#home of the free because of the brave

[trexalicious]

Freedom isn't free...❤🇺🇸🇬🇧

[lifes-commotion]

Happy 4th of July!

[lonestar-badash]

[whywoulditho]

not saying the holocaust wasn't bad. but i need people to understand that it wasn't the only genocide that happened in the same period of world history. not because i want you to pay less attention to holocaust but because i need you to ask why it's the only one we ever talk about. it wasn't the longest occured massacre of a marginalized group, it wasn't the most gruesome, it wasn't the one with the most casualties, it wasn't the first and it wasn't the last one. i need people to think about why we didn't pay much attention to all the other holocausts after WWII that happened simultaniously and were just as horrible. it says so much about media, the news we are fed, and that our empathy is BOUGHT by the same people that keep funding genocides all over the world.

[mccleans]

i've gone to sleep angry and woken up angry every day since last saturday

[illogicalghost]

.

[lilacerull0]

do you ever think about the diagram of the door opening as a love confession because i am trying not to think about it and could really use some help

[danketsuround]

i'm going to the dentist tomorrow and being really brave about it. extremely. because i need to get my wisdom teeth out very soon but i have to do a consultation first. i'm being brave. i promise. i'm brave...... :(

[dhaaruni]

Strongly considering buying a graphic t-shirt with "confirm thy soul in self-control" on it

[skeppsbrott]

,

[elysianightsss]

John, he’d been waiting for this moment, been waiting for you to come through the door with tired eyes, an ache in your bones and your head pounding so much you were disappointed that your instincts had kicked in when you slipped on some ice outside and caught yourself instead of letting yourself get knocked the fuck out. So disappointed.

And after a long train ride into the beautiful countryside, a taxi ride to the rustic cabin that always looked more like a cottage to you, you weren’t even bothered about special greetings anymore.

You practically collapsed on John’s lap, curling up there. Your sleeves pulled over your fists because you once again forgot a coat on the way out of your flat. Rubbing your tired eyes with said sleeve covered fist, you mumbled out a sleepy ‘hello’ to which he chuckled pulling your hand away from your now red eye.

“Hello to you too love.” You snuggled further into his neck, thankful that he had trimmed his mutton chops and beard down so they weren’t massively bushy and tickling at your nose like last time. “Long day?”

“The longest.” At this he grinned. John had been waiting for you to have a bad day at work so he could convince you to quit and live off of his money. He’d mentioned it so many times before but unfortunately you always thought he was joking and when he had rasped it into your ear while he was buried deep inside you, you thought that he was just being his usual possessive self.

Not fucking true. Okay it’s partly true, but John was serious. He wanted to put you up in his well polished cabin. Wanted to marry you so you couldn’t argue against him when he said ‘what’s mine is yours’. Wanted to come back from missions to find his cute little wife in his bed. He wanted to spend his free time gardening and baking with you. Going to the farmers market with you and he always wanted to try his hand at painting.

John Price wanted nothing more than to come home to you swollen with his child. Couldn’t wait to take leave so he could take care of you properly. Desperately wanted nothing more than to be there when you bore his child, holding your hand and telling you ‘you’re doing so well, my brave girl’. Wanted to see the sweet little baby that you made together on your hip while you told him all about the new curtain samples you got because ‘the ones in the den are ghastly’ as you so eloquently put it.

And now this was his chance to broach the subject seriously with you. If you agreed, which was a big chance because of how dishevelled you looked and how exhausted you must have been feeling. Then that was brilliant.

If you said no? Maybe he would have to resort to the old ways. Getting you fired. Getting you evicted. Taking all the fight out of you until you truly are broken and begging him for help. It’s not nice but it’s necessary.

“I have something I want to discuss with you sweet’art.” . . .

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

first fall of snow

how spencer guesses you're pregnant before you actually tell him

fluff word count: 1390 warnings & tags & stuff: pregnant reader, slight issues with mother mentioned?, non-graphic vomiting, mentions/allusions to winter holidays being celebrated, kinda spencer's pov but still 2nd pov, reader is scared spencer will leave her lol, anxious!reader in general, mentions of death?, probably medical inaccuracies ive never been pregnant author's note: hiiii i'm forcing myself to post this because if i don't then i'll never post and i'm being BRAVE. i hope it can be a little comforting maybe. i've realllyyyy been struggling with my take on spencer's characterization lately soo this was kinda like a bootcamp/exercise situation into his mind and less an expression of my writing skills, iykwim. let me know your thoughts if u have any! i love you & have a splendid day!!

Spencer is walking—speed walking—toward his car, away from the case he just finished, away from serial killers and guns and geographical profiling and death.

He places his feet carefully on the snow-covered sidewalk with each step, the cold air biting at his face. He barely notices it, absorbed in the path ahead, as the snow provides a satisfying crunch underfoot—a nice background to his perpetually racing mind.

He doesn’t like the winter. It’s always too harsh outdoors, and too stuffy indoors, and he’s trapped in a suffocating haze no matter where he goes. 

His phone starts to vibrate gently in his pocket, interrupting his racing thoughts for a split second. His pace falters as he pulls it free, a quick smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he sees it’s your name on the screen.

“Hi. How are you?” he asks after picking up, watching his breath come out in puffs of vapor in the cold air.

Winters, however, have gotten progressively better each year he spends with you.

“...I’m okay,” you say, though the crack in your voice reveals the all-consuming ache in your bones and mind.

“No. You’re overwhelmed,” he guesses in his matter-of-fact way, voice gentle. You huff out a soft laugh at his ability to read you, never getting old.

“Yeah, I guess. A little. The holiday season, you know. Are you on your way home?” you ask, voice softer now. You’re sitting on the couch of yours and Spencer’s cozy apartment, wrestling with a blanket to cover your lap, and bouncing your leg relentlessly.

“I’m walking to the car now. Hey, have you done the crossword today?” Spencer asks, words a familiar, tender remedy for your nerves. You told him a long time ago that hearing his voice makes you feel better, and there are times, like these, where he just knows it’s what you need. You rest our head on the arm of the couch, curling up.

“No, I didn’t have the time. Why?”

“There was an interesting question about causes of death in Shakespeare plays, but they completely messed up the part of speech. It read, ‘Popular ways to die by the hands of England’s national poet’. I thought it was ‘poisons’ at first, but it was actually ‘stabbed’, even though the correct answer grammatically should’ve been ‘stabs’ or ‘stabbings’,” he says, his car now in sight through the steady sprinkle of snow coming down. “Do you think I should send an email to let them know? I guess stabbing does make more sense, though, versus poison, because throughout his works, thirty characters out of his 74 that died were stabbed compared to only four that were poisoned. Three were stabbed and poisoned. Did you know that two were actually baked into pies, which is a-”

“Oh my god, the pie,” you groan, cutting him off mid-sentence, sitting up hastily, the blanket falling to the floor.

“Pie?”

“Yeah. My mom coerced me into making it to bring tomorrow.” You pad over to the kitchen and crouch down to peek through the hazy glass of the oven, inspecting it. “Oh,” you murmur. “It’s…not pretty.”

He sandwiches the phone in between his ear and shoulder, gently opening the door to his car to sit down as he listens to you. He turns the heat on, exhaling in an exhausted relief, hovering his hand over where the air comes out. 

“Can you tell me what it looks like? Maybe I can help,” he suggests, leaning back against the headrest and letting his eyes close for a second. You put the phone on speaker, setting it on the counter as you bend down to take it out. “Don’t burn yourself,” he adds, hearing what you’re doing.

“I’m not going to burn my-” you cut yourself off with a huff. “Whatever. It’s just really messy. There’s like… liquid overflowing where the lattice should be.”

He hums. “How long has it been cooking for?”

“45 minutes. My mom sent me this one ancient recipe that I had to use written on parchment paper from like 70 years ago, and it does not have a bake time listed, so I’m just eyeballing it.”

“Okay. You could either put it back in the oven in hopes that more of the liquid will evaporate, or you can leave it out to cool down and hopefully thicken,” he says.

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think you sound exhausted and need your sleep.” 

You sigh, staring at your mess of a pie, hopes that you’ll appease your mother this year slipping further and further away, soon to be completely buried by the snow.

“Hey. I’m sure it’ll taste really good. Besides, people still liked Shakespeare, and he wrote about much worse pies than you could ever make.” 

A smile pulls at your lips.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll just leave it out to cool and head to bed. Will you stay on the phone a little longer?” you ask, padding over to your shared bedroom.

“Of course.”

He doesn’t start driving as you talk, not when nearly 2000 people die per year due to driving on icy roads, and two thirds of them were people who were reported to not be paying close enough attention.

And especially not when 54 hours ago on your last phone call, he noticed a drastic shift in your behavior, and was quickly able to tell that you were pregnant. 

He had too much waiting for him at home to be spinning out on black ice because he was talking to you and not watching the road.

He chooses instead to look outside at the falling snow, blanketing the city, his city, the very first for D.C. to have this winter out of the septillion snowflakes planet earth receives each year.

…

Spencer gets home a little later that night, holding another pint of cherries in his hands. Not for the pie—which he turns to see resting on the stove and winces slightly at—but for you. 

Cherries, with their 342 mg of potassium per cup, help replenish lost electrolytes and can soothe nausea.

He’s expecting it to start any day now.

He quietly steps into the bedroom, setting his bag by the door to be dealt with tomorrow. The soft glow of the lamp that was left on, presumably for him by your endlessly considerate heart, provides just enough light so he can get changed. He then finally clambers into bed next to you, one hand reaching out to lace in your hair, moving his fingers to gently scratch by the nape of your neck. He lifts the other to rest, like you're made of a delicate china, on your lower stomach, sighing in pure relief the second it makes contact.

You turn sleepily, humming when you’re met with the sight of him. “Spence,” you murmur, contented.

“Hi. I really didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry,” he says, so quietly.

“I'm glad you did. I like it when you wake me.” You tuck yourself closer to him. “I love you.” His hand comes to trace gentle patterns all over your back and arm, and he gives you a little kiss, adoringly.

“Go back to sleep. I love you.”

You let your eyes shut once again, this time much easier now that he’s with you. You inhale his scent, which you swear could repair anything broken or lost in this world. You exhale, wondering if he’d still hold you the same way after learning that you’re carrying his child. 

It’s a scary thought, but you’re comforted by his warm touch, pushing you farther out into the deep sea of sleep.

Once your breaths get steady and your mouth parts slightly, he adds, in a whisper, “Both.”

…

The next morning, when you’re hunched over the toilet bowl, Spencer is there with you, rubbing your back and wiping your teary eyes. You look up to him after brushing your teeth, and no words are exchanged. He tugs you into his arms, silently quelling any of the countless anxieties swarming your mind, at least in this moment.

His hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He lets it rest there, cupping your jaw.

“Let’s go shopping after breakfast today, okay? You need prenatal vitamins.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“And a new pie.”

[madwomansapologist]

──────〃✰ KINKTOBER DAY 6: 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

title: haunted bang synopsis: when you decided to explored a haunted mansion, all you wanted was to gain more knowledge for your grimoire. you never expected it to be habited, even less for all the residents to agree that sharing is caring. [1.8K] cw: wizard!reader, teratophilia, monster fucking, gangbang, voyeurism, size difference, manhandling, mind connection, scent kink, oral (f!receiving), pet play, pussy drunk, overstimulation, you know that post about "would you fuck your clone?", f in v, monsters included are a eldritch creature, a werewolf, a vampire and a shapeshifter.

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There is so many rumors about the mansion. Some believe it to have been built on top of an ancient cemetery, ending the ghost’s slumber. Others, that a coven filled every room with protection runes to preserve the soul of the late owners. A journal published a profile for an architect that died a day after the construction was completed, but quick research showed he had nothing to do with it.

Lies and gossips spread easily, but those brave enough to walk into the dead-end street can see the truth by themselves. Whoever chained those doors did so sensibly, since nothing sane could ever come out of them. A darkness spreads from within the house.

After making your way in with an old pliers, you explored the first floor. There were many chances of turning away, all of them ignored willingly. At the end, all you had were two options: to stay at home safely, or possibly learning a new spell for your collection.

Wizards aren’t known for making the obvious, easy choice.

Since the moment you sensed the darkness this mansion casted, nothing would’ve convinced you of not coming back to explore the secrets within those walls of bricks and stones. You feel it even better now, this great deal of mana. It isn’t a cursed mansion, only a heavily enchanted one.

A relieved smile appeared on your face when you finally found a library. You invoked flames in the remaining candles on the chandeliers and sat down on a large armchair. With the books floating from their shelves and surrounding your body, you analyzed them quickly in search of something worth your time.

In a few minutes, you found it. Holding an old grimoire in your hands, you blew the dust away. Walking through the library, your excitement blinded you. You put the book down on a table, opening your own to copy any fun spell.

As you begin to read the grimoire, your eyes widened. It takes strength from great old forces, eldritch entities incomprehensible to the average mortal. Based on entropy, it alters the fabric of reality itself.

Ancient magic. Its use is highly forbidden, and usually punished with death. Cleaning your glasses on your skirt, you bended over the table and read every line with an unending curiosity.

The first touch went unnoticed. A soft, quick brush against your arm. As your thigh got pinched, you assumed it to be the work of a hungry insect. But when a cold aura surrounded you, embracing your body and soul, there was no doubt left.

Whatever old force empowers this place; it was right here. Right behind you.

Your quarterstaff materialized between your hands. Your grimoire floated, pages turning as you recite your strongest protection spell. Changing your posture, you were ready to fight.

The quiet nature of this threat shifted.

Something forced its way inside your mouth, putting an end to your attempt of using radiant magic. An invisible force, but not less palpable because of it. As you bit down, trying to stop it, you felt it pressing down on your tongue.

Intruder, a voice spoke inside of your head. Low and strident, all at once. Thief in the night.

A limb embraced your waist, leaving a gelid trace as it fit beneath your shirt. A hand grabbed your left thigh so roughly you had no reaction but to whine with your mouth full. Little by little, there wasn’t a muscle of your body free to fight back.

It lifted you from the ground, forcing your hands open. The quarterstaff disappeared in the air before hitting the floor. Higher and higher in the air, your body trembled. Fully involved by this coldness, you had no way of moving.

Usurper, she hissed inside your mind. Or was it a masculine voice? You couldn’t quite picture it. But thinking back about it, didn’t it groaned and roar? Was it even human? Nothing will harm my home.

Nothing will, you thought. If you could hear its voice, then it could hear you too. You hoped. I mean no harm. I swear.

LIAR.

I want to learn, you tried to bargain. I have no intentions of hurting anyone. I didn’t even know there was someone in here to harm. All I desire is to know more than others. Nothing more, nothing less.

The silence gave you an opportunity to look for your grimoire. Alone on the ground, it was so close and yet so far away. Even if it was near, with you unable to speak or move there were few spells you could cast. And none of them would be of any real practical help now.

A soft caress on your cheeks took you from your hushed thoughts. As your feet touched the floor, you stumbled trying to regaining your balance. It held you in place, the feeling soft and rough.

I can teach you everything I know, it whispered. For a cost. This time, the voice came with pictures in your mind. Do you want that?

In them, you saw yourself. Lips hanging open, forehead covered in sweat, eyes half-closed. You saw tears running down your face, legs spread and trembling, fingers closed tightly around the same table you used before.

And in them, you saw glowing eyes still hidden by darkness.

Yes, I want that.

The same careless limbs bended you over the table, but this time it was gentler. Less worried about safety, more worried about you. Holding your hands behind your back, it placed your legs apart.

Something cold touched your inner thighs. It moved against your skin, lingering. Once more, you invoked flames. Contorting your body, a gasp broke the silence. Kneeled down, eyes fixated on your thighs, you found a werewolf.

“Your scent”, he groaned. His face rubbed against you, inhaling shamelessly. His yellow eyes raised to yours, and in them you saw desperation. His muzzle went away from you and he smiled, displaying his sharp fangs. “Hold her still.”

Once he closed his mouth, you tried to move away. Not because you wanted for him to stop, but because how couldn’t you when he says that? You were forced down, back caressed and head scratched. Like a pet, you were kept still and quiet.

Your skirt was thrown away from your body and he… sniffed you? Half of you bare to whoever there to witness, with a monster between your legs. To know that you’re being watched only makes you desire this more. A huge tongue licked your pussy, you moaned. It was real, just a tad louder than it needed to be.

Putting on a show, it laughed inside your head. Keep on this good work and I might not let you walk away.

Your eyes closed as he continued to ravish you. Restless, he simply continued. Tongue deep into you, teeth sinking into your skin, lips sucking around your clit. Your legs were covered in drool, and you could feel it dripping from your aching core.

A hand grabbed your hair, forcing you to look up. A real touch this time. The candles showed you the tall woman in front of you, nails so long they could be mistaken by claws. Looking into her red eyes, you felt a primal urge inside you.

Everything inside you told you to run.

Nature is such a disappointing force. It is not your fault that you were born a prey, that ancient being spoke. Its voice oscillated, as if it was too far away and suddenly right against your ear. And it is not hers to be turned predator long ago.

“This delicate sparkle in your eyes”, a velvet voice made to your ears. Elegant, but sharp. She smiled, and the fangs weren’t a reason to act surprised. “You won’t allow it to dissuade you, will you? Don’t struggle. There is no use.”

Her free hand closed around your neck. A movement faster than you could see, but delicate enough for you to know she didn’t want you to break apart.

“You are mine now, puppy”, she smirked. “Put your mouth to use.”

As she put her knee on top of the table, moving the black dress enough for you to see her strong legs, the vampire pulled your hair again. “Yes, mistress”, you said.

Satisfied, she forced your head between her thighs. As the werewolf continued to torture your poor pussy, you treated hers like a wine you had to enjoy every little sip. It was easy to get eager, to get lost on your own never-ending pleasure, but you made sure to treat her nicely.

Every whimper of hers made you weaker. Every bite from him made you weaker. Every hold onto your skin, whispers inside your head, made you weaker.

It was no surprise your orgasm would break you in pieces. It was no surprise every single one of you would continue despise it.

As you breathed in, trying to get your legs to work, a hand came back to stroking your skin. It put you on top of the table as if you weighted nothing. Before you could flutter your eyes open, those skilled fingers were inside of you.

Touching in the right place, with the right pressure, at the exact right moment. It was perfect. Did this creature read your mind in a way or another? Or is this fate, and in this wretched place you find someone that really knows exactly how to fuck you properly?

“What a delight”, the vampire spoke. “May I drink from her now?

The werewolf hummed. “Look at her legs. Those pretty lips”, you heard him doing just that. “You can’t. Not yet. I need my plaything strong and capable for the night.”

“But do you really, old dog?” She argued. “No one will judge you for admitting you need to rest. No one but me, of course.”

Her mind is far more interesting, it spoke again. Apparently, everyone could hear it. Her memories taste even sweeter. What a fine thing found us this evening.

“How luck we are”, you said.

But you didn’t.

Opening your eyes, you saw yourself. Fingers deep into your cunt, mouth displaying the most annoying smirk. Eyes glistening with fake innocent.

“Fuck”, you babbled.

The smirk seemed to grow. “Your mind is a interesting place”, that thing said. Even her voice was the same as yours. “But I need to say, your body if far more comfortable.”

Looking into your eyes, all you could do was take it. Let this being have its fill of you. Watch for your tits move. The strechmarks on your waist. Your soft thighs. Those freckles on your skin.

Being used, watching yourself, its voice came back. You want this to stop?

You giggled. “Don’t tell me it’s over already?”

Not at all, the voice came back. Let’s move to the next floor.

taglist: @ffinosie @lovelyy-moonlight @alzaira @s2-angells @eyes-ofhell @inlovewithmariah @chiiyohiimee @shaquilles-0atmeal @bloodyziggy @salemey @kcch-ns @notanalienindisguiseblink @py-schi

© all rights reserved to MADWOMANSAPOLOGIST

[a-hazbin-reader]

OMGOMG I HAD THIS IDEA FOR A WHILE NOW

(u dont have to do it if u dont wanna !!)

BUT THE READER IS ALASTORS WIFE AND SHE EXTREMELY LOYAL TO HIM BUT VOX KEEPS TRYING TO GET HER TO FALL FOR HIM

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Vox being humiliated, Unwanted Attention, Possessive Alastor

Description: ☝️⬆️

If you wanted that stupid tv head then you would've gotten with him by now, you only have eyes for your husband

It used to make you a little embarrassed, having someone so openly into you and then having your husband come to your rescue

That was always your favorite part

Alastor coming around and wrapping a protective arm around your waist, pulling you in close in a possessive display

You always used to really play up the adoring wife, cooing at and praising your brave husband

Not you two looking adorable, you leaning on him happily, hand on his chest as he grinned down at you while whisking you away

You're not even flattered by the attention anymore, having long since figured out that Vox is only into you because he's into your husband

His hate boner is obvious

The point is, Vox is only trying to woo you to get under Alastor's skin and if he somehow managed to land you then it's just a cherry on top

You know he would lose interest if he actually got you

But Vox will never steal you away from your husband, you're too infatuated with him to even consider it

You don't even respond to Vox anymore, straight up ignoring him whenever you see him

You throw out the flowers he sends, give Niffty the sweets and let Alastor rip up the little notes

If you see him in public then you pretend he's not there

"Hey hey hey~ Fancy bumping into you here, Y/N~ How you been~? Still with that old-school geezer of yours?"

"... Yes, I would like two pounds of venison, please"

It really irks Vox more than anything to be ignored/not taken seriously so this always pisses him off and throws him off his game

"U-uh so...Y/N did you catch the news lately? Lotta scary freaks out and about! Maybe I could walk you home? Just to keep you safe, of course-"

You've already left the shop before Vox even realizes it, the shop owner watching him with a nervous expression

You fucking bitch

"My counters!!"

He isn't going to lose his shit in front of you, that would be a major turn off and he knows it

Not that you don't already know he's throwing a small tantrum before chasing after you

Not him forcefully taking your bags so that you have no choice but to let him walk you home

🙄 Your funeral man

Vox talks the entire time, awkwardly trying to fill your icey silence with tales of his great deeds

The paparazzi are going fucking nuts rn

BREAKING NEWS! IS VOX MOVING IN ON THE RADIO DEMON'S WIFE???

You don't even make it halfway home before Alastor shows up, bumping Vox out of the way and catching your bags, using his free arm to hold you close

"Alastor! What took you so long?"

"Apologies my dear, Rosie was being quite the chatterbox today~"

Not both of you pretending Vox was never even there-

By the time Vox is able to pull his head out of the ground all he can see is the two of you walking away, you leaning your head on Alastor's shoulder

And Alastor's entire head whipping around to give him a shit eating grin as you two round a corner

FUCK!

I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE THIS ONE!!

[concrete-the-cat]

so @biggest-gaudiest-patronuses i saw a post of yours a week ago or so where you talked about america's god-given hypocrisy to purchase military weapons and thought you might want to know what I saw about a week or two ago too while out doordashing - to prove your point in case anyone thought it was exaggerated

in what is basically a farmer/country/hardware store,

i had to go so i couldn't get a clear shot but,

an entire shelf

i'm pretty sure they're all real guns not BBs or anything

while yes this store technically has a BIT to do with hunting

that's a FRIGGIN SNIPER RIFLE

IN A HARDWARE STORE

TO BE BOUGHT

[luludeluluramblings]

LoungeSinger!Reader??? Can you tell us a little bit about that,please🥺🥺🥺?

LoungeSinger!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family Member (Romantic)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I had this in my head rent free for all of November after listening to Hozier. More specifically, Too Sweet and Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene. This has so many different directions it could go in and I'm having a hard time picking one.

Warnings: GN!Reader, incarceration, possible manipulation

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You had gotten it into your head that you could handle it. That you didn't need that small town mindset. And, that you were going to do something about it.

Now, moving to one of the most dangerous cities in the country to sing at some smokey bar might not have been the brightest of all your ideas. But, fuck the light, it hurts your eyes anyway.

You knew you got lucky when you found some decent paying bar that hired your naive ass. You knew you were good when you sang and made people fall in love with you. You didn't know how fucked you where when you made the wrong people fall in love with more than just your voice.

It had started innocently enough. No one in Gotham would blame you for falling for it. Not even your judgmental family back home would've blamed your for it. The devil is a charmer after all, and he looks like an angel as well. Sure, you were a seductive thing. But, you bit that apple not realizing it was a pomegranate in disguise.

The Bat Family were all about helping people from what you understood. You hadn't exactly expected to run into them. Not with how cautious you tended to be. Just because you were brave enough to move to Gotham of your own accord doesn't mean you were stupid enough not to take precautions. Avoiding dark alleyways. Carrying pepper spray. Taking a taxi even if it was only for two blocks.

But, they came to you. More specifically the bar you worked at. Asking questions from the busboy first. Then the Bartender. Then the waitress. Then you, the singer.

You were fully prepared to help them with whatever it was they were investigating. Wanting to do your part to help. However, you may have been beguiled by their first question.

"What's someone as pretty and as talented as you doing in a city like this?"

Of course, even with your flushing cheeks, you had figured that they were just being charming for kicks. That it was just in their nature and that they weren't really as captivated by you as they had sounded.

Still, they threw in flirty lines every now and then when they had asked you questions about the area. Things you had seen. Things you had heard. Where you lived.

Simple, investigative things.

You hadn't expected it to have gone on for multiple days though. Night after night, week after week of them coming back to talk.

When you had asked around your bar, they hadn't done that for anyone else. And, the people you did mention it to told you to keep it hushed with a cheeky grin and a knowing gleam in their eyes at the sight of our blush. You didn't need everyone in Gotham knowing you were flirting with one of its vigilantes.

It continues on like that for weeks, then months. Flirting and heated rooftop rendezvouses.

But, not years.

Because it suddenly comes to a bone rattling stop when the very bar you work at is shut down by the Gotham City Police and everyone is arrested. Including you. All

Everyone you know and trust, on the inside of those cells with you.

You'd contact your masked lover, but you don't know how. And, you don't want to. Not when you hear the officers talking about how they got all the information about your boss apparently laundering money for some local small time gang. Not when you hear their alias being mentioned.

No one blames you for what happened, thankfully. In fact, you received a substantial amount of pity for your situation. Poor thing. Manipulated and used and tossed aside.

Or, were you?

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Did we do something to have them throw us in there? Did they think we were about to leave Gotham? Was is all a big misunderstanding? Is the GCPD just corrupt? Are they going to bail us out? Who is our masked lover? SO MANY POSSIBILITIES!