the pirate in the hand, making him scream out. The others stand around, some laughing while others look on worriedly. You back away into a corner, trying to disappear back to your cozy little home. Nami towers over the pirate who name called you, watching with cold eyes as he squirms. She twists the knife in his hand.

"Well? Still want to call my girlfriend a name?"

He shakes his head, tears rolling down his face. "N-n-no. I-I'm sorry. Please, it hurts."

"Yeah, I bet it does. So does calling people fucking slurs."

He whimpers, whole body shaking with fear? Anger? You were unsure, only aware of your own body shaking with anxiety. Nami looks back at you, eyes softening briefly before she whips her head back around to stare the pirate down. She twists the knife one more time. "Apologize to my girlfriend. Now."

He raises his head to meet your gaze, lips trembling. "I'm- I'm sorry, okay. Please . . . call her off."

Nami pulls her weapon from his hand, wiping it clean with his shirt. "Get out of my sight."

He scrambles to the others standing to the side, letting them support him as they make their way further inside 'Arlong Park'. Nami comes to your side, adjusting her bag over her shoulder. She takes your hand in hers, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. "Come on."

You trail behind Nami to her room; technically it was the map room where she was held captive for the first few years she spent with Arlong. You hated the room simply because it was where Nami felt powerless for far too long. The chain that had been around her ankle was still sitting on the floor. You thought it was a reminder to her that Arlong controlled her, no matter what she thought or what he let her do. She would always have to go back to him.

Nami spins around to face you, noticing how quiet you are. She squeezes your hand, pulling you closer to her. She leads you to the edge of the bed, pushing you down softly by the shoulder. "What's wrong, my love?"

You shake your head with tears burning, threatening to spill over the second you spoke. She kneels in front of you, her hand caressing your cheek. Somehow, even on her knees, it felt like she was taller than you. Maybe you just felt extra small due to what happened outside. You swallow thickly, forcing yourself to speak. "I just . . . hate what he called you, called us. I get it enough from some villagers but to hear it from a pirate hurt ten times worse. I'm not sure why, considering I don't even have to live around them."

"Because pirates are assholes. No one wants to have to deal with them, let alone deal with a slur being hurled at them. He was out of line and you let me know if he ever bothers you again. Hell, if he even looks at you, I want to know. Okay?"

"Nami, why are you still with them? Run away with me, we can find a little unoccupied island and make it our own," you plead. "I don't think I can keep waiting here for you for weeks on end. It kills me that I never know if you're okay until you come back. I don't feel safe, with the way people treat us simply because we're both women dating."

"My love," she sighs, cupping your face in both hands. "You know why I'm doing what I'm doing. I want this whole village to free. That especially includes you." She takes in your expression, eyes wide and roaming. "I would love to run away with you, say 'fuck you' to Arlong and just be with you. But we both know he would hunt us down and hurt you just to get back at me. I won't let that happen."

You wipe away your tears roughly, sniffling. "I know. He'd never let us just walk away. God, I hate this. I hate him."

"I know," Nami says. "I hate him, too. But I just need a little more and then we'll all be free from him, I promise. Can you wait a little bit longer?"

"For you, I'll wait forever."

Nami giggles, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I'm sorry he upset you, baby. What can I do to make you feel better?"

"I could use some cuddling."

"Sounds perfect."

She climbs into bed with you, adjusting so she's the big spoon, her longer legs entwined with yours. She has an arm under your head while the other was over your body, tracing patterns absentmindedly on your stomach. Her touch lulls you back into a comfortable state, wiping your mind clean of the nasty word you had been called. She had a way of making you feel like nothing could ever be wrong.

"You know," Nami says after the two of you had been sitting in silence for a while. "One day, there's going to be a story of us."

You frown, confused as to what she means. You roll over to meet her eyes, eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, the story of us. It's going to be an epic one we'll get to tell people one day. The story of how we defeated the dreaded fishman pirate Arlong and saved a village."

You giggle, sweeping her hair out of her eyes. "That sounds like some story."

"It's going to be badass. And I'm going to have you right by my side for all of it."

"I can't wait."

You snuggle deeper into her arms, feeling warm, safe and content. She was your safe place and you wouldn't trade all the trouble and hardship you go through for a thing. You would climb the highest mountain to be able to say Nami was yours. The story of us sounds pretty damn good, you think as you drift off to sleep.